The attack came without warning.
Ayanokoji was in the training yard when the first explosion rocked the mansion.
He felt the shockwave through his feet, heard the screams of servants and the clash of steel.
His body moved before his mind caught up, sprinting toward the source of the chaos.
The mansion’s front gate was in flames.
Cultists in dark robes swarmed through the breach, their weapons gleaming in the firelight.
The guards were fighting back, but they were outnumbered and overwhelmed.
They’ve come for Emilia, Ayanokoji realized.
This is the retaliation for Arlam.
He didn’t hesitate.
Grabbing a fallen sword from a dead guard, he threw himself into the fray.
His movements were precise, efficient—each strike calculated to kill or disable with maximum speed.
A Cultist lunged at him with a spear.
Ayanokoji sidestepped, grabbed the shaft, and used the man’s momentum to drive him into the ground.
A second Cultist attacked from behind; Ayanokoji spun, his sword finding the man’s throat.
He moved through the chaos like a phantom, cutting down enemies with cold precision.
But the Cult kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless.
“Ayanokoji-kun!” Rem’s voice cut through the noise.
She was fighting near the mansion’s entrance, her morning star painting arcs of death.
“They’re heading for Lady Emilia’s chambers!”
Ayanokoji’s blood ran cold.
He turned and sprinted toward the mansion, his legs pumping with desperate speed.
The Cultists tried to stop him, but he was too fast, too focused.
He cut through them like a scythe through wheat.
He reached Emilia’s chambers just as the door was kicked open.
Three Cultists were inside, their weapons raised.
Emilia stood at the far end of the room, her hands glowing with magical energy.
Puck floated in front of her, his tiny form radiating power.
“Stay back!” Puck shouted.
“I’ll handle this!”
The Cultists charged.
Puck’s body erupted with light, and the room was filled with the sound of shattering ice.
When the light faded, the Cultists were frozen solid, their faces locked in expressions of shock.
Ayanokoji lowered his sword, his chest heaving.
“Are you hurt?”
Emilia shook her head, her face pale.
“I’m fine.
But the mansion—”
We need to get you to safety.”
Puck floated over, his expression grim.
“The Cult knew exactly where to find us.
This isn’t a random attack.
They have inside information.”
Ayanokoji’s mind raced.
An inside informant would explain how the Cult had bypassed the mansion’s defenses, how they had known Emilia’s exact location.
It was a troubling thought, but one he would deal with later.
“First, survival,” he said.
“Then we find the traitor.”
They made their way through the mansion, fighting off Cultists at every turn.
Rem joined them, her morning star dripping with blood.
Ram appeared as well, her expression cold and focused despite the chaos.
“The Cult has surrounded the mansion,” Ram reported.
“They’re trying to cut off all escape routes.”
“Then we fight our way out,” Ayanokoji said.
“Rem, you take point.
Ram, protect Emilia’s flank.
Puck, stay close to her.
I’ll cover the rear.”
They moved as a unit, cutting through the Cult’s lines with brutal efficiency.
Ayanokoji’s sword was a blur, his movements honed by years of training.
The Cultists were fanatics, but they were also amateurs—their attacks were wild, undisciplined.
Against trained warriors like Rem and Ram, they stood little chance.
But the Cult had numbers, and they had Mabeasts.
As the group fought their way toward the forest, Ayanokoji heard the howling of wolves—the same creatures they had faced at Arlam.
“They’ve brought Wolgram,” Rem said, her voice tight.
“We can’t outrun them.”
“Then we don’t run,” Ayanokoji replied.
“We make a stand.”
They chose their ground carefully—a narrow defile between two rocky outcroppings that would limit the Mabeasts’ ability to surround them.
Ram and Rem took up positions at the front, their weapons ready.
Puck floated above Emilia, his tiny body crackling with magical energy.
The first wave of Cultists broke against their defenses like water against stone.
Rem’s morning star crushed skulls, while Ram’s magic—wind blades that sliced through flesh and bone—cut down anyone who got too close.
Ayanokoji moved between them, filling gaps and finishing off the wounded.
But the Mabeasts were different.
The Wolgram attacked in coordinated packs, their movements faster and more intelligent than the Cultists.
They probed the group’s defenses, looking for weaknesses.
The creature’s body flew backward, crashing into the rocks.
More came.
Ayanokoji found himself fighting side by side with Rem, their movements synchronized despite never having trained together.
She would create openings, and he would exploit them.
He would draw attacks, and she would counter.
It was beautiful, in a brutal sort of way.
Two warriors moving as one, their skills complementing each other perfectly.
But even their combined prowess couldn’t hold forever.
The Cult’s numbers were overwhelming, and the Mabeasts were relentless.
Ayanokoji felt his strength beginning to flag, his movements slowing.
We can’t win this, he realized.
There are too many of them.
Then, just as hope seemed lost, a new sound cut through the chaos: the thunder of hooves and the clash of steel.
A column of soldiers appeared at the edge of the forest, their banners bearing the crest of the Karsten house.
Crusch Karsten had arrived.
Her forces crashed into the Cult’s flank, shattering their formation.
The Cultists, caught between two fronts, broke and ran.
The Mabeasts, their masters fleeing, melted back into the forest.
Ayanokoji lowered his sword, his body aching with exhaustion.
Crusch rode up to them, her expression grim.
“You’re lucky we were in the area,” she said.
“We received word of the attack and came as quickly as we could.”
“Your timing is appreciated,” Ayanokoji replied.
“Another few minutes and we might not have survived.”
Crusch’s eyes swept over the group, assessing their condition.
“You fought well.
The Cult underestimated you.”
“They won’t make that mistake again.”
Crusch nodded, her expression thoughtful.
“No, they won’t.
Which means you need to be better prepared next time.”
The implication was clear: Crusch had saved them, but she expected something in return.
A favor, an alliance, or at the very least, acknowledgment of the debt.
“Lady Emilia is grateful for your assistance,” Ayanokoji said carefully.
“We will not forget this.”
Crusch smiled, a thin, calculating expression.
“I’m sure you won’t.”
The battle was over, but the war was just beginning.