A first III

"Their best weapons are lances," Hoshina mutters, her voice duller than usual. "What kind of war is this?"

"Not much I can do about that, miss," Mr. Hige replies. "Sometimes we just come across civilizations that don't use magic items."

"Then what's the point of waging war against them?"

"Because they usually do have magic items—they've just hidden them. Our job is still to find and take them."

She narrows her eyes. "I thought our goal was to have a proper battle and prove our worth as warriors."

He grunts. "You'll understand when you grow up."

"Don't treat me like a child." After a moment's hesitation, she draws her cane and drops it like it's useless.

"What are you doing?"

She walks over to a fallen warrior and picks up his lance.

"I'm going to look for an actual challenge."

"Have you lost your mind? Don't underestimate the battlefield! What if you die?"

She shrugs. "That's fine, at least it would be a warrior's death."

"H-how can you…? Ugh! You shouldn't take those silly tales so literally, you stupid kid!"

He starts walking towards her. "I cannot allow you to rush into danger like that or the Lord would—"

Before he can finish, Hoshina spins around, throws him to the ground, and runs off.

She expects to get chased, so she goes as fast as she can using the propulsion from her boots, hoping to lose him. When she finally checks behind her, she's surprised to see that Mr. Hige isn't following. Did I really lose him that easily? She dismisses the irrelevant thought, and sharpens her focus on the search.

༻──⋆༺𓆩⋆𓆪༻⋆──༺

Wherever she looks she finds bloodied dead eyes. Not a single live warrior in sight.

The echoes of distant screams and magic attacks swirl together in a chaotic symphony. The sickening stench of blood and burning buildings clings to her throat, even through the filter of her helmet.

She's right in the heart of the battlefield—the very thing she's dreamed about for as long as she can remember—yet she can feel dissatisfaction showing on her face.

At one point, she sees a soldier aiming his wand at a frail old man. Before he can act, Hoshina strikes him down with the shaft of her spear. She doesn't spare the elder a glance.

A few seconds later, an impact to her helmet stuns her momentarily. When she looks back, the trembling old man is now pointing the soldier's wand at her, the owner lying dead at his feet.

"Why?" she asks.

The elder fires again. She dodges with her boots, then leaves.

After a while of fruitless searching, she stumbles upon a cluster of clay stools and tables and decides to sit on one, taking a moment to ponder.

On one side, the corpses of noncombatants lie scattered. On the other, her allies march forward, pillaging homes—something she couldn't care less about.

Little by little, the sounds of the battle begin to fade as it all moves farther from her position. Was coming here a mistake? Before she can contemplate an answer, a searing pain erupts in her mind. The visor of her helmet shatters as she realizes she's been struck by a thunderbolt.

Her body collapses to the ground, flipping over the table. Barely conscious, she hears footsteps and sees a silhouette stand before her, pointing a cane at her.

"Why did you invade us!?"

"I'm… not sure anymore." Although speaking hurts, she's starting to regain consciousness. The armor must have protected her more than she realized.

"How can you say something like that!? Are you insane!?" Not that word again... Insane. Weird. Different. All of them a torture to hear, worse than the pain currently screaming through her body.

The attacker clicks his tongue. "Whatever."

Hoshina knows what's coming. She wishes her death could be more meaningful, but this will have to do. If she's doomed to keep fighting mediocre wars like these, she'd rather embrace the afterlife and find some peace there.

But for some reason, her body moves on its own. Her foot lashes out, striking the attacker's and throwing off his aim. He stumbles, drops his weapon. Hoshina grabs it. Despite her cracked helmet blurring her vision, she can see he has a second one.

She throws up a barrier just in time to block the earth shot. Then she takes off her helmet—and finally sees her attacker's face. It's nothing like she expected.

Unlike the others—helpless, weak—he's more like a wild beast. His long black hair is thick as a forest, tangled like the battlefield around them. Warm, tanned skin, sprinkled with freckles, makes him stand out like one of a kind. His face is twisted in a hostile grimace, teeth clenched, eyes locked on her. He stays low, coiled to spring or evade at any moment. One arm is injured, wrapped in a makeshift bandage of knotted cloth.

This must be what a real warrior looks like.