“Hey, partner.” In front of the gates stood a group of about ten men in chain mail cloaks. They sat atop horses in full battle gear, and Dill knew each of them well. He was briefly struck by how few men were actually gathered there.
“...Are we leaving some members of the brigade in Vulcan?”
“No, we aren’t. Everyone who isn’t here died yesterday,” answered Halberd, whose burns from the electric shocks he had received could be glimpsed in the gaps between the bandages on his body.
“Normally, the first thing you’d say is ‘Are you really coming with me?!’ or something like that, wouldn’t you?” The poet Rick, who laughed after he spoke, had his right eye obscured by an eye patch.
“I suppose that’s true... What do you think, General?” Dill looked up at the giant with a wry smile. Halberd threw his head back and laughed.
“It’s like I always say—for those who are fated to die, the best course of action is to meet one’s end in battle, with honor. We’re all going to die one day, after all. That being the case, this first-rate prey—the revived hero, Prodotis—cannot be passed over.”
“I’m glad you’re so straightforward. It means I can always count on you. Well, how about the rest of you?”
“Do not worry. It looks like we’ll be well compensated.” The superhuman priest, Mace, who had managed to survive the previous night’s battle, smiled while flexing his biceps.
“Master. I’m coming too,” came a voice from behind Dill. “Without Orestes, do you really think you can win against the legendary hero?” As Sid came into view, Dill looked at him with a complex expression. The boy was well prepared for the journey. Could he really have done all that himself in this brief window of time? It seemed impossible.
After being woken up by Dill and Cirulia’s argument, Sid had headed after Dill and had probably exchanged a few words with Cirulia...then he had asked for her help and prepared. In the end, what had Cirulia been thinking?
Dill closed his rust-colored eyes as everyone awaited his words. When he opened them, he began to speak with the air of an actor taking the stage. “First of all, I am pleased to have so many of my brothers in arms rise up to join this battle against the famed Prodotis, whose name causes even the mightiest soldiers to tremble where they stand. However, it will be difficult for everyone gathered here to return alive to walk upon the land of Vulcan again. Even if the Ex Machina, who dwell in heaven, should join forces with us, we will not be able to avoid an arduous battle. But I’ll spare you a tedious speech—after all, no one amongst you will cower in fear, no matter how long a list of threats I give you.”
Dill looked at each of his comrades’ faces in turn. None of them averted their eyes. The adjutant, Hathaway, nodded forcefully in response, clearly deep in thought.
“Nice. This is definitely gonna be like one of the epics,” teased Rick. Dill answered him with a smile.
“...That’s about the shape of it. Let’s go...and let’s die. Or else survive to bathe in the sunlight, and one day far from now, look back on what happened today and reminisce. Those of us who are fated to die spend our whole lives awash with suffering. Saying that, we have faced such hardships in the past—and we persevered.” The Brigade of the Eagle silently set off, with no one to bid them farewell.
On horseback, they descended the slopes of Vulcan, a city which remained seemingly deserted even though they had fought so hard to save it. All who dwelt there were still sleeping, exhausted by recent events. The mercenaries passed through the open gates of the fortress, kicking up a narrow plume of dust in the Crater of Vulcan, before leaving the city far behind.
When the mercenaries reached the edge of the crater, they suddenly became aware of a gloomy man wearing a hood and surrounded by mist, standing on the gentle slope behind them. His name was Foghorn, and he was the last of the six Project Managers.
From the depths of the mist sounded the muffled exhausts of several engines. A number of unadorned vehicles made of steel passed by the Manager known as Foghorn. They were all headed in the same direction as the Halberd Brigade, who had already passed by. After watching the throng of over twenty vehicles depart, Foghorn deactivated his Skill. He was standing by a respawn point the Reincarnators had built surreptitiously by the crater as a forward base for attacking Vulcan, whose true purpose he had kept shrouded in the mist.