[Complete] Ch 13.3 Is it Wrong for a Sword to Remain Sheathed Against Injustice? (Patreon)

Is it Wrong for a Sword to Remain 

Sheathed Against Injustice?

Story Starts

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Chapter 13.3

Of Acts of Evil and 

Reclamations

The sector adjacent to Central Plaza stretched before them, a maze of narrow streets and cramped buildings that had once housed Orario’s working families. Now it stood silent save for the distant rumble of combat and the occasional crack of Shirou’s projectiles from Babel’s heights.

Alise positioned her Familia members at the forward line, Ganesha’s shields forming a protective wedge whilst her girls operated in pairs. The plan was simple enough—push methodically, secure civilians, repeat. The problem was pacing.

‘If we advance too quickly, we’ll have more perimeter than bodies to guard it.’

At least with Shirou’s supporting fire from Babel, alongside the elven volunteers manning the heavy bows he’d supplied, they retained some flexibility. His arrows had already saved three of her girls from flanking bombers in the past hour alone.

“Captain.” Lyana’s voice cut through her calculations. “We’ve finished inspecting the new batch of civilians.”

“Any problems?” Kaguya asked before Alise could.

Lyana’s cheeks coloured. “The usual complaints about removing clothes. One merchant threatened to file a formal grievance with the Guild.”

“Let him.” Alise crossed her arms. “Better a grievance than a crater. Have the Ganesha members distribute supplies—some of these people haven’t eaten properly in days. Ask for cooking volunteers from the latest batch and get them situated in the secured buildings.”

Word of the protocols had already spread through the districts, courtesy of Asfi Al Andromeda and her experimental flying device. The Hermes Familia captain couldn’t manoeuvre properly yet—by her own account it flew only in straight lines, landing to change direction—but she’d managed to blanket the contested zones with Guild flyers.

Including the protocol that asked citizens to strip at the border of the reclaimed sector.

Civilians were instructed to bring nothing but themselves. No luggage, no keepsakes, no beloved possessions that might conceal a trigger mechanism or a pocket of blaze rock. The adventurers secured and redistributed supplies as they pushed forward—food, blankets, bedding. Everything else stayed behind.

Practical. Necessary. And deeply, profoundly humiliating for everyone involved.

With the last batch from this section processed, they could begin moving forward. The next push would be harder—attention split between securing buildings and verifying that each civilian was who they claimed to be, not a fanatic in borrowed clothes.

“Lyra,” Alise called, “contact Athena Familia through general communications. Find out when they’re ready to coordinate our push.”

Lyra nodded and pressed a finger to the crystal at her ear. Her expression soured at once.

“Clear comms, please.” A pause. “HEY! I SAID CLEAR COMMS!”

Alise exchanged awkward glances with Neze and Iska. Thank the gods they’d separated general communications from the Familia-only channel. According to Lyra, the shared frequency had devolved into chaos—dozens of Familia volunteers talking over each other, arguing about perimeter assignments, complaining about supply distribution.

Asfi had apologised for the device’s limitations. No time to develop a proper listening-only mode with a toggle for speaking. What they had was what they got.

Lyra had already catalogued several instances of hearing people relieve themselves over the communications.

Though nothing compared to that first night.

Alise still couldn’t meet Shirou’s eyes without reliving that particular mortification. The sounds through the earpiece. Sophie’s voice. Rose’s voice. Syr’s voice. And Shirou, blissfully, mercifully oblivious to the fact that eleven women had heard every single—

She shook her head violently.

‘Focus. Battle. Push forward. Do not think about it.’

“Lyra to Arachne,” her communications officer said. “Do you copy?”

Several Ganesha members winced at the name. Unfortunate that the Athena Familia’s captain shared a name so close to Valletta Grede’s moniker. The spider comparison had followed the poor woman for years.

“This is Lyra of Astraea Familia. Our sector is prepared to advance on your signal. What is your status?”

A pause whilst Arachne responded through the crystal.

Lyra nodded. “Confirmed. Coordinated push in sixty seconds. Mark and—”

Her voice died. Her face lifted, confusion replacing professionalism.

“Lyra?” Alise stepped closer. “What is it?”

Then Central Plaza erupted.

Not with explosions this time—with noise. Shouting. Screaming. The crash of magic and steel, layered over panicked cries.

“What’s happening?” Neze demanded.

Everyone turned towards the plaza.

“Goddess?” Ryuu’s voice crackled through the Familia channel. “Goddess, can you hear us? What’s happening?”

Ryuu had positioned herself atop one of the secured buildings for overwatch. Alise looked up to find her silhouetted against the evening sky, elven eyes straining towards the distant commotion.

“I’m going to check—”

“Hold position!” Alise ordered. “Wait for confirmation!”

“Eeeep—watch where you’re holding!”

The distinct voice of Goddess Loki burst through their Familia comms, high-pitched and startled.

“Wait a moment, Lady Loki. Let me set you down.”

Shirou’s voice now, calm despite whatever chaos surrounded him.

“Okay. You’re secure.”

A brief pause filled with distant crashes and what might have been roaring.

“Children.” Goddess Astraea’s voice washed over them like cool water. “I am unharmed. Shirou collected both myself and Loki when the attack began—we’re now in Babel, in Hephaestus’s workshop. Please maintain your positions. This may be a diversionary assault.”

Alise’s jaw tightened. A feint. Of course.

“Could someone inform Loki Familia that their goddess is secure?” Astraea continued.

Lyra was already relaying the message through general communications.

“What happened?” Alise asked.

“Monsters,” Astraea said. “They’ve breached from the Dungeon. According to Shirou, his supporting fire will be suspended whilst they address the situation.”

Monsters from below. Bombers from above. Evilus had planned this to sow chaos and cut Shirou’s support in one stroke.

Without his arrows marking bombers in the crowd, without his projectiles breaking flanking squads before they reached the perimeter—they were operating blind.

“Understood, Goddess.” Alise kept her voice steady. “Stay safe. We’ll handle our sector.”

She turned to her Familia. Their faces reflected her own grim arithmetic.

“We hold for now. Ryuu, take Iska and—”

“AAAAAAAAAGH!!”

The scream came from the unclaimed territory.

A woman’s voice, throat-tearing, raw with terror. It cut through everything else.

Alise spun towards the sound.

Civilians broke from the side streets, faces contorted in fear.

Beyond the secured perimeter, where the contested streets began, figures in dark robes emerged from doorways and alleys, moving with purpose. Arrows flew—poison-tipped, judging by how the fleeing civilians crumpled and convulsed. Fireballs bloomed, reducing bodies to ash before their screams could finish.

“It’s Evilus!” someone screamed from behind.

More screams. More explosions. More bodies falling to cobblestones already slick with blood.

Alise turned to one of the Ganesha members. “Instruct all civilians to stay indoors.”

The man nodded, ordering several of his Familia to split up and escort those still outside towards the secured buildings.

Alise’s hand found her sword.

In the centre of the burning street stood a familiar figure. Tall. Theatrical. Surrounded by corpses—none of the stragglers had survived.

Vito.

He strolled through the carnage as though taking the evening air. His boots clicked against stone. His robes swirled. And that smile—that terrible, delighted smile—never wavered.

“Now come, one and all!” His voice carried across the destruction. “The stage is set! The curtains flung wide!”

An elf lay dead at his feet, face frozen in terror. A dwarf knelt impaled on a shattered cart shaft, blood painting the bricks behind him. A beast-human mother and her daughter had fallen together, their hands still clasped.

Alise gritted her teeth.

Vito turned a slow circle through his handiwork, drinking it in.

“Thus ends the performance of peace,” he declared, “and begins our own! Evilus’s closing ceremony, as my god would put it!”

He threw his arms wide, his voice rising towards song.

“Now—sing for me! Dance! An opera of death! And enjoy it, for I most certainly shall!”

His blade rang free. Blood fountained as his sword found a chienthrope’s neck—she had chosen that moment, of all moments, to step out of the alley behind him.

“AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!”

Alise’s grip tightened until her knuckles whitened.

“Lyra.” Her voice came out flat. Hard. “Tell Athena Familia we’re pushing now.”

“Captain—”

“Now.”

Without Shirou’s support fire, they were advancing blind. Every civilian could be a bomber. Every shadow could hide a trigger. Every rescue could end in fire.

It didn’t matter.

Justice didn’t wait for perfect conditions.

“Prioritise yourselves!” Kaguya’s command cracked across the Familia channel. “Even if a civilian looks like a victim, you double-check! Use the Black Keys! Pin their shadows first, confirm second! And mind the shadows we don’t want anyone pinned by their own Black Key!”

Alise drew her sword.

“Astraea Familia, forward!” She raised her blade high. “Ganesha Familia, we’ll handle Evilus—securing the civilians falls to you!”

-=&<o>&=-

At the Guild steps, the staff formed a desperate line between chaos and sanctuary.

“Move! Inside, now!” Sophie shouted over the screams, ushering a family of four through the heavy doors. Beside her, Rose directed traffic with sharp gestures, her tail lashing with each explosion that shook the plaza.

The Guild staff were no ordinary clerks. Most hailed from the School District, their Falna unlocked but without deities to update their Status—neutral parties by design, yet far more capable than common citizens. They built shield walls from whatever furniture they could drag out of the lobby, their bodies the last barrier between the monsters and the defenceless.

“Reinforcements requested on all sector fronts!” A communication crystal crackled with static. “Evilus agents spotted carrying out coordinated attacks! Skirmishes ongoing from all sources!”

“Reports of casualties keep coming in!” Another voice, ragged with exhaustion. “We can’t keep up!”

At the centre of it all stood Royman Mardeel, his face slick with sweat, his jowls trembling.

“Wh-what’s going on?” The words came out strangled. “I thought we secured Central Plaza!”

Sweat dribbled from his chin. His complexion turned grey as understanding dawned.

“I-it can’t be...”

-=&<o>&=-

Atop a burning building overlooking the plaza, Valletta Grede watched the pandemonium below. Her orchestra, playing at last.

“It’s time for the feast!” She spread her arms wide, her pink hair whipping in the heat rising off the flames. “Let’s hear some dyin’ screams!”

-=&<o>&=-

“N-no, stop! Please!!”

A beast human cowered in the shadow of an overturned cart, hands raised in supplication. His attacker—another of his race, eyes hollow with old grief—didn’t pause.

“Die, you ignorant sinner!” The knife rose and fell. “Die, Orario!”

The victim’s screams couldn’t reach him. The blade kept falling until the cries stopped, until the arm grew tired, until there was nothing left but silence and spreading crimson.

-=&<o>&=-

Elsewhere, a prum girl no older than twelve discovered where fate could lead.

“Help meee!”

She scrambled backwards, small hands scraping against cobblestones still warm from the day’s sun. The elf before her smiled—serene, settled, already gone—his fingers closing around the detonation switch sewn into his robe.

“Let my body become a flame that returns all to ash!!”

His eyes held no madness. Only conviction.

The blast erased them both. The prum girl, the elf, and seven others who had simply stood too close. Where they had been, only a crater remained, its edges glowing faintly orange.

-=&<o>&=-

“I-it’s you—! Gaaagh!!”

The adventurer’s recognition died with him, his skull caving beneath Olivas Act’s fist like overripe fruit. His companions froze, weapons suddenly heavy in their hands, as the silver-haired man examined the blood dripping from his knuckles.

Olivas licked his fingers. Smiled.

Then he went through the remaining lower-class adventurers the way a butcher works a carcass. One blow, one life. Each death fed something hungry and hollow in his chest.

“Now, do it.” He turned to the robed figures waiting at the edge of the carnage. “Bring true despair upon Orario.”

“Yes, sir!”

His soldiers fell upon the defenceless.

-=&<o>&=-

The screams merged into a single continuous sound—fear and rage and agony braided together until they could not be told apart. Hellfire consumed everything it touched. Bodies lay in the streets, some still smouldering, reduced to shapes that no longer resembled what they had been.

Then even those remains were scattered by the chaos, caught in the rush of fleeing feet and spreading flames. The city howled like a wounded beast and permitted no memorial.

“Ahhh, music to my ears!” Valletta swayed atop her burning perch, eyes half-closed. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for so, so long!”

There was no madder scene than this. People dying in the streets. An unending anthem of death. The march of chaos, freed from the shackles of law. The Evilus followers revelled in violence, unhindered by morality.

Yet not one of them doubted the justness of their cause.

They had all lost things. Precious things. To the illogic of this cruel world, to the indifference of gods who played at mortality whilst true mortals suffered. In their own eyes they were victims—empowered now to commit the most heinous acts imaginable in the name of their own justice.

-=&<o>&=-

“How beautiful! How humorous! How hideous these people truly are!”

From rooftops and shadowed alcoves, the evil gods observed their handiwork. Here was the true face of humanity, of the mortal world: foolish, imperfect children who knew full well that murder was a sin, and remained content to repeat it forever.

“They cannot escape it!” one cried, clapping with childlike glee. “These are the bounds of right and wrong! For what are good and evil but two sides of the same coin?”

They chuckled and applauded, conveniently forgetting who had lit the match.

“Either come down and join us or shut the hell up!” Valletta’s voice cut through their philosophical preening. “I ain’t got time for your oh-so-clever pronouncements! I got a slaughterhouse to run!!”

She shared their joy, if none of their philosophy. The lives and fates of mortals meant nothing to her except where their blood fed her blade.

Nothing made her heart race like breaking the most ancient of taboos. Nothing could be more depraved. Purpose and ideology were kindling, nothing more—fuel for the bloodlust that flared in her eyes.

A fiendish smile crawled across her lips.

“I won’t let a single one of you escape!” She raised her sword towards the plaza below. “Townspeople, adventurers, gods—I’ll kill you all!!”

Her pronouncement carried across the burning district. To the paling Royman at the Guild steps. To the innocents who fled in terror. To the heroes who scrambled to defend them. And to the gods who watched with mounting dread.

“This is a showdown,” she declared. “Between you... and us!”

Now it was Evilus’s turn to thrive. Time for killing, looting, and pillaging.

Then Valletta’s hand snapped up, deflecting an arrow that would have taken her through the eye. Steel shrieked against steel as the shaft spun away into the smoke.

A heartbeat later, fire roared towards her position.

She threw herself backwards, letting the wave of flame pass close enough to singe the ends of her hair. The building beneath her groaned and began to collapse.

Valletta landed on an adjacent rooftop, already scanning for her attackers.

Below, Central Plaza remained a churning mass of monsters and defenders—adventurers still scrambling to organise whilst beasts poured from the Dungeon entrance. But through the smoke she found him: the archer, returned to Babel’s heights, bow drawn, the next arrow already nocked.

Closer still, standing amidst fallen monsters with steam rising from her staff, the Loki Familia’s Vice-Captain met Valletta’s gaze without flinching.

Valletta smiled at them both—the distant sniper and the mage below—and raised one hand in a mocking wave.

‘Soon, they too shall fall.’

-=&<o>&=-

Reports flooded in faster than Finn could process them—one every thirty seconds through the Familia crystals, overlapping into a tide of casualty counts and requests for reinforcement.

Their Familia ran larger than most—not the equal of Freya or Ganesha in numbers, but enough that they’d been assigned a wider stretch of the sector to hold and push.

And now Central Plaza was overrun with monsters. It would surely follow that Evilus would drive at the plaza’s distracted perimeter next.

“Captain, Lyra from Astraea Familia confirms our Goddess is secure. They’ve reached Goddess Hephaestus’s workshop in Babel.”

Finn allowed himself half a breath of relief. Loki was safe. One weight lifted from the dozens pressing down on his shoulders.

Then the explosions resumed.

The first detonation came from the northwest, a dull thump that shook dust from the awnings. The second followed from the east, closer. The third landed close enough to rattle the windows.

Without the archer’s overwatch, the bombers were getting through.

Finn watched his Familia members at the barricade line. They fought well—Rakta’s spearwork was precise, and the newer recruits held their positions despite the chaos—but more robed figures kept emerging from the alleyways. Some ran at the line with weapons drawn. Others walked calmly, hands hidden beneath their cloaks.

His people couldn’t hesitate. Couldn’t afford the half-second it took to tell friend from foe. Every pause was a potential detonation.

The arithmetic was simple and brutal. Without support fire, attrition would grind them down before the plaza was ever secured.

Finn bit his thumb hard enough to taste copper.

He couldn’t abandon this position. The command post anchored the entire defensive line. If it fell, coordination collapsed, and Evilus would flood back into the sectors they’d already cleared.

But if the front lines buckled—

“Captain.” A runner skidded to a halt before him, breathing hard. “Freya Familia is sending Ottar back to Central Plaza.”

The tension in Finn’s chest eased fractionally. Ottar alone was enough to hold the plaza.

“Tell Vidar Familia to return and reinforce it,” Finn ordered. “And inform the archer and Riveria—Ottar is inbound. The archer needs to resume overwatch immediately, or the front lines will collapse.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Finn turned to the map spread across the makeshift table, already working the next move. “Once the archer resumes fire, send the Berbera and Captain Tsubaki to replace Astraea Familia. The sooner we reinforce Central Plaza, the sooner Ottar can return to the front lines.” 

“Understood, Captain.”

The runner sprinted away. Another took his place with fresh reports.

His thumb was still bleeding.

-=&<o>&=-

End

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