This is a somewhat old story.
Specifically, this is a story about an incident in spring. It dates back to the year 415 in the common calendar of Regule Aire, almost 30 years before Feodor Jessman would meet four certain leprechaun girls.
Once, there was a war.
Of course, that in itself wasn’t very unusual. At the time, it was a rougher era. To be a little more precise, a large war waged on a small scale was ongoing.
The principal actor was an expansionist autonomous state spreading out from Island No. 6, commonly known as the Winged Empire. Fresh from the zeal and momentum of his coup, a general who’d stolen the emperor’s throne by murdering its previous occupant began invading the surrounding islands and cities. The various cities targeted, as well as various cities not targeted, each devoted themselves to their own strategies—either resisting the Empire or pledging allegiance to them. Some established trade relations, others schemed their own plans in response. Chaos brewed and spread uncontrollably to the point where the Winged Guard, formed as an organization that was meant to fight foreign invaders for Regule Aire’s continued survival, was forced to take action.
Countless wills and feelings filled the skies, and self-interest and emotions spurred on those involved in the war. Blood flowed, money changed hands, and lives were lost.
This battle was but a single piece of the devastation wrought by the spreading fires of war.
Roaring flames chased away the blackness of night.
The wrecked airships numbered five in total; five burning hulks of various shapes and sizes.
Clank. Clank.
Steel clashed harshly against steel, once, twice—a short pause—then once more.
Clank.
Two girls sliced at each other with strangely oversized blades bearing cracks all over their edges—dug weapons, as they were often called.
Dug weapons are weapons whose appearances belie their vast, concealed power. By responding to the user’s emitted venenum, they can generate enough power to slay the immortal Beasts. If two clashed at full power, it was impossible for their wielders to emerge unharmed. As they inflicted wounds upon each other, the girls’ strengths gradually drained as their weapons crackled and grinded against one another.
The swords clashed again, the two girls pushing against each other with equal strength. Simultaneously, they leapt back, each one repelled by the other’s force. They landed at a mutual distance.
“Stand aside, Nasania!” The girl wearing a shabby military uniform screamed, rage and blood in her eyes. She held a dug weapon emitting dazzling lights from its cracks: Mulsum Aurea. Rippling blue and green colors steadily writhed about within the blade. “Even you should know who we’re really fighting against! Those who have the right to live!”
She was a leprechaun—a type of weapon owned by the Winged Guard with the stipulated purpose of battling the Timere that invaded Regule Aire. Their basic circumstances were no different back then. Naturally, they were also forbidden to fight for any reason besides against the Beasts.
Back then, they also operated from a post dubbed the faerie warehouse. As now, its operation carried a different sort of nuance from what would be implied by “warehouse.” Weapons that lived, moved, and had to be cared for were ultimately not so different from warhorses or warbirds. That interpretation led to the leprechauns being managed similarly to high-class warhorses. Their residence was enclosed by a gray fence. They were kept clean enough to not become sick, given enough food to build up their strength, and instructed enough to be capable of understanding their orders.
Despite being placed in an environment where they were raised like warhorses and warbirds, each of the leprechauns eventually developed different hearts and personalities.
“That’s…not something we should think about, Elba,” Nasania replied, her low mutter nonetheless holding anger equal to her opponent’s. “I understand why you’re sad—why you’re frustrated. I even understand your feelings, as messed up as they are, about not wanting to listen to them anymore. Even so, we—and only we—mustn’t speak about them.”
“Even if that’s what’s right?! How dare you!”
“…Asking that is pointless. You know that, don’t you?” Nasania quietly ignited her venenum. A pale light permeated through the warped and crisscrossing cracks that covered the huge blade in her hand: the dug weapon Parchem. Even now, still holding back the violent energies that threatened to explode from her sword, she took a stance.
“As a premise, ‘righteousness’ can be distorted anytime, anyplace, as long as people wish it to be. I will fight for the future of Regule Aire as long as that future remains, no matter how ugly it becomes. Can you say the same?”
“Ugly? Such a polite choice of words.” Elba narrowed her burning eyes, not even acknowledging Nasania with a nod. “We’ll turn into mere weapons in the future you talk about. Our enemies won’t just be the Beasts—we’ll become tools to single-handedly wipe out anything our owners happen to dislike. Exactly like what we were ordered to do just now!”
Behind them, five airships in various sizes and shapes spurted flames. One of them was a Winged Guard attack ship. The rest were Empire cargo ships accompanied by escort vessels.
Airships, powered by spell reactors instead of thermal energy, do not produce large flames by themselves when their power sources run rampant. The flames came from the cargo packed into each airship, as well as the explosive devices planted into the cargo to erase all traces at any needed moment.
The faeries had learned that “The cargo ship is for transporting weapons of mass destruction to the front lines.” As such, their mission was to “Avert a huge tragedy with minimal loss. We can’t afford to have those weapons reach their destination.”
And how did the results turn out?
The ships they’d downed had had large masses of civilians on board. While it was difficult to distinguish burnt crisps belonging to multiple races, it seemed there’d been many women and children.
Why did it have to happen?
They couldn’t know with just the information on hand. Perhaps they’d gotten false information, or there was some miscommunication. Maybe someone onboard the ship had been transporting a real weapon of mass destruction among groups of unfortunate people, or there could have been an assassination target blending in with the civilians, or it could even be that the results didn’t matter as long as an Empire airship sunk because of it.
There was no way to know the truth now, and it was unnecessary to know as well. They’d been forced to murder citizens of Regule Aire. Regardless of the truth, that single fact wouldn’t change.
“Are you seriously saying you agree with being ordered to kill and murder for the rest of our days?!” Elba roared and charged at Nasania as their swords—the dug weapons intended to slay Beasts—clashed once more.
Loudly, heavily, those clanging noises rang out again. Still maintaining their stances with their swords pressed together, they pushed against each other with their words and strength.
“Even so, we faeries can only live by leeching off the military.”
“The hell we can!”
“You, me, and everyone at the warehouse only exist as the Winged Guard’s weapons. If you keep acting stupid like this, you’ll blow up everything—including the little ones’ futures.”
“I’m fine with that!” Elba snarled. “It’s the older generation’s duty to end it all before they’re used as filthy weapons!”
Nasania’s expression tightened with fury. “That’s arrogance, Elba!”
“No matter what you say, I can’t believe in any hope for our future anymore!”
A thunderous roar echoed as the pair were each blown in opposite directions. When they landed, the earth and sand that met their feet burst and flew away as if hit by a large explosion.
Unhesitating, both faeries turned in their spots and charged across the newly opened distance in another run-up. Leg strength enhanced by severely ignited venenum, their bodies flew forward with phenomenal speed. They discarded any semblance of posture or balance, gathering it all in front of them just to get a little faster, to strike just a little harder, to exchange everything for rushing power.
Clank.
Steel failed to meet flesh. They gained some distance, flipping and charging at each other again.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Three times in a row. Clank. Four times. The two faerie soldiers poured their very lives into the blades they swung, waging battle for the sake of the futures neither could give a single inch on.
Let’s touch on a few facts now.
These two were best friends raised at the same warehouse.
They fought through several battlefields together, supported each other, and thus had come to survive up to this point. They even shared the same belief—“We’ll die alongside each other.” Even if they were to die one day, it’d be for the sake of protecting their friend.
Such convenient dreams wouldn’t last forever, but at least they could stay together until their lives fell apart. Sworn as an unsaid pledge, it was a fervent wish held by those two.
Teardrops scattered, mixed into the ceaselessly bursting sparks. It was impossible to tell whose eyes they flowed from.
This is a somewhat old story.
Naturally, the battle has long been settled.
It goes without saying, but the defeated girl lost her life. Likewise, the victor perished shortly after the duel. Each closed their eyes without seeing the future they wished for.
There is hardly anyone left who even knows that this battle happened.