A silver light runs along the battlefield of the street. At some point, it became a line, painting a picture on the battlefield as it drove through the battlefield, relentlessly aiming for its destination. The sunlight shimmered as if it were reflected in the silver. A cloud of dust danced in the air, blinding the silver light even more.

　The front line of the battlefield. There was the figure of Vestaline, the Iron and Steel Princess, heroically wielding her battle axe. The silver light touches Vestalinu as if it were being sucked in.

　--.

　The first thing that happened was the sound of friction that filled the street. The first was the sound of friction that filled the streets, the sound of steel grinding against steel, a violent sound that seemed to force the mind to tear itself apart.

　Next came a smell so dense that it seemed as if the air itself had been scorched. A burning smell that choked his nostrils. Vestalinu frowned as he held his twitching fingertips.

　With a cloud of dust on his back, he didn't even have time to blink before he swung his weapon at Vestalinu. It's just a coincidence that Vesterline was able to react even slightly to that blow. It was a perfect surprise attack that left no room for error. And then a flash of fierce fangs that left no room for error.

　All Vestalines could do was to raise his battle axe and catch it. No, catching it was not the right thing to do. She was hit with a solid slash from the top of the battle axe. The evidence of this was the creaking of bones all over Vesterine's body, and the dull pain in his wrists. She had only been hit by a single blow.

　As soon as she bit down on that fact, Vestalines eyes flashed with fear.

　What the hell was that? What the hell happened to me? Vestalinu's eyes widened, and she stared at the shimmering substance in the dust. What was in her heart was a peculiar kind of fear, like that of a child trying to uncover the identity of a monster, but with a hint of curiosity. There is something there that I don't know about, and I'm hoping for the best.

　Vestalinu's eyelids fluttered.

　--So you're the Iron Princess. You've got a good souvenir for him.

　There she was, a female swordswoman, much smaller than Vestalinu. She had a head of silver hair that was parted in two tufts, and her small lips were wavy as she said this.

　If you only look at her, you might even have doubts. Could this girl really be the one who had just tried to kill him? Is this really the person who gave you that unfathomable fear? Her body was not as tall as Vestalinu's, and her weapon was an uncommon silver long sword. If you only look at it that way, it doesn't seem like a very strong opponent. It is easy to believe that a girl with no power has come out to the battlefield with a little bit of courage. The girl in front of you is so thin that you would think so.

　But no... My back teeth are clicking. It was only when she heard the sound that Vesterine realized that she had been biting down hard on her back teeth without realizing it.

　You can find a lot of things that you can do to make your life easier. All of these things made the girl in front of me step out of the frame of common sense.

　What you see in the girl's eyes is a strong will and the arrogance of the strong. These are not the eyes of someone who is challenging the odds or the battlefield. It is the arrogance of the strong. That kind of arrogance of the strong is hidden behind her eyes.

　And so her presence shines even more brightly in the midst of the chaos of war. Vestalinu does not know her. She doesn't remember the silver-haired swordsman being in Belfain's private army, not even for a moment. A private soldier would certainly be remembered by Vestaline.

　In other words, this girl is an outsider. Just an outsider who happens to be on Belfain's side. That's all she is.

　And yet... She's acting as if she's already the ruler of this battlefield, the head of the private army. The private soldiers, unknowingly, are gaining momentum as if driven by the heat she generates.

　Just by being there, she has an overwhelming presence that causes heat to be produced in people's guts. That's her. The silver-haired female swordswoman.

　Vestalinu had a hunch. It wasn't a thought, it wasn't a thought that came to her, it was just a word that came naturally to her mind.

　--She had to stop her breathing right here and now. If she couldn't, it would be a lifelong disaster.

　The tension that threatened to burn her skin, the mental pressure that constricted her throat. Vestalynne lets out a little breath.

　The dull pain in her wrist was gone by the time Vestalynn raised her battle-axe with both hands again. The silver-haired swordsman, the pain was a trivial matter in front of her. The next thing he knew, his head was flying through the air. It was easy for Vesterine to imagine that.

　She took a half step closer, holding her battle axe over her shoulder. The silvery stance was low, low to the ground. His petite body looked even smaller with his bent knees.

　You can feel the spit pooling in your mouth. But there was no way I could swallow it. In that instant, the image of my heart being gouged out comes to my mind. It seemed to Vesterine that every breath, every blink of the eye, even the slightest jerk of the knee would be fatal. She had never felt like this before. It had never happened before. The feeling of being strangled by the tense, heavy, compressed air itself.



　With a whoosh, the wind blew. A cloud of dust rises up, tearing the space between Vestalines and silver, slightly.

　A moment later, a cloud of dust shatters. The dust disappears, torn apart and cruelly shattered. Vestalinu swings his battle axe from the upper level, roaring as if to strike the space itself. In order to strike down the silver swordsman who would be thrusting up from below.

　In his mind, Vestalinu saw the silver sword pierce his skull again and again. Unknowingly, her cheeks relaxed. They say a coward dies again and again and a hero only dies once. Then surely I must be a coward. I've been killed by her countless times in my imagination.

　The silver-haired swordsman stayed low and swung his long sword to pierce Vestalinu's skull, as if he were tracing her imagination. There is not the slightest deviation or tremble in the tip of his sword. The proof of her countless years of training resides in the sword, and it draws a flash of silver in the sky.

　The silver trajectory heads straight for Vestalinu's skull, as if it were being sucked in. As if to intercept the flash, the battle-axe swings its rigid power with the wind.

　The battle-axe's brute force split the sky and intersected with a flash of silver that split the sky.

　--At that moment, a roar that seemed to twist even the wind reverberated through the streets.