章節 6: 6. A Dream
Blades clashed in the distance as the young magus slowly stirred awake.
Still half-asleep he opened his eyelids to see strange figures fighting on top of a hill.
His eyes, not yet accustomed to the light, hovered over the two spectacular fighters. As his vision cleared, he could finally discern what he was seeing.
One was a knight clad in silver armor, his red cape flowing in the wind as he deftly avoided or parried each attack he received. In his right hand, he wielded a massive blade, large enough that even a layman like him could tell it should be wielded with both hands, while a much smaller one was strapped to his right hip.
The knight's left hand held a shield as large as himself. The finesse in his movements was impressive for someone so heavily equipped, as even reinforcement magecraft could only take one so far.
The knight's opponent, however, made almost no sense. Waver rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what he was seeing.
Truthfully, he was certain that the man was a servant by the sheer destructive power he held in his hands.
Each step was heavy enough to create a crater, yet swift enough to nearly break through the knight's impenetrable defense.
The man, heavily tanned with gray hair and eyes to match, fought valiantly against the human wall before him, wielding not only immense physical strength but also potent firepower. The power he held was comparable only to true magic as he seemed to create new blades with each attack as the previous ones shattered after each strike.
If the young magus were to think about it, the only plausible explanation would be a reality marble. However, such a groundless guess was as good as void.
The man, or servant, wore what appeared to be a black tight shirt and a red holy shroud.
Now fully awake, Waver saw the unusualness in the scene.
The knight was short-very short-compared to the man in red. But this wasn't the only strange thing, as both seemed to be affiliated with the Holy Church. The knight bore their emblem, while the attacker wore a church's holy shroud.
The strangeness did not end there. The landscape, much like the scene before him, was—how to put it nicely—off.
Something wasn't right, this whole situation was almost dreamlike.
Not only was the young magus unfazed by the close proximity of the fight—a situation he'd hoped to avoid, as he'd only planned to issue commands to his servant through familiars—but the fighters themselves had a surreal quality.
The man was ferocious, like a wild beast, yet contrary to his fierce fighting style, his face remained stoic.
Waver understood why, though he didn't know how he understood. He just did.
The man was toying with the knight, testing her skills and abilities while maintaining complete control over the fight, never allowing his opponent a chance to breathe amidst the relentless onslaught.
The knight however was a striking contrast to the man. Despite his heavy armor and weaponry, his movements were stylish and focused, showing a grace and swiftness achievable only by reacting a split second before his opponent's movements began.
To the young magus, the knight appeared to be a true symbol of hope, a hero who was there to save everyone, filling everyone around with an inexplicable sense of peace.
As he focused on the knight, he now noticed many details he'd previously overlooked.
What he had mistaken for a red cape was, in fact, a scarf, its texture rough and unprocessed. Even from the foot of the hill, he could feel the warmth radiating from the love with which the scarf was crafted.
The giant sword in the knight's hand constantly changed size to adapt to parries, as a strange liquid flowed over cracks, repairing the blade almost instantaneously. The finesse and ease with which he used the weapon somehow reminded the young genius of the waves crashing onto the shore, the friction between the clashes seemed like a tidal rhythm.
In contrast to the giant blade, the shortsword strapped to the knight's side appeared neglected. Covered in rust from the tip to its handle, it was as if the knight forgot about its existence, or perhaps found it just before the battle. It was a shame, as the shortsword itself looked quite luxurious and well made.
Perhaps it was the striking contrast between the rusted shortsword and the knight's gleaming armor, but he sensed there was something more to it, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, which made his gaze return to the small blade every time he looked away.
Lastly, the knight carried a shield roughly the size of his left forearm. Made of plated metal, its edges were rough and chipped, and the front was scratched and scorched, marked by countless attacks and battles.
Waver's focus abruptly shifted from studying the knight to the intensity of the battle, and it was the perfect time to do so, as the man in the red shroud finally landed a blow on the warrior. A clean cut to the knight's left shoulder severed it, sending the arm flying in his direction.
It landed at his feet, the hand with the shield lying just before him, blood still oozing from the wound. But before the young magus could scream in horror, he was jolted from his shock by distant voices.
"Dame Aumont!"
"We came as soon as we heard the battle!"
"We sent someone for Dame d'Arc already!"
It was at this moment he realized that throughout the entire fight, neither combatant had spoken a word. They had fought in total silence.
What happened next however shocked the young genius to the core. The shrouded man and the knight stopped fighting as suddenly as they'd started and began to… talk. "Geez, and it was just getting interesting." The shrouded man sighed with disappointment as he slowly backed away, still facing his opponent. "Good fight. I will be watching you." His voice was rough, unmistakably masculine, and Waver imagined it was the voice of a man who had fought countless battles and emerged victorious.
The next voice he heard, however, froze him in place. It was melodious, full of warmth and care, and sounded mature, though the speaker couldn't have been older than sixteen. It was the voice of a teenage girl, and the one who spoke was the knight who so valiantly crossed swords with the shrouded man mere seconds ago, "Heh, how could I ever forget." Despite her open wound she did not sound to be in pain, quite the opposite, she sounded almost relieved by the outcome. Turning away from her opponent, she faced the oncoming knights. "Thank you all for your help. Let's go see Jeanne then," she said, and with a slight skip in her step, she descended the hill, unbothered by her missing arm.
The young magus slowly lowered his gaze to the severed arm, examining the large emblem embedded in the shield.
With a sudden realization, he looked at his right hand, checking his command spells once more.
It was the exact same pattern. Crouching down to examine it more closely, hoping to glean some clue as to who the mysterious girl might be, he watched in shock as the hand twitched and lunged at him.
It startled him out of the dream, and he awoke with a scream.
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Hi there! Author here.
Spanning 1237 words, the sixth chapter is here, just like I promised.
And now have no idea when the seventh will air. I don't know what to do next with these characters.
The next chapter should be Waver centric, so if any of you have a suggestion, please write it in the comments!
Anyway, that's all for today. I hope you have a great day/morning/afternoon/night, and see you around!
Author
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