The melody of blades. The song of war. It could be heard all across the city. It was the anthem of a man who refused to stay down, no matter how many times he was beaten.
It rattled eardrums and shook the air. Atop Guild HQ, Raul couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The noise coming from Central Park…it’s started up again!” he cried, the blood returning to his face.
“Ottar still stands…” agreed Finn. “The battle’s not over yet!”
Clenching a fist as if he could physically secure his victory, the prum hero handed down his orders to a Loki Familia aide standing nearby.
“Raise the flag!” he yelled. “Rally the strongholds! Let this cry fuel the flames of war!”
The subordinate ran to the flag of the trickster god, raising it high and waving it for all to see. Before long, the other strongholds responded in kind, flying their colors from the parapets.
Over at the home of Ganesha Familia, their patron god saw the signal and bellowed with pride.
“It’s Warlord! He has not fallen!”
Shakti commandeered this reversal of fortune to rally her struggling allies.
“Stand up! Listen to that chime! Orario will not fall while that bell tolls! Add your voices to the chorus!”
“Raaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
The adventurers’ cries shook the earth, transmitting their willpower across the city. Loki, Freya, Ganesha—all of Orario’s top factions took to the frontlines to howl in the face of adversity.
These were the cries of the weak—of those who strove for ever-greater heights. Wild beasts yearning for their time in the sun. Even those who could not fight could sing, could aid, could bolster, could heal. For justice dwelled within each and every one of them—a powerful light to burn the darkness away.
With the song of war to lead them, they drew their swords, raised their shields, and gripped their staffs.
“Graaaaaaahhh!”
“Stop it, Bete, you’ll die!!”
“Like hell I will!! You think I got any business dyin’ out here?!”
Ignoring Selenia’s cries, the gray wolf allowed the beat of the boar man’s war drums to flow through him, driving him on while the weak kneeled, subdued, behind him. Seeing him fight so hard in the flames of self-destruction irritated a certain follower of Ishtar standing nearby.
“Samira! Izaila! Don’t let that beastman’s group outdo us!!”
“Ge-ge-ge-ge-geh! Stop right there, uglies!”
“Whoa! It’s the toad!”
The sound of Aisha’s sword, Phryne’s charge, and Samira’s wild blows all combined into the song of the Berbera, laying waste to any monsters that stood in their way.
Meanwhile, a horde of magic swordfighters attacked a lone group in unison.
“Four o’clock! Attack incoming!”
“Filvis! Watch our backs!”
“Dio Grail!”
The proud elf’s chant produced a barrier to protect her friends. As the fires beat against it, the barrier creaked and groaned, but held firm.
“Ersuisu! Hurry! Run, run, run!!”
“Shut up! I’m the one who has to carry you! Just chant already!”
“In the name of all that is holy—I heal you! Dia Frater!!”
With Nahza handling all her other functions, Amid sat atop the animal girl’s shoulders, casting her spells.
“Captain Tsubaki! Don’t do it! Those spirit warriors’ll grind you into paste!”
“If Freya Familia falls, we all fall! So fight! Kill! Any man or woman who holds back is an embarrassment to their craft!”
Tsubaki ignored her underling’s cries, flying into battle with a sword in each hand and her whole body red with blood.
“Isn’t that right, Mia?!”
The dwarven proprietress swung her shovel, taking out not just a deep level monster, but also two spirit warriors in a single blow.
“You really need to ask? It don’t matter whether you’re an adventurer or a blacksmith, all that counts is you’re the last one standing!! So give him a good kick in the rear, boar boy!!” she yelled toward Central Park.
Spirits were burning. The city was on fire. The cries of adventurers, the verses of mages and healers, the hammer-song of blacksmiths—they all combined into a flaming inferno capable of banishing the darkness from every corner. All directed their voices toward the center of the city, where two great men warred. The people grasped at victory, just as that boar did.
“Look, Ouranos… This is the city of heroes.”
Fels paused amid his tireless errands and looked out over the city. Listened to its wild yet noble voice. And, lacking eyes with which to cry, chose to add his own voice to the cacophony.
“So will it ever be, even now that Zeus and Hera are gone!”
The city believed in heroes. It believed in the lights that lay beyond ash-gray skies. Its people combined their strengths, their skills, their wisdom, and their magic, to ensure that good triumphed over evil.
Asfi, on the verge of exhaustion, heard the cries of the city, and a flame lit anew in her heart.
“Falgar! Move our front lines forward!!”
She leaped at the monsters attacking her allies, thrust her dagger, and bathed in their ash. Wiping it, as well as her own blood, with her arm, she did what needed to be done.
“We can’t waste this flame Warlord has lit! When it goes out, our city falls!”
“Grh… Understood! Move out!!”
Willing his battered body to move once more, Falgar did what needed to be done.
Over in the casino area, the city’s song breathed new life into the war zone. Adventurers were a wild breed; people who spent all their time in an underground labyrinth infested with hideous creatures. It hardly came as a surprise that they had determination and drive. Nobody knew more about surpassing one’s limits than they.
To the Evils, however, this mysterious resurgence was a terrifying mystery. The adventurers’ pluck threw their commanders for a loop.
“Curse you, adventurers!”
“Don’t they ever run out of strength?!”
After the deep-level monsters had begun to turn the tide of battle, now it seemed as though the adventurers stood a chance again.
The fight for the Labyrinth City was not yet over.
The song of battle went on for many more verses yet.
“What’s Zald doing in there?” snarled Valletta, watching the adventurer’s flags go up across the five strongholds. “Why does it take so long to kill one boar?! ’Cause of him, Orario’s gettin’ ideas again!”
It could not be said that Arachnia underestimated her foe. Orario had earned its name as the center of the world, and Valletta knew that better than anyone. She knew she had to curb this spike in enemy morale before it was too late, and so she turned to her subordinate and gave her next orders.