Betrayal

“F-Focus on the battle, Medrauta!” Viviane shouted, flustered.

The witch snapped her fingers.

A sea of black spears blotted out the sky.

The witch stood upon the wooden platform, glaring at Viviane and Medrauta through her crimson mask. Though she hid her surprise, she certainly hadn’t expected such a development to occur.

“You look as though you truly believe you can defeat me.”

Medrauta leveled the point of her sword at the witch in answer.

“You cannot.”

Without even deigning to reply, Medrauta shot through the air toward the witch.

The pitch-black sky fell, countless lances laced with death raining down upon the sole knight that dared challenge their might.

Against that backdrop of pure darkness, Medrauta was a lone spear of silver light. A single ray of hope that dared wander into the abyss.

With the newfound strength that coursed through her body and Viviane’s eternal love that stayed even the scythe of death, Medrauta swung her sword in a wide arc as she waded fearlessly into the spearborne night. An incandescent wave of light burst forth from Medrauta’s blade, swallowing every spear with its overpowering radiance.

As the silver-clad knight landed upon the platform, the witch was forced to retreat at last. She leapt back in anticipation of Medrauta’s next attack, but it never came. Instead, Medrauta simply smirked.

“You’re right. I can’t,” Medrauta admitted.

An arrow pierced through the air as it sped past Medrauta’s shoulder, almost finding its mark on the witch’s head. At the very last moment, the witch had managed to twist to the side and avoid the full brunt of the shot, but the arrow still carved a long gash in the gemstone surface of the witch’s mask.

“But we can,” Viviane’s determined voice carried across the ruined festival grounds with ease, reflecting the strength and resolve she’d acquired. In her once-trembling hands she held Sakura’s moonsteel bow, and by Viviane’s side stood the foreign lady and Riku, her knight. Her golden eyes were fixed directly on the witch now, unwavering just like her love for her knight.

Inspired by Viviane’s newfound courage, Sakura and Riku had managed to reach Viviane’s side in the midst of all the chaos. Though both foreigners still trembled in fear despite Riku’s best attempts to put on a brave front before his lady, they stood defiantly beside Viviane, unwilling to retreat after witnessing the strength of her will.

The witch paused for a moment as she drank in the paradoxical atmosphere. Standing before her was a knight clad in radiant armor as if a veritable beacon of hope. Yet, the air around that knight was heavy with the stench of death. It was only because of the knight’s presence that those weak nobles behind her could even hope to assemble and put on such a futile display, else they would no doubt still be shaking in fear.

The witch couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, a vile and frightening sound that shattered the brief silence as it tore through the air like discordant notes from a mistuned violin. Even when her laughter finally faded, the sound lingered in the ears of all who were unfortunate enough to have heard it.

When she finally recovered, she turned her attention to Medrauta, taking the knight seriously for the first time since she’d arrived. With a wave of her hand, black butterflies materialized in the air and coalesced into a sword blacker than any abyss, its unfathomable darkness seemingly sapping away all light and color around it. She took a stance, and an unfathomably powerful murderous intent washed over all those who still remained in the area.

Medrauta frowned and adjusted her posture, exuding a killing intent that rivaled even that of the witch’s. Though the edges of her blade were dull, the silver light that formed her armor had extended along the length of her sword, sharpening it to an overwhelming degree.

“Do you not fear death, little knight?”

“Death should fear me, witch.”

With that simple exchange, both combatants burst forth in an explosion of motion, their movements impossible to track for anyone present.

Medrauta’s blade moved so quickly that it appeared as nothing more than a whirling wheel of silver, and in contrast, the witch’s sword described a perfect sphere of darkness.

Shockwaves erupted with each clash as both Medrauta and the witch struggled to gain an advantage. Their blades carved songs of death in the air, both of them devoting their full focus to the exchange as they knew even a single mistake would spell defeat. A flurry of silver and black decorated the air, but even after trading blows for several intense minutes, neither Medrauta or the witch had managed to gain any ground against their opponent. it was clear that they were evenly matched.

The witch leapt backward, and so too did Medrauta. Both combatants breathed heavily, but neither allowed their gaze to drift from their opponent.

“...Who are you?” Medrauta growled.

The witch didn’t reply.

Medrauta’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the witch’s every detail. Her breathing, her posture, the way she held her sword and the way she’d attacked and defended. In the span of a second, she analyzed everything she knew about the witch and came to a conclusion.

Ever since she entered Avalyne Academy, Medrauta had never lost a duel. She had fought against fellow knights of the same year and those above. It mattered not to her so long as she was able to put her skills to the test.

It was the same for the matches she’d participated in. Though she had lost two-hundred of them in a row, each loss provided Medrauta with a slew of knowledge, giving her a deep insight into all the knights that she’d fought in both duels and in matches. She had become intimately familiar with the fighting style of knights who could trade blows with her evenly, and this witch was no doubt one of them.

“...We have crossed blades before. I’m sure of it.”

“You are mistaken, little knight. Why would a witch as great as I deign to cross blades with someone as pitiful as you?”

“I know you,” Medrauta said with a frightening clarity.

The witch refrained from uttering even a single word. Instead, she pointed her blade toward Medrauta. Enough talk, she seemed to say. Medrauta was inclined to agree as she readied herself for the next clash. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to get any answers by pressing.

I’ll tear those answers from your throat myself then, Medrauta thought.

“Viviane!” Medrauta called. There was no need to say anything else. Her lady understood her meaning.

Medrauta and the witch stood facing each other in silence, both of them gauging the other’s next move as they waged countless battles against each other within their minds. When one’s arm twitched, the other responded, but neither moved from their spot.

An overwhelming pressure settled over the festival grounds, and it was clear from the look in Medrauta’s sapphire glare that both combatants had decided to settle the match in the next move. Without warning, the knight and the witch lunged at each other, their blades screaming as they cut through the air.

“I grant thee my hollow grace!” Viviane shouted the moment Medrauta began to move. In response, the silver light that suffused Medrauta’s body grew brighter, so much so that it was almost difficult to look directly at her.

“Haaah!” Medrauta gathered all her strength as she thrust her sword at her target, the resulting explosion of force so great that it could’ve been considered a force of nature.

The sheer power of her thrust carved an enormous gash into the campus grounds, destroying all that stood in the way of its rampage. There was absolutely no way anyone who received such an attack would survive. Not even a witch.

But despite all its glory, her attack had missed.

“You...!” The witch growled in fury as she realized that she had been deceived.

Medrauta smirked, an almost arrogant flame of superiority in her eyes as she glared at the witch who now desperately locked her black blade against Medrauta’s silver.

The knight had gambled and won.

Indeed, Medrauta’s attack had missed, but her goal was not for it to strike in the first place. Rather, she had intended for the storm of force that her earth-splitting thrust produced to destroy the crimson mask of her opponent. Had the witch known this, that sword of darkness would no doubt have pierced through Medrauta’s heart instead of being pinned to place as it was now.

Medrauta’s blazing blue eyes stared into the witch’s lone crimson eye that had now been revealed, the passing force of her thrust having shattered the area of the gemstone mask that Viviane’s arrow damaged earlier.

“So you prioritized your identity over victory,” Medrauta mused.

“You would throw away your life for a mere chance at unmasking me?”

Medrauta drove forward now, pushing the witch back and forcing her to retreat from the blade lock as the knight swung her blade in an arc that would have bisected the witch had it connected.

“Of course not.” Medrauta said, touching a hand to her light-wreathed chestplate. “I simply trust in my armor.”

The witch flinched, and a swirl of emotions muddied her eye. She could tell from the knight’s gentle tone that it was not the armor Medrauta donned which possessed her trust, but the one who bestowed that armor upon her.

“Then tremble as I shatter that trust.” The witch intoned.

An enormous swarm of butterflies flowed from beneath the witch’s robes, an amount far greater than ever before. The air filled with the stench of death and decay, and a pool of bubbling black liquid began to form around her feet.

Medrauta needed no further invitation. She leapt backwards immediately, positioning herself between the witch and Viviane. Whatever the witch was about to do, it was on a scale that surpassed everything she’d done before.

The skies darkened precipitously as if the sun itself cowered in fear of the witch’s terrible magic and was hurrying to hide beneath the horizon. The cloudless sky shuddered. Lightning flashed and thunder roared.

The witch raised her empty hand, droves of black butterflies gathering at the tip of her finger. In another second, it would hold death incarnate.

“Perish, little kn—”

Shunk!

An enormous lance of ice shot through the air and tore the witch’s arm off, the force throwing her through the air and dispersing the swarm of black butterflies that had gathered around her. Though the darkness seemed to retreat, the witch remained standing, seemingly unfazed as if she didn’t even register her loss of a limb.

“Dame Eirlys!” Medrauta cried in shock and relief as the senior knight descended onto the battlefield clad in her unique sky-blue plate as if a knight in shining armor who had come to save the day. Next to her was Bradley, another senior knight, and trailing close behind them were their nobles.

Eirlys’ snow-white hair trailed behind her as she dashed straight toward the still-standing witch, brandishing her immense greatsword. “Good job, Medrauta! Lady Viviane! Retreat to the front gates and leave this to the adults! Bradley, get the princess!”

“Gah! Why do I always get the tough jobs!?” Bradley complained as he sighted the princess who was still being held high up in the air by black butterflies that encircled her body.

“We were here when it started, so we’ll be there to finish it!!” Medrauta shouted in reply. Viviane nodded in assent as she nocked an arrow to her bow, ready to support the senior knights.

“At my side then, Medrauta!” Eirlys’ ice-blue eyes showed no signs of hesitation as her heavy greatsword shot forth, lunging straight at the witch’s black heart.

Medrauta dashed forward in tandem, accelerating with incredible speed as she circled around the witch to flank while Viviane’s arrows arced through the sky, shooting down the black butterflies that had begun to gather as the witch appeared to summon spears out of desperation.

Viscous black blood leaked from the witch’s dismembered limb, droplets falling to the ground with a sickening and audible sound. She began to raise her sword, but Eirlys’ greatsword had already reached its mark.

In another second, the witch would be dead.

“...Huh!?”

Dame Eirlys stared at the witch, shocked. Even though her greatsword had surely skewered her target and Medrauta’s still-glowing sword pierced through her chest, the witch still drew breath.

The witch laughed as her blood continued to wet the ground. “Ah... It seems like some troublesome people have shown up. We can’t have that, can we?”

Before either Medrauta or Eirlys could react, a burst of darkness exploded from the witch and blasted them both backwards, rendering them stunned momentarily.

Taking advantage of the knights’ confusion, the witch dispersed into a swarm of black butterflies and flew into the air where the princess was still being held. Despite Bradley’s best attempts, the butterflies simply wouldn’t release Gwenhwyfar.

“H-Hold still, Your Imperial Highness!” Bradley said as he drew his blade. “I’ll cut you free!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the witch clicked her tongue in amusement.

“What!? How did—” Bradley’s question went unfinished as he saw the answer for the witch’s sudden arrival, his gaze falling on Medrauta and Eirlys who stared up at the airborne witch with pure frustration in their eyes.

The witch laughed. “Farewell now, little knight.” With a flick of her fingers, she shot forth a lance of darkness at Bradley.

The senior knight had been holding on to the swarm of black butterflies that surrounded the princess. They had somehow formed a solid ring that he could grip onto after leaping into the air, but the lance that the witch fired forced him to release his hold, causing him to fall from the sky.

Bradley landed with a heavy crash, destroying the wooden platform beneath him. His armor and hardy constitution protected him from the brunt of the fall, but he doubted he could reach the princess again without the added elevation.

With her remaining hand, the witch gestured, causing the butterflies around the princess to drag their still-struggling captive through the air.

“I’ll admit that it was fun, but it seems I’ve overstayed my welcome. Oh, and do aim for the head next time, alright?” The witch laughed as she began flying away with the princess in tow, everyone powerless to do anything but watch.

“What...?” Medrauta’s hand was clenched around the hilt of her sword so tightly that it shook. “You... You kill Trista... You ruin the festival and destroy the academy, and even dare aim your shitty spears at my lady, but now you’re just running away!? Damn it! I won’t let you escape so easily!”

“Medrauta!” Eirlys’ voice was stern, but it fell on deaf ears. Medrauta dashed off, intent on closing this distance between herself and the fleeing witch.

“Haaaaaah!” Medrauta summoned all her might as she gripped the pommel of her sword. She drew her arm back and sent the weapon shooting toward the witch with a mighty throw that caused the very air around her to shake.

The witch drifted to the side, but she was too slow. The sword pierced straight through her shoulder, causing her to falter in mid-air. Though the blow was by no means fatal, it had granted Medrauta a victory, however small.

Krsssh!

Struck by Viviane’s arrow that had quickly followed Medrauta’s sword throw, the witch’s mask shattered completely at last, revealing her face for all to see.

“No...” Viviane murmured.

“You...! How dare you!?” Eirlys screamed, her incandescent rage almost palpable.

Medrauta stared up at the unmasked figure that hovered above them, their crimson eyes showing no trace of remorse. She had known it from the very moment their swords touched. She just didn’t want to believe it.

“...Amelia.”

Amelia stared down at Medrauta, her cold red eyes meeting the knight’s blazing blue at last. The witch didn’t respond. Instead, she simply turned in the air and flew off with the princess with no one to impede her any longer.

Medrauta stood still, staring at Amelia’s back as the witch flew further and further from the academy, her black-cloaked figure soon disappearing under the horizon. After a few moments, she felt Viviane’s hand slip into hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

Her mind was blank save for a single thought.

Why?