Where the Sword Points

Liam, of the northern town of Hamswell, was a man in his early forties. Like every northern commoner, he dreamt of becoming a knight under the Order of Black Steel in his youth, but his life choices ultimately led him to the life of a coachman. Still, owing to the North’s frequent monster attacks and the nature of his work, Liam was an experienced fighter who could hold his own against low-level monsters.

But his real talent, at least when it comes to fighting, was his ability to run away from hopeless fights; in that regard, he was no regular coachman. In his decade-and-a-half career as a coachman, he had never failed to detect danger in advance and flee from it. Though it would’ve been a disgrace if he was a knight, it was what made him an excellent coachman. Indeed, he prided in his ability, and he charged his passengers accordingly as was the sole coachman that could travel through those dangerous mountains safely.

Until now.

Having just realised that the snow had evolved into a blizzard that diminished his vision, he peeked hard into the white-stained woods. There, eyes that glowed like ember returned his gaze. In a hurry, Liam surveyed his surroundings; wherever he saw, the same, glowing eyes appeared. As the monsters emerged from the hazy whiteness, a chill ran down his spine; a sensation he knew all too well.

…Snow wolves!

Where did they come from? How did they get so close? Why are there so many of them? Liam asked many questions in his mind, but there were no answers. He knew instinctively, however, that the situation was desperate.

A single snow wolf is an annoying, but not difficult, opponent. The fangs and claws of a snow wolf are sharp, but northerners fight faster, stronger, or magic-wielding monsters on a daily basis. With its inability to use magic and monotonous attacks, a single snow wolf was not a serious threat for experienced fighters like Liam.

Two snow wolves would be a different story. When two snow wolves coordinate their attacks, their attacks became more varied and more dangerous. Still, while it would be difficult, it was not impossible for Liam to win, or at least escape unscathed.

But what about a large pack of snow wolves?

There were at least 30 snow wolves hidden in the woods. The wolves had already surrounded the carriage. The weather was severe, the roads were covered in snow, and the visibility was heavily limited. Even if he was alone, Liam would have had a slim chance of survival. Not to mention…

Liam looked at the passenger besides him. A young, beautiful noble lady with silk-like light brown hair and lovely pink eyes, who looked like a blooming flower in a greenhouse. Elegant, beautiful and high up in status, the noble lady probably had a promising future in front of her, with eligible suitors in lines asking for her hand. Or perhaps she did not need suitors. Just like Her Grace, she would one day lead the land to peace and prosperity…

…In any case, she could not die here, Liam thought to himself. He felt guilty: he was paid much more than other coachmen, simply because of his ability to avoid danger. Yet, he failed to detect the wolves and landed his passenger in such a predicament. Liam did not want to die; but he had long accepted that one day he would die on his job, in those familiarly dangerous mountains. But at least, if the young miss could live---

“Miss, get on one of the horses. Ride as far as you can when I give the signal. Don’t even think of looking back.” Liam released the horses from the carriage and grabbed his spear, his hands shaking in the chilling wind.

“I do not recall that I paid for your life.” The young lady replied coldly.

“Listen, miss. Maybe you can use some magic, but whatever they taught you in the south, those things are not something you can---”

It was at that moment Liam felt a warm liquid dropping down from his head.

“Blood?” He panicked for a moment, but soon realised that the blood was not his. In the raging snowstorm, Liam saw bright, pink flashes piercing through the monotonous whiteness. And with each flash, the unrelenting storm was split apart, trees were uprooted and rocks turned to dust. Between the brilliant destruction and the rusty smell of wolf blood, a fierce battle was taking place; and it seems the wolves were losing.

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After only a few minutes, the whines ceased, and someone emerged from the darkness. With the shining pink sword in their hand, the figure was slender and thin, with steps that resembled both a seasoned knight and an elegant noblewoman. Covered in the wolves’ blood, the figure nonetheless had a powerful gaze that left a strong impression. A gaze from those large eyes as pink as her sword, one that seemed to shine through the darkness.

“Miss?” Shocked at the figure in front of him, Liam managed to recognise his saviour as the same as his passenger. “Did you kill all the wolves? And that’s… a sword aura? You were a swordmaster?” Liam babbled, in awe with the fact that the fragile-looking lady was a legendary swordswoman that transcended human limits.

The pink-eyed young lady simply nodded.

“That was amazing! I’ve never seen a swordmaster before. I could have never believed there is such a great warrior in the south, a young lady like you at that!” Liam exclaimed.

“It’s not that amazing. There are other swordmasters in the Kingdom, too. And the North has a fair share of them; Sir Percival, for example...”

“Percival Peltier, the Ice Wall of the Order of Black Steel, and Her Grace’s right hand man? I’ve heard of him and his exploits; they say he’s the best swordsman in the North. But I bet you can give him a run of his money. If you join the Order, I bet you will be a great knight in no time, miss!”

“…I will take that as a compliment.” The pink-eyed lady seemed that she did not want to discuss this any further.

“…I am sorry, milady, I shouldn’t dig into your affairs. I was just too enthusiastic when it comes to knights and the Order, and I didn’t mean to offend you.” Realising his rudeness, Liam apologised. “I wanted to join the Order since I was a kid, just like everyone else in the North. I am just a coachman now, but deep down, I still wished I could wear the Order’s uniform…”

“You must love the Order a lot, then.”

“Of course! They are Her Grace’s sword, and the defender of the North. It’s because of Her Grace and the Order that we got to feed our families and have warm homes in the winter.”

“Her Grace, the Duchess Schwarzregen? It seems you respect her a lot. Could you tell me more?”

“Sure, milady. Let’s get back on the carriage and chat. Oh, and please dry yourself with this towel.” Liam jumped back onto the carriage, and handed the pink-eyed lady a towel. “But thanks to Her Grace, my family---”

In the howling winds, the coachman fondly spoke, and the lady silently listened.

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The North was always loyal to Viola von Schwarzregen.

Not to the Royal family, as it had been at odds with the Kings and Queens of the Kingdom multiple times in history. Not to the late Dukes of Schwarzregen, who commanded respect but never received unconditional loyalty. Not even to the masters of the land, as the people of the North held their head high even against their conquerors. But to Viola von Schwarzregen, the young Villainess of the North, now and in the vanished future.

…Ariel thought, as she silently listened to the coachman’s incessant praise for the young Duchess.

…Yes. The people of the North were always like this, even when their lands were invaded, pillaged, and occupied under Viola’s leadership. The people of the North never lost faith in her; not when she was leading their desperate defence, nor when she was five feet under decades later. The people of the North always held their head high, and no matter how many times they were put down, they always emerged from their burned down houses, their trampled fields, and their ruined cities, defiant. They would gladly sacrifice themselves for Viola’s ideals than to live kneeling at the point of a sword.

My sword, to be exact.

I looked at my hand. The rugged, thick brown gloves I was wearing was soaked in blood, which had already turned dark and then frozen solid in the frigid wind. But snow continued to fall and accumulated on my hand, seemingly seeking to cover up the crimson stains with a pure white and wash away the pungent smell of blood.

A futile endeavour, I thought. No matter how much you cover up the bloodstain with innocent snow, shed blood cannot be taken back… and once your hands are stained by blood, they can easily be stained by blood again. And again.

“…That reminds me, miss. I haven’t thanked you for saving my life yet. I would’ve certainly died to the wolves if you didn’t help me. Thank you.”

I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t find the right words. Instead, I simply nodded silently. The snowstorm had subsided, and our destination was now in sight. A sense of nostalgia and guilt almost overwhelmed me, but I held my head high, just as a northerner would’ve done. I looked into the distance, into the obsidian walls of Schwarzstadt: imposing and intimidating as they ever were, I nonetheless felt a sense of peace.

“…Wait for me, Viola.”

That was the second day of the eleventh month, Year 987 of the Continental Calendar.