League of Spirits was essentially a card-based strategy game.
Each card was infused with the energy of a spirit, which allowed players to launch magic, depending on the amount of mana they had saved up during their turn.
The goal of the game was simple.
Reduce the opponent’s “Spirit Core” to zero.
Each player started with a set amount of core health, usually around 20 or 30 points, depending on the agreement.
The first to drop their opponent’s core to zero would be declared the winner.
There were types of cards to be drawn at the start of each turn.
Cards could be able to summon Spirit Champions or Spell Cards depending on the card type.
Spirit Champions were powerful units that stayed in the field, allowing players to defend or attack.
Spell Cards on the other hand, allowed for many options to be used including spells that heal, destroy, and disrupt the enemy.
Silas Ainsley often enjoyed this game.
Whenever he had free time, he would often head to a LoS cafe to bet or test his skills.
“Ah, shit. I lost again….”
“Pay up,” Silas said.
“Tsk.”
The man scowled, digging into his pocket before slapping 50,000 Rend onto the table.
“Thanks.”
There wasn’t any grand reason for his gambling habit. He was an Ainsley, after all, a noble family of Earl rank. Money was the least of his worries.
He simply enjoyed the thrill of the game and figured he might as well make a little profit while he was at it.
As he stepped outside the cafe, he blankly stared at the sky and reached for it.
Clenching and unclenching his fist, he muttered, “….Cumulonimbus.”
Of course, nothing happened.
Silas chuckled to himself, slipping his hands into his pocket. The sunlight spilled down, it was a good day for a walk..
One corner, then another. Buildings changed from lively to desolate. The further he walked, the quieter it became.
Hours passed and the air grew colder.
His path eventually brought him to a long, gray road lined with tall, narrow fences.
The gates were rusted and creaked as they swayed slightly with the breeze.
The sign hung high, but Silas didn’t need to read it.
His feet knew where to go.
Silas stepped inside soon after.
“Ah, welcome, Mr. Ainsley.”
Silas nodded and walked ahead. The further in he walked, the more the air felt thicker.
The distant murmurs of voices echoed from behind. They weren’t normal voices.
——Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!
——Someone, help me! He’s in the walls!
——….Seven. Eight. Nine. Seven. Eight. Nine.
Mumbling. Muttering. Some frantic, some soft.
The air smelled of metal, antiseptic, and something else he couldn’t place.
However, his eyes remained calm. He had been here several times already.
He kept walking.
Left. Right. Straight. Left.
Then he stopped.
The room at the end of the hall. Room 014.
His gaze lingered on the number for a moment before his fingers lightly brushed the metal surface of the door. It felt colder than the air around him.
He exhaled slowly. His breath fogged up the small window. He wiped it away with his sleeve and peered inside.
There she was.
Her back faced him. She sat on the bed, still as stone with her arms wrapped around her knees.
Her white hair, which was once a shade of platinum, now looked tangled and dull.
Silas didn’t knock.
He just stood there. Watching.
Seconds passed. Maybe minutes.
Eventually, she tilted her head ever so slightly, as if she could feel his eyes on her.
She turned slowly, just enough for him to see the corner of her face. The sharp sunken cheeks. The hollow look in her eyes.
Her lips moved, but no sound escaped.
Silas clenched his fist.
“Arwen….”
***
Slash—!
The sound of steel against flesh rang out as a group of knights advanced, pushing back the monsters surrounding them.
Channeling aura, their blades glowed faintly as they moved swiftly. Under Margaret’s lead, they spread out and fought in perfect sync.
“Fall back!” Margaret called out.
One knight quickly retreated. In an instant, Margaret vanished like a blur. The next moment, a loud thud echoed as the brute monster collapsed at her feet.
The next instance, the knights moved as one. Roars of monsters were silenced one by one until nothing but silence remained.
Breathing heavily, Clevius, the vice captain, lowered his sword.
“All clear, Grandknight.”
Margaret wiped her blade clean. Her eyes scanned the area.
“No signs of movement. Stay alert. There could be more ahead.”
The knights exchanged glances, gripping their weapons tighter. They knew better than to let their guard down.
“Form up. We move in three,” Margaret ordered.
***
“Thank you so much for saving our village,” the village head said, bowing deeply. “These days…. it’s hard to get the Crusade Order to help a small village like ours.”
His voice was filled with genuine gratitude. He had only sent a modest request, just enough to fit the village’s humble budget.
But to his surprise, Margaret had brought her entire order.
Margaret shook her head. “I’m just doing my duty.”
She glanced at the villagers behind him. Their faces looked tired, some giving her relieved smiles, and children peeking out from behind their parents.
A bitter smile tugged at her lips. If…. only the Empire had been on time back then…
She shook her head, dismissing the thought.
She had promised herself never to blame others for her misfortunes again.
If something terrible happened, she would take full responsibility. No one else.
With the mission complete, Margaret led the Crusade Order back to their base without delay.
“Want to play a quick match, Grand Knight?” asked Johanna, one of her knights.
Naturally, as members of the Crusade Order, they had a strong interest in magic. For fun, they often played League of Spirits in their freetime.
Margaret was quite good at it.
If she had to say so herself.
“Sure.”
After five minutes.
“Checkmate,” Johanna said, leaning back with a grin.
“…This game is so frustrating,” Margaret muttered, staring at the board with a furrowed brow.
“It’s not the game, Grand Knight,” Johanna replied, spinning one of her Spirit Champion cards between her fingers. “Your strategies are solid. It’s just…. you can’t keep a poker face.”
“Ah?”
Johanna chuckled. “You make it so obvious when you’ve got a good hand. It’s like you’re begging me to counter you.”
“….Do I?”
“Every single time,” Johanna said. “The moment you draw a strong card, your eyebrows raise. And when it’s bad, you start to pout. Honestly, it’s adorable.”
Margaret’s face immediately reddened.
“I do not pout,” she mumbled. Her cheeks puffed up without realizing it.
“See? You’re doing it right now.” Johanna pointed, bursting into laughter.
“….That doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts.”
The knights around the table snickered. A few nodded in agreement. Margaret sank a little deeper into her seat. She hid her face behind her hands.
“One more game?” Johanna offered, shuffling the cards with practiced ease.
Margaret hesitated for a moment, glancing at the cards before responding.
“Okay, this time, it’ll be different.”
The cards were dealt, and the game began. Margaret’s eyes stayed glued to her hand as her lips pressed in a thin line, trying to keep her expressions blank.
“Grand Knight…. You’re trying too hard. Now you look like a statue.”
“I am not….”
She drew a card, and her eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.
“You’re smiling,” Johanna said with a grin.
“….”
Margaret kept her expressions still. She had drawn a powerful level-four unit. Her lips twitched, but she quickly pressed them shut.
Moments later, she drew a weaker card. Her cheeks puffed slightly before she caught herself and sank them back down, glancing around slowly to see if anyone noticed.
They did.
“Checkmate,” Johanna declared, laying her final card down with a grin.
“Gosh….”
Margaret’s shoulders slumped as she set her cards on the table.
“….This game is impossible,” she sighed, leaning back with a defeated look.
The knights around her laughed, and Johanna leaned forward, still shuffling her cards.
“Don’t worry, Grand Knight. You’ll win…. one day.”
The truth was, Margaret had never won a single game of League of Spirits against any of her knights. Not even once.
Margaret glanced at the clock. It was 7:26 P.M.
Suddenly, a voice echoed outside the room.
——Grand Knight!
Bang!
The door slammed open as Clevius entered, breathless and holding onto an envelope in his hand.
“What is it, Clevius?” Margaret asked.
“It’s from the Silver University Tower!”
“What?”
The knights glanced at one another, then all eyes turned to Margaret.
“Doesn’t that mean…?” one of the knights muttered.
“Here” Clevius said, handing the envelope to Margaret.
Her fingers moved quickly, tearing the seal open.
She unfolded the letter and scanned. Her knights gathered behind her, peeking over her shoulder like curious children.
Her eyes stopped moving.
“Oh….” Margaret breathed.
———
To: Margaret Illenia,
We are pleased to invite you as a guest instructor for a special demonstration at the Silver University Tower.
Your presence as a visiting instructor will provide them with a rare glimpse into the discipline, training, and principles required to become a true Crusader.
This opportunity reflects the outstanding efforts you have demonstrated this year….
.
.
We look forward to your acceptance.
— Silver University Tower Council
———
“That’s incredible, Grand Knight!” Johanna grinned wide, grabbing Margaret by the shoulders and shaking her.
As her knights continued showering her with praise, Margaret lowered the letter, staring at it for a moment longer.
Her status. Her reputation. Her Order’s prestige.
All of it was about to rise.
The program lasted for two months and was exclusively available to members of the Crusade of the Round Table.
Last year, Michael was chosen. The other year, it was Elaina.
This time, it was her.
“Does this mean we get time off since our leader will be teaching?” one of the knights said. Johanna glared at them.
“Not a chance,” Margaret quickly shot him down. “If I’m training future Crusaders, you’ll be training twice as hard here.”
“Ugh….”
But none of them complained too much.
After all, seeing their Grand Knight receive such an honor was enough to make them proud.
Suddenly, the mood shifted.
“But wouldn’t that mean…. you’d have to see ‘him’ everyday?” Clevius asked.
The room fell into a brief silence.
“Him?” Johanna blinked, then realization hit her. “Oh no. ‘Him.'”
“It’s fine.” Margaret waved it off. “I think we’ve…. reconciled.”
Though it wasn’t as if Margaret could brush off the matter so easily.
Her mind told her he hadn’t done anything wrong.
But trust was a different matter entirely.
Vanitas had broken it.
“Ah, that day….” Johanna muttered.
Everyone remembered that day.
The day they spotted Margaret and Vanitas together at a street-side bar.
The Black Hollow Massacre wasn’t something Margaret ever explained to them.
At the time, most of the knights under her command were still her juniors.
Only Clevius had been around long enough to have known her back then, though they hadn’t been on the same team.
But thanks to Nicolas and his habit of exaggerating stories, the blame always seemed to point to one person.
Vanitas Astrea.
***
Vanitas stood in the middle of the newly expanded training room within the Astrea Estate. The space was wide enough to host a full-blown battle if necessary.
Reinforced walls lined with barriers ensured that even high-level spells wouldn’t damage it.
Flick—!
With a flick of his fingers, a magic circuit lit up along the ground. Moments later, targets molded from earth rose from the ground, forming human-like figures lined up ahead.
They were practice targets.
Vanitas glanced at them. He rolled his right shoulder and glanced at his hand.
“Let’s see,” he muttered.
He reached into a nearby rack and grabbed a sleek, black glove, similar to that of a gauntlet.
Sliding it onto his right hand, he flexed his fingers, feeling the cloth against his skin.
His grip tightened, and he rolled his wrist, testing its range of motion. It felt natural.
“This will do.”
He wasn’t using it as a medium just yet. Not now. But eventually, he planned to.
Carrying a staff around everywhere seemed far too bothersome. A gauntlet, however, would be different.
He raised his hand, fingers pointed toward the target like a gun.
“Hoo….”
A slow breath in.
“Haa….”
A slow breath out.
Swoosh—!
A sharp, crescent-shaped blade of wind shot out from his fingertips as he launched a Windblade.
The first target’s head popped off cleanly, thudding to the ground as the rest of its body crumbled back into dirt.
Vanitas tilted his head slightly.
“It’s disoriented.”
It wasn’t as clean as he wanted it to be.
“Again.”
He pointed his fingers forward, this time focusing on the subtle changes in his mana flow. The gauntlet wasn’t a medium yet, but he had to get used to the feeling of it being one.
Swoosh—!
Two Windblades flew out, one after the other.
The first sliced through the target’s torso. The second severed its legs. The figure crumbled instantly.
“Better.”
But he didn’t stop.
Twisting his body in one fluid motion, his fingers flicked out toward the next target.
Swoosh—! Swoosh—!
Two more Windblades shot out. Sharp crescents spun through the air like throwing knives.
The first blade missed, skimming past the target’s shoulder. The second, however, struck dead center.
“Tsk.”
He stepped forward, raising his hand again. The pressure of the gauntlet against his skin was starting to feel normal. Comfortable, even.
“Faster.”
This time, he didn’t give himself a chance to think.
Swoosh—! Swoosh—! Swoosh—!
Three Windblades shot out in quick succession.
The first blade took the target’s head.
The second cut off its arm.
The third reduced the remaining torso to crumbling dirt.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Pieces of the target hit the ground one after another.
Vanitas lowered his hand slowly, flexing his fingers once more.
The feel of the gauntlet was starting to feel more like a part of him.
“Not bad.”