Chapter 94

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As the night deepened, so did the revelry. The dancing flames seemed to spur the high spirits even further. There was vulgar laughter, drunken slurring, and even animal-like panting and moaning from one of the tents.

Standing guard on a night like this stirred all sorts of feelings. The keenest was the sense of missing out. But managing such feelings was part of being an adult and a professional. The sentries knew they could not simply do whatever they pleased.

That did not mean they were staring wide-eyed into the darkness for any approaching enemies. They were merely rolling dice on a small table near a bonfire at the edge of camp. Copper coins lay scattered across it, dice clattered, and a man watched with his full weight resting on his spear.

Guard duty was not a battle against the enemy, but against sleep and boredom. Simply staying awake instead of sleeping counted as keeping watch. By that standard, they were excellent sentries.

“Did you hear?”

One man rolled two dice across the table as he asked. Eyes followed the dice, and a few coins changed hands. Neither winning nor losing seemed to stir much feeling.

“Hear what?”

“Reggie got his nose smashed.”

“Really? How?”

“Apparently he got into a fight with the Hestein boys.”

“What did the leader say?”

“Told him to take compensation and leave it at that.”

“How much are they offering?”

“Dunno. A few silver coins, maybe.”

“Knowing Reggie, that won't be enough.”

“Exactly. Doesn't it make no fucking sense, having us camp right next to the Hestein boys?”

“What can we do about it?”

“Pay them back, for a start.”

By paying them back, he meant smashing one of their noses in return. Whether Hestein was a guild or a clan was unclear, but the sentries seemed to be on bad terms with its members.

In truth, there was not an adventurers' guild or clan without some history of favors and grudges involving others. Ricard himself was practically a sworn enemy of the Rubens Guild. Everyone was caught in a tangled web of debts and grievances. Bringing such people together in one place was bound to cause trouble.

“Count me out.”

“What?”

“Don't call me disloyal. We could actually fucking die. He's the Emperor's champion. He said if anyone died in a fight, he'd hold the whole group responsible.”

“You believe that?”

“What if I don't? Did you see his eyes? He's not someone to mess with. I reckon he'll make an example of someone soon. No, a whole clan. This is bad timing.”

“You scared, you little shit?”

“Hey.”

“Fine, man. I get it. We won't do it, all right? You might have a point. I've got a bad feeling about this.”

“Just roll the dice.”

They had nearly gotten into an argument, but fortunately it passed. Then one of the two dice rolled off the little table. It tumbled quite a distance, and as they followed it with their eyes, they sensed that something truly was wrong.

“What's that sound? Did you hear it?”

“What? Huh?”

The distant laughter and chatter had quieted somewhat as the night wore on. Beneath it, however, an unfamiliar sound came from the opposite direction. The two gamblers and their spectator, all three of them, stared into the darkness. The strange sound grew clearer.

“Uuugh...”

It sounded like a sick man groaning. They could hear shuffling footsteps, too. Whatever it was, it was coming toward them.

The two gamblers hastily scooped up the money from the table and drew their weapons.

“Who's there?”

The adventurer holding a drawn sword called into the darkness, his question heavy with warning. No answer came. Instead, they saw a man staggering into the outermost reaches of the firelight. The sentries frowned. Something about the man seemed odd for an enemy. Thick, black veins bulged all the way up his neck and face, making him look severely poisoned. He kept coming.

“Uuurrgh...”

“Fuck, is he undead or something?”

“Hey, if you're human, say something. Before you get yourself killed.”

“Eram, give me your spear.”

“Sir? Oh, yes.”

One of the gamblers took the spear from the junior adventurer, turned it around, and jabbed the approaching man with the butt rather than the blade.

“Listen, I said stay back. We're not nice people. We don't give a shit whether you die.”

But though the staggering man stumbled back, he kept trying to approach.

“Fuck, something's seriously wrong here.”

“Eram, go tell the leader. If he's drunk, crack his skull open if that's what it takes to wake him.”

“What the hell are you, you bastard? Hey!”

The man with the spear kept prodding the staggering stranger. He looked ready to turn the weapon around and use the blade if his temper flared.

“Ghk. Gk. Ghuuurk...”

The stranger heaved as though about to vomit. A crimson light shone beneath his skin. The sentry's eyes widened in bewilderment, but before he could react, the staggering man's upper body burst apart. It was less a rupture than an explosion.

BOOM!

Bone fragments shot out like shrapnel, peppering the adventurer with the spear. Chunks of flesh and organs flew far afield, and a hideously foul gas spread in every direction. Moments later, explosions erupted in quick succession all over the camp.

BANG! BA-BA-BOOM! BANG!

The man watching from behind recoiled in shock. Grimacing at the stench, he covered his nose and approached to save his companion. Just then, a streak of light flashed through the darkness.

WHOOSH!

The adventurer trying to help his companion lost his head in a single stroke. His killer emerged at the edge of the firelight, wearing a pointed, bird-beaked mask and a black cloak that covered his entire body. Meanwhile, the new adventurer called Eram was still searching for his clan leader. The masked Sword Master entered the camp.

The camp descended into chaos in an instant. Screams rang out, along with urgent calls for others.

“Aaagh!”

“Hector! Hector!”

“Get your weapons first! Don't run!”

Ricard's eyes snapped open as he lay sleeping beside Marie. Instinctively sensing that something was wrong, he threw on some clothes, grabbed his sword, and went outside. Marie hurried out after him, and they found the camp in uproar. Flames were rising in the distance.

“A night attack.”

“Where's the enemy?”

Ricard quickly took stock of the situation, then ducked into the tent and brought out his armor. Marie thought he meant to hurriedly put it on, but instead he hung it on a pole.

“Come here. Cover me.”

“All right.”

With his armor hanging from the pole, Ricard ran toward Volka's tent, shouting as he went.

“Riki is here! Riki is here!”

The Ehrenberg branch adventurers, who had been milling about in confusion, turned toward him. Ricard's armor flashed in the reflected firelight, visible even from far away. The violet-embroidered surcoat fluttered beneath it. Unlike the other adventurers, the men of Ehrenberg swiftly rallied around Ricard.

None of them had properly donned their equipment, and one was missing a shoe. They were a mess, but every one of them had a weapon in hand. There was no time for a roll call in a situation like this.

Ricard drove the pole firmly into the ground with his monstrous strength and turned to the wide-eyed Volka.

“Hold this position and we win. You understand?”

Still overwhelmed, Volka could only nod.

Being caught off guard would unsettle anyone. At such times, the last thing people should do was scatter in every direction. They needed to stick together.

Ricard swept his gaze across the gathering. Dozens of startled, bewildered eyes were fixed on him. He was privately surprised to find that nearly everyone had assembled. In an instant, he counted his allies while assessing the battle. Even amid the chaos, his eyes flashed as he determined the direction of the attack, the enemy's numbers, the state of his own forces, and any opportunity to counterattack.

The enemy seemed fewer than he had expected. With everyone already spooked and jumping at shadows, confusion was merely breeding more confusion. Surprisingly, though his allies were floundering, few were actually fleeing. Ordinary soldiers might have broken and run, but these men were divided into clans, and their usual habits held.

The adventurers lacked experience in large-scale battles, not small skirmishes. They might not have rallied as swiftly as Ricard's group, but they were gathering around their clan leaders and dealing with the chaos in their own ways.

Then one enemy caught Ricard's eye: a Sword Master wearing a mask with a protruding bird's beak. The tents kept blocking him from view, but as Ricard watched, he decided the man did not seem to know much about fighting.

He had trained diligently enough with a sword to become a Sword Master, but he seemed to have no operational objective. Capturing the command staff, annihilating the enemy—nothing of the sort. The attackers were far too few to wipe out the camp in the first place, and he was no mounted knight who could swiftly break through to the command staff. He was simply intent on killing whatever enemy stood in front of him. As a result, he was killing even fewer. He seemed too overwhelmed himself to do anything but run wild.

Experience counted for something. Even his attempts to set fires were painfully clumsy. That was not how you did it. Had they vaguely assumed that sending in a few Sword Masters would be enough to win? To everyone else, he was a terrifying presence. To Ricard, he was thoroughly unimpressive.

“Everyone else, stay here. Volka, take command. Put out the fires nearby. Water won't be easy to find, so just keeping them from spreading will do. Marie, Ice, Bori, come with me.”

Without even putting on his armor, Ricard set out with his friends to kill the enemy, carrying nothing but an arming sword. The man was chasing people down, barely managing to kill one at a time, or losing them among the tents and slashing uselessly at canvas. Then he spotted Ricard's group approaching.

Apparently pleased, he rushed straight at them. Marie drew her sword and met him. The two Sword Masters collided, their blades radiating different-colored lights.

CLAAANG!

A tremendous metallic crash, louder than anything they had ever heard, burst forth as though to tear their eardrums apart. Meanwhile, Boribori and Ice drew their swords with lightning speed and attacked together. Not having expected Marie to be a Sword Master, the enemy hastily pulled away, flustered. Boribori and Ice might not yet be Sword Masters, but they were no pushovers.

Two blades flashed, and in an instant, one of the enemy's arms flew off. Yet, perhaps through the strength of his faith, he twisted even as he lost his arm, somehow avoiding a fatal blow before thrusting his sword at Marie to kill her.

Instead, his head snapped sideways with a dull thud, killing him instantly. Ricard had delivered a high kick from his blind spot. A kick carrying the monstrous strength of the legendary hero Ilya was hardly something one could survive taking to the head.

CRACK!

The broken mask flew off and tumbled across the ground. The enemy collapsed, his head bent more than ninety degrees. Marie stabbed him in the throat to make certain he was dead.

Ricard looked around again. Frankly, he was surprised to see the adventurers standing their ground and defending the camp instead of fleeing as he had expected. They were useful, weren't they? The area around the campfire was a complete mess, but as time passed, the confusion gradually subsided.

Ricard spotted another Sword Master and ran straight toward him. Someone else reached him first, however: Helauman. The adventurers had responded well, but his efforts seemed to have played a major part in restoring order. He was no capable military commander, but with a sword, he was known as the strongest in the entire Empire.

A little blood spattered his face and clothes, suggesting he had already killed several enemies. A broad smile spread across his face, as though he were enjoying himself immensely. He addressed the masked enemy.

“We, too, once made many men like you through something we called the final exam. But we stopped. Do you know why?”

“...”

“They're useless. A dog that bites its master is no use to anyone. Every last one of them breaks down.”

Helauman looked unusually excited. He hardly seemed sane himself, yet, strangely, Ricard could understand him. He was delighted to have found an opponent who offered at least some challenge.

“You cut away compassion and sympathy to become a Sword Master... But I never had such things, even from birth. That is why I can still enjoy myself, while you are bored out of your mind. That is the difference between you and me. My only regret is that there's no satisfaction in cutting you down.”

Mana suffused Helauman's sword. It shone blue, but the light was far denser than that of any ordinary Sword Master. Something like blue smoke rose from it in curling streams. Beside it, the holy knight's sword was a firefly beneath the moon.

Duels between Sword Masters were rare. Before long, adventurers had crowded around to watch in breathless silence. Helauman walked toward his opponent. His sheer presence already seemed to have settled the outcome. Even among Sword Masters, the gulf in ability was clear.

Then his opponent charged at him with a sudden shout.

“I swear before God! I fought to the very end!”

He was fast, but far too straightforward. There was something of Ice's swordsmanship in his style. Yet Helauman boldly stepped into the path of his blade. In the briefest instant, he slipped past the sword by a hair's breadth, as smoothly as a gentle breeze. Then, turning his blade with his wrist alone, he slashed hard through his opponent's waist.

The impossibly sharp sword bisected the man's waist with almost anticlimactic ease. Momentum carried the holy knight's upper body a short distance forward, while his lower half flopped to the ground. Blood pattered into the gap between the two halves, strewn with long coils of intestines.

Before his enemy had even fallen, Helauman was already returning his sword to its scabbard. Not a drop of blood stained the blade. His neatly slicked-back hair had not a strand out of place. Even so, he smoothed back the hair at the side of his head with one hand.

Confronted with the power and skill of someone who had transcended humanity, the adventurers seemed too speechless even to cheer. He truly was superhuman. Terrifyingly so. The Emperor was dead and the throne still vacant, but the champion remained as formidable as ever.

Helauman's enjoyment lasted only a moment before a sudden emptiness washed over him. He seemed to glance toward Ricard and Marie, then left the adventurers with a single command and returned to his tent.

“Clean it up.”

Marie's hand trembled faintly. She had thought she had finally escaped his grasp, but the sight of such overwhelming power filled her with anxiety and despair. If that man tried to make her his puppet again, could she resist?

Ricard took her hand. They had repelled the night attack, but he could no longer tell who the enemy truly was.