Chapter 211 : Meryl, the Second Daughter of Praha (4)
A choked gasp escaped Meryl’s lips. She staggered, a hand flying to her chest where Louis Berg’s arrow was buried to the fletching.
This was no ordinary arrow. A vile energy pulsed from the wound, a corruption that felt alien and alive.
“What… is this?” she rasped, her fingers closing around the shaft. It squirmed against her grip, a living parasite consuming her from within.
In that instant, the fiendish power that was now her essence began to fray, threatening to unravel and cast her back to what she had been before.
No.
She clung to the Snow Woman’s power with the desperation of a drowning woman. This was the power that would perfect her art. She could not—would not—let it go.
A low rumble shook the earth as Meryl unleashed her power with renewed ferocity. The blizzard howled, its winds flash-freezing the air around the northern knights.
A sharp crack echoed as the first man was encased in black, unforgiving ice. It was a power much like Lea’s Ice Age, but with a terrible finality: this ice would never thaw.
“Raise your Auras! Defend yourselves!” the Grand Duke roared.
The words had barely left his lips when a new wave of the blizzard crashed over them, and the sharp crackle of freezing men filled the air.
“Damn it all! Do as His Grace commands!”
The knights flared their Auras, pouring every ounce of strength into holding back the killing frost.
But Meryl paid them no mind. Clutching the arrow in her chest, she gasped for breath.
And then, with a wet tear of flesh, she ripped the arrow free.
“…What are you?”
For the first time, a flicker of fear touched Meryl’s cold eyes as she stared at the arrow.
It was still writhing in her hand, as if some fragment of life lingered within it. Like a flower cursed by time, it bloomed and withered in an endless, sickening cycle.
For a mere mortal to wield the art of time itself… it was as if she were witnessing the very pinnacle of the craft to which she had dedicated her life.
“Are you… human?”
“You should learn to finish what you start,” Louis said, a mocking smile touching his lips.
“…Answer me,” Meryl demanded.
He simply snapped his fingers, and invoked his Mindscape: Regression.
The world fractured.
The ice encasing the knights did not melt but shattered into motes of forgotten time. The raging blizzard did not stop; it was simply… undone. Erased from the present moment.
Meryl’s jaw went slack, her eyes wide with a shock that transcended mere surprise. As the one who had woven the storm, she understood what he had just done.
This was a power like those wielded by the fiends of the Eastern Continent. An Aspect. A power no mortal should possess.
He had rewound time. Not all of it, just the phenomenon. He had reached into the immediate past and imposed the world before her blizzard onto the present.
“…Are you like the Duke?” she whispered.
“You mean the Duke possesses such a power?”
“…This is wrong. How can a human…?”
Her eyes darted across the battlefield. The knights were charging. Her own siblings were closing in. And her father was advancing, his Aura a palpable wave of killing intent.
“…Looks like I’ll lose if this continues.”
Her chest throbbed, and the Snow Woman’s power felt unstable, fragile. And then there was the anomaly, Louis Berg. In her current state, victory was impossible.
If that was the case, she had only one option.
She had to escape.
With a whisper of frigid air, Meryl summoned a gale and launched herself skyward.
The knights cried out, throwing up their Auras as a final, desperate blast of cold washed over them. In that instant, Meryl’s body dissolved into the blizzard, her form vanishing into the wind.
“…Until we meet again.”
With those parting words, she was gone, leaving behind nothing but a wound in the north.
* * *
The moment Meryl vanished, I could finally breathe properly.
Agony seized me, a fire in my veins. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum threatening to burst from my chest. Fresh blood, dark and warm, welled from my Stigmata.
To any observer, I was clearly on the verge of collapse.
“Captain!”
“My liege!”
My squad rushed to my side, their faces etched with concern.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, forcing myself to stand. I swayed, but the brief respite was just enough to keep me upright.
Regression is a costly technique.
Mindscape: Regression.
It was an application of my power, a materialization of my inner world that could rewind time in a localized area. A power so fundamentally broken it was almost laughable.
Of course, the backlash was immense. That was a price I had to bear.
In any case, my little miracle seemed to have made an impression. The other knights were staring at me with expressions of pure awe. I knew that look. It was the same awe they had once reserved for Lea in my past life.
“Louis, are you all right?” Lea asked, hurrying over.
I nodded. “My body will hold.”
“Thank the gods,” she breathed, her relief palpable. “By the way…”
Lea glanced around the ruined funeral site.
The white flowers were torn and muddied, the prayer tablets scattered and broken. The gravestone itself was cracked.
The only small mercy was that the Grand Duke had risked his own life to shield the coffin, leaving it unscathed.
“…My sister won’t be able to rest in peace like this,” Lea murmured, a bitter smile on her lips.
It was a sad, self-deprecating expression, born from the knowledge that her own family was responsible for this desecration.
The Grand Duke and the other knights shared her sentiment.
A moment ago, they had fought for their lives. Now that the danger had passed, the reality of the situation settled upon them.
No matter her crimes, Meryl was still a daughter of the house. Many of these men had likely dreamed of serving her one day. Their faces were grim, filled with a dismay that went deeper than battle fatigue.
The Grand Duke was no different. To them, Meryl was a lady of the house; to him, she was his daughter. A daughter who had left home at a young age to pursue her art.
Surely he was thinking, Did this happen because I failed to love her enough?
For all their power, their spirits were surprisingly fragile.
Watching them, a wry smile touched my lips. I walked slowly toward Lin’s coffin. She looked so peaceful in death.
I focused on her coffin, on the shattered gravestone and the trampled flowers. I drew on my power one last time.
Regression.
A silent ripple spread from me.
The broken petals of the white flowers knitted themselves back together, rising from the mud, pristine and fragrant. The fractured gravestone sealed its cracks, the inscription becoming whole again.
The ravaged earth around the coffin smoothed over, erasing all signs of the battle.
Then I immediately cut off the power, catching my breath as a searing pain shot through my heart.
This is going to kill me one day.
I knew the cost, but I hadn’t done it to appear virtuous or to indebt the Grand Duke.
This was a repayment to Lin, who had trusted me with her sister’s life.
May you find peace, I thought, closing my eyes and offering a silent bow.
With that, her funeral resumed.
And a new war began.
* * *
News of Duke Artezia’s betrayal spread like wildfire across the continent.
Nations reeling from the Great War scoffed at his audacity. To turn on the Empire now, when humanity itself teetered on the brink, was madness. From every corner of the civilized world, lords and commoners alike cursed his name.
And yet… no one declared war. No one sent an army.
The cost of stopping the Duke’s tyranny was simply too great.
The Great War, they called it.
And while humanity seemed to be winning, the truth was far grimmer.
There were no victors in a war of annihilation, only survivors. Everyone was bleeding, scheming for a way to survive the battles of tomorrow.
When they could barely manage their own affairs, how could they possibly stop the Duke’s rampage?
And so, his invasion of the Empire continued unopposed. The other nations were too weak. The Empire had been ravaged by the Demonkin. And the Demonkin army had been annihilated by Louis Berg.
In the end, the Duke’s army marched into the Imperial Capital without a single loss.
“Excellent.”
Seated on the imperial throne as if born to it, Duke Artezia wore a smile of pure satisfaction. A heavy ring glinted on his finger.
At his side stood a gallery of monsters and legends.
“Don’t just stand there, all of you. Have a seat. One might think we’d just fought a war,” the Duke chuckled.
Before him stood a woman, her clothes torn and stained.
Meryl Praha.
Clutching her chest where a wound still bled, she looked up at him. “…My apologies. I failed.”
Her expression held no trace of remorse, but the Duke didn’t seem to mind. He regarded her with eyes full of paternal concern.
“My dear, you’re hurt. A foolish observation, I know, when the wound is so plain to see. Ulla, attend to her.”
“Yes, sir,” a woman chirped, stepping forward from the Duke’s side.
Ulla, an Aura Master. Once a knight of the Holy Kingdom, she was now a paladin in service to the Demon God.
As she extended a hand, a warm light enveloped Meryl, and the wound in her chest began to close.
“Done!” Ulla announced with a stretch.
Meryl nodded. “Mhm, thanks.”
“Eh, don’t mention it. I’ve always had a soft spot for healing pretty girls,” Ulla giggled, returning to her position.
Meryl did the same. Her wound completely healed, she moved with a quiet confidence, taking a place among the others as if she knew exactly where she belonged.
Once everyone was settled, the Duke smiled and raised a ceremonial glass. “You have all worked hard. The day has finally come.”
His gaze swept over each of their faces.
An Ogre Chieftain.
An Aura Master.
A Paladin.
Meryl.
Hera.
The Veilwarden of Death Veil.
And others besides.
Each was a power unto themselves, a figure who could shatter nations.
“From this moment,” the Duke continued, his voice resonating in the throne room, “we will slaughter our way through this so-called heart of the Empire. Then, we will burn the continent to the ground.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“To do that, we must first eliminate the greatest threats. The Grand Duke, Louis Berg, and the remnants of the Demonkin.”
A murderous light gleamed in his eyes.
“I command you: kill them. Bring me their corpses.”
“Yes, my lord!” the assembly roared as one.
“Good. In that case, I suppose I should tell you where to strike first.”
The Duke’s gaze swept over a map of the continent spread before him.
His finger, adorned with its heavy ring, descended and pressed down on a single location.
“Here.”