The World of Otome Game

 is a Second Chance for Broken Swords

Story Starts

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Chapter 7.4 -

The Storm

'This wasn't how it happened in the game,'  Marie thought, her fingers gripping the railing tightly as the platform beneath her feet began to rumble and shake in preparation for liftoff. The floating stone hummed with barely contained power, ready to deposit their group at the designated area for the skirmish.

This was something she'd been stressing about ever since that night when Angelica threw down her glove—every waking moment since then consumed with worry, her stomach twisting itself into tighter and tighter knots.

It was supposed to be just a simple duel where Angelica wouldn't be able to find someone to represent her, leaving her scrambling and desperate. She would shame herself by demanding some of their territory's vassal knights to represent her in the challenge, ultimately losing to the prince in the end. A clean, predictable outcome. Humiliating for Angelica, certainly, but contained. Manageable.

Now she was facing both the protagonist and antagonist together—Olivia and Angelica, standing side by side like some sort of twisted alliance that made absolutely no sense according to the game's storyline. And then there was that other character, Leon, who wasn't even supposed to exist in the game at all.

Well, to be fair, she herself hadn't been in the game either—or both she and the Leon character were just background characters not worth mentioning—so perhaps she shouldn't be quite so surprised when things went off-script. Still, it grated at her nerves, this constant uncertainty.

She looked across at the third member of the opposing group, studying him carefully as the platform began its slow, steady ascent into the air. She honestly hadn't really paid much attention to Baron Bartfort before—he'd seemed like background noise, just another noble in a sea of them. But apparently, his looks had changed quite dramatically after the descent into that cosmic dungeon. Something about a magical accident or some such nonsense, though the details remained frustratingly vague.

What bothered Marie most was the way the baron acted, the mannerisms that tugged at something deep in her memory. It was vaguely familiar in a way she couldn't quite articulate—even his physical appearance, with his distinctive white hair and lightly tanned skin, triggered some half-formed recognition that danced just beyond her conscious reach. There was something about Baron Bartfort that she couldn't quite pinpoint, something that nagged at the edges of her awareness.

Argh! She wasn't built to think about complicated things like this, to puzzle out mysteries and piece together clues. All she'd wanted was to live a nice, comfortable life with her harem of gorgeous hotties, surrounded by beauty and affection and absolutely zero conflict. And now they were doing a full military skirmish in the training grounds of one of the Big Four's territory. How had her simple desires spiralled so completely out of control?

In the game, Margot Fou Bellefleur could be recruited as one of your mentors if you made the right choices, and she would prove herself to be one hell of a demanding slave driver. The training sequences had been brutal even in pixelated form—you'd be brought to the very brink of death and forced to repeat the torturous exercises day in and day out for about a month until she finally deemed you and your companions up to her exacting standards. Marie had always skipped through those sections as quickly as possible, frustrated by the grinding repetition.

But this time they would be using these very same grounds as the staging area for their skirmish, and Marie couldn't help but feel her anxiety mounting with each passing second, her heart hammering against her ribs as they rose higher into the air.

From where she stood, she could already see Folkvangr looming in the distance, the place where they would finally have their skirmish—the decisive moment that would determine whether or not she could achieve her true happiness and complete her perfect collection of gorgeous hotties.

Her imagination began to wander, conjuring up delicious scenarios: she could already picture her ideal "Julius sandwich" in vivid detail, both Karna—who, at the behest of Julius and her own subtle-but-not-entirely-subtle hinting, had taken on the prince's likeness—and Julius himself, positioned above and beneath her, locked in passiona—

"Master!"

"Master."

Two voices called out to her simultaneously, one sharply admonishing whilst the other dripped with teasing amusement. Before she could process what was happening, two thumbs dabbed at the corners of her mouth with surprising gentleness.

Her guardian spirit, Oberon, had crouched down before her, his impossibly beautiful bishounen face now disconcertingly close to hers. Marie felt heat rushing to her cheeks, her face flushing crimson as embarrassment began to take hold. With his delicate, almost ethereal hands, Oberon gently cupped her chin between his fingers—a gesture that Marie's flustered mind immediately translated as a precursor to something.

Marie slowly, almost hopefully, began to tilt her head upward in anticipation, but Oberon simply brought her chin up firmly, and with deliberate care, pressed her visibly parted mouth closed with one elegant finger.

"Master, you might catch a fly if you continue gaping like that," Oberon murmured, his voice lilting with barely suppressed laughter. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched the mortification spread across her features. "Though I suppose drooling whilst fantasising about your 'Julius sandwich' is marginally more dignified than doing so in his actual presence."

"…"

"Did… I truly…?"

The question died in her throat before it could fully form. Judging from the absolutely delighted grins spreading across the faces of all her lovers—Karna with his hands cradling the back of his head whilst whistling a jaunty, thoroughly unhelpful tune, and the utterly mortified expression colouring Julius's features as he determinedly refused to meet her gaze—the answer was devastatingly obvious.

"Yes," came Oberon's sing-song reply, each syllable dripping with vindicated amusement. "Most enthusiastically so, I might add."

Tick.

Marie felt something snap inside her chest, a tiny fracture in her composure that threatened to become a complete structural collapse. Oberon began to circle around her with predatory grace. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting across the shell of her ear as he whispered with infuriating cheer, "Now, now, my darling little master, I'm absolutely certain you're currently imagining yourself crawling up my back, putting me in the most undignified chokehold, and biting down on my skull with extreme prejudice. However—" his tone turned positively gleeful, "—everyone in the entire kingdom is currently watching this broadcast."

Tick.

The second fracture joined the first. Marie forced what she desperately hoped resembled a magnanimous, perfectly composed smile across her features, even as her left eye developed an involuntary twitch—once, twice—at her guardian spirit's relentless teasing. The humiliation burned through her veins like liquid fire, warring violently with her desire to maintain some semblance of dignity before the kingdom's watching eyes.

"Looks like we're about to land, Marie," Jilk's voice cut through the moment with blessed suddenness, professional and grounding. "Cast your enchantments on us all—let's make this skirmish quick and decisive."

He didn't wait for acknowledgement before leaping from the platform, his form arcing gracefully through the air to land atop a plateau at the far side of the island. Everyone else followed in rapid succession, their movements practised and confident. Marie did as well, her power armour's systems engaging smoothly, allowing her to fly and descend with controlled, gentle precision.

Everyone gathered around Marie as she clasped her hands in prayer, bright light emanating from her chest as she began her enchantment—

"Hey, Karna, where are you going?"

"Arjuna?"

Both Julius and Jilk called for their guardian spirits, who were currently walking towards the edge of the cliff, their bodies suddenly stiff with tension.

"EVERYONE RUN AND SPREAD OUT NOW!!!" Karna suddenly shouted.

Marie suddenly felt weightless as Julius swept her off her feet and leapt away from the plateau. Then something exploded behind them—a deafening roar that swallowed all other sound—followed by eerie silence as a sudden rush of wind overtook them mid-flight, forcing Julius to release his grip.

Marie tumbled through the air, her power armour's flight systems struggling to compensate. She looked back over her shoulder in shock just in time to catch a glimpse of a brilliant red streak painting itself across the sky. Then the entire plateau—and a significant portion of the island beyond it—simply ceased to exist in a catastrophic explosion that turned matter into light and heat.

Marie could hear her ears ringing from the shockwave as muted voices filtered through the distortion.

"P-Puck, Ajax, and K-Kyle have retired from the battle." The announcer's stunned voice eventually rang out across the dumbfounded spectators, his professional bearing utterly demolished. The declaration echoed throughout all of Folkvangr, conveying equal measures of wonder and dread.

"LEON FOU BARTFORT YOU FUCK!! WHEN I TOLD YOU—ARGH! WHEN I ADVISED YOU NOT TO HOLD BACK, I DIDN'T FUCKING MEAN TO DESTROY A SIGNIFICANT PORTION OF MY FUCKING TERRITORY! YOU LITTLE SHITHEAD ALONGSIDE OLIVIA AND MY PETULANT DAUGHTER WILL SPEND THE REST OF THE UPCOMING BREAK MINING FOR EARTH-TYPE GEMSTONES, UNTIL FOLKVANGR IS RESTORED TO ITS PREVIOUS SPLENDOUR! YOU CU—"

The transmission ceased with abrupt finality, supplanted by deliberate quiet.

'Shit,' was Marie's thought.

-=&<o>&=-

Whilst the broadcast was still being transmitted to everyone across the kingdom, countless people from around Holfort were loudly complaining about the sudden interruption to their viewing experience. Taverns erupted in frustrated shouting, noble viewing parties descended into confused murmuring, and betting parlours fell into anxious silence as their patrons demanded to know what had happened.

However, those stationed in the capital itself, whilst they couldn't actually see the fight unfolding on their projection screens, could most certainly hear the unmistakable sounds of more explosions echoing through the air as the violent skirmish between the two competing teams finally started in earnest.

Then came sudden static—sharp and jarring—as the projection flickered uncertainly before finally springing back to life.

"Ahem—we apologise profusely for the sudden cut in image quality," Aldwin explained somewhat sheepishly, still flanked on either side by both Barret Fia Arclight and Margot Fou Bellefleur. The latter was pointedly looking away, her arms crossed and expression making it abundantly clear that she was less than impressed with the "technical failure"—or, more accurately, with the Sword Saint's decisive intervention on the broadcast controls. Barret, for his part, remained as impassive as stone, his hand still resting near those same controls with unmistakable deliberateness.

"It was merely a… minor technical difficulty. Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you."

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his professional composure.

"Just to recap for those who may have missed it during our brief interruption—we just witnessed Baron Leon Fou Bartfort preempt the entire engagement with what can only be described as a devastating opening salvo. This tactical strike led to three members of Prince Julius's team retiring from the match not even ten seconds after the fight officially commenced—an unprecedented opening in recorded skirmish history."

Aldwin paused, consulting his notes whilst crystalline screens shifted to show aerial views of the fragmented battlefield.

"And now, if we observe the current battlefield situation, we can clearly see significant division forming amongst Lady Angelica Redgrave's team. His Highness the Prince appears to be utilising their superior numbers—twenty combatants to the challenger's remaining twelve—to systematically split their group into smaller, more vulnerable units. A classic encirclement strategy, forcing the outnumbered team to either concentrate their forces and risk being surrounded, or disperse and face elimination in detail."

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Angelica barely registered the shock of Leon's opening salvo. The sheer magnitude of power displayed was staggering. 'Was he always this strong, or is the armour amplifying his output?'  The question circled through her mind, demanding an answer she didn't have time to find.

But dwelling on such matters was a luxury she couldn't afford—not when five brilliant streaks of light were rushing toward them with terrifying velocity. She forced herself to focus, to trust in the equipment they'd been given and the week of preparation that had brought them to this moment.

One of the most remarkable enchantments built into their power armour was reinforcement—a technique that, according to Olivia, was one of Leon's specialties. The concept was deceptively simple: you could pump an attribute or a fundamental concept of an object with mana, and it would dramatically increase a specific property of said concept or attribute.

All their armour had reinforcement applied to body strength as baseline, providing physical capabilities far beyond normal human limits. Beyond that, she could activate reinforcement on any sense with a thought, cycling through them as tactics demanded.

With her vision enhanced to supernatural clarity, she discerned the composition of the incoming assault: both of Julius's guardian spirits—Karna and Arjuna themselves—along with one spirit each from Chris, Greg, and Jilk had joined the aerial charge.

Karna and Arjuna—two of the kingdom's strongest guardian spirits, legendary figures whose mere names commanded respect and fear—were rushing toward them with single-minded purpose. The sight made Angelica shiver for a fraction of a second before she ruthlessly squashed that feeling down. Fear had no place here. Not now.

This assault was within predicted parameters, she reminded herself. Leon had planned to attract the opposing team's heavy hitters, to draw them away from Olivia as she executed her part of their strategy. Though, as expected from his cautious nature, Julius himself had stayed back, commanding from a distance rather than committing to the initial engagement.

Leon tensed in front of her, his posture shifting as he extended his right arm parallel to the ground in a stance she vaguely recognised. A red, wickedly barbed spear manifested in his grasp, materializing from nothing—Gáe Bolg, if she remembered Olivia's explanations correctly. She'd seen this weapon before; Leon had used it several times for clearing monster hordes during their first descent into the cosmic dungeon.

According to Olivia, the spear was far more devastating against a single target than as a wide-area bombardment. Angelica couldn't imagine what could be more destructive than a spear that levelled entire armies—but she didn't have time to ponder it. Leon was already moving.

He crouched low—impossibly low—his body coiling like a spring compressed to its limit, ready to be unleashed. He braced himself, feet digging deep into the ground. With completely telegraphed movements that somehow made the attack no less devastating, he threw the barbed spear with his entire body behind the motion, channelling every ounce of strength and reinforcement into that single, perfect release.

The guardian spirits proved tenacious, their legendary status well-earned as they attempted to evade the crimson projectiles as the barbed spear multiplied, raining destruction on the incoming group. Some managed to dodge with supernatural grace—Karna and Arjuna, chief among them, their legendary reflexes living up to their reputation. But whatever spears struck true, they grounded their targets immediately and catastrophically.

The impacts were tremendous. Lancelot crashed down first, followed by Setanta, and everyone caught in the barrage came smashing into the open plain beside the forest and lake, creating massive craters in the earth. Arthur, who was able to defend the barrage, followed the two to check on them.

Angelica could only imagine the expressions on the faces of those watching—witnessing the kingdom's ace spirits succumbing so decisively to a first-year student. The shock must be palpable.

But in the end, Angelica didn't need to know what those spectators were thinking, didn't need to concern herself with their opinions or their judgments. She was here for one reason alone—to prove a point that had been burning in her chest since Julius stood beside Marie and declared his new devotion before the entire academy.

It didn't matter what anyone thought—whether the nobility deemed it scandalous, whether society called it improper, whether it was wrong to challenge the prince's newfound love for the sake of her own wounded pride.

She was here to prove one truth nobody could take from her, not even Julius with his legendary spirits at his command: she wasn't wrong.

-=&<o>&=-

Just as Gáe Bolg left his grip, Leon had already traced Kanshou and Bakuya—the married blades materialising in his hands as he launched himself towards Karna. He'd enlarged them during the projection, their black and white forms now the length of proper longswords rather than their usual dao size. Even so, they were still far shorter than the spear the guardian spirit wielded. A significant disadvantage in reach that could prove fatal if he didn't account for it.

Karna recovered from the Gáe Bolg barrage with inhuman grace, his armour gleaming crimson and gold even through the settling dust. The guardian spirit bore Prince Julius's face—a detail that seemed to irritate Leon for some reason—but where the prince's features carried aristocratic softness, Karna's were carved from something harder. The spirit braced himself midair and thrust his spear in a single fluid motion, the weapon's tip trailing golden light as it sought Leon's heart.

Leon's response was immediate: twelve swords burst into existence around him and shot forward in a wide spread pattern, forcing Karna to sweep his spear in a defensive arc. The momentary distraction was all Leon needed to close the remaining metres between them, deflecting a knee from the legendary spirit with the pommel of his dao.

"And Bartfort engages Karna directly!" Aldwin's voice crackled across the broadcast, professional composure barely recovered from Margot's earlier outburst. "Bold—or perhaps suicidal. This is one of the legendary spirits contracted by the founding Holforts centuries ago!"

In the commentary box, Barret Fia Arclight said nothing, but his sharp eyes were glued to the projection.

"Aghhhhhh!"

Ria's war cry split the air as she streaked past Leon's right flank, Durga mirroring her on his left. The cosmic spirit had equipped the gigantic double lance Leon had forged for her during their communion in the cosmic dungeon—a weapon nearly twice her height, its twin points gleaming wickedly. Her pixie wings fluttered as she drove her lance towards Arjuna in a devastating thrust, face bright with excitement as if this were some festival competition rather than a genuine battle.

Arjuna met her charge without flinching. Where Karna burned with solar fire, his counterpart radiated something colder—a dark-haired archer in midnight blue and silver, his expression carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much and forgotten how to smile. The bow in his hands shouldn't have functioned as a melee weapon, yet he wielded it with the ease of a master, catching Ria's lance on its curved limb.

'At least someone's enjoying themselves,'  Leon thought drily, even as he parried another of Karna's strikes.

In taverns across the kingdom, patrons leaned forward, drinks forgotten. The projection screens showed something unprecedented—a first-year student trading blows with Karna whilst his guardian spirits engaged Arjuna simultaneously. The legendary pair who, according to every historical account, had never been defeated in tandem combat.

Someone in the capital's largest betting parlour whispered, "The odds were fifteen to one..."

No one laughed.

The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, and Arjuna didn't pause to savour the block. His free hand was already rising, fingers curled around a black orb of condensed magic that seemed to drink the light around it. He released it directly into Ria's chest.

The blast hit with a thunderous crack. The cosmic spirit went hurtling backwards across the plains, her body carving a deep crater into Folkvangr's earth before finally skidding to a stop in a fountain of dust and debris.

And somehow, with that, the audience found their voice again as they cheered loudly in support of the dark-haired guardian spirit.

"First blood to the prince's team!" Aldwin announced, though his voice carried none of the earlier smugness. "Arjuna's Pashupata—a technique apparently inspired by ancient texts discovered during the era of our founders—"

"Kyle, Ajax, and Puck," Margot deadpanned.

"…ah, yes—forgot about that." The announcer sounded genuinely chastened.

"Ria, are you okay?" Leon's voice cut through the comm, sharp with concern.

"Ei, Ria, are you fine?" Olivia echoed almost simultaneously.

A groan came through the channel, followed by: "Fuck—is the right word, right? When dealing with something troublesome?"

In the stands, students holding red betting chits exhaled in collective relief. In the far corner, Daniel and Raymond's grip on their hidden blue chits only tightened.

Leon grunted acknowledgment even as he deflected another thrust from Karna. Through the comm, he caught Olivia's relieved laugh, Angelica's tired sigh, and what sounded like Sella muttering something about "reckless behaviour."

Then Karna was on him again, and there was no more time for anything but survival.

The guardian spirit fought with terrifying efficiency—magic condensing into his limbs with each movement, every punch and kick followed by an immediate magical detonation. Leon couldn't simply dodge; each evaded strike still released a shockwave that had to go somewhere. He blocked a knee strike with crossed blades, the subsequent blast slamming into Bakuya's flat and nearly wrenching his arm from its socket. Another kick—he twisted aside, and the shockwave displaced air where he floated.

"Interesting," Karna said as he locked weapons with Leon.

'Tank or dodge—pick wrong and you're done.'

"Oh?" Leon managed through gritted teeth, his reinforced muscles screaming against Karna's pressure. "And what's so interesting?"

"Bartfort is being pushed back!" Aldwin's commentary carried across the battlefield. "Even after that devastating opening salvo, Karna's combat prowess is—"

"He's most likely buying time. Watch the girl." Margot's voice cut in, cold and clipped. She'd apparently recovered from her earlier fury—or channelled it into something sharper.

On the battlefield, Karna continued as if they were having a leisurely conversation rather than a duel to the death. "The only others who could trade blows with me like this are the King, the Queen, and the Black Knight of the Principality." A pause, almost contemplative. "Perhaps the other members of the Big Four as well, but I have not had the pleasure."

Leon's only reply was violence. He hurled Kanshou and Bakuya at the guardian spirit's face and traced fresh copies in the same motion—then projected a dozen broadswords behind Karna's blind spot, sending them screaming forward to skewer him from behind.

Across the plain, Durga had already crashed into the midst of the three grounded spirits—Setanta, Lancelot, and Arthur—her landing cratering the earth beneath her feet, before she floated a few centimetres above the ground, her relaxed toes barely touching the soft plains of Folkvangr.

Crimson light blazed from her form—beams arcing as it rained magical projectiles around her—as her multiple arms moved in independent arcs, each wielding a different weapon: twin talwars flashing in mirrored strikes, a khanda's broad blade sweeping low, an urumi's flexible steel whipping unpredictably, the parasu axe hooking and pulling, a dhal shield deflecting counterattacks, the trishul's three prongs stabbing, a gada mace crushing, a katar punching, and the bagh claws raking. Ten weapons. Ten simultaneous attacks. The three cosmic guardian spirits found themselves fighting not one opponent, but a whirlwind of deadly steel.

Across the kingdom, viewers pressed closer to the projection screens hovering at the centre of each floating island. The image before them defied belief: a woman with multiple arms, each wielding a different weapon, holding her ground against three guardian spirits at once. In taverns, the shouting died. In noble parlours, wine glasses paused halfway to lips. An ancient goddess of war, someone would later write in the capital's broadsheets—beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

Setanta was grinning, cackling as he twirled his spear and weaved through the rain of crimson attacks, his fairy wings leaving trails of magical dust as he rushed in. The young-looking spirit moved with wild joy, clearly thrilled at the chaos rather than fearing it. He thrust his spear at Durga's centre mass—a strike that would have skewered a lesser opponent—but she caught it on her dhal, the impact ringing across the battlefield.

Before he could withdraw, she slammed the shield's edge into his face, snapping his head back. Her trishul came down in the same instant, three prongs pinning his spear shaft to the ground.

Setanta spat blood and laughed harder.

Durga's expression never changed. That serene smile remained fixed even as her gada arced downward and crashed into Setanta's face with a sickening crunch. In the same heartbeat, two of her other arms swept up—one talwar catching Lancelot's greatsword, one khanda meeting Arthur's blade mid-swing. Steel shrieked against steel, the triple impact ringing across the battlefield.

In the stands, students who had been jeering moments ago now watched in stunned silence. The goddess hadn't stopped smiling as every person holding a red chit seemed to tighten their grip on it as if it were a lifeline.

The tide turned in an instant.

Karna feinted high, and Leon committed to the block—only for the guardian spirit to reverse the spear's trajectory and drive its butt into Leon's chest. Before he could recover, a concentrated blast of mana erupted from the spear's tip, catching him square in the torso and launching him across the plain. He slammed into Durga mid-strike, the collision sending them both tumbling across Folkvangr's grass in a graceless tangle of limbs and armour.

'Shit—'

Karna gave them no time to recover. Beam after beam of destructive magic screamed towards the pair, each impact throwing up geysers of earth and forcing them to scramble apart rather than regain their footing. The guardian spirit pressed forward, spear levelled, pressing the advantage with ruthless precision.

In response, the stands erupted with noise—echoed, no doubt, by viewers across the kingdom.

As the skirmish between Leon, Durga, and Ria continued—the noise of their clash ringing throughout the floating island like a persistent bell—Olivia and Angelica, followed closely by Melt, Illya, and Britomart, leapt into the fray.

"Engel Lied—Storch Ritter!"

Olivia's voice carried across the battlefield with absolute confidence. Bolstered by her power armour, she conjured two dozen stork knights fabricated from the nanomachine silk-like strands she'd tailored to her exact specifications, replacing her usual medium—her hair. The constructs materialised in a shimmer of silver threads, each one taking form with mechanical precision before launching themselves forward.

'Perfect,'  Olivia thought, watching her creations surge from her elevation—floating up in the sky. ' Now for the real attack.'

The platoon of stork knights crashed into Greg, Chris, and Brad, who were accompanied by their remaining guardian spirits, plus Jilk's Agravain. Metal rang against metal, the constructs swarming around their targets with single-minded determination.

This was merely a distraction—a fact that became apparent as half of the stork knights were easily wiped out by the guardian spirits in a matter of heartbeats. But whilst attention fixated on the collapsing constructs, Angelica, alongside Melt and Britomart, descended like angels of destruction, channelling magic through both her Reiterpallasch and Reiterdegen. Twin spouts of fire erupted in their midst, the flames roaring upward with terrible heat that distorted the air itself.

A twirl of Melt's body followed this display, her movements graceful as she danced to a rhythm only she could hear. Her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as two more spouts erupted—but these were made of water, spinning columns that hissed where they met the edges of flame.

Brad was unfortunate enough to be standing beside the fire spout as it was summoned. The flames caught him before he could leap clear, and he was flung away, his power armour engulfed in flame as he screamed in pain—sound sharp and genuine. The safety enchantments hadn't triggered yet; he wasn't out of the fight, merely in agony. Bedivere, as well as the greyish-white guardian spirit, was caught by the water spout's vicious current. The pressure was instant and brutal, ejecting both with enough force that they slammed into Patroclus, the three guardian spirits tangling together in a heap.

Britomart, clad in white and red with wings unfurled, rushed into the scattered group wielding a deadly broadsword—like Angelica's Reiterpallasch and Reiterdegen, a customised weapon forged by Leon. Gawain caught Britomart's zwerchhau—a devastating crosswise strike—with his own broadsword, their blades locking for a second before separating.

Melt, with her specialised greaves, generated ice beneath her feet as she skated across the battlefield, the sharpened edges of her blades harassing the remaining guardian spirits as her nimble body slid in and out of the chaos.

Illya, on the other hand, remained high above in the air as she sent gravitic blast after gravitic blast raining down on the group, their movements turning sluggish—but still manageable.

Greg's face writhed with anger, his jaw tight and eyes blazing. He lifted off from where he stood, rushing towards Olivia with his spear raised high, the weapon's point gleaming as he swung it in a vicious arc aimed directly at her head.

"Degen."

A large dagger intercepted the spear with a sharp crack  of impact, the force of the block sending vibrations down both weapons. Olivia looked down at the tense Greg from her elevated position, her gaze mockingly superior, one eyebrow raised in aristocratic disdain.

'So predictable,'  she thought, maintaining the pressure on his spear. He was always quick to anger, even in the game.

Greg gritted his teeth, muscles straining against her guard. "Your name's Olivia, right?"

Olivia's answer was interrupted as a bright white beam of light erupted from afar, followed by three more from different parts of the island.

Olivia whistled, admiring the display. "Looks like someone's been practising their healing magic. Marie, I assume?"

Greg's voice swelled with pride. "That's right. Anything short of a killing blow—our beloved Marie shall bring us back from the brink." His grin turned feral. "And you shall eventually tire from this uphill battle. You may have surprised us with your dirty trick at the start, but from here on forward, you are facing what are essentially immortals."

He laughed, the sound carrying across the battlefield with absolute confidence.

Olivia let him have his moment. She inspected her nails with exaggerated boredom.

Then a pillar of brilliant light burst forth around her—holy radiance cascading down like a blessing from the heavens. Two more pillars followed, erupting where Leon and Durga had crashed.

Greg's laughter died in his throat. "Y-you—!"

"Me?" Olivia asked, her tone dripping condescension. "Yes. Me."

"I have created over a thousand blades."

Leon's voice echoed across Folkvangr, the aria's words carrying weight that pressed against reality itself. The sky above the island began to darken—not with clouds, but with steel. Thousands upon thousands of swords materialised in the air, blotting out the sun, their points aimed downward.

"Oooh, you're in for it now," Olivia said cheerfully. "Say, Brad?"

"It's Greg —" he gritted out.

"Ah, yes, my apologies." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Tell me, Jilk—did you happen to check today's weather forecast?"

Greg's eye twitched violently. His arm moved before his brain caught up—hurling his spear directly at Olivia's head.

She glided smoothly to the left, letting the weapon sail past her ear. "My, how rude."

"What weather forecast?! And IT IS GREG !"

Olivia spread her arms wide, grinning like a cat who'd cornered a particularly plump mouse. "Oh, nothing much. Just that it's going to be cloudy with a chance of steel! "

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Even the swords seemed to pause in their descent.

"...Really, Livia?" Leon's voice came through the comm, flat with disappointment. "'Cloudy with a chance of steel'?"

"Mistress, we are in the stratosphere," Leysritt interjected, her tone clinically helpful. "We rarely experience clouds at this altitude. Precipitation typically occurs at ground level, originating from the troposphere."

"I heard Mistress practising that line in the bathroom this morning," Sella added, and somehow her voice managed to convey both resignation and secondhand embarrassment simultaneously.

Through the comm, Angelica coughed delicately into her hand—the sound of someone desperately trying not to laugh.

Tick.

Olivia's eye twitched. Her foot stomped against the air in indignation. "Leon! Rain of steel! NOW!! "

"..."

" Leon! "

A sigh came through the comm—long, weary, and deeply resigned.

The swords fell.

And so, for the first time in recorded history, the Kingdom of Holfort bore witness to blades raining down across the whole of Folkvangr. Thousands of swords descended like divine judgement, their fall heralded not by thunder or trumpets, but by the lingering embarrassment of a joke that had landed with all the grace of a brick.

In the commentary box, Aldwin opened his mouth to speak.

No words came out.

Margot, for once, said nothing at all—though the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips suggested she was filing this moment away for future leverage.

And somewhere in the stands, Daniel turned to Raymond with an expression of dawning wonder and whispered: "Did... did we bet on the right team?"

Raymond looked at the sky full of swords, looked at his blue betting chit, and slowly began to smile.

-=&<o>&=-

End

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