A dwarf wearing a really-quite-silly hat leads Law and Dresmond down through the belly of Liefholn keep into a dark room. The magic lantern lights up and illuminates the place as Law places his towering mace aside.

It is a small room, lined with cabinets of surgical tools. In the middle is a suit of armor blatantly colored in the Ragnivanian red and white, filled with an excruciatingly-large amount of elfish arrows. To add, all of the crests on the armor are of the Ragnivanian winged blade, the symbol of the country.

“This is the body, I presume?” Law asks. The dwarf, by the name of Bongle, nods.

“Aye, dragon-creature, one and the same,” Bongle, hat silly as ever, says with a sneer. Law steps forward and begins looking over the armored corpse.

“Do you have any written report on the incident?” Law asks.

“Aye, but it was written by an elf,” the dwarf says with a mixed expression.

“Damn, hand it over to my assistant and you’ll be on your way,” Law requests, hating the way elves speak more than any of the other fairy folk.

“Aye. I’ll be waitin’ up top should ye have trouble figurin’ it,” Bongle says as he steps out, implying Law is as stupid as all the dragon-kin in the fairy tales. Law scoffs, not paying the dwarf another glance.

“Alright, Knight Ulveroth, decipher the information and give me the gist. Elfish grammar is like jabbing nails for me,” he snarls before he takes a calming breath.

While Law dislikes elves a good deal, many elves from other realms are usually considered by the general Omniverse-public to be a kind, intelligent and hospitable bunch— but not these guys, they’re total weirdos.

Dresmond takes an initial look at the report, sighs, and then speaks.

“Looks here ... right, looks here that this culprit walked into one of the nearby fairy villages and just started hacking away at fairy folk. He was then sh- ... Sir,” Dresmond addresses. Law looks over to Dresmond.

“Yes?”

“What exactly is a ‘rooty tooty stringed shooty?’ ” the young, concealed knight asks with a tone of confusion. Law sighs.

“A bow,” the dragon-kin states plainly.

“Oh ... I see. Right, so th- ... hmm. Now then, what’s a ‘fussy tussy footy rushy?’ ”

“It means ‘to run’, Knight Ulveroth,” Law explains. Dresmond nods.

“Alright. So the assailant cut down about twelve, consisting of two greater fairies, four dwarves, one halfling, and five elves, before he was chased down by the town’s guardsmen, and shot down with arrows, in which caused a slow ... ‘cryin’ sighin’ point’o dyin’, which I presume is the time of ‘death,’ sir. That said, the assailant died mysteriously after the ... hmm, thirty-seventh arrow wound, then he just stopped moving.”

“Heh, classic elf archery-skills. They can never quite hit the right spot,” Law says as he inspects the arrows in the corpse.

“Whats more, the assailant seemed to lose no ... um ... ‘ewey gooey crimson spe-’ ... ahh, blood. Right, then the guards cleaned up the innocents, all killed by sword-wounds, and took this guy here to wait for our inspection to affirm if he’s legitimately Ragnivanian or not. They didn’t even pull off the helmet. That’s the whole report, sir,” Dresmond explains, placing the report aside and stepping up to the other side of the table.

“Lazyass sparkle boys…. Alright, so let’s take a look at this guy. Might as well start with the armor,” Law says, removing his gauntlets and revealing a pair of large, clawed dragon-kin hands. Dresmond removes his gloves, ready to assist in any way.

Law begins by pulling off one of the insignia on the knight. He looks at it a moment and gives a light scoff.

“Yeah, this guy definitely wasn’t sent by Ragnivan.”

“How so, sir?”

“He’s covered in these insignia. What kingdom did you come from?”

“One of the mid-land towns,” Dresmond states, referring to one of the many villages on the roads between kingdom boundaries. It’s unusual to find someone from the midland joining the Royal Knights, it’s more often people from one of the capitals of the four western kingdoms, but Kanvane and Ragnivan in particular, as they have particularly good reputations (and propaganda budgets) in those places. Law nods, first thinking the boy was from Ragnivan.

“Hmm, alright; which town?”

“Frau, sir.”

“Oh? Isn’t that where Order lives?”

Dresmond smirks under his hood. “Yes sir.”

“Inspired by our little goddess, eh?” Law asks jokingly.

“Sure, sir, but that’s not why I joined.”

“Oh?”

“I figured I might as well. When I got older I realized the house I grew up in wasn’t really my home anymore, so I decided I might as well not be a burden and go do some good. That’s what my dad would’ve wanted; he was a knight too,” Dresmond says, pulling off his hood.

Law can see him now: soft, inch-length light brown hair, and open, clear Spirakandrin-brown-gold eyes. His face tells of the sort of person that would go and get himself killed too early; Law’s known a few.

“Ahh. How’d he die?”

“He was posted in Kanvane, Chaos attacked during his service and he was one of the unlucky ones.”

“He’ll be remembered forever for his sacrifice… Most just run, you know. That alone is proof he was a true man.”

“It’s alright ... we’ll get him one of these days,” Dresmond says, staring blankly at the armored corpse of the killer. There is a slight pause between the two of them, Dresmond looking to the side as if he’d just told a lie.

Law crosses his arms. “Right. So I’m sure this man isn’t on Ragnivanian orders, because normally they would only take one insignia to identify their rank and person. This guy’s obviously trying to make people think he’s Ragnivan, but I’d say he’s done a pretty shitty job of doing it ... would have been far more realistic if he just took one insignia. You understand?”

“Yes sir, I was thinking the same,” Dresmond answers plainly. Law begins pulling off each insignia and checking the I.D.’s.

“Tell me, Knight Dresmond, you seem like an alright sort. Do you mind going on a no-rank basis?” Law says, his thin irises scanning over each insignia’s numbers and names.

Dresmond is set back, but quick to respond. “Not at all, sir.”

“Good, name’s Hos’Rayull.”

“Thank you sir, Dresmond Ulveroth.”

“I’ve come to understand you were in the yellow company,” Law asks, placing a few of the insignias to the side on a table as he looks over them.

“Yes, sir.”

“First name is fine, Dresmond, you’re obviously respectable enough to be given that privilege.”

“Thank you, Ho- eh, pardon me, sir.”

“Yes, Dresmond?”

“Would you prefer to be called by your first or last name?” Dresmond asks, not knowing how dragon-kin deal with their names.

“Higher dragon-kin go by our age name when it comes to referring to one personally, Dresmond,” Law states, referring to the given on their twenty-fifth birthday, which signifies their best talent, or most defining personal trait.

Dresmond clears his throat. “Right. Thank you, Rayull.”

“Any time, Dresmond,” Law says with a slight smirk. Dresmond just nods, looking about nervously. “So, tell me about your thoughts on the war,” Hos’Rayull asks as he gets about half-way through the Ragnivanian insignias. Dresmond takes a breath.

“Well, sir-”

“Rayull,” Law again corrects with a tone so light, Dresmond would almost think it kind.

“Roger, Rayull. I feel the war is a necessary evil. From what I’ve been told, the East has been becoming increasingly more ambitious in sight of their technological revolution.”

“I feel precisely the same way, Dresmond. Seems like a good few of our knights are afraid of protecting our own lands, as if defending our lives from other countries is something we should be ashamed of.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t blame them. The Knights have never been deployed against another country before.”

“Hmm, you’ve done a bit of reading, I see.”

“Just some knowledge passed around between the knights in my legion.”

“Hmm, who was your commanding officer?” Law asks, removing the last few insignias.

“Kanvanian Arch Mage Niad.”

“A Kanvanian? One of the co-op units, then?”

“…Yes,”

Rayull sighs. “…How was it?”

“What part of it?”

“The whole thing.”

“I don’t know. I hated it.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“The mages walked in wearing robes, and very few of them knew anything more than the fire-magic they were taught at fifteen.”

“Ahh... How did they do?”

“We lost half of my first group of twenty by the first day. By the time I received the post to return only two others and myself were still on the field… I got a gun by that point, so things got easier.”

“Damn... And you’d just tell me that?”

“I trust you, sir, you’re a knight, not W.K.D.R.. You wouldn’t rat me out for using enemy methods.”

Law nods his head about in thought. “Yeah… well I suppose you’d have to use a firearm if you wanted to survive.”

“Yeah, only reason we weren’t among the dead was by playing their game, and all of the dilapidated buildings caused by the siege magic from our side and the cannons from the East- that gave us some good places to hide.”

“... How many squads were you in?”

“About eight.”

“Amazing.” Rayull glances Dresmond’s way. “You must have gotten hit by fire arms at least once?”

“Four times, actually,” Dresmond says, opening up his cloak and clothing just enough to display the scars from military-grade healing-magic on his dark-ash colored Spirakandrin skin.

“Mmm, you’re lucky to be alive,” Law says, finishing to inspect the final insignia.

“... Yeah. There were a lot of better people in those fights ... I’ll miss ‘em.”

“Your fellows?”

“Two other boys from Frau enlisted in The Knights. We all graduated at the same time and were sent to the co-op.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I guess. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“That’s true. The names and their faces are different, but the feeling of loss bites just as much. The ones that fought valiantly died with honor, and to the cowards, a well-deserved death,” Law says. Dresmond exhales sharply, as if he were suddenly hurt.

“Yes, sir,” Dresmond says, chilling up. Law raises a scaled brow in interest, and then continues on.

“Well, all of these insignias are real. Twenty seven in all; can’t imagine he killed twenty seven Ragnivanian soldiers to get these. Must’ve stolen ‘em,” Law says, pushing the insignias aside to look over the rest of the armor. Everything is authentic, but it’s just too surreal; something’s got Law off his ease.

“What next, sir?”

“Rayull.”

“Yes, sorry- Rayull.”

“ ’Spose we might as well get our face,” Law says, the two stepping over to the corpse’s helmet. The helmet is impaled shut by arrows.

“Hmm, getting rid of these,” Law says, grasping each arrow’s shaft from the base of the helmet and breaking them with ease. Dresmond does the same, gently so as not to mess up the face under the helmet. The shafts are now short enough to open the visor, Law quickly pulls it up to reveal the face.

There is no face under the helmet, only dozens of jagged knifes, pointing outward towards the two knights.

“Shit!” curses Law the second before the blades fire out from the helmet. Law forces his arm over Dresmond’s side of the helmet, taking the delivery of knives with his armored skin, effectively saving the young man’s life. The suit of armor promptly pulls out its sword, the very same it used to kill those twelve fairy-folk, and thrusts at Law to start the fight.

Law, armor covered in knives, shakes the weapons off, pushing into the corpse to set it off balance. Dresmond opens his cloak in the meanwhile to draw his daggers, the corpse regains its wavering, lazy balance, and prepares for its next assault.

Law and Dresmond can see the corpse’s face, a godless meshing of objects, flesh, and internal organs, all held together with wire, nails and cloth. It is a created body with an invading soul as its host; a full perversion of life and nature.

“Necromancer!” Law snaps just as the amalgamation races up to them.

The necromancer thrusts its blade forward at Law’s neck, but is quickly stumbled back again by a kick from the dragon-kin to the necromancer’s sort-of-face. Law rushes back to his weapon as his opponent thrusts additional, hidden arms out of its suit of armor, and moves toward Dresmond with a furious gait.

The cloaked boy unloads knife after knife into his target, but the necromancer deftly grasps them and throws them back with the newly-revealed arms. The corpse closes in, pushing Dresmond to the edge of the room, and is about to go at his throat when Law returns.

Law swings down his giant mace, swiftly dodged by the necromancer, but then it meets Law’s free fist, forcing it forward and into the wall. Ignoring the necromancer’s arms stabbing at his draconic flesh, Law crushes his enemy into side of the room with a serpentine gaze. Dresmond watches in awe as Law breaths in and looses a torrent of fire on the necromancer, engulfing its entire body. Law takes another breath, and burns him again, dropping his mace. Law brutishly tears off the still-flailing necromancer’s helmet, and then grasps the monstrosity by its neck. With one immense movement of force, Law beheads the necromancer, throws down the head, and crushes it under his boot. Still the abomination of life attacks, having torn off a few of Law’s scales and now doing its best to blindly get into his flesh. In Law’s finishing movements, he scrapes the necromancer across the wall and down to the floor, allowing him to pick up his mace. Law then forces his boot into the necromancer’s legs to hold it in place and smashes his weapon down into his enemy, producing the simultaneous sound of metal being trashed, flesh being squished, and bones being cracked. He throws down his mace again and again, each strike causing the ground to shake, until finally every joint in the necromancer’s body is reduced to pulpy, mangled viscera. The fire takes care of the rest, burning the creature’s soul-piece phylactery, the item that binds the necromancer to its monstrosity of objects and flesh, to nothingness, simultaneously killing the body and releasing the soul. The necromancer goes limp, and Law raises his hewn great mace out of the mortal wreckage, no worse for wear.

“That’s a surprise,” Law says, rubbing his barely-wounded neck. He guesses the necromancer’s weapons were poisoned, as most necromancers do, but Law being part-dragon, his body will likely ignore it. Dragon blood is stronger than most, after all.

“Damn,” Dresmond begins, pushing himself firmly against the wall in horror, “So ... it’s really dead? ... It was more metal and weapons than anything. Are they usually that ... capable?”

“Yeah, they’re a real bitch to get rid of if they design their bodies well. We better let Order know,” Law notes as the two of them step away from the burning suit of armor and up the steps.