Prologue

The howling of animals reverberated through the air. Another sound intersected it, followed by even more howling. Hearing those sounds, the soldiers stationed on the walls cried out,

“An attack! A raid! The spriggan’s coming!”

Something moved under the moonlight—a huge form that quaked the ground. Its hulking, stout shape protruded from out of the earth, its massive arms ending in fists that resembled mallets. There were only holes where its eyes and mouth should have been, and there was no way of telling where it was looking.

—A spriggan.

It was said to be a type of fairy that guarded the land. And, as if to push it forward, the animals’ howling increased in volume, becoming a deafening cacophony.

The soldiers on top of the walls nocked their arrows.

“Fire!”

A volley of flaming arrows was unleashed. Cloths submerged in oil were tied to the arrowheads, made to set fire to their target. It was an effective weapon on the beasts, but the spriggan’s skin deflected them with the sound of dry metal.

The sorcerers called forth their summons. Large Salamanders spat out breaths of flame, and Sylphs flying in the heavens kicked up whirlwinds. But none of them penetrated the spriggan’s thick skin, and they failed in stopping its advance.

The soldiers stirred, and, after taking a frightened step or two back, started running away from the walls.

“Keep attacking!” the commander called out loudly. “Don’t turn your back to them! And you call yourselves soldiers of the kingdom?! Don’t abandon the pride of Lyfer—”

The gigantic spriggan swung up its hand and slammed it down on the walls, crushing them with its hammer-like fists.

Countless screams, and enough howls to drown even those out, filled the night. From within the darkness, the beasts rushed out. Their heads were like those of foxes. They looked like animals, but brandished swords and spears skillfully. Some were even covered in armor. But they didn’t speak in the tongue of the races.

The Therianthropes known as Kobolds—wild beasts that were close to, but not quite part of, the races of man.

Overwhelmed by the Therianthropes, the Lyferian soldiers could only run around in a panic, having lost both their commander and the walls.

On day 29 of the eleventh month of year 164 of the Lyferian calendar, one of the fortresses making up the southern region of Caliture fell in a single night.

The following day, the royal astrologer Vinashin gave the king counsel from his sickbed: catastrophe would befall the country should they step upon the kingdom’s fiefdom.