Into the Silence

One ominous thought refused to leave Ashlyn’s mind while she changed clothes.

What if the same pain hits me in the middle of an operation?

But she quickly settled her nerves. Pain did not mean she could not cast magic. And if that situation truly arose, she could simply take a portable painkiller.

In the end there was no reason to be afraid. Had she not already been examined by a doctor several times? Ashlyn’s magic circuit was normal; the occasional pain like the one just now was nothing more than a phantom sensation left by the memory of a once-severe injury to the circuit. An unreal pain, without substance.

Before stepping outside, Ashlyn held a small hand mirror up one last time. The reflection showed a flawless Istar Mage Corps officer in combat uniform and helmet. She was thinner and paler than when she had first arrived, yet her aristocratic poise remained intact; no one would ever guess this was the woman who, moments earlier, had been dripping with cold sweat and trembling violently.

“Right. It’ll be fine.”

Ashlyn murmured the words to herself, as if offering comfort.

The instant she stepped out, a massive shadow closed around her like a net.

“Ah—you startled me.”

It was Sergeant Vilef. He gave her no time even to catch her breath.

“What was that just now?”

“What?”

Ashlyn raised one eyebrow. This went beyond questioning; it was practically an interrogation.

“I heard a scream.”

“I asked you to wake me in two hours. I never asked you to eavesdrop.”

“Even if I don’t want to hear it, it carries. Is something wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

Ashlyn cut him off hastily. The nerves she had worked so hard to calm sharpened again. At least the man spoke with genuine concern rather than meddling; otherwise she might have lost her temper completely right before a raid.

“I had a nightmare. That’s all. I was talking in my sleep.”

At her firm reply, Sergeant Vilef said nothing. The unreadable blankness returned to his face as he gave a shallow nod.

“Then that’s fine.”

Ashlyn spoke while avoiding the man’s gaze, which pricked hot against the side of her head.

“We need to focus. There’s almost no time left until we move out.”

The shotgun in her hands felt as heavy as rebar. Before setting out on the trench-raid mission, Ashlyn faced her soldiers one last time.

“I’ll cast silence magic ten minutes before we reach their trench.”

She repeated what she had already explained several times.

“As I said earlier, the enemy trench is a single east-west line. We enter through the relatively poorly defended western entrance. Once we’re inside, it’s combat immediately. Don’t hesitate—fire first, no questions asked. No aiming, no carefully lined shots. Understood? I’ll handle any enemies coming around corners.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

She looked steadily at the men.

“If their resistance is heavier than expected and we can’t complete the objective, I’ll fire a withdrawal flare into the sky. We’ll use the confusion while they think support is coming and pull back.”

The soldiers nodded almost in unison. There was no trace of the subtle disregard they sometimes showed her. Each face was solemn and serious as they regarded their platoon leader.

Ashlyn swallowed dryly. The gazes that depended on her felt crushing.

I don’t know much either.

She was only pretending. Feigning certainty so the soldiers would not be afraid. Her eyes finally found Sergeant Vilef standing with his hands behind his back at the rear of the formation; their gazes met in the empty air between them.

Like the other soldiers, the sergeant now wore a half-mask that covered the lower half of his face. It made him look even darker, more unsettling.

He nodded toward Ashlyn. She nodded back.

“All right. Let’s move.”

It was three in the morning. Everything was still. No cawing of crows, no distant thunder of shells. The battlefield seemed to be catching its breath—one last pause before inviting greater death and blood.

Ashlyn gripped the shotgun barrel tightly and followed Sergeant Vilef. Ordinarily an officer would lead, but this time the sergeant took point. They had decided it hours earlier; more accurately, Vilef had insisted.

“It has to be this way. In operations, the werewolves always take the front to meet the enemy while the mage covers from behind.”

“But officers usually set the example—”

“What does that matter? Anyone in front of me just blocks the scent. It only makes it harder to smell the enemy.”

There was little she could say to that.

Smell them, he says.

It was astonishing that he could do it even with a mask on, but the man was a werewolf. She could not measure him by ordinary human standards. Vilef continued calmly.

“As you know, mages are priority target number one. I’ll meet the enemy first. Cover me from behind. It’s better for everyone.”

“…All right.”

Sergeant Vilef had clearly run many operations with mages before. That was no surprise. The Fenrir Detachment almost never deployed alone; they would have carried out countless joint missions.

In that light, his solid command ability and the fact that he could communicate clearly—at least about the mission—made sense. He had long served as a bridge between werewolf troops and other soldiers.

I see why the brass call him a valuable asset.

Trailing behind him now, Ashlyn felt the truth of his words. He was an excellent guide. Without the slightest hesitation the sergeant moved swiftly through pitch-black darkness where one could not see a hand in front of one’s face. He kept his large frame low to the ground and made not a single sound—while the much smaller soldiers behind him actually made more noise.

At last they were almost on top of the enemy trench. Sergeant Vilef raised his left hand and signaled back.

— Target close.

Ashlyn whispered so softly it was barely breath.

At the same time she covered the back of her left hand with her right palm, hiding the light of the magic circle so it would not give them away. Instantly every small sound the soldiers made—footsteps, breathing, even the whisper of wind—vanished. All that remained came from the far side.

Unintelligible voices murmured without pause. Imperial soldiers speaking quietly in Barbaros. Then a pale glow entered Ashlyn’s vision. She knew instinctively it was light from the enemy trench. The sergeant quickly looked back and signaled.

— Enter?

Half his face was covered, so his expression was hard to read, but his eyes were frighteningly calm. Ashlyn nodded. Then she signaled to the soldiers trailing her like chicks.

— Enter.

The battle had begun.

The first thirty seconds were a blur. So much happened that only one thing registered clearly.

Blood.

Dark crimson blood visible even in the black. Ashlyn panted and glanced at her left hand. The glove was off; the hand was soaked. The wedge-shaped scar was completely hidden.

There was no time to process the shock. Enemy footsteps sounded close by. At last they appeared around the corner, weapons raised. Rough metal barrels caught the moonlight. Ashlyn saw the face of the soldier in front.

A boy. Looking exactly like Dorset, exactly like Arthur. No—that was impossible. One blink and she saw clearly. He was only a nameless Barbaros Imperial soldier. A terrified boy. That boy raising his muzzle toward her seemed to move in slow motion. Ashlyn shaped her blood-slick left hand into a claw and spoke the word.

The enemies who had aimed at her burst like balloons. Chunks of flesh sprayed in every direction, spattering even her trousers. Someone screamed in Barbaros—a word Ashlyn knew this time.

“Mage!”

“There’s a mage! Target the mage!”

Sergeant Vilef’s words returned to her.

As you know, mages are priority target number one.

Now they’ll come for me.

Just as she prepared to thrust her magic-heated left hand forward, a massive shadow blocked her path.

“You must not go ahead.”

His voice was terrifyingly calm. Once he had stopped her, the man drew a rough breath. Then he shouted so everyone could hear.

“Masks on properly!”

At once acrid black gas filled the trench. What was about to unfold was no longer mere combat. It was hell itself.