"We are already dead."
Ars remembered the first time he met Liras, who had asked him what his powers were.He had immaturely responded with—"I can see things from far away."
He thought, at that time, it was a witty response.I still think it is…
The truth is, I can see so many things, all at once. But never in my life have I seen something so clearly…
They were going to die here, in this bloody cold place. Liras had spent the last of his spirituality fighting the mountain creature. It resembled the ghouls they had fought in the caves beneath Fort Revile.
They had 15,000 men. Now, there were fewer than 5,000.
Ars strained his eyes so hard, just for a glimpse of salvation. Yet he could see nothing except the blue cold.
"Ars." He heard a weak whisper—it came from Liras. For the first time ever, the Dawnmaker's voice was weak.
"Gather everyone here…" he murmured. The flaming maelstrom in his eyes was extinguished, yet Ars could see a faint flicker.
"Men!"
He shouted with all his might, even trickling in some of his spirituality to enhance his voice.
They—a few thousand—cramped together to preserve body heat, gathered around them. Ars looked at Liras, who was bent down, a silver knife in his right hand. His left hand extended.
Before he could say anything, Liras brought down the knife and cut his own hand off.The hand fell to the snowy ground and glowed a faint orange.
Everyone's eyes widened as the hand caught fire with orange flames. It grew bigger and bigger. And the heat…
The heat didn't just warm them. It calmed them, invigorated them, rejuvenated them.
Liras pressed the bloody stump of his arm to the flame and, without any expression, allowed the fire to seal the wound.
The flame grew larger, seemingly unperturbed by the ruthless winds. Liras stepped back and watched the flame with a somber expression. It wasn't because he had lost his hand—it was because of the flame.
Ars could see it too. The healing flame was produced by Liras sacrificing the spirituality circulating through his left hand. Although the flame seemed unbothered, it wouldn't be long before it extinguished.
Some, if not most of the men realized this too, but they were so overcome with euphoria standing by the flame that they could not let their minds drift.
"There is a way out," Liras muttered softly to Ars, who was standing over his hunched figure.
"There is a way out, Ars. For you and them." He sighed, eyes closed.
Ars gritted his teeth."But not for you? My liege… you really are a fool."
Liras smiled faintly. "I never said I wasn't. I… well, if I sacrifice myself, by consuming both my spirituality and life-force, I can make a healing flame strong enough to get you and the men to safety."
Ars remained silent.
"But you will have to promise me something, Ars. Kill those bastards—the Queen and those Templar." Liras smiled bitterly. "Destroy the Church. Send those bastards back to Creno…"
"And take the throne, Ars."
"What?"
Liras sighed and stood up. He easily towered over Ars, with broad shoulders and a kingly presence. Ars always felt very inadequate in front of him. Thus, his admiration of him grew even more.
"I have no heir. And I don't trust any of my cousins—those upright nobles—to take the throne. I may not have known you for long, but in these past years, I've seen… well, Ars, I've seen myself in you."
He placed a hand on Ars's shoulder."I don't want to die, Ars. Isn't that selfish of me? The only reason I accept this death is because I know… I believe in you."
"I don't have any hope left that I'll survive. But with my sacrifice, you and they can. Save the people. Save Lamberg. Save… my home."
Ars could only stand still, frozen. He felt like he could cry, but no tears came out. Even if they did, they would only freeze in this cold.
"Wait… no, you don't have to… w-we'll find a way. I… I can find a way…"
Suddenly, a giant ripple appeared in the air, not too far from them. Both Liras and Ars turned quickly, sensing the disturbance.
Out of the ripple appeared a large present box, striped purple and gold, tied with a red string. The men near the fire turned to see the floating present box too.
They could hear a loud thud from inside the floating box until the lid burst open—both Liras and Ars drew their weapons, a spear and longsword respectively.
The box was large, but not large enough to fit a person—much less two. So they watched in a mix of confusion and fear as two young men struggled out of the box.
One had a ghastly air to him, with dark hair and eyes, his face clean and sharp-featured. The other had curly blond hair, very pale skin, and eyes… eyes that were golden.
"I told you it was cold here, Mammon. Should've listened to me and brought a cloak," the ghastly one muttered, shivering. The golden-eyed one ignored him and faced Ars and Liras.
Liras seemed to recognise him, or rather, his name. "Mammon? Malphas? No… you are his son. Andrew, was it?"
The ghastly one laughed as the Mammon smiled. "No, Your Highness. My name is Alastor. I am here to help you!"
He looked down to Liras's missing hand. His smile faded. "Maybe I'm a bit too late… Actually, forget that—as long as you're alive, that means I'm not late!"
"How…" Ars whispered, still dazed.
"You mean how did we get here? I have a neat magical storage item with almost infinite space. It's suited for storing intimate objects, but it can—albeit uncomfortably—store living things. As for the teleportation spell… well, I spent a fortune hiring a spatial mage…"
"That doesn't explain how you managed to end up in this exact spot. How did you pinpoint our position?" Liras asked, gripping his spear tightly.
Kios answered, stepping forward.
"Well, Your Highness, it seems the rumors about you are true. I'm not sure that's a good thing. But it surprises me—you're still quite inexperienced with mysticism. When slaying that mountain creature, you expended a large amount of spirituality. That could be the reason why we appeared in your exact spot…"
"It was a gamble," Alastor added. "We knew you were somewhere in the southern Alps. Somehow, we got lucky."
The spatial mage was from Dicrya, a republic far to the east. She had drawn attention, so Alastor managed to locate her. She was low on funds, so she agreed to the long-distance teleportation for 100,000 soni.
An exorbitant amount—for normal people.
But to Alastor, it was pocket change.
Kios looked around and then faced Liras, a sly smile on his face. "The plan, Your Highness, is to stuff you and your men into Alastor's special storage item. Then, we'll make the journey back to Lamberg on foot. You're not too far—just a dozen miles from the countryside border."
"You can't expect us to trust a pair of strangers to enter their… magical present box as they cross the Alps for us," Ars spoke up.
Kios shrugged. "You don't have much of a choice. Well, you do—to die. So would you rather die, or trust us? Why would we come to this damned cold place if not to help you?"
"Why do you want to help us?" Liras asked calmly.
"Because we hate the Church as much as you do," Alastor answered quickly.
Liras continued staring at them. "That's not the only reason…"
"It isn't," Kios replied. "Not the only reason, that is. You're not the type to forget who helps you, are you?"
"Depends on who they are, and how they help."
"So if we help you destroy your enemies and claim the throne, what would you do for us in return?"
"Anything within my power as king," Liras answered, eyes narrowing.
Kios was silent. Alastor coughed. "That answers our question. Anyway, if you would gather your men…"
Liras nodded to Ars, who went to the flame, where the men were sitting, lying, or standing around it. Some even tried to touch the flame for more warmth—only to have their fingers or hands burned.
Ars called them, and watched as they groggily stood and gathered around the floating box. They looked at it with a mix of trepidation and confusion.
"Well? Get in!" Ars shouted. One limping man approached the box and peered inside—only to find infinite darkness.
He hesitated, then lowered himself. As soon as he passed a certain point, the box sucked him in, bending space.
And so, Alastor, Kios, Liras, and Ars watched as the box swallowed men one by one.
"What exactly does it lead to?" Ars asked.
Alastor's right eye twitched. "I don't know the specifics, but it's a pocket dimension. Just a large square room…"
"How's the air?" Liras asked.
Alastor's eye twitched again. "I don't know, Your Highness. I found it in the family treasury…"
The Mammon Family Treasury…
Even Ars had heard of it. He came from nobility—a lower family—so he was wealthier than most commoners. But the Mammons…
They were wealthier than even the Royal Family of Lamberg. Ars suspected the only one who could match them in net worth was the Empress of Anaria.
Finally, it was his turn. He approached the box cautiously and bent down. A strange sensation overtook him. He blinked—
—and found himself inside the box.
Suddenly, he felt very small…