Chapter 16: Chapter-15: Aquilae, Aquilae of the Weeping Blade

Alenor coughed; she had pressed her neck too hard. It did snap her out of her initial upset. A looming figure approached her. Tall and broad, clad in full plate purple armour. Mana crackling from his hand. In a blink, he was upon her, and his right arm struck her before she could even move. She raised her left arm to guard. 

Crack. 

His punch connected on her left side. Her arm snapped upon collision, as if a twig trying to stop a log. So did her rib bone. Crack line on her left arm from the tearing of spirit blood flared. Reminding her of pain greater than crushed bones. Then, he proceeded to kick her in the chest, but she was quick enough to channel her mana, strengthening her chest, guarded by a single tattered shirt. Her vision turned white. Hardening protected her chest from being crushed as the kick threw her with great force. She raggedly rolled through the ground, and bashed the back of her head on the fence that separated the overgrown trees from the mansion. Left to the bridge. Crack depressed. Her shirt’s button ripped, and her shirt was somewhat opened, revealing cracks like spider webs that spread from her left side, black as if a deep pit, and travelled across her body. Her whole body ached.  

It was over. She tried with everything she could, even so she could not stop the army for any amount of time. All that effort just for this? The pain from the snapped arm did not bother her. Of every pain she felt in the last hour, this was the least. She just wished they would kill her. She wanted to rest. 

‘Huh.’ She knew better. He bothered getting off the Harrock. No point in Hell would he just kill her. One more hell awaited her. Why would fate not allow her to die peacefully? What did she do to deserve this? A single tear flowed down her eye and through her cheek, turning red from the blood that washed down from her forehead.   

‘Once that is over, will I be able to rest?’ She would not hope.

Alenor 

Alenor

"ALENOR"

She heard Celine shouting. Why was she announcing her presence? 

‘I went through so much. yet here she was, completely draining down her efforts in drainage, typical nobles.’

Alenor's vision refocused. The commander's loud and heavy footsteps announced his unappreciated approach. Alenor wanted him to come close and gloat. She would spit on him. Who knew? Maybe he would kill her in a fit of rage. That would be ironic. She laughed in her head. She looked toward him. He towered over everything, she felt like an ant waiting to be crushed. From the side, something stung her eyes. Her eyes snapped shut, it pained. Slowly, she opened her eyes; everything looked washed out and dark. She squinted and looked at the rising sun. 

Shining in its glory over the horizon of trees, arrogantly announcing its rise. She smiled faintly. She felt relieved. Celine was alive, unharmed, just as she had promised, and she succeeded. Until sunrise, it was her duty. Now, it was the Warlord's duty. She had earned her rest. Would Rinn grant her rest now? The ticking had not stopped. She tried to call Rin, but her vocals were still a mess. She hoped the Warlord would arrive quickly, while they were waiting around and not attacking Celine.

She felt a stabbing pain in her heart, her vision turned white. Cracks through her body shone. Pain tearing through her body. 

"Kill her, NOW!!"

Commander Dashed backward, and Lanthrols howled and dashed towards her.

Between the scents of blood and sweat, there was a sweet, calming fragrance.like she was resting in a flower garden. The ticking still did not stop. What happened, she wondered. She could not see anything. 

The flower garden reminded her of a question her last mistress asked a long time ago. 

‘What does a dying person look like to you?’ 

‘Calm, peaceful, unbound by distress, free’

‘Is that how you wish to look?’

‘Yes…’ 

‘Do you think I will look like that, Alenor?’ She called, with no malice in her voice. She never considered her name distasteful like it was. She was literally drinking ale, which Herlot and the drunkard drank.A swear word for nobility. 

‘Yes..’ her mistress smiled. She sat in the flower garden, reading a book. Alenor sat in front of her.

‘If you say so,... Alenor, I want you to promise me…’

Sharp pain jolted her out of her reverie, and her entire body was ripped apart, cracks burning. Her head crushing from pain. Then, everything died down.  

Alenor regarded herself. Her hand crushed and snapped in a weird direction, Cracks running through her body, covered in blood and wounds, an arrow in her shoulders, cuffed from neck to ankle, pierced in one of ears, legs, arms and chest. If someone were to see her, she would look worse than a runaway slave. So much for her earned rest. To whom would she look peaceful, calm, and free?

She waited for the beasts to chew her, to defile her, to rip her apart. Yet nothing came. The sound of a sword cutting through the air reached her ringing ears. She tried to focus her eyes, and slowly her white vision went back to normal. That is washed. A figure stood in front of her. Tall, slim. Her flaming red hair flowed down her shoulders, unbound. A perfectly fitting black overcoat hugged her body. Below her coat, she wore black trousers and white shoes. With unreal calmness, she swung her abnormally long sword, the sound of cutting through the air came from its wake. Lanthrols surrounded them, just circling around Alenor and the red haired figure. They could not enclose them, a few tried to just have their human-like face smoothly sliced apart, and the sword did not even register them. Sword pushed the lanthrols back, little by little. Creating a circle between them and Alenor. Alenor watched in fascination, her hand moved so fast she could only see afterimages. Alenor tried to move, but her body did not obey. She half-lying on the ground, she watched as the figure pushed back Lanthrols; despite their overwhelming swarm, they couldn't advance.

"Under a different situation, perhaps a new Warlord would have been born."

"Tell me, what do you wish for?" Her saviour spoke, she did not look back, still swinging her sword, which was the longest one she has ever seen. Her words came out unusually calm, as if she were speaking at a tea table and not in front of a swarm. 

"to... Re... rest."

"Understandable"

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Alenor forced out words; her voice was hoarse and feeble. Like an old woman dying of age. The sword came to a halt, but only for a brief moment.Was she the Warlord? How did she even get here? Why was she here? What about Celine? Did they get her? 'No, no, no...'

"M…miss" she forced down a breather to speak. "Miss Celine," she tried to point to the mansion with her unbroken hand, but it didn't listen.

"Do not move." Warlord said. 

‘I could not even if I wanted to.’ Alenor wanted to say yet the words did not come out. 

"She is safe, you should worry about yourself."

Her sword glowed a shade of mint green. And all the Lanthrols cried out, and fell to the ground. Each of them was sliced in half, and their bodies fell. 

"Leave" 

Warlord whispered, mana in the air hummend. Lanthrols on the far back, howled like kicked puppies and ran. Tail between their legs. 

Warlord approached her, a white and black scarf wrapped around her neck.Her face was sharp, expressionless. Her black eyes met alenors. For a second, she looked stunned.

"Why do so many chains bind you? I hate chains; you won’t mind if I destroy them, right?"

She brought down her sword and stopped at her neck. ‘Will she kill me to destroy chains?’ Alenor wondered, not that she minded. Anyone would do. She thought to herself.She would not be afraid of death after coming this far. Her hollow eyes stared at the Warlord's. What was she waiting for? 

"Perhaps, if you had the will to live, a Warlord would have been born."

"If… I had… will to live… I w..would ha..ve ran away"

"No, that’s what you think now. But, the paradise cries for its loss—for the loss of a warlord that was never born. You are too far away to hear it."

Alenor did not say anything, she understood what the warlord was implying. She could have been a warlord; that’s why she cannot be allowed to live. Alenor smiled faintly; her face looked tired and red, and her eyes were swollen and blue. A few crack lines travelled across her face.

"Are you eager to die?"

"Y…yes." Warlord hummed.

"Even if you wish to die, I cannot allow you to, as that would be breaking my part of the promise. Unfortunately Alenor, you have to live."

" Even… if you don’t…. Spirit’s blood will kill me………. A… a rather painful death."

Warlord mumbled. 'Huh,' said the warlord, her sword piercing Alenor's collar. Her sword was as long as she was. The pain that she awaited did not come.

" Why do you think I cannot stop you from dying? I am a warlord, you know that, right?"

" S… spirit said…"

Her eyes shined. They reflected curiosity. A small smile on her face. 

"That explains everything."

"Does….. It?"

"Do not speak. A spirit cannot change the natural outcome. But there is one who can, and as fate would have it, that one is right in front of you."

"Tell me your name, Alenor."

"I am Alenor, a banal one."

"I’m Aquilae, Aquilae of the Weeping Blade."

"SHATTER"  her sword glowed, an influx of mana entered Alenor’s body. Cracks on her body glowed, but only for a moment. And the collar shattered into pieces, turning into golden dust as they faded away. One by one, all the binds on her body shattered and turned into golden dust. Her body illuminated, Alenors stared at the Warlords, her red hair swayed. Sword still in her neck. And just like that, all her chains faded, and she felt so free and weightless. Although her pain did not fade away, they were still there—burning, freezing, piercing, melting pain.

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