“You’re joking,” cursed Ras, seeing one draw its sword. “They’re going to fight us here, in the middle of the city?!”
A Chasseur was not designed with urban warfare in mind. If Ras had to take evasive maneuvers, he could end up causing more damage than the fiends he was trying to protect the city from in the first place.
“Stop!” yelled Ras over the public comms. “There are civilians here!”
“So there are,” replied the enemy jockey, “but they are not my kinsmen.”
Ras was surprised enough that the enemy had deigned to respond, but what shocked him more was the callousness of the reply. Ras couldn’t feel a whit of hesitation in the man’s voice.
“Hilbert Farias, I presume?”
“You’ve heard of me? That gray-haired gentleman—I knew he was an Argyllian spy,” the enemy jockey spat.
He had invited the imperial spies into his own mistress’s home and handed them the information they required on a silver platter. Thanks to that, Argyll learned of Registan’s involvement in this plot, and as a result were allowed to militarily intervene, ultimately slaying almost half of Registan’s carefully prepared fiends.
Hilbert’s blunder could cost his side the war, and he knew it. That was why he had come ready to make amends.
“That jet-black Chasseur,” muttered Hilbert. “So you are Argyll’s dragonslayer.”
The Registanian Chasseur was equipped with a two-core engine. Powerful for a custom model, but nowhere near enough to compete with Vildhjärta. However, Hilbert was using the city’s civilians as human shields. The buildings had not yet been completely evacuated, and if Ras fought using the Vildhjärta’s full strength, it would damage them as well.
“Why do you hesitate, Ras Talion? There is no value in protecting those who cannot fight. This is war, and war is no place for the weak.”
“It wouldn’t have to be this way if you just minded your own business!”
The bronze Chasseur came at Ras, who tried to dodge as best he could while staying in one place. That wasn’t too difficult, as the Vildhjärta’s specs far outclassed its opponent’s, but it was impossible for Ras to fight back, and the longer the fight dragged on, the riskier Ras’s position became. There were still plenty of fiends running around, and on top of that, the enemy Chasseurs had the advantage in terms of numbers.
Ras was busy fending off Hilbert’s attacks when the jockey spoke.
“You are skilled, dragonslayer of Argyll, I’ll give you that,” he said, “but as we speak, my men are concentrating on bringing down your master. How long will the Little Lion of Argyll last against three of the Arsinoe?”
“Is that the name of your new Chasseur? I’m impressed; it doesn’t feel like fighting a standard-issue model at all.”
Ras briefly wished he had possessed one of these in his duel with Hunlahan. He and Fiarca would have had no trouble taking on any other model in their customs, but the Arsinoe was a cut above.
Fiarca had to worry about collateral damage, just like Ras did. Plus, Tishna was in the cockpit with her. It wasn’t an easy task, even for a jockey of her level.
“But do you really think three is going to be enough?”
“What?”
Ras’s words didn’t sound like a bluff, and Hilbert reacted with confusion. That confusion turned to shock when he heard the roar of a new Chasseur joining the fray. A unit with navy blue and silver markings was deftly sprinting down the narrow streets of Barlama.
With sublime footwork, the Chasseur closed in on its foe, one of the three Arsinoe models harassing Fiarca’s unit. The rapier in its grip skewered the enemy’s frame, disabling it immediately.
“Pardon my tardiness, Your Highness.”
The Iorii, treasured custom Chasseur of the Aluarche house, stepped before its mistress, defending the snow-white Chasseur from further aggression.
“Not at all. That was good timing, Kanalayka.”
Fiarca fired another attack at one of the remaining Arsinoes while it was still reeling from the loss of its ally. The technique was called Ice Blast, and while it was only third-level, it more than made up for its lack of power with peerless casting speed and precision. Fiarca’s attack struck the unit clean in the cockpit, causing it to topple over, while Kanalayka cut down the remaining foe with her sword. In less than ten seconds, it was all over.
Meanwhile, Hilbert noticed that some of the fiends were acting afraid. A battalion of Chasseurs had climbed the city walls and were beginning to thin the herd.
“Argyllian reinforcements? Impossible! How did they get here so fast?”
Not even fifteen minutes had passed since the fiends awoke. That wasn’t enough time for the imperial Chasseurs to make it to the city, even if they reacted immediately—not unless somebody knew about the attack in advance.
“There’s nothing fast about it,” Ras answered. “This day’s been a long time coming. Five years coming, in fact.”
Hilbert’s panic affected his sword strokes, allowing Ras to push him back with a strong parry. Vildhjärta’s horsepower far outstripped that of the Arsinoe, and Hilbert had no choice but to step back in retreat.
That was the moment Ras had been waiting for. While parrying Hilbert’s blows, he had been making miniscule adjustments to his positioning, and right now, the Arsinoe was lined up perfectly with what was behind it.
“You said that the weak weren’t worth protecting, Hilbert, but you’re wrong. It’s one of this country’s people that saw through your plans—a powerless princess with no skill in weapons or auramancy at all.”
“What—what a ridiculous lie!”
“But while I’m here, allow me to pay you back on Valdemar’s behalf!”
“It’s futile, Ras Talion!”
Finally given the opportunity to riposte, Ras moved in for a close-quarters strike. That, however, was precisely what Hilbert had been waiting for. He knew that if Ras wanted to keep damage to the city to a minimum, a close brawl was his only option, and Hilbert had a trick up his sleeve for that occasion. He possessed an Over Art capable of intercepting any blow, shattering the opponent’s sword with his bare hands. Hilbert was confident that with it, he could defeat any foe, even a custom Chasseur.
But what happened next threw his expectations into disarray. Right after Ras moved into close range, he activated an Over Art of his own.
“What?! Are you out of your mind?!”
Hilbert couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ras had activated Valdemar’s signature move, Dancing Blades.
While it wasn’t as strong as the Black Arts, with all the Vildhjärta’s power behind it, there was no doubt it could annihilate Hilbert’s standard-issue unit—along with every civilian building in a hundred-meter radius.
Before Hilbert’s technique could land, Ras sliced the Arsinoe in half with such force that the excess power became blades of light that rushed straight ahead.
However, those blades did not damage a single building for the simple reason that, at that precise moment, a large fiend happened to be behind the Arsinoe. The beast was struck by the blades, and before it even knew what had hit it, it was on the ground, twitching in pain.
Hilbert watched the entire unbelievable sight from the cockpit of his ruined Chasseur, and his bloodstained face grew taut with rage.
“Impossible… You used the fiend as a shield to protect the city!”
But Ras was no longer listening. With Hilbert incapacitated, he immediately turned his attention to the remaining fiends. Working in sync with the Argyllian reinforcements, it wasn’t long before Ras managed to exterminate every last one. And so the Registanian sabotage that had once reduced Barlama to ash was stopped before dawn had fully broken.
For many of the townsfolk, their most terrifying memory was that of the pitch-black Chasseur leaping across the waterways, gleefully cutting down any fiend in its path. Stories turned to legends, and for a while afterward, parents would chastise unruly children by telling them the Black Stallion would come for their heads.
Ras, however, would remain blissfully ignorant of all of this.