By the time the news reached the capital, it was already far too late. A swarming flood of a million strong of the Varied Races swept through the north. Cities and villages disappeared in their wake, swallowed by this ferocious threat.
Overwhelming numbers. Moreover, each individual member of the Varied Races displayed a power far exceeding human ability. Their indomitable might coupled with their staggering numbers left humanity in complete and utter despair.
That notwithstanding, the girl fought to keep hope alive, infinitesimal though it might be. To protect her homeland and its people, she would continue to swing that sharp blade for as long as there was yet breath in her body.
Before her power as a Spirit and her divine swordsmanship, countless members of the Varied Races were transformed into a mountain of corpses.
The girl was strong. Stronger even than any of the North’s most elite troops. That strength, however, availed them not as they were swept away by the violent, overpowering might of the enemy.
Beneath the force of crushing malice, the girl’s dream shattered. The girl’s homeland was trampled by the invading force, and the lives of those whom she had fought to protect were cut tragically short.
That overwhelming power was absolute even when it came to the girl.
The girl suffered defeat at the hands of a leader of the Varied Races’ army, his strength as terrible as though evil itself had been made manifest. Worse still, after her loss, she had been made the victim of a shameful and vile curse.
Perhaps this is my end, the girl thought, resigning herself to the fate her companions had met: for this, her homeland, to be her final resting place. She had fought that wretched enemy general to her very last and dealt him injuries from which he would never recover.
Sadly, even this solemn, stirring resolution of hers was to be broken – her people told her to live.