A Distant Reverie

Chapter 21

The tanned skin elf named Flare Shiranui was a proud elven warrior. Blessed with a once-in-a-generation talent, she quickly rose amongst the ranks, until she eventually stood at the very top, where she then earned herself the title of Champion. Her singular goal since receiving the prestigious title was to take down the elf's greatest foe—humanity's hero, Noel Shirogane.

That goal, however, was now out of reach.

Flare slumped against the trunk of the Yggdrasil, soaked in a pool of her own blood. Despite her pitiful state, her eyes remained sharp with hatred. It was only when the melody resounding from the Yggdrasil's canopy had ceased that her eyes finally lost their piercing glint. With a faint grin, her head tilted sideways as the last remnant of life escaped her body.

"What a tenacious freak," Noel said bitterly, staring at the lifeless corpse of her former adversary. The elven champion had fought valiantly, even when it became clear that she had no chance to win. Again and again, she relentlessly tossed herself at Noel with the determination to die. All for the sole purpose of buying time for the sorrowful melody to finish.

Noel clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. Then with a reverent voice, she prayed.

"Dear Lunar Goddess, please let these valiant souls rest easy under your gaze."

When she opened her eyes once more, the tension in her body loosened. Then instantly, the fatigue and pain that she had accumulated during the fight caught up to her at once.

"Ngh..." Noel let out pained groans. Her breaths were raspy, her lungs screamed with every exhale. Her right shoulder, in particular, was starting to bother her. The continual fighting and abuse had rendered it loose—Noel feared that it may have been dislocated.

Not much can be done right now.

Letting her right arm dangle, she leaned against the hilt of her sword for a brief respite. Open cuts infested with poison were littered across her body, dripping with blood and pus. So much so that even her natural healing prowess couldn't keep up. If she wasn't born with an abnormal healing factor, she would have collapsed long ago.

Unable to move, Noel found herself drawn towards the Yggdrasil's canopy. The sorrowful melody lingered in her mind. It was a familiar song—one that Enya often sang or hummed in front of the campfire, at night, after several pints of ale. To Noel, the song was a symbol of their unlikely friendship, one formed out of necessity as the only women amongst a group of unruly soldiers.

I'm sorry, my friend.

Noel could no longer sense Enya's presence. Her eyes shook, but they remained dry. The tears refused to fall, even when her heart was screaming with grief. She didn't deserve to mourn for Enya after all. Not when Enya's death was driven by her own hands.

...Why am I even doing this?

Noel stared at her blood-soaked blade. How many elves had met their untimely demise because of her? It was too much to even count. She still remembered the abhorrent sensation of her first kill—the blood splattering on her face, the terrified expression of the elven soldier, and their deathly screams before perishing. Somewhere along the lines, those abhorrent feelings disappeared. The number of deaths on her hands climbed, until she eventually became a legend amongst her people.

A hero.

That's what they called her.

The title suddenly sounded hollow.

"What a farce," she muttered with a self-deprecating smile.

Amidst her lament, Noel suddenly felt the branch of the Yggdrasil beginning to shake. When she focussed, she could sense faint tremors racing through the earth. The hairs on her skin suddenly rose. A familiar sensation, filled with a palpable déjà vu. The last time she had this heavy feeling was when she first encountered the monster horde.