The old emperor sat on his throne, cold-smiling nobles lining both sides of the red carpet. Marie Quatre’s mother, Claudette, was nowhere to be seen.
Marie’s crimson hair flowed down her shoulders like a magnificent waterfall as she lowered her head.
“Long live the emperor.”
“......”
Liam XV returned only a nod. The grand chamberlain unfurled the decree and read it aloud in the name of the emperor.
Regardless of the fact she was still a minor, Marie Quatre was appointed to take command of the Beilschmidt border regiment.
Snickers broke out among the nobles. No one who knew the princess’s true mind was in attendance.
After the chamberlain stood down, the old emperor softly asked:
“...Do you desire a parting gift?”
It was customary to ask as such whenever a blood relative left the capital and, as per tradition, the expected response was, “Your majesty, your words alone are more than I deserve.” However, Marie Quatre puffed out her chest to the contrary.
“Please bestow upon me the sword of L’Empereur Flamme!” she declared.
The hall was quickly astir with outrage, the nobles directing blatant eyes of disgust in her direction. Words of disdain flickered through the air, backbiting her as a ‘panhandler’ and an ‘impudent wretch.’
The emperor, however, thought over her request.
“...The first emperor had seven swords. As you are my fourth child, I shall lend you his fourth sword. When you someday return to the capital, you are to return it to the treasury.”
The fourth treasured blade. The soldiers carted in a double-edged sword of absurd proportions—it was the Grand Tonnerre Quatre (The Emperor’s Thunder IV). The massive sword was made to complement the first emperor’s imposing height, putting it at 26 palms (192 cm) long.
While Marie Quatre was indeed on the tall side for a girl, this slight advantage was rendered meaningless before such a comical piece; to call the treasured sword bulky would be a severe understatement.
Vulgar sneers rained down from the nobles. Surely the princess would pathetically decline upon seeing she was unable to carry the sword—a great many could picture the sight.
The girl bowed. Gripping the large sword’s hilt in her right hand, she supported its sheathed body with her left.
“I will graciously... borrow it...!”
Marie Quatre braced her whole body. The marble floor creaked and grated below her as she raised the sword.
The laughs that had suffused the room just moments ago faded into silent awe.
The princess carried in hand a massive sword taller than she was.
“...I accept the burden of my appointment.”
She gave the old emperor another deep bow, rising to the cold expression of Second Prince Latrielle and the scornful glare of the empress.
One can only guess what crossed Marie Quatre’s head at the time. She turned on her heels and left the silenced throne room behind her.
✧ ✧ ✧
“—And that’s about it. How’s that for a story?”
The blizzard pummeled against the canopy. No sooner had Regis wrapped up his tale than did Altina intervene.
“Hold on a second.”
“Yes?”
“Just what part of that did the Arrow-Sparrow Princess nickname come from!?”
“Oh, that. The princess wears her massive sword on her waist, doesn’t she?”
“What’s strange about that? How else would she wear it? A sword that long would drag along the floor if she tried to wear it on her back.”
“So you’ve seen it? Does she wear it like that at Fort Sierck, too?”
“Ahem. Well, yes... I’ve definitely seen it before.”
“Then try picturing it. When the peasants and soldiers see small Marie Quatre wearing her massive sword at her hip, they liken her to a poor sparrow speared by an arrow.”
“What!?”
Altina froze with her eyes open wide.
“Up to that point, rumors had focused on her beauty alone. After all, she rarely appeared before the people so there were no other noteworthy anecdotes. But it looks like the new nickname has overshadowed all previous praise. I must admit, I’ve never actually seen her—I was away on the battlefield when this all started.”
“Grr...”
“Are you okay? Your shoulders are trembling... Here, I’ll give you some more of the blanket.”
“That’s not necessary! And I’m fine! What reason would I have not to be!?”
“Please keep it a secret from her. The last thing I’d want is for her to hate me as soon as I arrive.”
“At ease, soldier. She isn’t so immature as to hate someone over the mere mention of a rumor.”
Regis shrugged.
“I hope so... Right, are you hungry? You haven’t had lunch, have you?”
“What have you got?”
“I was planning to eat as I read, so I left myself some bread...”
He opened his leather bag and brushed aside his sword. It took some searching but eventually, out came a hard-baked roll of bread.
“...Though what I’d really like right now is a spot of warm milk.”
“So you’ll share some with me?”
“I’ve already told you my principles. But I won’t force you to eat if you don’t want to.”
“...I want some.”
Regis smiled, tore the roll in two and handed one half to Altina.
“Here.”
“Thank you... Smiles come in all sorts,” Altina muttered, staring at her half-loaf of bread.
“What are you talking about?” Regis swallowed down a bite before asking.
“...I’ve seen many smiles a lot colder than yours.”
“Hm? Where might that be?”
“The court.”
Altina stuck her teeth deep into the crust.
At that moment, the horse brayed. It was sharp, pressing, like a cry for help. The duo swiftly poked their heads out of the tarp, looking toward the driver’s seat.
“W-What is it...?”
“Over there!”
Altina pointed in front of the cart, beyond the rattling forelegs of the horse.
Black shadows in the snow. Their yellow eyes gleamed in the dark. Five mouths, their sharp teeth stained with blood.
Regis felt as if a demon had seized his heart.
“...Wolves.”
“Gray wolves.”
“F-Fire... We need to throw a torch. Uh... Do you have a tinderbox!?”
“Calm down, Regis! If I had one, do you not think I would’ve mentioned it sooner?”
“Erk... Right.”
“Our horse is in danger unless we do something.”
“And we’re surely next in line... Gnn...!”
Regis withdrew into the covered wagon. He grabbed the sword he’d tossed aside, let out a sharp exhale and raced out the back of the cart.
Altina took a long hard look at him and sighed.
“So much for protecting the citizens...”
No matter what stuck-up words had escaped his mouth before, it was another story entirely once one’s life was on the line. Altina knew this all too well. So he’s just like the rest of them, she thought.
But Regis didn’t run away. Instead, he circled around in front of the cart.
He picked out the largest of the five gray wolves and directed his sword at it.
“Gnn...!!”
“W-What do you think you’re doing!? Gray wolves are vicious beasts! Even a knight would have trouble facing one head-on!”
“I know, but I don’t have any other options!”
Regis’s sword hand was likely not shaking from the cold alone. His stance was on the level of an amateur—no, even worse than that. His back was stooped, his hips weak; he looked as though he would keel over backward at any moment.
Even a child playing pretend would have adopted a more confident stance.
Altina held her head in her hands.
“Can you really win like that!?”
“Haha... I don’t mean to brag but, when it comes to sparring, I’ve never won once in my entire life.”
“You really aren’t bragging!”
“Altina, now’s your chance to escape. Take the horse and force it to run. You’ll both be wolf feed otherwise.”
“Are you serious!? You’re going to die!” Her yell approached a panicked shriek.
Regis smiled. It wasn’t an attempt to put her at ease, nor was it indicative of some miraculous trick he had up his sleeve. No, the smile had come to him naturally. He didn’t know why, either.
“That may be so... But to surrender my principles would be a fate worse than death.”
“...!?” Altina swallowed her breath.
Even Regis found it a mystery. Why was he smiling in the face of certain death? Was he deriding his own idiocy? No, that was far too pessimistic. With no other explanation, he tentatively accepted it as one last, inconsequential victory for holding true to his beliefs in a time of such desperation.
“I’m sure I... can buy you some time. A wolf will not carelessly attack a foe that stands his ground. It’ll discern the opponent’s strength first, and only approach once convinced of victory... H-Huh? Wait, are they approaching me already!?”
“Indeed. Your stance does look terribly weak.” Altina’s voice was now cheery for some reason, almost as if she was on the verge of a giggle.
The largest gray wolf approached. Its fang-lined mouth crept open, followed by a low growl.
While the wolf was still out of reach, Regis swung his sword to intimidate it.
“H-Hyah!!”
His body was dragged along with the weight of the sword. Its tip smashed into the ground; at the same time, a dull metallic thud sounded as the cross guard smacked into his own left knee.
“......!?”
“Thank you, Regis... You have accomplished your duty. You have saved Altina the coachman.”
“Huh?” He turned to a delighted voice.
Altina’s crimson eyes glistened as she began to drag something silver out from the covered wagon. Whatever it was, it let off a dazzling radiance even against the darkness of the blizzard.
Pushing aside wood and brick, the girl’s slender arm finally pulled out what was hidden beneath.
It rattled. It clanked. The gentle hum of drawn metal punctuated the cold air.
Something impossible was happening. Something incomprehensible was happening.
It was heavy, thick, long and huge.
It was massive. Far too massive. So oversized that, despite its tell-tale shape, it took a second for Regis to truly grasp what the object was supposed to be.
Its full length had just barely allowed it to sit in the wagon—a clump of metal surely too heavy for any human to swing. Yet despite its size, there wasn’t a blemish to be found on its well-honed blade.
Indeed, the sword’s edge reflected like a mirror.
“...Grand Tonnerre Quatre.” Regis’s lips trembled as his words carried past them.
Altina’s right hand hoisted the sword of conquerors.
The wind stirred up her robe, making it flow behind her like the mantle of a king. She combed aside her blazing red hair with her left hand.