Ragna leaned her foot against the wall of a building that once might have been a warehouse. Dust gathered on the concrete, falling like snow from the roofs. They created a film in the air as the light reflected the particles.

At any other point, gangs and other criminal organizations might have used this warehouse for their activities. Right now, it served the Avalonian government as a last-minute HQ to deal with the incoming threat from Hy-Bres.

Around thirty defenders waited for the Knights to arrive and lead the raid. In one corner, Grendel was arguing with Ray. All the other chit-chat drowned their words, and Ragna couldn’t hear the two.

About what topic could they be talking? Well, she could ask the two later. She needed to thank Ray anyway for his assistance during the fight against Captain Donnerschlag. And without him, they wouldn’t have found the HQ.

Several adventurers she had never heard about had scattered across the open space, and near the center, Nephthys was chatting with Captain Donnerschlag and Kaguya. Clockwork and the overseer from Altera’s level distanced themselves from the group while they listened. Skyfrost and Lacie were missing, probably to tend Skyfrost’s wounds.

Ragna’s stomach started to turn.

That bastard Geißel had ratted them out. How else could Skyfrost’s group find out her location? He probably had demanded that Skyfrost didn’t harm Altera or something similar in another ploy to keep her away from his sister. Not that he would succeed. Nothing would sever her and Altera’s bond. Not the world, not the gods, and certainly not some wannabe despot with a sister complex.

Ragna crossed her arms and let her eyes wander through the building.

And now wasn’t the right time. She should concentrate on Geißel once she had found her father and secured her life.

Evergreen was talking with two Califs and one of Vaix’s gas-mask soldiers. Another paladin, whom Ragna recognized as Ilias Lutz, accompanied them. He had customized his uniform into a more casual outfit that ditched the trench coat for a navel-long vest under which a white shirt peaked through. He didn’t seem to participate in any discussion and glared at her.

How creepy. Couldn’t he keep his eyes on him?

Ragna would have gone to him and asked him what his problem was if the situation weren’t dire. No one needed another conflict. And she could understand why he was staring at her. He might have seen her fight against Ray or heard about Tintagel and how she had defeated Diavolo.

Jareth nudged her with his elbow, and Ragna turned to him. “Is there a reason why people from all kingdoms have gathered here? Don’t they hate each other?”

“Hate’s too simplified, but you aren’t off the mark,” Altera said. “This was one of the many conditions for the peace treaty after the Great War. Except for the Eren Archipelago that technically didn’t exist at the time, every kingdom has to assist whenever an abomination from the Lost City threatens Heorot. Every champion nearby with enough experience is obligated to help.”

“It’s basically the payment for dropping the Mana Bomb, in the first place,” Eric added. “You could say the kingdoms have to clean up the mess they created.”

“Are these abominations that problematic?” Jareth’s voice sounded somber, and his fingers brushed along his coat’s lines.

Did he perhaps pity the existence of creatures that humans couldn’t permit to live despite being the reason in the first place?

“They can be. Sometimes the abominations are easy to deal with, and other times, they leave behind a trail of death.” Altera pressed her palm against her chest. “I can feel that distortion of Mana is near, and Moon Moon’s howling through my soul. I can barely keep him in check.”

“So, the new generations have to suffer and pay for the misdeeds of their ancestors. Yet, all they had left you was a scorched planet. I fail to see the equity in that.”

Eric shrugged. “There isn’t any. We clean up the messes of our ancestors, make our own messes because of how big the mess is, and let the next generation clean our mess. Until one day, the plant stops spinning.”

“Such an ill-constructed system. When you had the chance to start from a blank state and rise from the ashes, you chose to sully yourself within the left-behind dirt. Your excellent ability to repeat your mistakes is like a curse written in your genetic code.” Jareth faced the warehouse’s center, his mask looking at all the fighters who had gathered to protect Heorot. “But I guess such a curse allows the occasional light to spring.”

The door was slammed open, and a woman barged into the warehouse.

Everyone became silent, their eyes latching onto her figure.

“Fa fee fi fo fum. I smell the souls of god-lost men.” Her voice chimed through the warehouse. If she hadn’t gathered everyone’s attention with her entrance, she would have the moment she spoke. “Be they alive or dead. Let’s hunt till we have our fill.”

A dark cloth mask concealed her face below her nose, and a vertical stitched scar drew through her left eye. Her lime green hair reached past a black veil and parted like a ragged cape behind a skin-tight dark-magenta military uniform with white ruffles whose semi-transparent texture exposed her limbs. And the edged scars that covered them. They decorated her joints, writs, and even her neck as if they served as markers to distinguish the segments.

Behind her followed a man whose eyes Ragna couldn’t make out as a fedora with rigged and sharp edges cast a shadow over his face. A scarf hid his lower jaw, and a black cape floated behind a high-collared leather outfit with too many belts that made the man look like a cowboy who had left a bondage shop.

The woman pranced through the warehouse while the man trudged behind with his hands in his pockets, giving the audience the same enthusiasm Ragna could muster up for a dentist appointment. If an “I really wish I wasn’t here right now”-plaque existed, he would have worn it on his chest.

“Who are these two strangely dressed individuals?” Jareth whispered.

“That’s Sir Agravaine.” Ragna pointed at the man and then at the woman. “And that’s Lady Bedivere. They’re two of the thirteen Knights of the Round Table. You could see them as Avalon’s Valkyries.”

“Bedivere…and Agravaine…” Jareth leaned closer. “Strange, I thought both had died millennia ago.”

Even if Ragna had tried to accept Jareth’s oddities as a matter of fact, she wished she could read his mind and find out from where he came. Whatever place Jareth called home, he seemed familiar enough with the early days of Avalon.

“Those aren’t their real names. Every member of the Round Table inherits the name of one of the original thirteen. Except for King Arthur’s name. That one’s too sacred.”

“I see. But I don’t understand those costumes. Perhaps it’s my unfamiliarity with your culture, but they disturb my sense of fashion.”

Jareth had a point. Both look like the online avatar a twelve-year-old boy would have created. Way too edgy.

“And yet, everyone in this room seems to be in awe.” Jareth’s mask nodded towards Bedivere. “Or does the power of voluptuous bodies and exposed skin overcome the weakness of bad fashion?”

An uneasy chuckle escaped Ragna. “Believe me. It’s not their outfits or that she’s hot. That Lady Bedivere’s here means we’re in deep shit.”

Someone like Jareth, who had never heard of the Knights before, could mistake the woman’s curves and attire as the reason everyone was gaffing at her, but they would even if she looked like a grandma and dressed like one.

“We’re a bit late.” Bedivere clapped her hands. “Evacuation took longer than we had anticipated because we expected an abomination to arrive two weeks later. But our intel had suddenly changed. So, this evacuation and the call were rather sudden, and without Donnerschlag, we still would be busy.”

She paused, directing everyone’s attention to Captain Donnerschlag, who waved his hand and grinned.

Now, Ragna understood why they allowed Skyfrost to hunt her. They needed every help they could get, and people admired Captain Donnerschlag even outside Midgard. If he told people to evacuate calmly, they would listen. It probably helped that Heorot was used to the evacuations.

Bedivere continued. “But it’ll take some time for the Sith to arrive and help us. So, I’ll get to the point.”

“Who are the Sith?” Jareth looked at Ragna.

“That’s the Avalonian army.”

“The amount of corrupted Mana is the highest we had in over two hundred years, and we’ve less than forty-eight hours until the abomination reaches the shore. Our mission’s simple. Prevent the abomination from progressing further until reinforcement arrives. Chances of death for the individual are high. So, in other words. It’s...” Bedivere snapped her fingers. Her voice jumped a few pitches, and a layer of ecstasy coated her words. “...Party time.”