Sunrise

“Ignite thy majesty, Galatine!”

At Prince Galahad’s command, the immense greatsword ignited with a plume of brilliant red flame that cascaded down the entirety of its length like a volcanic waterfall. The air around him was bathed with staggering heat, yet the prince remained unaffected.

A Wyrblade, huh...? I wouldn’t have expected less. Medrauta clicked her tongue in displeasure.

As a member of the imperial family, Galahad had access to the vast treasury of Palace Avalyne, the imperial estate. Within it were countless treasures, and among them were mysterious weapons known as Wyrblades.

While not intelligent, Wyrblades were capable of responding to commands that produced special abilities, much like that of an edict type sigil.

Galahad demonstrated one of those now as he charged at Medrauta, swinging his weapon even before she entered his reach and causing a wave of flames to shoot toward her position.

Medrauta leapt into the air, allowing the flames to pass beneath her as she landed just in time to deflect Galahad’s heavy swing, sending his sword crashing into the ground beside her.

Galahad grunted as Medrauta thrust her sword forward, finding an opening as he attempted to recover from the failed attack. Though he was wearing full plate, Medrauta’s attack had been issued with such authority that it had penetrated the armor and pierced through the chainmail underneath, forcing him to retreat as her sword drew blood.

The attack had struck the side of his ribs, and he estimated that the impact alone had broken at least two. Galahad was immensely frustrated, but he knew he could not allow it to show on his face.

Despite having unleashed the full power of Gwenhwyfar’s Crest and brandishing the true form of Galatine that was now wreathed in brilliant crimson flames, the only thing he’d managed to do was push her back and singe a few strands of her hair.

But Galahad knew that this frustration was in part due to his own pride. Had he wanted to, he could have simply sent the flaming swords that hovered around him—the Ignis Fatui—to attack Medrauta’s lady directly.

As fast as she was, there would have been no possible way that Medrauta would be able to defend Viviane against such an attack. Yet, he couldn’t bear to do so. Despite having availed himself to the full arsenal of his sister’s Crest, he still wanted to defeat Medrauta as a knight, not as a pair.

“Just what the hell are you...?” A bead of sweat rolled down Galahad’s cheek. Though he was gradually pushing Medrauta back toward her dais, he certainly didn’t feel like he was winning any of their exchanges.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Medrauta said as she sidestepped two of the flaming swords before stabbing at a third, causing it to disperse. “You’re wounded in at least six different places, but you’re still coming at me like a damn zombie.”

In response, Galahad merely laughed and swung his sword in a wide horizontal arc. Though Medrauta had been out of reach, it wasn’t a problem for him. A crescent wave of flames shot forth from where he swung, shooting toward Medrauta viciously.

It was too wide to evade. Medrauta ducked under it, feeling it pass over her head as she did so. The heat caused her eyes to water and her vision blurred. But it didn’t matter. Her finely tuned senses and uncanny battle instinct told her what the prince would do next.

She rolled to the side just in time as Galahad’s sword slashed down at where she had been standing a mere second ago. The heavy weapon bit deeply into the arena floor and opened a wide gash.

Despite the prince’s quick recovery speed, Medrauta was even faster.

Before Galahad could pull his blade back, Medrauta had already leapt to her feet, the glittering steel of her sword flashing dangerously toward his head.

Normally, he would have simply released one hand from the hilt and blocked the attack with his vambrace, but he had already received more than enough of Medrauta’s attacks to know a maneuver like that wouldn’t be an option.

Shit! Galahad’s mind raced rapidly as he considered his next action. To block the attack would risk fighting the rest of the match without an arm. Of course, he could simply drop his weapon and roll to the side, but he doubted that he’d have the opportunity to regain it if he did.

As mighty as Galatine was, its sheer size hampered his ability to perform such evasive maneuvers without first being in the proper position or retaining his hold on the sword. To attempt a roll while holding it would be nothing short of surrendering as he had no doubt that the lightning-fast Medrauta would never allow him to get back on his feet after a stunt like that.

No. It’ll have to do. I still have the Ignis Fatui. I’ll show you that my strongest is more than enough to face your—

“Galahad August di Kyrrako! Ignis Scutum!” Princess Gwenhwyfar’s voice cracked like a whip as she issued her edict, causing an enormous burst of flames to explode from Galahad’s position, the force of the ignition throwing Medrauta through the air. “Galahad! Just what do you think you’re doing!?”

Her frustration was evident in both her voice and her expression. She had watched her brother’s meaningless exchanges with Medrauta for far too long. Though they had been a spectacle for the crowd to witness, they had ultimately yielded no benefits. In fact, the numerous wounds that Galahad had received as a result of them were no doubt taking a toll on his stamina.

Gwenhwyfar had already known about Medrauta’s inability to resonate beforehand. She knew that her opponents would stand no chance as a pair in the face of her mighty Crest. That was why she couldn’t understand why her brother was having so much difficulty ending what was supposed to be a brief match.

“Need I remind you that this is not a duel? Finish it, Galahad!”

“...Tch. Yes, sister.”

Medrauta staggered to her feet. Her vision swam precipitously, but the armored form of Galahad was not difficult to find in the wide open arena. She couldn’t quite remember what had happened, but she knew that her attack had been unsuccessful.

A mere second before her blade could strike its target, a wreath of flames had surrounded the prince and burst outward, sending her flying back and knocking her to the ground. The blast hadn’t actually done much damage, but it blackened her armor and charred the clothes underneath.

She shook her head, clearing her dizziness as she brushed off minute embers that lingered on her bracers, watching them fall to the ground and disappear.

She breathed in deeply and then exhaled, steeling her nerves. Galahad was advancing. So long as he continued to focus his attention on her, there was still a chance of victory.

The two knights locked eyes, and for a second, there was a moment of understanding between the two.

“Dame Medrauta.”

The silver-haired knight’s lips remained shut.

“I acknowledge your strength. You... have bested me as a swordsman.”

“...I thank you, Your Imperial Highness.”

Galahad raised his sword, but its tip wasn’t pointed toward Medrauta.

“But not as a knight.”

Medrauta’s eyes widened. There was still a good distance between the prince and Viviane. No matter how large Galatine was, there was no possible way that a thrust would reach her.

“Galatine!” Princess Gwenhwyfar’s clarion voice rang with the timbre of authority as it washed over the arena like rays of sunlight. “Regurgitate the sun!”

The prince thrust his greatsword forward at once, a colossal spiral of white-hot flames bursting from its tip in the form of a veritable beam.

It moved unimaginably fast as it scorched toward Viviane, threatening to consume her in the wake of its fury. Yet, there was still one thing that barred its way.

Impossibly, Medrauta had dashed toward the dais where her lady stood and leapt, thrusting herself between Viviane and the beam at the last possible moment to shield her liege with nothing more than her back and her outstretched arms.

Even before the beam of flames had touched Medrauta’s body, she could feel the unbearable heat on her back, singing her hair and burning the nape of her neck. As the beam connected, she felt the hot steel of her half-plate melt through her clothes.

The molten steel wormed its way into her skin as if the pallid flames had given it life. The liquid steel tore through her skin and flesh like parasites made of metal, leaving streams of cauterized wounds in its wake.

She could hold it in no longer.

Medrauta howled in pain.

It was an ear-splitting sound that rang across the whole of the arena, and all those who heard it winced as if they could feel her suffering.

But they couldn’t.

They couldn’t even begin to imagine what Medrauta felt at this moment, while the heat of a thousand suns coursed through her body and seared itself into her back.

Yet still she stood.

Gallantly.

Valiantly.

Uselessly.