章 1: The Angel of No Mercy
In a quiet village, hidden deep within a mountain valley, a little girl sat outside playing in the yard. She clutched two dolls in her hands, her favorite one modeled after the Angel of Mercy. The doll had white hair that shimmered in the afternoon sun, glowing white eyes, and was adorned in white and gold armor, the details artfully crafted. Its bird-like wings were spread wide as if caught in mid-flight, and around its neck hung a miniature golden necklace with five tiny, glowing white stones. In her hand, the doll held a clear yellow plastic sword.
The girl pitted the Angel against her other toy, a black demon doll with sharp horns and claws wearing a red cape. She made dramatic swooshing sounds, imagining a fierce battle unfolding.
"The Angel of Mercy defeats all demons!" she declared triumphantly, knocking the black demon doll over with a swift motion.
Her mother's voice broke through the air, soft but firm, "Emily, come inside now, it's time for supper."
Reluctantly, the girl placed her toys down on the ground and ran towards the cottage. The small home smelled of stew, the warm, savory aroma drifting from the hearth. Her father and two younger brothers were already seated at the wooden table. The table itself was simple but sturdy, made of well-worn wood that told of many meals shared there.
As the youngest brother, barely three, reached for a piece of bread, their father stopped him with a gentle but stern hand. "We need to pray first," he reminded, bowing his head.
The family followed suit as the father began the prayer. "Great Creator, we give thanks for the Angel of Mercy. Without her great sacrifice, we would not be able to enjoy the peace we have today, nor this meal before us."
Just as they started to eat, a sudden knock echoed through the small house. The father stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and made his way to the door. When he opened it, four guards stood outside, their expressions grim and their armor gleaming faintly in the fading daylight.
"We're searching the area for a dangerous criminal," one of the guards explained in a deep tone. "A woman, dressed in all black, with long black hair. Have you seen anyone like that?"
The father shook his head. "No, we haven't seen anyone like that around here," he said evenly, glancing past the guards to the darkening horizon.
The guards scanned the house and surrounding area one last time before nodding curtly and moving on. The father closed the door, the weight of the moment lingering in the air.
"Papa, is the guest awake yet?" Emily asked, tugging on her father's sleeve with wide, curious eyes.
The father exchanged a quick glance with his wife before nodding. "Go check on our guest," he said quietly.
Upstairs, in the small guest room, a woman sat propped up in bed, her wrists bound to the bedposts with thick iron chains. Her blonde hair was long and slightly matted from her time spent unconscious, and her sharp green eyes followed the mother as she entered the room.
"Where am I?" the woman asked, her voice hoarse but sharp.
"You're in our home," the mother answered, her tone kind but cautious. "My husband found you by the river. You were barely alive when he pulled you out. You have been asleep a week."
The woman shifted slightly, the chains clinking as she tried to move. "Why am I chained?" she asked, her tone growing more wary.
The mother hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment before she left the room. Moments later, the father entered holding a knife, his expression unreadable.
"I saved you," he began, his voice steady, "but we are at war. I do not know who you are, and I have to protect my family. You could be from the demons side."
The woman's eyes narrowed; her presence immediately more imposing despite her vulnerable position. "I am not on the side of demons," she said in a low, dangerous tone. "I fight for myself."
A year has passed since that night, the village bustled with life as merchants set up their stalls in the marketplace. Emily walked hand-in-hand with her father, her eyes wide with excitement as they approached the flower stall. Bright blooms in every color of the rainbow adorned the display, but her eyes were drawn to the figure behind the stand. "Rosemary," she shouted.
Rosemary, stood there, arranging bouquets with practiced hands. She was a striking figure with her snow-white hair tied back in a loose braid, and her soft blue eyes behind delicate glasses. Today, like always, she wore her usual long, flowing white dress, the fabric catching the light of the morning sun. On top she wore a blue apron with pockets full of gardening tools.
"Papa, can you buy me a flower?" Emily asked, tugging his hand.
Her father smiled and handed her a coin. The girl eagerly approached the stand and looked up at Rosemary. "What's your favorite flower Rose?" she asked, her voice full of innocent curiosity.
Rosemary paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on a bunch of white roses before she smiled softly. "The white rose," she said, carefully picking one up. "It's beautiful, but it must be handled with care, or it can hurt you."
Just as she handed the rose to Emily, Rosemary's foot caught on a bucket of water that had been left nearby. She stumbled, barely catching herself before she tumbled to the ground. The girl giggled, and even Rosemary let out a soft laugh, shaking her head in mild embarrassment.
Rosemary sat on the small wooden bench outside the flower shop, the evening sun casting a warm glow across the quiet village. She fidgeted with the hem of her white dress; her cheeks still slightly pink from a series of rather unfortunate events that had unfolded throughout her day. Emily and her father, standing nearby, noticed her troubled expression and offered her a kind smile.
"Long day?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Rosemary let out a deep sigh, her glasses sliding down her nose as she nodded. "You could say that. I have been having the worst luck today."
The father raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he waited for her to explain.
"Well," Rosemary began, "this morning, Mrs. Fenton—she is the elderly lady who always buys lilies from me—asked me to help her take some flowers to her husband's grave. Of course, I said yes! I mean, how could I say no to something like that?" She smiled, though it quickly turned into an embarrassed grimace. "But… as I was putting the flowers down by the grave, I—well, I may have tripped… and fallen… into the grave." The father blinked, his expression frozen between concern and trying not to laugh. "You fell into the grave?"
Rosemary nodded, hiding her face in her hands for a moment before peeking up again. "I do not know how it happened! One second, I was standing, and the next I was face-first in the dirt. Mrs. Fenton was so worried, but I just… you know, smiled, and told her I was fine. I made her laugh, though. So… that is something, right?"
She chuckled awkwardly, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress as she continued. "Then, later, I saw little Tommy crying near the well. He dropped his toy sword inside, and he looked so heartbroken. So, I thought, 'I can help with that, right?' Well, I leaned over to grab the sword and nearly fell in myself. I managed to pull myself out, but I was hanging over the edge for a good minute, just trying not to drop headfirst into the water." She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. "Tommy laughed at me the whole time. Honestly, it was not my proudest moment."
The father could not hold back his chuckle this time. "Sounds like quite the day."
Rosemary sighed again, though she smiled softly, looking up at the sky as the sun began to set. "It is like the world's been conspiring against me today. But… well, at least no one got hurt. Except maybe my pride."
The father smiled, shaking his head. "It could've been worse."
"Oh, trust me, I know," Rosemary replied, chuckling lightly. "But… really, I wanted to thank you again. For, well, rescuing me that night. I do not know what would have happened if you had not found me by that river." Her voice grew soft, and she looked down at her hands, her fingers brushing the dirt-stained fabric of her dress.
The father's smile faded slightly, and he gave her a nod. "It was nothing. I am glad you are alright."
"I owe you more than just a thank you," Rosemary said, her blue eyes meeting his. "Really. I may have had bad luck today, but I am grateful to be here… and to be alive."
With that, she stood up from the bench, dusting off her dress. "I should head home before I trip over something else," she joked, offering him a warm smile before turning to leave.
As she walked away, the father watched her go, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "That girl's got a heart of gold," he muttered to himself, before turning back inside.
But the lighthearted moment was shattered when a loud, guttural roar echoed through the marketplace, sending a shiver through the air. The bustling village fell silent as people turned, eyes wide with terror, towards the approaching threat. A group of five hulking orcs charged through the entrance, their skin a vivid red, their towering forms casting long shadows over the cobblestone streets. Each orc had sharp tusks protruding from snarling mouths, and their muscled bodies were adorned with crude armor made of dark iron and animal hides, smeared with the blood of their previous victims.
Leading the pack was the orc general, his eyes glowing with a menacing fire beneath the darkened visor of his spiked helm. His massive frame, easily twice the size of a man, was encased in dark steel armor, and across his back, he carried a colossal axe. The blade gleamed wickedly in the sunlight, every notch in its edge a testament to the lives it had claimed. The general's heavy footsteps reverberated through the marketplace as he raised his weapon high.
"Burn it to the ground and kill them all!" he roared, his voice like a thunderclap.
With terrifying speed, the general swung his axe down, slicing a fleeing child in half. Blood sprayed across the stone pavement, staining the once peaceful village red. Screams erupted, and villagers scrambled in every direction, desperate to defend themselves. The clattering of swords and shields echoed through the chaos, but their weapons were no match for the sheer strength of the orcs. The villagers' crude spears shattered like twigs against the orcs' thick, scarred skin. Bodies fell one after another, lifeless forms crumpling on the streets, their cries for help lost in the growing panic.
Amidst the chaos, Rosemary stood frozen, her pale blue eyes wide with fear as the carnage unfolded around her. Her usual grace vanished, replaced by a stunned silence. Her white dress billowed softly in the wind, starkly contrasting the blood-soaked ground and the smoke that now billowed from the nearby homes as flames began to lick the rooftops.
"Run, Rosemary!" one of the villagers yelled desperately as they fled past her. But Rosemary remained still, rooted to the spot, her mind blank with shock.
Suddenly, one of the orcs spotted her—his yellow eyes narrowing with malicious intent. He grinned, his fangs gleaming, and charged toward her with terrifying speed. The ground trembled beneath his heavy footfalls, and before Rosemary could react, the orc slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the ground. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she gasped as pain shot through her body. Blood dripped from a gash on her forehead where her head had struck the cobblestones.
Her vision blurred, but through the haze, she saw the orc looming over her, raising his jagged sword for the final blow. The villagers screamed for her to move, but her body felt heavy, her limbs numb. She tried to crawl away, but her hands slipped in the blood-soaked dirt beneath her.
As the orc swung down, something deep inside her awakened—a surge of power that had been long dormant. The air around her seemed to ripple with dark energy, and in an instant, everything changed.
A black aura exploded from her body, swirling like a storm around her prone form. The once-frail florist was now enveloped in a cocoon of darkness. Her snow-white hair turned jet-black, the strands whipping wildly in the wind. Her soft blue eyes morphed into black, soul less orbs glowing with eerie light. As she stood, her body transformed, adorned now in a short, black, and gold dress that shimmered with power. Massive black wings, sleek as a raven's, unfurled from her back, and the golden necklace of five black stones at her throat pulsed with ominous energy.
The orc that had struck was pushed back, momentarily taken aback by the sudden transformation. But it was too late. In Rosemary's hand, a sword of pure dark energy materialized, crackling with thunderous power. She raised it, her movements now graceful and deadly, and in a single swift motion, she cleaved the orc in half, his body collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.
The remaining orcs snarled in fury, their beady eyes burning with rage as they charged at Rosemary. Their guttural roars filled the air, mingling with the sounds of clanging metal and distant screams. Rosemary, her dark wings unfurled and shimmering with a sinister glow, stood poised and ready. Her breath came in measured, controlled exhales as she scanned the oncoming threat.
In a blur of movement, her dark wings beat with a powerful, resonant pulse, propelling her forward with astonishing speed. To the human eye, it was as if she vanished from her spot and reappeared in the heart of the orc horde. Her sword, forged from swirling dark energy, gleamed ominously as she swung it with practiced precision.
The blade sliced through the thick, iron-clad armor of the orcs effortlessly, as if it were nothing more than paper. Each swing was accompanied by a sharp, metallic hiss as the sword cleaved through the hardened plates and the flesh beneath. The orcs' guttural roars turned into cries of shock and agony as their bodies were cut down in swift, fluid motions.
One orc lunged at her with a jagged axe, its strike aimed at her side. Rosemary twisted mid-air, her dark wings flaring out behind her in an elegant arc. She evaded the blow, her sword slicing diagonally through the orc's exposed side. The orc crumpled to the ground, its weapon clattering away as it fell.
Another orc, larger and more heavily armored than the rest, charged at her with a massive mace raised high. Rosemary's eyes narrowed as she focused on the incoming attack. With a graceful sidestep, she ducked beneath the swinging mace and delivered a swift, upward slash. The dark blade carved through the orc's armor, sending sparks flying and the orc itself reeling backward, a look of stunned disbelief on its face before it hit the ground.
As Rosemary moved, her dark wings beat rhythmically, propelling her through the chaotic melee with supernatural agility. She was a whirling dervish of dark energy and precise strikes, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. Her sword became a blur of shadowy light, cutting down orcs with merciless efficiency. Their attempts to retaliate were futile; their strikes either deflected by her dark shield or avoided entirely.
The ground around her was littered with the bodies of the fallen orcs, their once-formidable forms now twisted and lifeless. The air was thick with the acrid scent of blood and smoke, mingling with the metallic tang of orcish weaponry. Rosemary's dark aura pulsed and writhed, casting eerie shadows over the battlefield as she continued her relentless assault.
Despite the overwhelming odds, Rosemary's expression remained calm and focused. Her movements were a testament to her skill and experience, each strike executed with deadly precision. The orcs fell one by one, their forces dwindling as she pressed her advantage, her dark energy slicing through their ranks with unstoppable force.
In moments, the battlefield fell silent once more, the remnants of the orcish army scattered and defeated. Rosemary hovered above the scene, her dark wings folding. Her breath came in deep, steadying gulps as she surveyed the aftermath, the smoke beginning to clear and the echoes of battle fading into the distance.
Suddenly, the orc general roared, his dark armor glinting ominously in the fading light as he swung his massive axe in a sweeping arc. Rosemary, now transformed into her darker, more formidable form, met his assault with a determined glare. The black aura around her crackled with dark energy as she darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow of the orc's weapon.
With a flick of her wrist, Rosemary conjured a swirling mass of shadowy tendrils that lashed out at the general. The dark energy whipped around him, binding his limbs momentarily and causing him to stagger. Seizing the opportunity, she lunged forward, her dark sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. The blade, composed of swirling dark energy, cut through the orc's armor with ease, leaving deep, glowing gashes in its wake.
The orc general bellowed in fury, shaking off the shadowy restraints and unleashing a torrent of fiery blasts from his outstretched hand. The flames surged toward Rosemary, but she moved with unnatural speed, her form shifting and blurring as she evaded the scorching inferno. She raised her sword, the blade glowing with an intense shadowy light, and met the fire with a shield of dark energy. The fire sizzled and dissipated against the protective barrier, leaving behind a haze of smoke and the crackling of embers.
Roaring with rage, the general charged forward, his axe raised high. Rosemary anticipated the attack, her eyes narrowing as she summoned a swirling vortex of shadow beneath her feet. She vanished into the darkness, reappearing behind the general with a swift, spinning motion. Her sword cleaved through the air, aiming for the exposed back of the general's neck.
The general spun around; his reflexes surprisingly quick despite his bulk. He brought his axe down in a heavy counterstrike, their weapons clashing with a resounding clang. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, shaking the nearby buildings. Rosemary gritted her teeth, her sword straining against the weight of the orc's axe, and then unleashed a burst of dark energy that pushed him back several feet.
The general roared in pain, his armor scorched and dented from the onslaught. With a snarl, he hurled a fireball directly at Rosemary. She twisted her body, the flames grazing her side but failing to land a direct hit. Her dark sword glowed fiercely as she retaliated with a concentrated beam of shadow energy, cutting through the fireball, and striking the general squarely in the chest.
He staggered, his eyes blazing with fury and defiance. With a final, guttural cry, he swung his axe in a wild, uncontrolled arc. Rosemary sidestepped the attack, her movements fluid and graceful. As she landed a critical blow with her sword, dark energy surged through the blade, piercing through the general's defenses, and driving him to his knees.
In a final, desperate move, the general attempted to unleash one last fiery explosion, but Rosemary was faster. She slashed through the air with her sword, a wave of dark energy engulfing the general and extinguishing the flames. As the dust settled, the general lay defeated, his once formidable presence reduced to a lifeless heap.
Without hesitation, Rosemary vanished in a blur, reappearing just in time to form a shield of dark energy between the child and the inferno. The fire smashed into the shield, erupting in a massive cloud of smoke and debris. The force sent dust flying, blinding the orc general for a moment. But before he could regain his bearings, Rosemary was upon him. With one final, swift motion, she sliced him clean in two, his body collapsing in a heap.
As the orc general lay crumpled on the ground, his body split in two, he coughed violently, dark black blood spilling from his mouth. His breathing was ragged, but a twisted grin still clung to his face. Despite the overwhelming pain, the general forced himself to speak, his voice barely more than a harsh, wet rasp.
"You… thought you could hide forever…?" He spat more blood, his glowing eyes dimming but still filled with malice. "Everywhere you go… we will find you… And anyone who helps you… will die…" He tried to laugh, but it came out as a grotesque gurgle, choking on his own blood.
Rosemary, stared down at the orc with a cold, emotionless expression. Her black wings stretched wide behind her, casting long, menacing shadows across the bloodied ground. The aura of dark energy around her pulsed with quiet intensity, and her glowing black eyes locked onto the orc general's fading gaze.
"Let them come," she said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. Her dark sword gleamed in the dying light as she raised it high above her head, its black energy humming with lethal intent. "I'll kill them all."
Without hesitation, she brought the blade down in a swift, brutal arc. The orc general's head separated cleanly from his body, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop, his blood pooling beneath him in thick, inky streams. The twisted grin remained frozen on his lifeless face, but his threat died with him.
Rosemary stared at the corpse for a moment longer, her heart steady, her breath calm. She felt no satisfaction, no sense of triumph—only the hollow, cold emptiness that had lingered inside her since that day.
She glanced around the devastated village, the bodies of both orcs and villagers strewn about like broken dolls. A few survivors peeked out from behind buildings, their faces pale, and eyes wide with disbelief. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and smoke, and the once lively marketplace was eerily silent, save for the crackling of flames in the distance.
As the smoke cleared, the village stood in stunned silence, the once-bustling market now littered with the bodies of orcs and fallen villagers. The little girl, shaken but alive, stared up at her father, her tiny hands clutching the white rose Rosemary had given her.
The girl's father, still recovering from the shock, stepped forward, recognition dawning in his eyes as he whispered in awe, "It was her…"
But Rosemary was already gone, having teleported away in the blink of an eye, leaving the villagers to wonder who—or what—had just saved them.
"Papa, who was that?" the little girl asked, her voice trembling but full of curiosity.
Her father knelt down, his voice heavy with reverence and disbelief. "Long ago, an angel struck the final blow defeating the Demon King with the help of two other angels. But after the battle, she turned against them, and for her betrayal, the Creator stripped her of her purity. Now, she is cursed with immortality and the color of darkness. She is no longer the Angel of Mercy… She is the Angel of No Mercy, Liora Seraphin."
週次パワーステータス
-- 推薦
ランキング 
-- 推薦
チケット