The day following Saya’s battle against the hand at the Church of Eudoxia, knights were deployed in full force by order of the Queen.
Despite the lack of physical evidence supporting Saya’s description of her opponent, Viera had little reason to doubt her, especially after witnessing the thin beam of arcane magic for herself.
Soldiers both on and off duty were called to attention. They were ordered to guard the city walls and disperse throughout the streets and alleys in hopes of locating Rias as quickly as possible.
Without Saya’s testimony regarding his current whereabouts, there was no way to determine whether the cultist had fled the city or remained hidden within it.
Atrila, being a relatively well-maintained city, lacked what many would consider “slums.” Those living in poverty were relocated into designated housing districts and supported by established institutions meant to manage such circumstances.
All morning, Hana remained at the nearby barracks, acting in her capacity as captain while issuing search warrants and formal orders. The security lockdown was not limited to the capital, extending to the surrounding cities neighboring Atrila.
Viera’s situation was no different. She was inundated with requests and reports from soldiers, retainers, and concerned vendors.
“Miss Armenta!” a soldier called out.
He was clad from head to toe in heavy steel plate, polished so brightly it was clear the metal had never endured the grit of battle. Sunlight caught along the edges of his pauldrons, casting sharp reflections into the eyes of those nearby.
Every man surrounding Hana wore the same pristine kit. As they shifted, the air filled with the rhythmic, oiled clack of articulated joints and the sharp scent of fresh metal polish. They stood ready to engage at a moment’s notice, stiff with the nervous energy of men carrying a weight they had not yet grown accustomed to.
If anything, the Sword Saint stood out the most. She preferred light armor layered with fabric, unwilling to let excess steel hinder her movement. Her crimson hair stood in stark contrast against the brown of the barracks interior and the silver sheen of polished plate.
“What is it?” Her voice was clear and elevated, fitting of a commander addressing veterans and recruits alike.
“The three divisions we dispatched to the western gates never arrived at their destination.”
“Do we know their whereabouts?”
Hesitation held the Sword Saint back.
“Unfortunately, the squad we sent to investigate also vanished. There were no signs of struggle and no signs of battle.”
“The shopkeepers claim they saw nothing. It’s as if they disappeared into thin air.”
The patterns resembled too closely to the disappearance before the incident at the Kala Magic Academy. People going missing without a trace, with no witnesses and no bodies turning up. The only difference between the two cases being the identities and social roles of the victims.
Before, the targets were those with potential ties to the Mage Tower. Now, the victims were exclusively individuals with combat capability.
“Increase security within the Atrila Grand Academy by tenfold,” Hana ordered.
Even if she personally moved to strike at a suspected infestation, she knew she would likely return empty-handed. But if the cult was targeting fighters, then the students of the magic academy would be logical targets.
If Rias was enhancing himself by consuming bodies, then he would seek magical energy from every viable source.
I’m not failing kids again.
After receiving her orders, the reporting knight hurried out of the command room.
“Captain Garreth,” she called to the decorated man standing across the table. “I’m going to report to Her Majesty. Inform me immediately if anything urgent arises.”
Wind swept around her feet as she sprinted from the barracks. She stepped onto a window ledge, pulled herself upward, and vaulted onto the nearest rooftop.
She ran across the tiles, her boots striking against clay. Each jump between buildings ended in a hard landing that she absorbed through her knees before pushing off again.
Hana rather hated traversing the city in such a manner, as it felt like it put her on such an unnecessary pedestal, but being so pressed on time, she had no choice but to swallow her guilt and push onward.
.
A flood of voices echoed through the vast throne room, each demanding a fragment of the Queen’s attention. Viera had calmed them only moments ago, but the sudden lockdown had driven everyone, from commoners to nobles, into renewed panic.
For nearly the entire day, she had worked to quell her subjects’ anxieties with little success. She allowed herself to sink slightly into her throne, just enough to ease the strain on her rigid back.
“Your Majesty, should we summon the remaining Queensguard to your side?” one voice asked.
“Your Excellency, what hour should we establish for the city-wide, no, nation-wide—curfew?” another pressed.
“Your Highness, we need to have the Guild intervene!” a third demanded.
Though her posture appeared relaxed, not a single question escaped her notice. She straightened once more and addressed the crowd with a firm, measured voice.
“No. Keep the Queensguard stationed in their respective cities. The Sword Saint is here; further reinforcements are unnecessary.”
“Set the curfew to begin at sunset. Shut down all taverns and suspend nightly activities.”
“I have requested the Guild’s assistance. We are awaiting their formal response.”
As she finished addressing the final question, the massive steel doors at the end of the hall swung open. The metal groaned against its hinges, the sound scraping across the high stone walls of the throne room.
“Viera, we have reports that knights are going missing.”
Unlike their previous public exchange, she dropped all formal titles and honorifics, addressing her friend plainly.
Her entrance was immediately met with sour look and disapproval. Though none spoke, their expressions made their thoughts and concerns crystal clear, that the Sword Saint lacked decorum.
Hana cared little of the judging eyes as she shifted her gaze from the gathered officials to the throne.
“Both the guard unit and the scout team dispatched to the West Gate have vanished. There were no signs of struggle. I’ve increased security at the Magic Academy as well.”
Viera and Hana were aligned in thought. It did not surprise Viera that Hana had already acted on the situation, but even if she hadn’t, the Queen’s orders would have been the same.
“Have all knights take higher ground,” Viera said. “If they remain out in the open, we can respond faster to any disappearances.”
Hana gave a short nod and turned to return to the barracks, but a retainer’s voice stopped her mid-step.
“Your Majesty, what are we facing against, exactly?”
It was an obvious question, so obvious that no one had addressed it until now. In the ten years since ascending the throne, she had never enacted a lockdown on this scale. Plus, with the Guild’s presence, few nations had reason to wage war against Fridan.
“Surely, Your Majesty, we are not expending national resources to apprehend a single serial killer?”
Viera did not respond. Her silence served as confirmation, as the chamber erupted into protest.
Commoners pleaded with her not to back down, their voices sharp with fear of whatever was taking people in the streets. Meanwhile, nobles and retainers spoke just as loudly, some nearly shouting, accusing her of draining the nation’s resources for the sake of a single man.
Hana pulled in a sharp breath, her chest swelling as she prepared to shout. But before a word could break, Viera’s palm snapped up.
The gesture was like a silent, flat barrier that seemed to kill the air between them. Hana’s breath hitched, pausing at just the right moment before a single sound could escape from her lips.
“We understand Atrila being on lockdown, but the entire nation?”
Each remark from the elites poured fuel onto the fire. The anger in the room climbed higher and higher, the noise striking the walls in uneven waves until it became one sharp, unified scream that rattled the throne room.
“And so what do you wish for?”
Her voice did not rise. She did not shout, and there was no magical interference.
But her question alone silenced the room.
“If it were your sons and daughters, would you not wish for me to protect them? Would you not wish for me to summon the might of Fridan to guard your future?”
“B-but!” Before the noble could resume, Viera cut him off swiftly.
“You fool. Fridan is what it is because of the children that come after us.”
“It matters not if they are the sons of farmers or the daughter of a duke.”
“Life is precious all the same. Give your life if it means protecting those who have yet to live theirs.”
“If I let down even a single person, then I am unfit to be a ruler, unfit to be a protector.”
“It is not the role of a Queen to make her subjects sacrifice themselves for my own safety. It is the role of the Queen to give her own life, even if it means saving a single commoner, no matter how poor or sickly they may be.”
“If that is something you cannot fathom to accept, then you have no place in Fridan or its people.”
“So-called nobles, if you truly wish to be someone of high status, then show courage fitting that of a leader.”
“Am I clear?”
Hana smiled, then slipped into the shadows as the metallic doors shut behind her.
The commoners and knights released quiet sighs of relief, their fear of being abandoned fading as quickly as it had risen. The retainers who had opposed Viera’s decision dropped to their knees, apologizing for their shortsightedness.
The nobles, however, did not move. Irritation settled over them as they stood rigid, swallowing the insults they did not dare to voice.
Viera leaned slightly to her left and murmured to the maid standing a short distance from the throne. The maid hurried to her side at once, bowing her head to receive the Queen’s command.
“Can you bring Saya Idlansil to the throne room? I would like to-”
At that moment, Viera’s synapses snapped. The air around her shifted from a cool breeze to something sharp, something that pierced.
The people around her remained still, oblivious to the invisible, intangible pressure. But Hana’s skin prickled, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end as a cold shiver ran down her spine.
Her ears began to ring, the high-pitched tone warping into a chorus of endless screeches. The sound felt less like noise and more like a physical vibration, a sharp grinding that echoed inside her skull that blurred her vision.
“Your Majesty?” the maid asked as she cocked her head to her shoulder.
Her body moved on its own, standing up before her audience. But rather than facing the confused faces of those who were urging her attention, her gaze concentrated on the large, circular window before her.
She had built the window so she could have a glamorous view of the city before her, but now it felt like a gateway to uncertain doom.
The world froze. Something was wrong.
A strong sense of anonymity targeted her. She glanced at the nobles she had just scolded. It was true that they held some resentment, but not enough to trigger her bodily alarms to such an extreme.
Her breathing grew more jagged as her legs quietly quaked. It felt like her stomach was being pulled by an iron ball below her. She clenched her jaw and formed her hands into fists, squeezing her nails tightly into her palms.
Something was wrong.
She hadn’t felt this sensation in a while. This was an ability she had mastered throughout the years. Despite having many enemies, this singular technique had saved her time and time again.
The last time she felt it was when she battled the Leviathan. Her hold on the beast had remained steady, as her magical gears hadn’t experienced a staggering fluctuation for her to reach a final conclusion.
“...!”
Her Birthmark flared a cyan-blue color, her light engulfing the entire throne room. The magical gears within her shrieked, a high-pitched metallic whine that vibrated through her teeth and bones.
The ice etched into her arms crawled upward like living glass, the sharp, knife-like edges piercing the fabric of her royal dress. She ignored the stinging numbness, focusing entirely on the weight of the mana she was dragging into existence.
A pinpoint of red and black light pulsed from the peaks of the distant mountains—a dull, bruised color that seemed to suck the light out of the sky around it.
“COME!” she screamed as she lunged her arm forward.
A spear of ice shot from her reach like a bullet, its frozen tip punching through the glass. The window shattered into a cloud of fine dust before the spear halted just beyond the stone casing, flash-freezing into a jagged, circular sculpture.
Before the shield could form, a dark-streaked arrow struck the center. The cursed energy flared, and the structure detonated as black and red lightning shot across the impact point. Shards of ice, some as small as needles, others the size of daggers, hissed through the air.
The remains of Viera’s magic rained down, the sunlight catching the edges of the falling debris. A few knights raised their shields in time to block the barrage of ice, while others were pierced and struck by the projectiles.
Unable to handle the strain on her body, Viera fell to her knees, her retainers sprinting up the short flight of stairs to help her back into her chair.
Screams filled the streets of Atrila as those wandering about rushed back into their homes, some being led by nearby knights.
While the rest of the knights sprang toward their defensive positions in case of an attack, Hana dashed across the city, hoping to catch whoever had fired the cursed shot. It was the same one that had struck her before at Kala, one that had nearly claimed her life. Gritting her teeth, she drew her blades, ready for combat at any moment.
“Sulva!” she roared, the sound of her fury tearing through the city’s panic.