Subaru walked through the camp, her boots pressing into the hard packed snow that had turned to mud in the paths between the tents. The smell of cooking fires and horses and too many people living in close quarters filled the air. Soldiers moved around her, carrying supplies, sharpening weapons, shouting orders to one another. The whole place hummed with the kind of energy that came from people who knew a fight was coming and were trying not to think about it too hard.
Some people stared at her turban. She noticed them looking, their eyes lingering on the cloth wrapped around her head, trying to figure out what was underneath. But most of them were too busy, too tired, or too indifferent to think about it for more than a second. They had bigger problems than a stranger with an unusual choice of headwear. Subaru kept her face neutral and her pace steady. Looking nervous would attract more attention than looking like she belonged.
She found a spot at the edge of a sparring circle. The circle was nothing more than a flat patch of ground marked by ropes tied to wooden stakes, but the soldiers treated it like sacred ground. Two men stood inside, circling each other with polearms in their hands. The weapons were long, nearly as tall as the men who held them, with wooden shafts and metal tips that caught the weak sunlight.
The first man lunged. His strike was fast, a blur of wood and steel that should have ended the fight right there. The second man twisted to the side, his own polearm swinging around to deflect the blow. The shafts clacked together, a sharp sound that echoed across the camp. They broke apart and circled again, their eyes locked, their breathing controlled.
Subaru watched, her mouth slightly open. Their moves were so fast, faster than anything she had seen from ordinary soldiers. The way they moved, the way their weapons flowed from one position to the next, it was almost beautiful. Each strike flowed into the next strike. Each block set up the next attack. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion, just two bodies moving in perfect rhythm.
This looks like something from a movie, she thought. Or an anime. The good kind, with good animation.
One of the men spun his polearm in a wide arc, the metal tip tracing a line through the air. The other man dropped low, the blade passing over his head, then swept his own weapon toward his opponent's legs. The first man jumped, the shaft passing beneath him, and landed in a crouch.
That is straight out of Lancer's playbook, Subaru thought. The good Lancer. The one who actually wins fights.
She did not realize she had stopped walking. She stood at the edge of the circle, her arms crossed, her head tilted, watching the two soldiers with open interest.
The men noticed her.
Their movements changed. Not much, just a little. Their strikes became sharper, more precise. Their blocks became more dramatic, more showy. They were showing off. Trying to catch her attention.
Subaru blinked. She looked around and noticed eyes on her from all directions. Soldiers who had been walking past had slowed down. Soldiers who had been sharpening weapons had looked up from their work. A group of three men near a nearby tent were openly staring, their conversations forgotten.
Why is everyone looking at me?
Then she noticed something else. Almost instinctively, her vision shifted. The air around the soldiers fractured into lines of possibility. Silhouettes appeared, layered over their bodies like ghosts. Three ways to kill them all with a surprise attack. A quick slash to the first man's throat. A thrust to the second man's chest. A sweep of a blade to take out the third before he could raise his weapon.
Subaru's stomach dropped.
Why am I thinking about killing random people?
She shook her head, hard, and the silhouettes faded. Her heart was beating faster now, not from fear, but from something else, something colder. Is this the demon instinct? Is this what happens when I stop paying attention? Does my body just default to murder?
She took a breath and forced her face into a harmless expression. The harmless mage look. Slightly confused. Slightly friendly. Definitely not planning any surprise attacks.
She could not take them all on anyway. She was not foolish. There were too many soldiers, too many weapons, too many eyes. And what was the point? They did not know she was a demon. They had no reason to hurt her. Fighting them would only get her killed, or worse, exposed.
So she did what any reasonable person in her situation would do. She cheered.
"Get him!" she called out, clapping her hands together.
Her voice came out higher than she intended, almost singsong. She waved her hands in the air like a fan at a sports event.
And then she realized it was a mistake.
The first soldier thought she was cheering for him. His chest puffed out, and he launched a series of attacks that were more aggressive than smart. The second soldier thought she was cheering for him. His expression hardened, and he countered with a ferocity that had not been there a moment before.
Is this what being the devil feels like? Subaru wondered. Is this because I am a demon? Or because I am a girl?
She had not meant to cause trouble. She had just been trying to look normal. Normal people cheered at fights. Normal people got excited. Normal people did not stand at the edge of a sparring circle and calculate the most efficient way to kill everyone in sight.
The two soldiers clashed again, harder this time. The first man's polearm cracked against the second man's shaft. The second man stumbled back, then surged forward with a roar. Wood struck wood. Metal clanged against metal. The fight grew brutal, no longer a spar, but something closer to a real battle.
A crowd gathered. Soldiers shouted encouragement. Someone laughed. Someone else cursed. The two men ignored all of it, their focus narrowed to each other, their weapons moving faster and faster.
Subaru took a step back. Then another. She looked around for an exit, a way to slip away before anyone noticed she was the reason the fight had turned ugly.
Then Wirt appeared.
He stepped into the circle without hesitation, his hands raised. The first soldier swung his polearm in a wide arc aimed at the second soldier's head. Wirt caught the shaft mid swing, his bare hands closing around the wood like it was a child's toy. The second soldier thrust his weapon toward the first man's chest. Wirt's other hand shot out and grabbed that shaft too.
The two soldiers froze. Their eyes went wide. The crowd went silent.
Wirt held both polearms in his grip, his arms extended, his expression calm. He did not look angry. He did not look like he was trying hard. He just stood there, holding the weapons, waiting.
The soldiers let go. The polearms clattered to the ground.
Wirt turned to them. His voice was low, but it carried across the circle. "What was that?" he asked. "You were supposed to be practicing, not trying to kill each other."
The first soldier opened his mouth to speak. Wirt raised a hand, and the man closed his mouth.
"Medics," Wirt called out.
Two men in white cloths hurried forward. They checked the soldiers for injuries, found several bruises and one shallow cut on the second man's arm, and led them away.
Subaru watched, her mouth hanging open. He caught two polearm strikes. With his bare hands. Like it was nothing. Like catching a ball.
Wirt turned to her. His expression softened slightly. "I apologize for my men's display of behavior," he said. "They should know better than to show off in front of guests."
Subaru waved her hands. "No, no, it is fine!" she said. "I like strong men."
The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her brain caught up a second too late, replaying what she had just said.
Wait. What?
Her face turned red. She felt heat spreading from her neck to her ears.
Ew. Ew. That sounded so wrong. Why did I say that? Why would I say that? I do not like strong men. I mean, I do not not like strong men. But that is not the point. The point is that was embarrassing. Very embarrassing. I want to disappear.
Wirt did not seem to notice her internal crisis. Or if he did, he was polite enough not to mention it. He folded his arms and looked at her with a serious expression.
"That is good to hear," he said. "Because I was looking for Miss Übel and you. I need to test your skills before I let you join the battle."
Subaru blinked. "What?"
Wirt continued. "It is not meant to be rude. But it is necessary. I have to gauge what you are capable of. I cannot send people into a fight without knowing if they can handle themselves. Too many lives depend on it."
Subaru understood the logic. She did not like it, but she understood it. Any commander who let strangers fight alongside his soldiers without testing them first was either foolish or desperate. Wirt did not seem foolish.
Wirt took a step back and spread his arms. He stood in the center of the sparring circle, his posture straight, his feet planted. He looked like someone who had done this a thousand times before and expected to do it a thousand times again.
"I invite you to the arena," he said, his voice formal, almost ceremonial. "To a spar. Nothing too serious. Just a demonstration of your abilities."
Subaru stared at him. Then she looked at the circle. Then she looked at the soldiers watching from the edges of the camp, their eyes still on her, waiting to see what she would do.
Of course, she thought. Of course this is happening. Of course the handsome commander wants to fight me. Of course there is an audience.
She touched her turban, making sure it was secure. The horns underneath felt heavier than usual.
I am going to die. Again.
───✧───
The demon camp was calm. Too calm for a place filled with creatures that most humans believed existed only to kill and destroy. Tents stretched across the frozen ground in neat rows, their canvas walls dark against the white snow. Fires burned at regular intervals, casting orange light on the faces of the demons who sat around them. Some sharpened weapons. Others sat in silence. A few simply stared into the flames, their expressions blank, their thoughts hidden behind eyes that did not blink as often as human eyes should.
If a traveler stumbled upon this camp and did not look closely, they might assume it was a human troop camp. The demons looked exactly the same as humans, after all. Same faces. Same builds. Same way of moving and talking and existing in the world. The only difference was the horns. Curved horns. Straight horns. Short horns. Long horns. Some were dark, some were pale, some were marked with ridges and lines that told stories no human would ever understand.
Without the horns, they could walk through any city in the continent and no one would know the difference. That thought was perhaps the most frightening thing about them.
The demons were preparing for the invasion. Supplies were being sorted. Weapons were being checked. Small groups gathered around their leaders, receiving orders in low voices. Some of their faces were blank, showing nothing, revealing nothing. Others were confident, almost cheerful, as if the coming battle was something to look forward to rather than something to fear. None of them looked worried. None of them looked hesitant. They moved with the ease of creatures who had done this many times before.
A female demon with black hair and a single long horn walked through the camp. Her steps were light, almost silent, though the snow beneath her boots should have crunched with each footfall. She moved between the tents with purpose, her eyes scanning the area, noting the positions of soldiers, the placement of supplies, the readiness of the troops. She was not tall, but she carried herself like someone who expected others to move out of her way. And they did.
She approached a tree at the edge of the camp. The tree was old, its branches bare, its bark cracked and gray. Snow had gathered on its lower branches, weighing them down, but the tree did not seem to mind. It had stood here for decades, maybe centuries, and it would probably stand here for decades more.
Beneath the tree sat a demon.
He was extremely tall. Even among other demons, who were often taller than humans, he stood out. His height was the kind that made people stop and stare, not out of fear, but out of simple disbelief. How could anyone be that tall and still look comfortable sitting on the ground?
He had long, light colored hair that fell past his shoulders, pale like straw in winter. Two horns curved out of his head, medium in length, pointing straight up like twin spears. His teeth were slightly pointed, visible when he smiled, which was not often. His nails were dark and sharp, more like claws than fingernails.
He wore a long, dark colored tunic tied at the waist with a leather belt. Over the tunic, he wore a short, high collar black coat. The coat was adorned with epaulettes on the shoulders, gold and ornate, and a large circular buckle at the neck that caught the firelight and threw it back in small flashes. Beneath the tunic, he wore light colored pants and dark boots that looked sturdy enough to kick through a wall.
A scar ran across his right eye. It was old, faded, barely visible unless you were close enough to see the way the skin had healed unevenly. Whatever had given him that scar had come very close to taking his eye.
The female demon stopped a few feet away and bowed her head slightly. "Rivale sama," she said.
The tall demon looked up. His eyes were calm, measuring, the eyes of someone who had seen a lot and forgotten very little. "Selena," he said. His voice was low, smooth, the kind of voice that did not need to be loud to be heard. "What news do you bring?"
Selena straightened. "The Orden troops have hired two mages."
Rivale's expression did not change. He picked up a small stone from the ground and turned it over in his fingers, examining it like it held the secrets of the universe. "Is that so?" he said. "Well, I trust you to deal with them."
Selena paused. She looked at the ground for a moment, then back at Rivale. "Actually," she said, "I have something interesting about one of the mages."
Rivale stopped turning the stone. His fingers went still. "Hmm," he said. "I am listening."
Selena stepped closer, lowering her voice even though there was no one nearby to overhear. "One of them fought the Commander in a spar."
Rivale's eyebrows rose slightly. "An elite warrior fought a mage?" He let out a laugh, short and sharp, more amused than mocking. "Did that mage lose spectacularly?" He tossed the stone aside and leaned back against the tree. "Mages and their arrogance. They always think their spells make them untouchable. Then a warrior gets close, and they remember that they are just flesh and bone like everyone else."
Selena shook her head. "Quite the opposite," she said. "She outclassed him."
Rivale's smile faded. He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his attention fully on Selena now. "Ho," he said. "Now that is interesting."
Selena nodded. "What is even more interesting is how she fought."
Rivale tilted his head. "Oh?"
"She summoned an axe made of mana and fought with him. Hand to hand. Weapon to weapon. No spells. No tricks. Just skill."
Rivale paused. His fingers drummed against his knee, once, twice, three times. "Huh," he said. "I did not expect that." He looked up at the bare branches of the tree, thinking. "Though, it is nothing special. Summoning weapons is rare, but not unheard of. Any mage with enough control could learn to do it."
Selena waited. She knew what she was about to say next would change his mood completely.
"And she is a demon pretending to be a human."
The camp seemed to grow quieter. Even the wind, which had been blowing steadily all day, seemed to hold its breath.
Rivale's eyes narrowed. His fingers stopped drumming. He looked at Selena, then through her, at something far away that only he could see.
"How old was she?" he asked.
Selena shrugged. "Around one hundred, I think. Maybe less." Her voice was indifferent, as if the age of a demon who had disguised herself as a human and walked into an enemy camp was not particularly important. "She hides her horns under a cloth. A turban. It is not a bad disguise, but anyone who knows what to look for would notice."
Rivale leaned back against the tree again. A smile spread across his face, slow and wide, showing his pointed teeth. His eyes gleamed in the firelight.
"Ho," he said. "Ho, ho." He laughed again, but this laugh was different. This laugh was warm, almost joyful, the laugh of someone who had just been given a gift they did not expect. "Now this is something I am looking forward to."
Selena bowed her head. "I thought you might say that."
Rivale stood up. He was even taller standing than he had been sitting, his shadow stretching across the snow like a dark blanket. He looked out over the camp, at the demons preparing for battle, at the fires burning in the darkness, at the hills beyond where the human army waited.
"A demon fighting for humans," he said. "Pretending to be human. Hiding her horns." He shook his head, still smiling. "I have seen many things in my life. Many strange things. But this is new."
Selena watched him carefully. "What do you want to do?"
Rivale looked down at her. His scarred eye caught the firelight and seemed to glow for a moment. "I want to meet her," he said. "I want to see her fight. I want to know why she is doing this." He cracked his knuckles, one by one, the sound sharp in the cold air. "And if she is interesting enough, I might even let her live."
Selena raised an eyebrow. "That is generous of you."
Rivale shrugged. "I am in a good mood." He looked out at the hills again, toward the human city, toward the camp where a demon in disguise waited for a battle she probably did not fully understand. "Selena."
"Yes?"
"Keep watching her. Do not interfere. Just watch. I want to know everything she does before we attack."
Selena bowed. "As you wish, Rivale sama."
She turned and walked away, disappearing between the tents, leaving Rivale alone beneath the tree.
He sat back down, picked up another stone, and began turning it over in his fingers. His smile did not fade. If anything, it grew wider.
"Linie," he said to himself. "What a strange little thing. Never thought I'd meet you again."