The last time Lyra stood as a warrior against enemies was before Liya Tower Fortress completely fell. Back then, as the knight-captain appointed by Duke Charles, she led fellow graduates from Elizabeth Academy of Magic in defending one-third of the fortress line.
Now returning to the battlefield, everything seemed changed, yet something remained forever the same.
For example, the violent chain explosions ringing in her ears, dust-and-frozen-soil-lifting collisions of elemental particles, fiercely clashing in midair.
Her silver, rigid knight's boots stepped upon the gray-black wall. The stench of burnt flesh mixed with the damp, heavy scent of rust, whether from blood or some unknown metal, grew especially sharp amid the chaotic winds.
Letting out a light sigh, Lyra twirled her Holy Light Sword into an elegant flourish. The radiance emanating from the blade quickly spread outward from her, washing over the city-defending soldiers behind her.
