Chapter 1: The Warfront

The Holy Maiden of the Kingdom of Strirus. It was a lofty title that could only ever be held by one person at any given time. It was a title that could not be bestowed or even earned through achievements.

It wasn’t a role one could be born into either. It was a title that was inherited through magic.

Apprentice, Magician, Arch-magician, Mage, Arch-Mage, Sage. That was the ranking system of magic users, but above each and every one of those ranks stood the Holy Maiden and her holy magic.

Holy magic fell under light magic, but that’s not to say just any light magic user could cast holy magic. Even a Sage of Light would struggle to cast a holy spell beyond the level of a Magician.

That’s why the Holy Maiden’s existence was so much more than just a title holder in the kingdom. They were a harbinger of peace, a beacon of hope to the people.

Elanor thought it was all b*llsh*t.

Oh, there was no doubt that the Holy Maiden was magically powerful, no doubt that her magic was one of the most useful in combating the demons that attacked their lands, but she was a figurehead more than anything else.

For all that she was useful the Holy Maiden could not make her own decisions. If the Kingdom wanted her to do something she would, if they wanted her to fight, she would, if they wanted her to go to war then she would.

The Holy Maiden was a pitiful, mortal little thing talked up by the nobles of the kingdom to appease the public about a war that had gone on for almost two decades between the Kingdom of Strirus and the Kingdom of Avarice, the land of the demons.

Elanor was a pitiful, mortal little thing that the nobles liked to dress up as a jewel and use as a pawn on their chessboard of war, one that refused to die but could only move as ordered.

For five years, ever since Elanor had inherited the title from the previous Holy Maiden Cassandra, after she had been killed in battle by one of the Demon King’s Generals, she had taken up her duties.

Cassandra died on the battlefield for a war that had gone on for almost 20 years, far too long in Elanor’s opinion and for what? Surely not to stamp out demon-kind, not with how they had survived the centuries despite the existence of said Holy Maiden.

There were many more reasons that Elanor was pitiful, but the main one that she couldn’t even argue against was that she WAS weak.

The weakest Holy Maiden in history they called her, barely able to cast holy spells at the level of a mage. All the other Holy Maidens before her were never less than Arch-mages with most being Sages, some even hailed as Legendary Sages.

Holy Maidens were supposed to be a cut above the rest, that’s why it was an inherited title, why there could only ever be one at a time. Elanor was…better than most, compared to normal magic users her Holy Magic knew no equal.

To everyone else though she was supposed to be better. The public might like her and respect her, but the nobles, the Arch-Mages and Sages who traveled with her in the convoy as protection detail?

Whatever they felt for her wasn’t quite hate, but it sure as hell wasn’t love.

What could Elanor do about that though? Argue about it? It wasn’t like they were wrong. There was only ever one Holy Maiden, but they’d gotten her instead of anyone else, so no matter how much she detested the nobles, the orders, and the whispers, these were her duties.

Nonnegotiable. That’s why even if she hated her duties, she would fulfill them without protest. She would help end this war like the king wanted, even if it meant defeating the Kingdom of Avarice and the Demon King.

Because Elanor was determined to survive this d*mnable war and go home and she couldn’t exactly do that if she was dead.

“Raymond, how much longer?”

“Tch, a mile or two out. Can’t you smell it?”

Elanor was trying not to, actually. For five years she’d held the title of Holy Maiden, had been sent out of the kingdom onto the battlefield for the past three, and she still couldn’t get used to it.

The ground turned to mud with blood, the bodies being picked clean by scavengers, and it was just one battlefield out of many. The warfront was an ugly sort of place of still smoking battlefields, cooling corpses, and those that were still alive.

Light magic could heal, and Elanor always did what she could, but it was never enough. There was always someone else that needed to be healed, someone that couldn’t be healed, and too many times they were far too late to do anything but clean up.

Still. Still…Elanor wasn’t used to it. Would never be used to it.

The corpses also had the terrible habit of attracting feral demons, meaning it was necessary to purify the grounds after every fight.

Holy Magic could purify locations and kill demons so it only made sense that Elanor would be sent out to the warfront to travel around, participating in battles, ‘blessing’ the land, saving lives.

Raymond was right at least, they weren’t too far out from the battlegrounds, arriving at the camp that was set up for the soldiers.

They were greeted immediately, their approach no doubt having been spotted earlier. Strirus was a kingdom of mostly plains, fields, and forests while Avarice was a rather mountainous region, making it that much harder to conquer.

“Ah, the Holy Maiden, we’ve been expecting you.”

“Hello, General.” Elanor greeted politely, ignoring Raymond’s displeased look. Yeah, she wasn’t exactly pleased either, but she was still the acting Holy Maiden, the kingdom’s ultimate figurehead.

Of course the general of such a small encampment would think that she was in charge when the reality was quite the opposite.

“Please lead me to the medical tents, meanwhile, Raymond can take care of any reports you have.” She was neither a technician, leader, nor the one her convoy would take orders from. Honestly, Elanor was a bit surprised their threadbare ruse lasted as long as it had.

“Right! My second in command will lead you there.”

It didn’t matter in the long run though. Elanor had a job to do so she would do it. Once she tended to the people that were still alive, she’d tend to the battlefield and purify the grounds.

It should really be the other way around, but Elanor would rather put her energy into saving the lives in front of her then waste all her magic on the ground. It didn’t need much to purify. Besides, by now, all the bodies out there were already dead.

There was always so many that needed to be healed. So many, too many. Soldier, soldier. Mage. Soldier. Arch-Magician. Sage. Soldier. Too late. Soldier. Solider. Medic. Soldier. Mage. Too late. Too late. Dead.

Elanor had to take a break, slipping out with the excuse to use the bathroom as she made her way to the tree line, hiding away, before she hunched over and threw up.

She never could get used to this, even after all this time.

Not enough, never enough, because the war just continued to take and take, and there was nothing she could do about it. The King wouldn’t call off the war and the Demon King wouldn’t stop.

All she would do was continue so Elanor wiped her mouth and headed back, cleaning out the taste with some water, popping a small bit of trail mix of dried fruit and nuts into her mouth before she got back to work.

Solider. Soldier. Soldier. Sage. Soldier. Soldier. Medic. Soldier. Mage. Soldi—

Someone blew the horn, and the grounds were immediately whipped up into a frenzy.

F*ck.

“Soldiers, arm yourselves!”

“Get into formation!”

There was an inhuman sounding war cry, a deathly sort of screech that meant only one thing. This battlefield had just become active. The demon army was here.

“Elanor! Get into position!”

“I’m going!” She shouted, trying to finish healing up the soldier she was on—though maybe it would be better if she didn’t with the situation they were in right now.

“NOW!”

“I said I’m going!” Elanor snapped, grimacing at the weeping wound, but it was as good as it was going to get. She didn’t wait for the soldier to even finish saying thank you as she sprinted out of the medical tent.

The Holy Maiden always played two roles on an active battlefield, either they were a healer or part of the magic squadron that played midrange assault. Elanor was part of the latter this time.

None of them had been expecting a second attack on the camp but they should’ve with how far into demon territory they were.

“Aim! FIRE!”

Ahhh. Elanor’s spell hit. Holy magic never really missed when it was so deadly to demons.

She tried to focus on slinging spells and healing when it was demanded. Anything to not focus on the screams, the carnage, the dead starting to pile up again. She would never be used to this.

Elanor didn’t want to be used to something like this. She feared that if she did, she’d lose something precious inside of her.

Time sort of lost its meaning on a battlefield. It was more about the flow and pace of it. Someone would falter or trip up at some point and it would make or break the battle. Demons more often than not cut their losses when they reached a certain point.

A large firestorm suddenly broke out on their side of the field, taking out a group of soldiers and blasting away some Mages.

And sometimes reinforcements came to turn the tide. Fire magic that strong, there was one demon who specialized in it to that degree.

“A general? Here?!”

The Demon King’s Generals of Sin. One had been killed by Cassandra so currently there were only six, but each was practically an army in their own right.

“Which one?!”

“…Pride.” The camp’s general confirmed, swallowing the lump in his throat while Elanor’s breath hitched.

Ah.

F*ck.

It just had to be the General of Pride. Just her luck that Elanor would be on the battlefield with the general who killed the LAST Holy Maiden! The Holy Maiden that most of the kingdom and its army agreed was stronger than her, but still perished against said General.

“Have all the magic turn their attacks onto the general! Elanor!”

“I know!”

They had one shot at this. Elanor charged up the strongest holy spell she knew, pressing all of her magic into it. It was do or die at this point.

“Aim!”

And she had no intention of dying.

“FIRE!”

The spells twined together, helping feed her own spell, swirling into a mass of magic glowing with holy magic and it slammed into the flying general.

A few soldiers cheered, but Elanor didn’t dare, staring as the magic fizzled out and he was still in the sky, injured, skin seared from the holy magic, but not dead. Not like they needed him to be.

Turn of the tide indeed.

The next firestorm was less of a storm and more of a hurricane, sweeping through the battlefield and not even she was immune to it, whipped about like a ragdoll, the screams of the burning soldiers lodged in her ears before she was slammed into the ground.

Elanor blacked out for a moment, coming to in sheer silence, only the sound of boots on bone dry ground echoing around her. She was face down, the taste of sulfur and blood on her tongue.

“Is that the best you can do?”

She peeled her head off of the dusty ground, even though her whole body was trembling with exhaustion. Elanor just gritted her teeth and looked up at the General of Pride.

He seemed unphased by her holy magic, even though she had burned off most of his clothes and left such ugly, deep wounds along his chest. He was unmoved by the damage and Elanor supposed he had every right to be when she was the one at his feet and not the other way around.

That WAS the best she could do, unfortunately, because her holy magic didn’t live up to Cassandra’s, because she was only a Mage when it came to holy magic, because even though she held the title of the Holy Maiden, Elanor knew she was pitiful.

However, it was because she knew how mortal and pitiful she was that she was so determined not to die, even now, before the General of Pride himself, she refused it.

Elanor was going to live. She was going HOME. She could not afford to die, even with death staring her in the face.

“…I see.” Those words slipped out of the General’s mouth before he reached down, a large hand wrapping around her throat and Elanor’s hands immediately flew up, trying to force him to let go, but he was so much stronger.

His grip was tight and already she was lightheaded, choking for air as she struggled against his hold.

Furious tears built up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, glaring into the General’s poisonous purple eyes. Holy magic sizzled at her fingertips, searing into his flesh but he didn’t let go. It wasn’t enough.

Elanor struggled and struggled, even as her consciousness faded. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t afford to die! Not here, not now!

Demons didn’t care about what others wanted though, and before Elanor knew it she was gone, faded away into the black.

“How interesting…”

And then Elanor woke up, but one glance and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was better off dead, especially when she was in the hands of the demon general who was supposed to have killed her.