7.5.8

"—Here, the White Whale has fallen."

Haltingly, the sound of a stirring voice echoed across the silence of the nighttime plain.

At that voice, the men, lost for words, lifted their faces.

Their gazes poured over a young woman calmly advancing to the fore on the back of a white land dragon.

Her long, green hair was frayed, and she was cruelly adorned by wounds suffered at the height of the battle, her face sullied by her own blood, a most sorry state for her to be seen in.

And yet, in their eyes, the girl had never shone brighter.

That was natural for those who judged the worth of others by the glimmer of their souls.

"..."

With the knights gazing upon her, the gallant young woman lifted her face and took a deep breath.

Having lent her treasured sword, Crusch's scabbard was currently empty.

Accordingly, she thrust her fist toward the heavens, as if to show her closed hand to all present as she announced:

"The Demon Beast of Mist that menaced the world across four centuries of life—has been slain by Wilhelm van Astrea!!"

"—Aye!!"

"In this battle, we are victorious—!!"

With their lord loudly proclaiming victory, the surviving knights raised shouts of joy.

With mist clearing over the plains, signs of night returned once more—a proper night, with moonlight illuminating the people on the ground far and wide.

And there, after four hundred years, the Battle of the White Whale came to an end.