Town Hall, Main Entrance:
Sebastian's group didn't enter the Town Hall immediately upon their arrival. When they reached the staircase leading into one of Kiten's few still-standing and unscathed structures, they found a small gathering already waiting by the doorstep.
A group of Magic Knights and Kiten civilians flanked the man standing at the center, drawing all attention to him. He wore a Purple Orca's uniform—worn and torn—but still carried himself with dignity and power, albeit in a manner distinct from Nathaniel's.
If Acier's father was reserved, imposing, and chilly, this man seemed flamboyant, with combed purple hair and glistening dark blue eyes. Seemed was the keyword, because that impression was no longer true—or perhaps never had been. His ostentatious appearance no longer reflected his personality.
Perhaps he still styled himself brightly and sharply out of habit, a reflex of decades of lavish aristocratic grooming. But that polish now extended only to his appearance. Whatever narcissism or entitled pride he might once have had seemed to have been eroded by months spent fighting on the front lines. The battle-hardened reality of war had cracked his once pampered shell, leaving behind a seasoned veteran.
If, a year ago, he had been a typical outspoken, sociable, and pandering aristocrat, now he was blunt, no-nonsense, and focused—though not to Nathaniel's extreme. Still, he had little patience for humor or frivolity.
The grotesque scar wrapping diagonally across his face reinforced this transformation, presenting him as someone who discouraged unnecessary conversation. Perhaps the battle that gave him the scar had also stripped away his hubris and served as a wake-up call. If he wanted to survive and secure victory for his kingdom, he had to change—and so he had.
This man was Mikael Vortigarn, the current captain of the Purple Orcas, one of two Captains overseeing Clover's side of the war effort. He was also one of the few reasons Kiten, and much more, had not yet fallen to Diamond.
Vortigarn wasted no time. The moment Sebastian's group arrived, he folded his arms behind his back and spoke plainly, his tone almost bored and routine.
"Are there any medical mages amongst this cell?" His words suggested urgency, but his tone betrayed none.
Processing the question, the group immediately parted to reveal Sebastian standing at the back.
Sebastian exchanged a brief, wordless glance with Acier before stepping forward to the head of the group and saluting respectfully.
"I'm here, sir!"
Vortigarn's gaze lingered on Sebastian's hair for the briefest, almost imperceptible moment before he nodded indifferently. Without turning, he gestured toward one of the civilians at his side and gave a soft order.
"Follow him to your station."
"Yes, sir!"
Sebastian didn't ask any questions. He broke into a jog, veering right to follow the civilian, who was nearly sprinting and picking up pace.
Sebastian's back ached slightly; he wasn't built for this kind of endurance, especially while carrying the heavy load of his backpack. Still, he didn't complain. This was no time to risk making a poor first impression.
Without sparing another glance at the pair disappearing into the distance, Vortigarn turned his attention back to the remaining group of about thirty and parted his lips to speak.
"I will not be voicing any empty, perfunctory words of gratitude for your arrival. We have none—I have none. The only reinforcements we wished to see are those arriving in Silver Eagle or Crimson Lion uniforms, and you are not them."
Vortigarn didn't give them even a second to let his words sink in before continuing.
"Though we've long given up holding that prayer."
He couldn't quite suppress the sneer in his voice. Acier noted the looks of frustration—and, dare she say, betrayal—on the faces of the Magic Knights and civilians flanking him. Her fist clenched involuntarily at the sight.
A moment later, Vortigarn scratched his chin and continued, his tone heavy with grim resolve.
"I'm also not in the mood to make some grandiose speech of hope or encouragement. This place is hell on earth. Hope? There is none. And even if it does exist, it's not something someone like me can give you. If you want to increase your chances of surviving, don't wander out alone at night, stay away from the walls, and don't become a problem we'll have to dispose of or discard because you're more trouble than you're worth."
The atmosphere grew heavier with each word, but Vortigarn seemed oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, as he carried on. His voice now carried a faint note of exhaustion.
"If you want to eat a meal every day, earn it by stacking up merit in your stations and becoming someone indispensable. Prove your worth to the point where losing you would be a loss to us. There are too many mouths to feed and too little food. I'm telling you this now for your own good: survival here is a competition, not a unified effort. Everyone around you is not a friend but a fellow competitor. Outshine them if you don't want to starve. Understood?"
The group collectively swallowed, their unease palpable, and stiffly nodded. If Vortigarn's goal had been to inspire morale and unity, he had done a splendid job indeed.
The Purple Orca captain showed no outward reaction to the creeping unease and dark, guarded looks on their faces. Instead, he impassively began pointing to the civilians beside him.
"All blacksmiths and armorers, go with him."
"Carpenters and master builders, with her."
"Anyone who knows their way around a kitchen, with her."
"Anyone who knows how to work a farm or garden, with him."
Soon, the group of thirty had dwindled to four people: Acier and three men ranging in age from their twenties to their thirties.
Vortigarn pointed at the men, then at a Magic Knight in a Blue Rose robe standing beside him.
"You three, follow her to report for guard duty."
In the past, those three might have argued, insisting they were here to fight—that was what they had signed up for, after all. Soldiers on the front lines earned the highest rewards, and surely they received special privileges, like guaranteed meals. After all, you couldn't fight on an empty stomach, right?
But after witnessing the mass carnage the moment they arrived, they immediately understood the reality: the risks far outweighed the rewards. It didn't matter if soldiers were promised food if they were blasted to bits before dinnertime.
The three men, all peasants, harbored no excessive arrogance or pride. If anything, they lacked it entirely, doubting their magic would suffice to survive on the front lines. To them, this reassignment felt like a merciful reprieve from a fate they hadn't fully understood when they enlisted.
Bowing in gratitude to Vortigarn, they hurried after the Blue Rose Knight, chasing after her like she was their lifeline.
Now, it was just Acier left. She looked up at Vortigarn, who was now surrounded by only a handful of Magic Knights. They, along with the captain, regarded her with complex expressions.
Their gazes lingered on her silver hair and other clear signs of her lineage.
A moment passed before Vortigarn ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated.
"Look, Princess, I've spoken to your father, and I understand why you're here. But this has nothing to do with you. You bear no blame or responsibility for the politics chaining our fellow knights to the capital. You don't need to be here."
Acier stayed silent, her expression unreadable, as Vortigarn continued.
"Just as there are rules to everything, there are also exceptions. We can make an exception for you. Now that you've seen the reality of the situation, do you wish to return home?"
Acier didn't answer directly but instead asked her own question.
"Does Sebastian get to leave?"
Vortigarn shook his head.
"We need healers."
Healers were the lifeblood of the war effort. In fact, a motion had already been proposed in the capital to forcefully conscript anyone discovered with recovery magic. It hadn't yet passed, mired in the chaos of civil strife engulfing the royal courts.
As soon as Vortigarn gave his answer, Acier nodded.
"Then I'm staying. I brought Sebby here; I don't get to leave without him."
Vortigarn narrowed his eyes but didn't relent.
"And you wish to fight? On the front lines..." He trailed off, gesturing to the grotesque scar marring his face. "You understand that it's a place where even someone like me can die at any moment?"
Acier nodded firmly, then saluted with three fingers.
"Yes, sir! Please treat me like any other subordinate!"
The eyes of the Magic Knights surrounding Vortigarn glimmered briefly with a hint of approval, but that was all. They had seen too much, endured too much, and lost too much to let something like this stir any real emotion.
They were faintly impressed that a princess was willing to set aside her safety to do her part in the war, but it didn't go beyond that.
Acier was known as a magical prodigy, but genius alone wasn't enough in a war like this. A prodigy could only become more than a prodigy only if they lived long enough to grow. This war had claimed the lives of many such geniuses, and Acier could easily become just another statistic.
What they truly needed were established powerhouses like Ignatius and Nathaniel. Even their presence wouldn't guarantee victory—only a brief reprieve and a lighter burden.
Unbeknownst to most of the Clover Kingdom, the captain of the Blue Rose had fallen in battle months ago, swiftly replaced by her vice-captain. This news was tightly controlled, not even reported to the royal courts, to prevent mass panic. Only Nathaniel and Ignatius were privy to the truth. Even Augustus, the current Lord Kira, was kept in the dark.
Given the grim reality, no one showered Acier with perfunctory praise or attempted to curry favor. Most of the knights didn't care for noble networking anymore. Many no longer even thought of themselves as nobles—just soldiers waiting for death, silently counting their remaining days.
No one dared to hope that Acier's presence signaled a shift in the capital or that reinforcements like the Silver Eagles or Nathaniel would arrive soon.
They didn't try to cozy up to her, viewing it as pointless. Few believed they would ever return home to resume their lives as nobility. Why waste precious energy on exhausting noble habits when all they truly wanted was to eat and sleep?
All that happened was a slight warming to Acier's presence. They would treat her like a comrade, and that was all she could ask for—acceptance.
Frustration with royalty wasn't limited to peasants and commoners. Many nobles, especially those fighting on the front lines or with loved ones in Kiten, shared the sentiment. Most of the blame fell on the Kira family, but royalty as a whole bore the brunt of their anger.
For Acier, even a modicum of acceptance was more than she expected.
Vortigarn scrutinized her for a moment, then nodded. Turning to his side, he pointed at a man in a Purple Orca uniform standing beside him—a nondescript figure with brown hair and hazel eyes.
"Vice-Captain, place her in your unit."
"Yes, sir!"
The vice-captain saluted sharply, and Vortigarn gave Acier one last glance before turning on his heels and stomping back into the Town Hall.
—
Sebastian was led to a towering, spiraling building. He could see countless wounded individuals soaked in blood, wearing makeshift casts fashioned from rags, gathered in a long queue. Some were being led or hauled in and out of the structure, their priority seemingly determined by the extent of their injuries.
Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian wondered, Is this the hospital?
Without hesitation, he bypassed the line entirely, ignoring the gazes trailing him, and stepped swiftly into the building.
Panting as he climbed several flights of stairs without pausing for breath, he finally stopped on the fifth floor. His silent guide, who hadn't spoken a single word during the journey, gestured toward a wooden door with a nod of his head. Without sparing Sebastian another glance, the man turned and hurried back down the stairs.
Sebastian didn't argue. He took a deep breath to steady himself before stepping forward.
The moment he approached the door, he gagged as an unbearable stench hit him. The nauseating mix of blood, vomit, and gore assaulted his senses, and the screams and moans of pain from the other side only heightened his dread.
Nothing in his near year of experience as a street doctor had prepared him for this. The foul smell and the sheer weight of trepidation made his stomach churn.
He didn't want to imagine what horrors lay beyond the door. Suppressing the overwhelming urge to retreat, he gritted his teeth and shot his hand forward, gripping the handle tightly. Refusing to let his imagination take over and scare him away, he yanked the door open.
Instantly, he regretted it.
The stench that had seeped through the door earlier was nothing compared to the overwhelming wave of rot and decay that now crashed into him. He fought the urge to vomit, to recoil, and instead forced himself to step inside and shut the door behind him, trapping himself within this hellscape.
The floor was stained—not just with blood but with urine, vomit, feces, saliva, and other unidentifiable substances.
Pinching his nose, Sebastian reached into his satchel, pulling out a shabby surgical mask he had thankfully packed for the trip. He was grateful he was smart enough to seek advice from the House Silva doctor who had assessed his condition months ago when he collasped, guiding him on what to prepare.
Hurriedly securing the mask over his face, he felt a momentary relief as his nostrils were spared the full onslaught of the stench. He wiped his stinging, watering eyes and surveyed the grim scene before him.
Nurses and assistants dragged bloodied objects in carts and on stretchers. At first, Sebastian thought they were tools or equipment, but a closer look revealed the truth—they were bodies.
Corpses, to be precise, still clad in the robes of various Magic Knight squads. Some were missing arms or legs, others parts of their faces. Some were decapitated entirely. Others were little more than torsos, their organs spilling out of gaping wounds. Blood still trickled from some of the corpses, but they were carted away all the same, stacked like discarded refuse in a corner.
The pile of flesh and bone was horrifying—a grotesque mountain of death, cleared away to make space for the frantic doctors and nurses desperately trying to save those who still had a chance.
But not everyone was granted that chance.
The living who were deemed beyond saving were abandoned where they lay, left to face their fate alone.
The air was filled with shouting and chaos as healers, apothecaries, doctors, and nurses barked orders and pleaded for assistance. They screamed at one another to fetch supplies, begged the wounded to stay conscious, and urged them to hold on.
Many of those pleas fell on deaf ears.
Sebastian snapped out of his frozen state, clenching his fists as he pushed through his apprehension. Without hesitation, he tossed his bag against the wall, the sound catching the attention of one of the scrambling nurses.
She was a young woman with curly lavender hair and pink eyes. Perhaps, under different circumstances, her features might have been considered beautiful. But the pallor of her blood-smeared skin and the heavy bags under her eyes made her look more like a ghost—or a cursed spirit.
She wasted no time getting in Sebastian's face, her voice hoarse but tinged with hope.
"Please tell me you can use recovery magic!" she begged.
Her desperation was palpable. She didn't need another nurse or assistant; she needed a healer.
Sebastian nodded swiftly, and the flicker of hope in her eyes grew brighter. She pointed across the room at two stretchers, each holding a wounded figure.
"I-I've patched their wounds as best as I could with bandages and cloth, but all the other healers are occupied. They can't wait much longer. Please, save them!"
Even before she finished, Sebastian was already moving. He darted to the stretchers, positioning himself between them. His grimoire flew out of his satchel, pages flipping until it stopped at the first spell.
Water Recovery Magic: Hands of Salvation.
His hands were slowly encased in aqua blue squirming bubbles of water.
As he prepared to cast, both hands poised over the wounded, his right hand froze. He hesitated, turning his back on the woman lying on the stretcher to his right. She wore the robes of the Blue Rose squad, her empty eyes staring at him. A gaping hole in her abdomen made it clear her time was short. Instead, Sebastian focused on the man lying beside her, bringing both hands down over him.
"W-what are you doing?!" the nurse cried, her voice sharp with alarm. "She doesn't have much longer—"
"She's too far gone," Sebastian cut her off, his tone detached as he kept his back to the dying woman. "There's nothing I can do. I'm sorry."
In truth, Sebastian was astounded she was still alive in her condition.
The nurse froze, the flicker of hope in her eyes dimming rapidly. She bit her lip, refusing to give up as she pleaded, "Please... please... I-I can't lose another one... you have to try—"
"He's... r-right..."
The nurse spun toward the dying woman, who sputtered a mouthful of blood as she spoke weakly.
"Don't... waste... time... on... me... please... save... my..."
Her words trailed off as her breath failed. Her grimoire disintegrated into motes of light, vanishing into nothingness. She was gone.
The nurse stared at the lifeless body for a moment, her own expression hollow. Without a word, she pulled the stretcher away, dragging the corpse toward the growing pile of the dead.
The man Sebastian was tending to stirred awake, his gaze locking onto the departing body. His anguished cries shattered the silence.
"Dammit... dammit! Why me? Why am I still alive? Why not her?! Alicia... Alicia... Come back to me... please, I'm begging you!"
In the Blue Rose squad, most men served as assistants or performed menial tasks for the women. This man was no exception—a disowned noble who endured the humiliation to provide for himself.
He never imagined he would fall in love, let alone have his feelings reciprocated. Yet, against all odds, Alicia had returned his love. But none of that mattered now.
Their hopes, dreams, and future had ended on the battlefield when Alicia took the fatal blow meant for him.
He had abandoned his unit in the chaos, ignoring the cries of his leader and squadmates. Hoisting her bleeding body, he had pushed through his own injuries, carrying her back to safety in a desperate bid to save her.
Collapsing unconscious from blood loss at the hospital's doorstep, he had been rushed inside.
But all his efforts had been in vain.
Perhaps, he thought bitterly, this was his retribution.
Bloody, snot-streaked tears ran down the man's face as he cried and trembled.
"If… only I was stronger…!!! Why am I so useless?!"
He looked up at Sebastian, his eyes dull and lifeless, matching the vacant stare of the nurse. Sebastian felt like he was looking into a mirror—broken, hollow, and consumed by a void.
"Doctor... please stop... let me die..." the man whispered.
He had given up. Alicia was gone, and with her, the last reason he had to keep going. He was done—with life, with everything.
Sebastian paused, meeting the man's gaze. He didn't utter any hollow platitudes or self-righteous words like "You need to live for her" or "Treasure the life she gave her own for." He knew nothing of their story, their struggles, or their pain. Saying such things would be hypocritical.
Because if their roles were reversed—if that woman were Acier—Sebastian knew he'd feel the same way.
So he said nothing. Instead, he silently returned to treating the man, focusing on saving his life. That was his job.
The man's trembling hand hovered, ready to push Sebastian's arm away, but he froze as Sebastian's indifferent voice reached him.
"If you want to die, that's fine. But make sure it at least means something. Is the one who killed her still alive?"
The man stiffened. His mind was suddenly flooded with the memory of that cackling bastard who had punched a crystalline fist straight through Alicia's abdomen. He remembered the sadist's maniacal laughter, the smug glee of a monster reveling in carnage.
The man didn't know if that bastard was still alive, but he was willing to bet everything he was. Still cackling. Still slaughtering.
He clenched his fists. That's right… if I'm going to die… I need to take him down with me first!
A spark reignited in his eyes—not one fueled by hope or life, but by vengeance.
Sebastian and the man both watched in silence as his grimoire flew out, flipping to a blank page. Lines of glowing script rapidly filled it as the grimoire reacted to his intent.
The man read the spell to himself, a twisted grin spreading across his face. His laughter rang out, wild and unhinged. If he could see himself now, he'd recognize that he had become a reflection of the very monster who killed Alicia. He knew it, too.
This would've scared her, he thought. This would've made her heart ache.
But he didn't care.
Vengeance wasn't for others; it was to soothe oneself.
He no longer lived for Alicia. He lived to kill. And that was fine by him.
Sebastian didn't judge. Before Acier, he had lived solely to kill Nicklaus and avenge Aurora. He wasn't in a position to pass judgment.
So he remained silent as the man's laughter echoed around the room. Sebastian simply observed, expression unreadable, as he retracted his hands. The man's injuries were sufficiently mended. Sebastian wiped his hands clean with a cloth handed to him by the nurse.
The man turned to Sebastian, his grin eerie and devilish. "Thank you, Doctor. I know what I must do."
Sebastian said nothing.
The man didn't wait for a response. He tucked his grimoire into his satchel and left, his dark visage unchanging as he disappeared from view.
The nurse, who had been watching the entire exchange, remained silent. She turned her head to meet Sebastian's gaze for a brief moment before spinning on her heel and walking toward the mountain of corpses. Her task was to catalog and identify the dead.
Sebastian stood still. He had saved a life. He had done his job. He had given that life the will to linger a little longer.
And because he had done nothing wrong, she said nothing.
Sebastian sighed inwardly as he moved from the stretchers, his steps mechanical. He followed the scent of blood and the frantic shouts of nurses and doctors, seeking out others who still clung to life, doing what he could for them.
It didn't matter what others thought of him or what they wanted. His job was to save lives. Whether they thanked him or hated him was irrelevant. He would save as many as he could, even if it meant manipulating, deceiving, or stooping low to achieve it.
This was war, and in war, anything went.
He hadn't been brought here to win anyone's affection or to put smiles on their faces. He was here to heal, to save. Who said salvation had to be beautiful or uplifting?
In war, the rainbow comes after the rain, not during it. Light is found at the end of the tunnel, not midway through. The smiles could wait until the storm passed and the tunnel was crossed.
All Sebastian could do was guide as many as possible through the rain, through the storm, and help them cross the tunnel of war. If they made it out alive, that was all that mattered to him. If they emerged smiling, so much the better—but that wasn't his concern. His job was simply to ensure they lived.
Perhaps that man would one day be fortunate, like Sebastian, and encounter something that allowed him to see beyond his thirst for vengeance. Perhaps he'd find a reason to live again, to move forward.
But most likely, he wouldn't. And Sebastian didn't care.
There was only one person Sebastian truly cherished, one person whose happiness he would ensure above all else. And that man wasn't her.
Sebastian hadn't come to this place with any grand sense of responsibility or honor. He was here for the one who mattered most to him.
For as long as he stayed, he'd perform his role, fulfill his duties as expected—but nothing more. As long as it didn't involve Acier, nothing else concerned him.
—
Meanwhile…
"Kaiser?" Acier blinked as she was introduced to her squad.
To combat and ward off the Diamond invaders, Clover's forces had avoided forming a single, unified battalion. If they all marched as one large army, Diamond could easily cast devastating wide-range compound spells and wipe them out in a single strike.
Instead, Clover employed a more fragmented tactic, dividing their forces into countless small groups of three to six members. These scattered squads darted across the battlefield in various directions, pulling Diamond's forces apart and forcing them into disarray. The squads engaged in hit-and-run skirmishes, constantly harassing Diamond's troops before retreating, only to repeat the cycle.
This strategy made it nearly impossible for Diamond to deploy large-scale magic without risking their own troops. The only exception was the long-range bombardment targeting Kiten's barrier. Even then, Diamond had to divert attention and resources to protect their long-range casters from Clover's stealthy Magic Knights.
Though effective, the tactic was seen as shameful by Clover's Magic Knights, a far cry from the noble dignity they once prided themselves on. Yet, after nearly 11 months of grueling warfare, any notions of honor or grandeur had long been abandoned. Survival and delaying the enemy were all that mattered now.
This approach had allowed many to survive, even as their numbers dwindled and they faced odds of roughly 20 to 1. They clung to this strategy, hoping to buy enough time for change—praying that Augustus' recently proven innocence would allow him to secure the throne, quell the kingdom's civil strife, and free the Crimson Lions and Silver Eagles to reinforce the frontlines.
Until then, all they could do was hold out.
The squad Acier had been assigned to was one such group—a small team of five, now six with her addition. It was led by Marcel Claymore, the Vice-Captain of the Purple Orca and a mug magic user. Two of his squad members were fellow Purple Orca knights.
One of them was a tall, middle-aged man with snow-white hair who introduced himself simply as Glacius—no last name. His noble bearing was unmistakable, which piqued Acier's curiosity. Why would a nobleman omit his surname? She didn't press the issue, though. When the frost magic user—an attribute she'd never encountered before—smiled broadly, she decided it was likely a sensitive topic. None of my business, she thought wryly.
But her attention soon shifted to the third member of the group: Kaiser Granvorka, a boy about her age—perhaps a year older—wearing the Purple Orca robe.
"Kaiser?" she repeated, her surprise tinged with genuine relief.
Though the two of them weren't particularly close, thanks largely to Nicklaus' obsessive efforts to keep all non-family males at arm's length, Acier had met Kaiser on multiple occasions at noble gatherings and events.
Unlike many noble heirs who regarded her as little more than a prize to be claimed, Kaiser had always treated her with respect and courtesy. His quiet, reserved demeanor had left a far better impression on her than the arrogant, predatory gazes of others.
She remembered him well. While their interactions had often been silent and awkward, she much preferred his company to the discomfort of entertaining men with far less honorable intentions.
The Granvorka family was one of the few noble households that still upheld integrity within the aristocracy. The thought of their heir dying in this war was disheartening. Though she hadn't seen Kaiser's name among the casualty reports her father received, she wasn't sure how accurate or up-to-date those lists were.
Now, seeing Kaiser alive and well brought her relief.
Kaiser, the Vortex Magic user, gave Acier a polite, curt nod. "Always a pleasure, Princess."
Acier smiled and extended her hand for a handshake. "I'm not a Princess here, just Acier."
Kaiser didn't take her hand, offering only another nod. Acier awkwardly retracted her hand, though she didn't take it personally. Kaiser's reputation as a socially awkward individual preceded him, and there were rumors he was smitten with a commoner. Perhaps he feared that being seen as "cozy" with her might reach the girl's ears and tarnish her impression of him.
Keeping to himself was simply Kaiser's way, and Acier respected that. She turned her attention to the other two members of their unit.
Both women wore Blue Rose robes and were clearly twins, with identical lean, curvaceous figures, light blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. They gave Acier polite nods and introduced themselves, and it didn't take long for Acier to notice that their similarities ended with their appearances.
"I'm Chloe Wallflower! I use ice magic. You can call me Chlo!" One of them grinned brightly and flashed a peace sign.
The other fidgeted nervously and spoke in a soft, timid voice. "I'm Lily Wallflower… I use fire magic… If you have anything to say to me… please pass it through Chloe."
She promptly ducked behind her sister, peeking out with wide eyes.
Acier blinked, momentarily taken aback. Chloe's brow twitched as she patted Lily's shoulder.
"Sorry about that… Lily, here's a bit of a shut-in. It already took everything she had to say those words to you."
Without waiting for Acier's response, Chloe turned and hugged her sister tightly. "Good job, Lily. I'm proud of you!"
Lily's eyes filled with tears, and she hugged her sister back with equal fervor. "Mmm-hmm."
Acier blinked again, a wry thought crossing her mind. Shouldn't your magic attributes be switched? She chuckled and shook her head. "Well, big sisters should look after their younger siblings—"
"I'm the younger sibling," Chloe interrupted, causing Acier to blink in surprise. "By half an hour, in fact."
Acier froze, her mouth parting slightly. "Oh…"
A sudden clap! clap! snapped their attention to Marcel, who stood clapping to gather the group's focus. The Vice-Captain of the Purple Orca cleared his throat.
"Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, we'll run some squad drills to get familiar with each other's magic and presence. Adding a new member into the mix can be disastrous if we don't give Acier the chance to integrate into our rhythm and routine. Understood?"
Kaiser and Lily nodded lightly, while Acier, Chloe, and Glacius saluted sharply. "Yes, sir!"
Marcel nodded in approval. "Good. We're not stopping until we're on the same wavelength, because we're back on the battlefield tomorrow. If we're not in sync, it might very well be our last battlefield."
They grimaced but stayed silent as Marcel continued. "We'll start with some simulations..."
With that, they got to work.
—
Hours Later
Sebastian, now drained of all his mana, watched wearily as a young man, perhaps a year or two older than him, with light blue hair and glasses, finished tending to the last of the wounded.
Observing the man—who seemed to have just as little mana as he did, and the same attribute—yet so efficiently tending to several patients at once, stirred something in Sebastian. Perhaps it was interest or curiosity, as he took in the water constructs resembling jellyfish conjured by the man. The constructs patched and closed wounds rapidly with their tentacles before seemingly stinging the injuries and extracting them entirely.
As the last of the wounds were treated, the constructs swiftly dematerialized, vanishing from existence as the man's grimoire shut closed, ceasing his spell and returning to his side.
The wounded, now perfectly and miraculously healed, shot the young man grateful looks, which he responded to with a weak—and, in Sebastian's eyes, noticeably forced—smile. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his palm as the treated patients walked away.
Sebastian approached the man and wordlessly handed him a clean towel. The man accepted it with a warm and more genuine smile.
"Thank you. You must be the new recruit."
Sebastian nodded curtly. The man wiped his hands clean before extending his right hand toward Sebastian.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Owen, by the way."
Sebastian shook Owen's hand politely. "Likewise. I'm Sebastian."
Owen beamed before standing up with a slight groan, the ache in his legs evident. "Ha ha, I'm only 17, but at this rate, I might be gray-haired by 30."
Sebastian stared at him blankly, saying nothing, causing Owen to cough awkwardly.
Owen glanced around the room, his gaze sweeping over the scattered remains of limbs and organs being cleared away, until it rested on the pile of corpses squished against the ceiling. He bit his lip and quickly forced his eyes away, turning back to Sebastian with another forced smile.
Sebastian was reminded of Acier's fake smiles—her ugliest ones.
He couldn't understand why Owen was pretending with him. They weren't close or acquainted enough for it to matter how Owen felt, nor should Owen care how Sebastian perceived him.
If you're depressed, just look depressed. If you're angry, act angry. Who exactly are you pretending for?
Sebastian didn't voice the thought, only slightly tensing when Owen suddenly reached out and patted him on the shoulder. Despite the unexpected contact, Sebastian didn't shrug his shoulder free as the young man spoke.
"You're not going to be able to save everyone… in fact, there may come days where you're barely able to save anyone… and even a day may come where you can't save a single person."
Sebastian watched the man tremble slightly, as if remembering something, as he trailed off before continuing.
"Don't let that beat you up too much. This is war—people die, people have died, and people will continue to die. Our job as healers is just to save as many as possible.
"If you let one slip through your hands, save the next one. If you let a bunch slip through, save the next bunch. But don't panic, don't cry, and don't collapse. We healers are the most protected and guarded on the warfront. We have guaranteed meals every day, and as long as Kiten isn't breached, we don't have to worry about death or not seeing tomorrow. That's a privilege few in this town share."
He paused, then continued, his voice firm despite the tremor beneath it.
"But that all comes at the price of the great expectations and responsibilities imposed on us—on our shoulders, our backs, our bodies, our spirits, and our souls!
"To save, to provide relief, recovery, and salvation—that is our job, that is our duty. We don't get to cry. We don't get to collapse. Not until this is over… maybe not even after. So, Sebastian, just endure and persevere, and keep healing."
His voice softened.
"And try not to get attached… to anyone. Trust me, it's better that way. Much better."
Sebastian didn't interrupt Owen once as he spoke, silently observing the tremor in his frame, the red-rimmed, puffy eyes, the pale complexion, and the hunched back.
He didn't speak because he felt those words weren't just meant for him—Owen seemed to be talking more to himself, convincing and placating himself.
Perhaps this was his way of venting without succumbing to self-destructive tendencies. Perhaps it was Owen's way of calming himself down.
So Sebastian stayed silent, offering no response to Owen's words other than a curt nod.
A moment later, Owen seemed to snap back into focus and smiled at Sebastian. "Come now, it's getting late. Let's pick up our meals, eat, and turn in. Roll call for healers is at dawn."
This time, Sebastian spoke softly. "You still have the appetite to eat?"
Owen froze, his smile immediately faltering as he shook his head. "No… no, I don't," he admitted truthfully. Before Sebastian could say more, Owen quickly added,
"But, as I said, we're healers. We need to watch out for our health. Magic requires mana, and we can't cast spells on empty reserves. We need to eat, sleep, recover our stamina, and be ready to save lives the next day."
His voice took on a harder edge.
"So even if you feel like throwing up, even if you feel like puking, grab a bottle of water or whatever you need, and force that meal down."
Sebastian nodded lightly.
Owen smiled again, this time more genuinely. "Besides, even if you can only take a bite or two, you can always give the rest to a passing child or family. That might get them through the night. Never turn away from a free meal!"
Sebastian nodded once more.
—
Midnight
Sebastian blinked, looking at Acier as he finished setting up his large tent. In the town square, the camp was dotted with many tents of varying sizes, housing not just Magic Knights and other volunteers but also many of Kiten's residents who had lost their homes in the destruction.
His gaze remained fixed on Acier, who crossed her arms and shot him a teasing smile.
Sebastian couldn't keep silent any longer. He parted his lips softly. "Where's your tent?"
Acier beamed. "I gave it away. I saw a couple of kids without shelter, and my magnanimous heart melted immediately."
Sebastian's brow twitched. Taking a moment to calm himself, he responded with a strained smile. "Your 'magnanimous heart' has left you homeless."
"No, it hasn't!" Acier smiled and pointed behind Sebastian, to his tent. "There's my home."
Sebastian froze, then shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not."
Acier scratched her chin, her tone teasing. "Why's that, Sebby?"
Sebastian didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to the town hall. "You're a princess. I'm sure they can spare you a room."
Acier shook her head. "No, I'm just Acier here. And even if they did, I wouldn't take them up on it."
Sebastian blanked as she smiled, walked past him with her bag in hand, unzipped his tent, and stepped inside.
"I want to sleep here, I want to live here, so I will, my dear Sebby."
Without waiting for his response, Acier disappeared inside.
Sebastian blinked again, ignoring the Magic Knights and other spectators giving him funny looks. Gritting his teeth, he followed her into the tent.
Zipping it closed behind him, he turned around—only to immediately freeze. He caught a glimpse of something and quickly covered his face with his hands.
"W-what are you doing?!" he demanded in shock, his face flushed red.
Acier raised a brow and continued to strip nonchalantly. "I can't sleep in this. I'm changing into my pajamas."
H-have some shame! Sebastian inwardly screamed, thankful the tent was heavily insulated and non-see-through. He spun around, his back to her.
He didn't dare shout anymore, worried it would attract attention from outside. Instead, he whispered, "Tell me when you're done."
A moment later, Acier's voice came. "I'm done."
Sebastian didn't turn right away. He waited a full five minutes, just to be safe, before cautiously turning around—only to find Acier in a nearly see-through nightgown that didn't even reach her knees.
Sebastian gulped, his throat dry, but otherwise managed to feel relieved. He steadfastly ignored Acier's pout.
Yes, Sebastian was certain she hadn't been clothed when she said she was.
Sebastian's gaze wandered behind her, and he froze.
His sleeping bag was gone, tossed aside. In its place, taking up the whole space, was a two-person one.
Sebastian was beginning to wonder if Acier had even brought another tent.
He looked at her. Acier smiled innocently. "That's the only one I brought, so unless you want me to sleep without one, you'll have no choice but to cooperate."
Her tone was teasing and playful. Sebastian's throat hitched further as Acier blew him a kiss and sauntered to the back of the tent. She slipped into the sleeping bag and patted the spot next to her.
"Come to bed, Sebby."
Sebastian's mind blanked.
Acier's smile widened as she envisioned the hilarity to come. She could see him flushing red, stammering excuses about sleeping on the other side of the tent—or even outside. She expected him to stutter like a schoolgirl, flustered and embarrassed.
What she didn't expect was for Sebastian to blankly put out his lamp, walk up to her, and slip into the sleeping bag without a word.
Acier blinked, stunned, then completely froze as Sebastian zipped up the bag, enclosing them together. He reached out, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly.
Acier flushed and gulped. "S-Sebby—"
"Acier." Sebastian cut her off before she could continue, his tone somber as he fixed her with a serious look.
Acier paused, her blush receding slightly. "Yes?"
Sebastian gently ran slow circles over her back and whispered softly, "You better not die tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. For as long as we're here—and even beyond that—never die. Come back to me, alive and in one piece, so I can fix you up."
Sebastian trembled slightly, hugging her tighter. "I'm also begging you… please don't do anything stupid or reckless. Don't draw unnecessary attention. Just follow your orders, alright?"
Acier stared at him for a long moment, her gaze softening, before leaning in and pecking him on the lips. "Alright."
Sebastian let out a quiet sigh of relief, releasing her so she could lay down beside him. "Goodnight, Acier," he whispered softly.
Acier smiled. "Goodnight, Sebby."
—
Alden Arcana stood on the mayoral office balcony, his temporary command center since arriving in Kiten, overlooking the town under the high moon's glow.
His gaze roamed the scene below, finally settling on the town square. He sighed inwardly as fragments of a conversation from several months ago echoed in his mind.
What is it, Lord Alden?
Nathaniel, I've had a vision.
…Does it concern me?
Your daughter was in it, and her lover.
...
I saw them in Kiten—
Alden, absolutely not.
Nathaniel, listen to me. They won't die, I promise. I won't let them… but please, if they want to come here, don't forbid them, and don't turn them away. They have a part to play in ending this madness.
…I will consider it.
That's all I ask for, Nathaniel. That's all I ask.
Alden's attention was drawn back to the present as a small card began materializing before him, shifting from translucent to solid form. It floated gently down into his hand.
At the top of the card was the Roman numeral VI. Its illustration depicted two silhouettes: a man on the right, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Sebastian, and a woman on the left, strikingly similar to Acier.
The man extended his right hand, and the woman her left. Their arms met at a perfect angle, linking in union. Above their joined hands floated a pink heart.
Above them, rising from a cloud, was the figure of a divine angel with outstretched wings and arms, radiant under a golden sun.
Alden ran his thumb over the card, his voice low as he read the capitalized word at the bottom.
"LOVERS."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. The angel and the sun began to dim, fading entirely from the card.
His gaze hardened, and he clutched the card tightly, a strange heat and intensity flickering in his eyes.
"No more divine protection…?" he whispered softly. Then his tone grew resolute. "Then I'll be their guardian angel. I won't let them die."
It didn't seem as though Alden was speaking to himself. His head tilted upward, his mana-charged gaze piercing through the skies as though searching for something—or someone.
A moment later, he lowered his head, tucked the card into his sleeve, and turned away. With steady steps, he walked back into the office.
Author's Notes:
[1] Let me clarify something from the last chapter: The Tower card, when reversed, can symbolize averting disaster—that's how Kiten was saved. The King of Cups represents emotional compassion and diplomacy, which aligns with how Alden successfully negotiated with the enemy.
[2] In the original Black Clover series, Rades created a Soul Corpse Puppet named No. 0 Mickael Caesar from the bodies of two former Magic Knight captains. It possessed air and spike magic, which I think is perfect. Air magic aligns well with vortex matter, making it fitting for Mickael as the former Purple Orca captain. Spike magic, on the other hand, complements the Caesar name and works perfectly for the Blue Rose captain for… obvious reasons. (Yes, this means the Blue Rose captain will be male, but don't worry—it'll make sense and won't feel forced.)
[3] Feel free to join the Discord! https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar