Night had fallen.
As I stood in the courtyard of the mansion, a wave of exhilaration filled my body, something I hadn't felt in a while. Preparing for a fight was fun… it was incredibly fun. It was perhaps more fun than the fight itself.
But that was my opinion.
I ignored the secret gazes of the servants and maids, who perhaps wondered what had happened to me out of nowhere. If I were to embrace this amnesiac profile, I needed to completely immerse myself in it.
I just needed to make sure no one figured it out.
I had the sword I'd gotten from Mr. Pate in my hand, gripped tightly between my fingers. I swung like there was no tomorrow, my eyes pasted on the starry sky up above. I knew obtaining Arcana was somehow related to the stars.
I knew it.
But to grasp that feeling was difficult. Ever since the night atop the balcony, I hadn't managed to sense it again… Oh, that was only yesterday.
My arms flailed around like sticks as I trained while keeping an eye out for the approach of 'that' sensation. As I swung my blade, I formed the perfect arc in the air. I was training to control this new, degraded body.
Not only did I not have the leeway to practice my old martial arts, but I also couldn't begin to form new ones until my body became stronger. One way was to continue putting my body through hell until the point of breaking every time it recovered…
And the other was a certain type of technique one of my foes in the War Of Broken Oaths had used…
The Inferno.
Just imagining it sent chills down my spine. The man who'd perfected the Inferno–although not the strongest–was the most dangerous foe I'd ever faced. His body was as tough as steel, his knuckles capable of shattering rocks.
The man had been undefeated until my arrival onto the battlefield… even then, no matter how much I tried to chase him down, he didn't die by my hands.
He chose his own death.
By the hands of his daughter, so as to preserve his honor.
Archerino.
He'd been so strong that an entire faction had failed miserably trying to defeat him.
"I'm going to do it," I muttered under my breath. His body refinement technique combined with my experience of martial arts would craft the ultimate combination that I doubted anyone my age could match.
That was where I'd begin.
But I needed a few ingredients for it.
"Harold," I suddenly called, turning my head to face a shadowy figure in the distance. The man stepped forth, his expression engulfed in embarrassment, as if he wanted to bury himself under his bedsheets and never come out.
The man whom I'd seen messing with Maid Caroline a few days ago finally came under the moonlight, revealing himself.
He was dressed in attire befitting a servant of the Ashford Family, and had a sword tied to his waist like a bodyguard. Looking at me, he bowed. "H–How can I help you, Young Master Ryan? And how did you sense me?"
"Don't worry about that," I replied coldly. "Find me Firestone and Molten Iron Dust. Also, get me a coffee, would you?"
"F–Firestone? I can get Molten Iron Dust right away, Young Master, but I am not aware of what Firestone is."
"Firestone… Uh, the mineral that's shaped like a triangle and is charred from the middle. It has the qualities to conduct fire."
"Oh, you mean Kelliark's Blaze. Right away, Young Master."
Harold hurriedly walked away, nervous that I'd request something beyond his means. It seemed the amnesiac thing was working perfectly, though, as many of the servants and maids were strating to warm up to me.
But it seemed I'd pressed Harold a bit too hard before I transmigrated.
Or else he seemed like a man of pride against others.
Oh, what about…
"Harold, my coffee!" I shouted, concerned. However, by that time, the servant had disappeared into the shadows, unable to be seen or heard. I clicked my tongue before returning to my training, disappointed.
As I turned to face the stars yet again, I felt something click.
Like a shattering dam bursting with water, I felt the power rush into my body. I wasn't sure why, but a certain part of me felt as if I were engulfing the stars, absorbing their power. But before I could relish the situation, the sensation was replaced by intense pain.
Pain that originated from my chest.
Feeling a loss of breath, I smacked my chest, trying to breathe through my mouth if I could, but to no avail.
Before I could realize it, my vision turned dark.
Oh no, not again…
***
The battlefield was engulfed in a crimson liquid. The sky was orange, and roars of triumph could be heard from the other side. However, only the screams of the fallen and groans of the dying were audible on this side.
A man covered in scars stood down, his eyes bubbling with rage and resentment that he'd carried all along.
His army had been demolished.
His legs shook, a wave of pain assaulting his entire body as he struggled to keep himself standing. For a man in his situation to keep his composure was a big deal. And he performed it perfectly.
Gritting his teeth, he put his hand into his massive bags. With a shaky arm and another that had been ripped off the bone, he took one last look at his sword.
He grabbed the sword before throwing it into the distance, bidding farewell to his comrade.
Then, he retrieved a horn.
The Oliphant.
Staring at the Sarcaens and their approaching army, Roland clutched the Oliphant tighter than ever, a prideful smile plastered upon his face.
Today would mark his death.
But not of his ideals.
He blew on the Oliphant harder than ever, causing his temples to rupture.
He smiled as he fell.
[A/N: Some might remember this from The Horatius Era.]