The next moment, as Belle looked down in a daze, she saw an arrow pierce her right leg. One of the archers whose swords she’d shattered shouted in anger and fired another arrow. For a second, Belle’s mind failed to register what had just happened to her, before she hurriedly tried to dodge. An arrow skimmed her left shoulder, tearing into flesh. Everything went white. The pain sent Belle tumbling deeper into a frenzy, but some oddly sober part of her marveled that she could still move at all. It whispered uncomfortably in Belle’s heart, asking what had happened to her. But the thundering clashing of swords served to drown out the whisper.
She dragged her leg, her hands drenched in blood, smashing into the underdog Solists charging at her. But at the same time, an enemy sword grazed Belle, tearing her water steel uniform from the top down. She kept defeating her foes, reliably driving herself into danger. There was nowhere to run anymore, no choice but to let rage guide her hand in combat.
Before she knew it, there was an archer in front of her. As he lay in the mud, the man’s eyes were wide open, a mixture of fear and disdain on his features as he waited for Belle to land the finishing blow.
“I’ll kill you!”
A snarl left her lips, a violent curse unlike anything she’d ever heard herself make. The archer’s face twitched with anger and fear, and a person’s features reflected in his pupils—Belle’s own face, ugly and distorted. She looked so hideous in that moment that Belle felt the urge to shatter her reflection. She swung her sword overhead—
But then pain shot through her side. Her sword thrust into the boggy ground right next to the archer in a spectacular splash of mud.
Covered head to toe in mud, Belle stared blankly at the desperate face of the Solist who had run her through with his sword. The blade had been stopped by her uniform’s durable steel threads but still managed to penetrate dangerously deep into Belle’s stomach. Blood dripped down her enemy’s sword, and as it did, she felt the strength leave her body. Disappointment washed over her. She felt stupid ending up like this and let out a self-deprecating chuckle.
The Solist looked terrified. Mustering her strength, Belle swung her sword, crushing the man who had stabbed her and snapping his sword. The archer at her feet curled up, pale in the face. Surrounding them were enraged underdog Solists who were shouting something.
Belle looked around blankly, a hollow laugh spilling from her lips as she swung her sword in every direction. A few of the Solists raced at her with sword in hand. One clashed his sword against hers, only to get knocked down, but as Belle swung at another, her body pitched forward, and her sword swept through the air at an awkward angle.
Her knees had sunk into the mud, and she couldn’t find the energy to raise any part of her body anymore. Her sword was like an inanimate lump of metal, not howling at all. All Belle could feel from it was a sorrowful tremor reaching her hands through its grip.
Belle closed her eyes in grief.
But then as the Solists cautiously approached Belle, swords at the ready, something struck them from the side, crushing them.
“Watch out! It’s the one-eyed archer!” shouted one of the underdog Solists.
Belle lethargically cracked her eyes open, seeing Mist proudly leading her forces, a silver sword in her hand. For a moment, her eyes met Belle’s, and she flashed a sarcastic smile.
“Never thought I’d get the chance to find you looking like this, wild child!”
With that, Mist withdrew her forces and had them move to engage the enemy elsewhere. Belle turned around slowly to see a stemgrass barreling toward her. Sitting on its shell was Guinness, who was shouting at the coach driver, and Benet, who was firing water crystal projectiles in every direction.
“Are you all right, Belle?!” Guinness shouted from atop the stemgrass, his voice alarmed and tense.
He swung his baton, directing the top dog forces to move in from the flanks. Masterfully controlling the flow of battle, he quickly pulled Belle up onto the shell.
“Use sacred ashes on her! hurry!” Guinness shouted at the priest.
“You fool… Going off script and moving the formation like this…”
“We’re still very much on script; now hurry up and treat Belle! Benet, let’s finish this. Use the trap!”
“You got it!”
“Belle, over here.”
Benet aimed his bow in a completely different direction from the battlefield, and then—
The top dog Solists muttered in excitement as an enemy group broke off from the main force and tried to charge at them. Through her fading consciousness, Belle saw Mist and her group use their superior jumping abilities to cover the distance and pressure the stemgrass.
The top dog Solists quickly caught up and tried to fight them off, but Mist slipped through their blades, landing on the carriage atop the stemgrass.
“You’re not getting away this time!” she yelled, swinging her blade at Guinness.
The sound of clashing metal rocked Belle’s eardrums. Sitting in a daze atop the stemgrass’s back, she watched the battle unfold. Guinness’s brand-new baton sword was snapped in half, and Benet promptly nocked his bow. He fired a water crystal projectile at Mist from point-blank range, but Froggies were among the most nimble and agile of races, and she effortlessly evaded the attack. She then held her sword up at Guinness and victoriously declared for all to hear that the top dog’s Conductor had fallen.
“I win this one, Guinness,” Mist said proudly.
Why didn’t they have the stemgrass pull away from the frontlines sooner? Belle thought in frustration.
All they’d done bringing it out to the front lines was make a target of themselves—but then Belle keenly realized they’d done it for her. Belle’s grip on her sword tightened. For a second, she forgot all about her injuries.
Before she knew it, she leaped up into the air. The sacred ashes had only just been applied to her wounds, but it was enough to relieve the pain. Belle jumped over the stemgrass and tried to swing her sword down on Mist from above.