"How..how could this be?"
Standing alone, the cloaked figure trembled. Around her, more than a dozen swordsmen and archers were lying on the ground, either dead or bleeding heavily from tiny cuts. Thousands of cherry blossom petals covered the ground, their edges as sharp as a razor.
A beautiful young woman clad in green stood leisurely in front of her, steel blade half-covering her face. Her previously midnight-coloured hair now reflected moonlight, and an ancient rune tattoo could be partly seen on her left cheek.
Seraphine regarded the cloaked mage with curiosity.
"Hey. You're a mage, aren't you?"
Startled, the mage instinctively took a step backwards. She had no intention of responding to Seraphine's question. Instead, she hurriedly began chanting a spell again. However, before the arcane rune was even completed, the woman in front of her swept her steel fan and folded it with a snap.
"Zavarás." Seraphine spoke lazily.
Without warning, her magic suddenly dissipated. The mage looked at Seraphine in fear - she had never had anyone interfering with her magic in this manner. In the first place, the number of mages who could cast magic without reciting incantations in their entirety could be counted with one hand.
"You...who are you?"
"What a rude child. I asked you first, didn't I?" Seraphine glanced at the staff the mage was holding with trembling hands. The smoky-grey stone at the tip of the wand emitted a familiar aura. "Hey, who gave you that staff? Wait, that's not important now. Where are the children? Oh, can you stop?"
The mage breathed heavily and frantically recited another spell in panic, but once again, Seraphine easily interfered and dispelled it. The mage stared at her, her eyes wide with fear. To her, Seraphine's existence felt like an insurmountable mountain rather than just simply an adversary.
Seraphine sighed, but perked up as her senses picked up someone approaching. She quickly opened her fan again and, with a graceful leap and 'gentle' sweep of the steel fan, knocked the mage unconscious.
As the arcane mana around her swirled and dissipated, her hair reclaimed its midnight hue and the ancient rune slowly faded.
"Lady Mizan!"
Sir Regulus appeared from the bushes, seemingly out of breath. His eye widened as he took a look at the ridiculous scene in front of him - a young lady standing casually amidst a dozen or so fallen attackers on pink petal-covered ground.
"Uh..." Sir Regulus checked the vitals of the nearest lying figure, then stood up when he found none. "I guess you didn't need my help, my lady. I knew you're a mage, but I never imagined you'd be this strong."
"Thank you for the compliment." Seraphine pointed to the unconscious mage on her feet. "Although...you came at a good time, Sir Regulus."
****
When he could not hear a lot of noises any longer, Darryl peeked from the slight opening of the tent flap. Seeing no one around, he quietly slipped out.
He found the knight captain, Sir Kingsley, sitting by the dying fire, groaning as he wrapped a bandage around his injured arms. Darryl approached him carefully.
"Uh...do you need help..?"
"Stay away from me, you rascal." Sensing him approaching, Sir Kingsley growled. Stunned, Darryl stopped in his tracks.
"Why don't you let him help you? It looks quite painful." Armand said calmly while shovelling the ground to bury the bodies. Thankfully, Lady Mizan carried many things in her extremely rare sub-space storage. The shovel came in handy when they were digging trenches around the tents.
Braving himself, Darryl stepped forward and took the bandage from him with a determined face, then fetched previously boiled water, which had since cooled down, in a pot hanging over the fire.
"Anya said that you should clean your wound first before dressing." Gingerly, he held Kingsley's arm and poured the water slowly. While it must have been painful, Sir Kingsley did not so much as wince. After drying it with a clean cloth, Darryl gently wrapped the bandage around.
"Hmph." The old man did not thank him, but merely grunted and walked away.
Smiling a little, Armand watched him limping away as he continued shovelling. "Don't take it to the heart, Darryl."
"It's okay, I'm used to it." He looked at Armand curiously. "But aren't you a holy knight, big brother? Can't you just heal him?"
"Ah, that's a common misunderstanding. Holy knights are capable of healing our own wounds to a certain extent - regeneration is part of our divine blessing - but we're not capable of healing someone else's injuries or illness. That would be up to the priests and priestesses of the World Tree Temple."
"..which makes him a little useless, in my opinion."
Armand chuckled as he heard Flint's voice and saw him stepping over the rest of the bodies, carrying an unconscious person like a sack of luggage. Without hesitation, he dropped the figure to the ground, his body tightly bound with a gag in his mouth.
"Got this one alive for you."
"Great job. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to keep anyone alive."
"Veronica said she knows him."
Raising his eyebrow, Armand looked at Dame Ardent, who hesitantly nodded.
"Is that true?" Kingsley's low voice could be heard as he walked closer and observed the bound assailant, eyes narrowing. "Is that someone you know, Dame Ardent?"
"Yes-" Veronika stammered. "Yes, I think so, Captain. He looks like Jerome Flagrant, a recruit who joined the archers' regiment last summer. I know because he is..."
"...Dominic Flagrant's brother, yes." His voice was full of disbelief. "What's the second son of the Archon's Court Officer doing here?"