Atop the wall of the Nameless Fortress, known only as “Fort Seven” for lack of a real name. The gray stone walls, the bodies strewn everywhere, arrows embedded like thorns … Groans and screams drifted on the wind. It was a grotesque scene,        but for the defenders, a familiar siege. And for Aziel, an astounding victory.

And amid that victory, a scream echoed.

“Invaders!”

A word that cut deep into the hearts of the easterners, descendants of imperial settlers and people from a collapsed nation once native to the land. Some soldiers turned away … Others clenched their fists in denial and outrage.

The burden the easterners bore …The man with the axe had struck a nerve.

And at that moment, 

“Come up.”

Aziel stepped forward. The man shouted endlessly, perhaps out of rage, perhaps hoping to shake the prince’s composure.

High atop the wall, where neither could retreat, they faced each other like actors upon a stage. The stage was the battlefield … The audience, the soldiers.                As the wind in the canyon stilled, the sharp stench of blood and cold metal filled the silence.

The imperial banner hung limp, its strength spent, and still the man raved on, dredging up histories long buried. Like the lead in a tragedy, he turned his fury against the world, and Aziel, whom many expected to flare with anger, said nothing, he simply listened … Expressionless. Calm.

When the man had exhausted his tirade, Aziel gave his response.

“Excuses of the defeated.”

With a single sentence, he overturned everything. As he spoke, a sudden breeze tousled his pale platinum hair, despite the still air atop the wall.

Where did it come from?

Everyone watching felt as if their own lungs were starved of breath, yet Aziel alone appeared utterly free, and as if responding to his breath, the canyon winds returned. With a great flutter, the once-still black banner swelled outward, and the platinum twin-headed eagle emblazoned upon it spread its wings in a ghostly glow. 

“CRRRRAAAACK!” The twin-headed eagle roared.

No … That was the prince’s sword crying out, his words had been long, but the battle itself was brief. 

The massive axe. The giant man. Both were devoured, a show of overwhelming strength … No, call it utter helplessness.

Aziel’s greatsword had consumed the axe, and then the man’s body, all at once.    The shrieks … The bursts of blood and flame. The scream of that monstrous sword, And then silence.

“······.” 

The play was over, the victor upon the stage was Aziel, and no one cheered. Aziel sheathed the greatsword, wiping the blood from his face. He scanned the silent crowd of soldiers. The pristine image from before was gone. His smile, now smeared with blood, was chilling.

“Soldiers, listen.”

Leaning arrogantly against the greatsword, he looked down at the imperial troops who stared up in awe.

Would he praise their efforts? Cry out in shared triumph?

If he did, perhaps they could forget the doubts they’d just wrestled with. Perhaps they could rejoice. But instead, 

“We won because I was exceptional.”

The soldiers who had been about to cheer now stood frozen, as though struck by a spell. It was such a ridiculous statement.

Did he really just say that here, of all places? 

Only Andre and Sol exhaled with weary resignation, they knew Aziel’s nature well, he preferred praising himself over others, and he couldn’t care less about anyone else’s feelings.

“My strategy was excellent. The trap I set was brilliant. The final sword I swung was perfect. This victory is mine, it is the eleventh prince, Aziel’s achievement. You only followed orders.”

Blatant self-glorification, the soldiers shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond,     he wasn’t wrong… but were they supposed to clap? Cheer? What now?

As they hesitated, just before applause could start, 

“So the title of invader, of butcher, of one who claimed others’ land and spilled blood for years …”

Aziel spoke the very things everyone avoided, the truths no one dared to say aloud.

At once, everyone froze, with blood dripping from his hair, Aziel ran a hand through it and declared …

“It’s all mine. The glory of victory, and the infamy of slaughtering pitiful soldiers of a fallen land. Stack it all under my name. You only followed orders.”

He claimed both credit and blame with equal ease. The room stirred and murmurs spread. No one wanted such a title, and yet Aziel’s appetite for glory, and for infamy was so immense that he bore it willingly.

“The honor and the notoriety are mine. You , set aside your doubts. Simply receive your rewards in silence.”

He turned to walk away, but paused.

“This is a great victory. Enjoy it. That’s your duty as those who fought for it.”

And just like that, he declared victory and stepped down,  Which left everyone thinking …

“That… that was victory, right?”

“We did win, didn’t we?”

“I think so?”

This was unlike any speech they had heard before, he bragged and called himself a villain, then told them to celebrate, but after a beat …

“So we just… enjoy it?”

“Yeah. We won. That’s what matters.”

“You can only celebrate if you’ve survived, right?”

“If we’d lost, we’d be dead.”

The soldiers’ response shifted, whatever weight had been pressing down on their hearts … it lifted.

People find peace when someone else carries the blame, Aziel had taken on the infamy, and said they bore no responsibility.

Told them … you only followed orders, so just enjoy the victory, and then …

“The Crimson Hawk Knights have arrived, with wine!”

The knights, having departed from Crimson Hawk Fortress, now arrived through the back gate, bringing enough food and drink to feed everyone and then some.

Now that they were safe …

Now that there was food and alcohol …

“WOOOAAHHH!” Finally, the soldiers cheered.

Aziel’s speech, and the arrival of wine, had dislodged the thorn of guilt, the word “invader”, from their hearts.

[You have devoured minor fates: mockery, neglect, contempt, incompetence, laziness, inferiority. You have gained a large number of divergence points.]

[Minor fates “Luck,” “Strategy,” and “Combat” have grown in size. Fate becomes stronger.]

[A new fate is stirring! Minor fate “Victory” has been acquired. It strongly links to the fate of the greatsword Breaker.]

As Aziel descended from the wall, the alerts flooded in noisily, he had overturned the ridicule meant for tyrants with a single act, and won a massive victory on the eastern front. There would be no new country rising here … No endless battles, for now.

“Hmm, was it really necessary to say you’d bear the infamy?”

A voice drifted from the air nearby. The soldiers bustling around seemed not to hear.

  … Magic …

“Bloody.”

“Not even startled. You’ve been like that since the start. What would it take to surprise you?”

“You came here to babble? I told you to go to the north.”

“Let’s not get confused. You don’t have the right to order me around, Prince Aziel. And don’t change the subject. That was an incredibly dangerous statement you just made. ‘I’ll bear the infamy’? That’s the kind of thing that makes someone want to kill you.”

A playful tone laced with subtle menace.

Was it genuine? Or just a test? It didn’t matter.

Aziel had no intention of hiding his intentions.

“Better efficient villainy than foolish virtue.”

“…Efficient villainy.”

“You must survive to shape the future. Isn’t that why you’ve been living as a fugitive?”

“How do you even know that? Who … what exactly are you, Prince Aziel?”

“Shh. The knights are coming.”

As she prepared to question him further, Bloody vanished like smoke.

“Your Highness! The Crimson Hawk Knights have arrived!”

Crimson-armored knights stormed in through the back gate, confidence blazing, determined to turn the tide of war.

“Where are the enemies?! The Crimson Hawk Knights will sever their heads personally!”

But Aziel’s gaze was dull. His stance slackened with disinterest, they were too late.

“The battle is already over.”

“…What?”

“I said, it’s already over.”