Chapter 5: Divide and Conquer

Gaius’s return to the riverbed was quickly interrupted by some adventurers. They had surrounded him with archers and sorcerers to avoid close-quarters combat, and now that their target was heading in a single direction, they were moving to tighten their encirclement.

“There’s... over a hundred.” Gaius muttered as adventurers closed in around him, seeing them armed with all sorts of weapons: swords, spears, axes, clubs, and others. He likely didn’t have to worry about the ranged fighters, as the approaching adventurers meant that they were just as likely to hit their own if they tried to attack, but a wall of bodies had soon formed all around him, closing off any avenue of escape. This formation sent a clear message: their aim was to gradually wear down his strength and finish the Black Rose of Igris off once and for all.

Once he had been completely surrounded, six adventurers emerged from the group and began walking forward towards Gaius. ...To be more fair, it seemed more like the rest of the adventurers were purposefully hanging back, as if allowing this group to make the first move. The six had the rest of their force wait behind them and gathered into a smaller ring around Gaius.

One of them addressed Gaius, breath hissing out through the bucket-shaped great helm that covered his face. “So you’re the Black Rose of Igris.”

A stir went through the other adventurers. “That’s Homer...”

“It’s Homer the Mad Bull!”

The man certainly had a presence that seemed to deserve the nickname. He wore thick, heavy armor all over his body, and it was likely that he was being supported by several sorcerers at once in order to carry it, but from his stature alone he was clearly a man with more than a little muscle on him. The giant warhammer he wielded made his strength obvious as well.

Gaius nodded. “People have called me that. It’s not a good nickname for an old man, is it?”

“Hmph. My name is Homer. Homer the Mad Bull. I’m the man who’s gonna flatten you now.” The great bullock of a man declared, his voice muffled by his massive helm, and raised the warhammer with its head angled downward in a stance Gaius recognized as the “bulwark.” Contrary to his name, he wasn’t just some berserker. “Now face my hammer, Bull Stomp—”

“I’m Dionysius, the knave with the raging spear! The strongest man in the guild!” The interruption came from a slender man with red hair knotted at the back of his head. He wielded a spear with a large blade that brought to mind the tongue of an ox, aptly named an ox-tongue spear.

“Death Scythe Spike here! Spike Fire!” Next was a man with long, dark blond hair, a rare scythe wielder. It probably wasn’t his real name. He faced Gaius in a low stance sometimes called the “ladder” stance.

“When they say ‘Meteor Melinda,’ they mean me!” The dark-skinned woman wielded another rare sight, a pair of flails. A flail was a bludgeoning weapon, with the striking portion attached to the handle by chain. It had originated from a farming tool used for threshing. The weapons she carried were horseman’s flails, made especially short for use by cavalry.

Melinda swung a flail, creating a whoosh of wind and then skillfully stopped the movement by catching the ball on one of her pauldrons, striking a pose with the weapon. She looked to be a capable fighter, one with good control of her weapons.

“Uhh... I’m Chas... Sorry... Just Chas.” The man who named himself with some embarrassment was the one who had parried Gaius’s blow on the riverbed. He was a plain-looking, middle-aged adventurer with unkempt black hair and heavy stubble, but his defensive ability proved his overall fighting skills. He wielded an ordinary longsword, likely borrowed from someone else. Gaius took one look at his sword and his eyes and knew that this man had cut down countless people before.

“Matthew.” The last man to speak was perhaps the most conspicuous of the six. Besides a pair of gauntlets, he wore no armor, just pants without even a shirt. “Everybody at the guild calls me Massacre Matthew.” He was almost ten feet tall, all bulging muscle, possibly making him stronger than Gaius. He had red skin and a robust physique, and from his rugged, sandstone-like forehead grew two horns. It was clear at a glance that he was not human. He held a two-handed sword that was seventy inches in length, but he handled it like a short sword.

“You’re a pure ogre... That’s a rare sight.” Gaius was impressed by the ferocious man’s very presence. His guess was correct; Matthew belonged to a race called ogres, and sometimes oni. Their strong builds and valor gave them a reputation all across the continent for being a race of fighters.

“When I was traveling in the western countries as an attendant to the princess, I met a military officer from the ogre country. He was a fine warrior, both in skill and demeanor.”

“I was born in Muirfield and raised in Grenwyk. I’m a citizen of the Kingdom of Igris. Ain’t never been to the so-called ogre country and I don’t know who my parents were.” Matthew spat out, aggravated. The words revealed the complex, bitter path he’d walked in life. “‘Black Rose of Igris,’ I hear you’re a quarter troll. You must have suffered too, but I’ll end your suffering here.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always had very kind people around me.”

“Oh yeah? Ain’t none of ’em around you now. Get ready to die.” Matthew raised his two-handed sword high in the “roof” stance. The destructive power of the blade when swung down by this man would be immense.

“Kind of a strange bunch you’re facing off against, dunderhead,” came a voice from behind Gaius.

“Yes, they do look like a handful, don’t they? I’d say four of the six are real threats.” Gaius answered, then took a deep breath and turned to face his enemies with a proper fighting stance.

“I suppose I should introduce myself as well. I am Gaius. Gaius Beldarus, King of the Kobold Kingdom.” His deep, solemn voice resounded. The adventurers behind the skilled six backed up and groaned, intimidated by his threatening presence.

“P—Pfffhahaha?! Kingdom?! Of kobolds? The dogs? You’re ‘king of the dogs’? Woof, woof! Ruff, awooo!” Spike Fire came out of his battle stance and pointed at Gaius, laughing. “Are you seriously telling me this old man calls himself ‘the Black Rose of Igris’ and he’s out here in the middle of the woods playing king of the hill?!”

That was enough of an opening. Right when he finished talking, Spike’s head was suddenly flying away, rustling in some branches and leaves in the distance. Nobody saw it hit the ground before it was out of sight. Survivors would later remark that it was like a great gust of wind going past them.

“Wh—”

“Hrmm.”

“Hey now...”

Those who remained could only reevaluate their understanding of the Black Rose of Igris’s strength after he’d instantly closed the distance between himself and Spike to put down the latter. It wasn’t that they hadn’t reacted at all. They were moving. They were moving, but Gaius wasn’t giving them any opportunity to attack.

Grrh. Gaius let out a low huff of breath, and the adventurers saw it: the Black Rose of Igris baring his teeth in a smile.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, let’s get started.”

...No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t smiling. This was a lion baring its fangs.

＊

“Don’t think I’ll be a pushover like that loser!” The first to charge at him was the man who’d called himself Dionysius, “the knave with the raging spear.”

The blade of the ox-tongue spear was long and heavy to increase the weapon’s might. Dionysius’s favored spear had a blade length of almost twenty-four inches, making it plenty effective at slashing as well as thrusting. Dionysius utilized his weapon well; his specialty was a thrust that transformed into a slash. If his opponent moved in the way that he predicted, they would get a lashing from his ox tongue.

However, Gaius neither jumped back nor dodged to the side. Instead, he took a great step forward, closing into where the spear’s long reach was unable to touch him with the deadly blade, and grabbed the weapon’s shaft with his left hand. Before Dionysius could draw the weapon back, Gaius yanked it forward, causing the lancer to lose his balance and topple toward Gaius.

Wham! Almost like he was squashing a cockroach with a broom, Gaius brought his faussar down and split Dionysius’s head in two. Without even a chance to cry out, the so-called “guild’s strongest” met his end.

“Gwoh!” Matthew the ogre took the opportunity to bring his sword crashing down. Gaius dodged the blow, but Chas was by then waiting for him with his longsword at the ready.

Gaius brought his faussar up to block, but the middle-aged adventurer feinted with a vertical chop and swiftly shifted to a horizontal slash instead. This was a technique which allowed one to easily manipulate their sword’s movement and control a fight. There was a ting! as metal clashed on metal; Gaius had anticipated the feint and moved his own sword accordingly to block the oncoming attack. Loathe to turn this into a contest of pure strength, Chas didn’t push the attack, instead jumping back with an irritated cluck of his tongue.

That was as far as Gaius’s skill could take him, however. He had nothing left to block Melinda’s attack as she darted up to him from behind, swift as a swallow. Her horseman’s flail drew an arc as she swung it into his side, and the blow connected with considerable force.

This was a weapon meant specifically for bludgeoning armored foes. The strike hit Gaius’s coat of plate, rattling his organs and bones even through the thick armor. That one attack would have felled a normal fighter.

“There we...” she began, but this was no normal opponent. Gaius had realized that he would be unable to avoid her blow and had steeled himself to take it. “...go?”

There was the sickening sound of flesh and bone being crushed. In exchange for landing a single hit, Melinda took a blow to the face from the hilt of Gaius’s faussar. Anyone could see that the weapon had caved her face in.

“Urgh...” With a groan of pain, Gaius leapt away from his foes, nearly turning a cartwheel to get the most distance. He’d managed to avoid the full force of all of his opponents’ attacks. The elder was wailing from his pouch on Gaius’s back, but he had no time to concern himself with the old kobold.

“Aw, fuck! He got two of ’em in an instant, the monster.” Chas took up his stance again with another cluck of his tongue. Matthew reacted to the word “monster”, but Chas noticed and continued derisively, “Not you. Obviously.”

That’s when Homer finally stepped forward, armor clanking. His heavy arms and armor, and his position relative to the others, had prevented him from joining the exchange of blows. If the mad bull had been involved, the Kobold King may not have still been standing. Of course, Gaius knew that, which was why he’d specifically drawn the ox-tongue spear-wielder to attack him.

“Would you hurry it up, Homer?” Chas shouted irritably. “Because of you, our six against one is down to three against one in no time flat.”

“It’s three against two!” A voice came from the Kobold King’s back, but the adventurers didn’t seem to hear it.

“It’s not my fault,” Homer replied. “Dionysius was too hasty.”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m more than a match for him on my own,” boasted the ogre.

“Would it kill you to be a little cooperative here, Matthew?” Chas responded.

Gaius took a look around as the three bickered. None of the other adventurers made any move to assist them, not even the archers or sorcerers. They all seemed to defer to this group, or perhaps they feared them too much to get involved. Of course, they could also be considering the possibility of accidentally hitting their allies.

“Old-timer. Get a message to Miss Sashalia for me, if you would.”

“Will you make it?” the old kobold asked after Gaius whispered his plan to him.

“We’re short on time. We should have them get started. I’ll get through here and head for the river as fast as I can.”

“Got it,” the elder nodded and slipped back into the rucksack.

＊

The knight Heatley had taken over the late Dawson’s role as the leader of the rear guard. He was currently stationed a little down the river from where Darke’s attack squad was, gathering and treating the injured from the Adventurers’ Guild. They lay all over the ground as they waited for treatment, filling the riverbed with their cries of pain. Some had lost their fighting arms to the Black Rose of Igris; others had been impaled on spikes in traps and could no longer walk. One man had been attacked by a bugbear and was deemed a lost cause after being carried here, so they’d just left him on the ground. He’d breathed his last only a moment ago. Others were bleeding worse than they’d initially appeared to be; it was likely that only about half of the injured would survive their injuries.

“This wouldn’t have happened if they’d come at me instead of Dawson,” Heatley grumbled, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was half irritated at the situation he now found himself in and half annoyed at the ease with which his colleague had been dispatched by the enemy.

The young man, who’d once brought down a band of thieves all on his own, was the most skilled of the knights under Wyatt’s employ. However, because of this, he had a tendency to rely too much on his own strength and look down on those around him. Knowing that, Wyatt had purposely stationed him at the rear instead of sending him upriver with the main force. It was hard to say if this had been a smart use of his subordinates or not.

“It’s getting cloudy,” the young knight muttered, looking up at what was visible of the sky through the trees. The healing sorcerers they’d brought along who had been tending to the adventurers’ wounds with magic followed his gaze and looked up as well. As Heatley had said, clouds were starting to pass across the sun, gradually darkening the forest even though it was the middle of the day.

“It’s pretty hot. It’s not gonna be good if it rains.”

“Yeah, that’d be a pain.”

They were treating the wounded under the open sky, and there was no time or manpower to put up tents. If it started to rain, it would take even longer to get the injured stabilized, and it would be harder to keep them there.

“Mhm,” came the half-hearted reply of one of the sorcerers, as he moved on to his next patient without so much as a glance at Heatley.

“...Hmm?” Next to them, a bearded adventurer who had been bandaging one of the injured stood up and cocked his head with a puzzled look on his face.

“What is it?”

“Well...do you hear rain?”

“Hm?” Heatley strained his ears. “...I do. Has it already started?”

“I don’t feel anything.” The young knight and adventurer exchanged a mystified look.

Their ears didn’t deceive them. Not a drop of water was falling, but they clearly heard the sound of rain under the darkened sky.

＊

The agile Chas would block and deflect Gaius’s attack. Matthew would then strike with a quick slash, and while Gaius’s movements were restricted, Homer would swing his hammer.

Or, Homer would block Gaius’s attack with his heavy armor while the other two struck at him. They were improvising, but using their various strengths to their advantage as they worked together.

They launched a few blows, jumped back, then struck out again. The three men had come at Gaius in this way six times now. Change came on the seventh.

Chas struck at him first to limit Gaius’s movements. His aim wasn’t to do damage; it was to force him to react, limiting the number of decisions he could make. So he was casual as he made his move against Gaius, intending to dodge or deflect the return blow as he’d done before.

Snap! This time, instead of attempting to strike at Chas, Gaius aimed only for his opponent’s sword. Chas’s longsword was rendered useless when about two-thirds of its blade snapped off.

“Ack?!” Chas hesitated, and a huge fist grabbed his right hand. Gaius swung his arm back and threw his enemy somewhere behind him without looking. The black-haired adventurer flew through the air with a strangled cry and crashed hard into Matthew’s face as the ogre was preparing to hit Gaius from behind. His huge frame swayed, a grunt of anger escaping his lips.

Homer didn’t miss his chance. His hammer drew an arc in the air, swinging down at the Kobold King’s grey hair. It was a full-strength blow to end things with a single crushing strike. He wasn’t thinking about defense; in their previous exchanges, Homer’s armor, helm, even his gauntlets had been able to block the blade of Gaius’s faussar completely. His own monstrous strength and the assistance of several sorcerers made this impregnable defense possible. He’d probably be able to deflect a magic bolt, too. Gaius had taken all this into consideration, of course.

Deftly dodging, Gaius slid his blade along the handle of the hammer, directing its course toward the ground. He then swiftly lifted his faussar, striking the hands with which Homer gripped his weapon. The strangely thick gauntlets, almost like hammers themselves, once again did not yield to Gaius’s blade. However, the shock of the blow was more than enough to weaken Homer’s grip. Not missing the opportunity, Gaius dropped his faussar and switched weapons to the hammer that had just escaped the Mad Bull’s hands.

“Ah—” That was all Homer had time to say as Gaius rotated once and swung the hammer into the side of his head. The weapon had been meant to strike through Gaius’s armor, but it was now turned against its wielder. Gaius’s mighty strength and the huge head of the hammer worked together to warp the shape of Homer’s steel helm beyond all recognition. Needless to say, its contents were similarly reshaped.

As Homer’s body thud-thudded to the ground, Gaius dropped the warhammer to switch back to his faussar. He stood after retrieving the weapon and saw Matthew charging at him, peeling Chas off of his face and tossing the man aside. With a low roar, Matthew swung his two-handed sword down from the roof stance. It was the same rage-filled strike he’d employed earlier. His technique was less like someone had taught him how to wield a sword and more like he was just angrily swinging his weapon about in a rage at the world.

...And in actuality, Matthew never had been taught swordplay. He only knew the roof stance and the rage swing; he was completely self-taught. But maybe that was only natural. After all, sword technique and training were meaningless to him. There had never been anyone who had been able to defend against Massacre Matthew’s powerful, lengthy blade. He’d never known anyone to surpass the speed of his arm, to escape his reach, or to possess the strength to block one of his blows.

...Not until now, that is. In a simple contest of strength, Gaius wouldn’t have been able to stop Matthew’s strike. But there was a massive disparity between the two, brought about by diligent training and long years of experience. There was a clang! of steel hitting steel as sparks flew.

“You stopped my sword?”

Gaius wasn’t content to stop there, however. He caught his opponent’s blade, diverted its direction, and deflected the strike. He then swung his blade up at the ogre’s throat.

Matthew dodged back, bringing his sword up to deflect Gaius’s faussar with reflexes that made it clear why ogres were known as a fighting race.

...This is where he should have realized that his opponent was pointing his sword the wrong way.

Gaius pulled his sword back as if he had been waiting for just this moment, and while Matthew’s right arm was still extended from his defensive move, he slashed to the side at it. Gaius’s blade tore through skin and flesh, ripping into the ogre’s arm. But it was shallow. The swing had only gone a short distance, so there wasn’t much power behind the blow. He hadn’t managed to cut through the ogre’s thick muscle.

Without a moment’s delay, Gaius slashed again, this time at the ogre’s left side. This was another shallow cut; the ogre’s muscles were like steel armor protecting him from the inside. The two fighters paused, Matthew bleeding from the cuts while Gaius still held his sword, the edge still embedded in the ogre’s torso.

“Urgh...”

“Groooh!”

The two glared at one another. Massacre Matthew lost none of his will to fight even with a blade in his side. He probably wouldn’t stop fighting until he’d been rendered unconscious. Sensing that, the Black Rose of Igris tensed his arms, straining to lift the red-skinned giant off the ground. The spectators, who had all been watching with bated breath, began to murmur at this.

“Beeeldaruuus!” Still, Matthew continued to howl, lifting his left hand to swing his sword down even in this position. At just that moment...

Gaius swung his entire body, bashing his faussar, with his opponent still attached, into a tree. Wham! The ground seemed to shake from the impact, and the blade was driven deeper into the ogre’s red flesh. A great cry went up from the watching adventurers.

Gaius repeated this attack, this time heaving his sword down instead of sideways. The young ogre’s body was like a heavy log, being lifted into the air on an axe blade to be smashed against the ground over and over.

The crowd went completely quiet, save for one one-eyed adventurer who muttered, “Ahh... Not again... I can’t watch Beldarus splitting wood again...”

＊

Chas waited for Gaius to finish off Matthew by cutting off the ogre’s head before addressing him. “You’re somethin’ else, Black Rose of Igris... I mean, Kobold King.” For a second, his eyes lit up with a strong will to fight, but...

“Bro!” A family member or friend called out to him from the crowd, and Chas regained his cool. He clucked his tongue loud enough for Gaius to hear and sent him one last glare before all the fire went out of his eyes. Then he thought for a moment, before exaggeratedly grasping his arm and exclaiming in a flat voice, “Aaargh! My aaarm! When he threw me earlieeer! I think I broke iiit! It hurts soooo baaaaad! I can’t fight like thiiis!” He retreated back into the crowd, still shouting emotionlessly. Soon he was out of Gaius’s sight. He must have decided it was time to call it quits.

Even coming at him with the other hundred adventurers nearby, it would be hard to put down the Kobold King...that’s what the swordsman had decided. A portion of the gathered forces clearly agreed with that observation. It was all the more obvious to those with skill and experience. They all unconsciously took one step back, then another. Everyone there had been completely shaken by Gaius’s melée with the six fighters.

“...I’ve earned quite a few nicknames for myself, haven’t I?” Gaius came out of his fighting stance, setting his faussar against his shoulder. No one dared attack him even then. His earlier display had robbed each and every one of them of the desire to cross swords with the Black Rose of Igris. “When I tried my best to avoid letting my enemies suffer, they called me ‘the Headhunter.’” He sighed, but to those around him, it was the warning huff of a beast before it charged. “I don’t know how considerate I’ll be able to be if I get too busy, though. If I don’t have time, well...” He took a step forward and the ring of people split. “It might...hurt.” The words he spoke with a twist of his lips crushed whatever will to fight remained in those encircling him.

...Gaius Beldarus had never celebrated his bravery. Instead, he was ashamed that it was the only area he really excelled in. But he was well aware of how to dominate a battlefield. And as he stepped forward, the crowd around him parted like the tide going out.

Gaius calmly walked forward. With each step he took, the adventurers took two steps back. One alone remained standing in place, stupefied: the knight who had ordered this move against Gaius, Seligman. A lack of experience and being on a different wavelength from those around him had separated him from the waves of adventurers around him.

The Kobold King stopped before him. From the look of him and his equipment, he could tell that the young man was a knight who worked for Wyatt, the one commanding the forces around him. So when Gaius’s faussar swung down, everyone there, Seligman included, thought that he’d become prey to the blade.

Their eyes met, but it was not an equal exchange. Their gazes were those of a lion meeting the eyes of a trembling rabbit.

Fwoosh. The sword cut through the air. But all it cut was a few strands of Seligman’s hair as the young knight’s legs gave out from under him. It almost looked like he’d dodged at the last second. Either way, he was completely defenseless now...but Gaius only spared him a glance and went by him. He didn’t finish the knight off or take him hostage. The beast stalked off, leaving his sitting prey alone.

After him came the soft jingle, jingle of the weapons tied to his golem horse as it followed its master.

All the adventurers and Seligman could do was watch them disappear beyond the trees, all of them silent as if they had forgotten even how to breathe.

＊

I let him get away. That was Seligman’s first thought once he recovered from his stupefaction. Why didn’t he kill me? It wouldn’t have been hard for him. He could have just lifted his giant sword up and splattered his brains on the ground. And if he didn’t want to take the time to swing at him, he could have just reached out and stuck him with his sword as he walked past. These adventurers would have no one to command them if he took me out. Common sense says I should have been his objective. I mean, back at the river, they went straight for Dawson and Humphreys, didn’t they? He saw no reason for his enemy to extend mercy to him. There was nothing between Seligman and Gaius, and unlike his colleague Ashcroft, Seligman didn’t have a face that could get him confused for a teenager. He hadn’t even had time to plead for his life earlier. So why...?

“Sir Seligman! Are you all right?!” A young fighter ran over to Seligman, interrupting his thoughts. The other adventurers all looked towards him too, awaiting orders.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. That was a close one.” Seligman feigned calm. That’s right. We need to go after him now instead of trying to figure out what he’s thinking. He made to grasp the hand held out to him, intending to pull himself to his feet so that he could order them to pursue their foe, but—Huh?—he couldn’t move his fingers. His hands were shaking. He was rooted to the ground, sweating like a pig. Why can’t I stand?

“Sir Seligman, are you hurt?! Let me see!” The young fighter knelt down worriedly.

That’s it! Damn it! He got me somewhere! Seligman brushed aside the young man’s hand and ran his own hands over himself. His arms, his neck, his legs, his stomach... but there was nothing. He stuck his hands inside his armor as well, just to be safe, but nothing hurt. He was completely unscathed.

Seligman gave a great sigh of relief. “I’m okay...” That’s when he realized Gaius Beldarus’s true aim. I was frozen from fear, not from a wound. The Black Rose of Igris had realized that the young knight was beside himself with terror. And that wasn’t all. Gaius had left Seligman alive specifically in order to rob his enemy of whatever confidence they had left. There was a saying in the southern countries: “Wolves lose their fangs when commanded by a rabbit.” There were no heavier shackles for a force than a cowardly commander.

＊

“Oh, can’t you run any faster, you big lug?! You really took your sweet time back there! We need to hurry!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Gaius bowed his head in apology as he dashed through the trees.

“The little lady’s demanding that we hurry as w...nwhoa?!” The elder yelped as a magic bolt grazed Gaius’s side.

“You okay, old-timer?!”

“Just run, would you, you half-wit?!” the elder yelled, grabbing on to Gaius’s hair like it was reins.

“Not the hair, please! I’m starting to go thin there...”

“You idiot! Look out, they’re aiming again!”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Gaius’s pace didn’t slow, worried though he was for his scalp. The elder yelped again when Gaius suddenly changed direction, jostling the old kobold within his knapsack. A moment later, a bolt of magical energy exploded into a nearby tree trunk.

Aiming at them were twenty or so adventurers who were not part of any of the currently organized groups. This bunch had lain in wait, foreseeing the chance that Homer’s group would fail to subdue their foe and aiming to take the glory now that the opportunity had arisen. Many of them were quite experienced; their pursuit was cautious, precise, and thorough. The archers Gaius had failed to finish off earlier had joined this bunch as well. They relied entirely on their own judgment, ignoring Seligman’s orders, but such was the risk when using adventurers. And since visibility was so bad in this forest, Seligman might not have even known they were acting on their own like this.

Gaius had stalled the main force of adventurers for long enough and was heading back to the riverbed in time to carry out Sashalia’s plan when he’d been discovered by this group. They must have caught on to his immediate goal, because the archers and swordsmen were working together to prevent him from making it back to the riverbed.

“Look at the river!” The elder pointed through the trees at the riverbed, which was rapidly filling with muddy water to become a river once again. “It’s filling up fast! We’re not going to make it!”

“I see it! Just try not to fall off, old man! Come on, Claudette, keep up!” Gaius stopped zig-zagging and began to run straight for the river. Two adventurers blocked his way: one bearing a curved sword and the other wielding a shortsword. Without slowing, he brought down the first with a single running punch from a gauntleted fist, then followed through and grabbed the hands of the second. He pulled her close and headbutted her, and the woman dropped to the ground. A moment later, Claudette’s stone-and-clay body trampled over her. She didn’t get up after that.

Gaius reached the river, hearing arrows and magic flying close to him, and waded through the shin-high water without lowering his speed. Claudette followed, protecting his rear, but just as she tried to enter the river, a crossbow bolt and a bolt of magic struck her simultaneously in the left hind leg, dislodging a chunk of her body and sending her toppling into the water.

“Hey! They got Claudette!”

The golem horse neighed and sank beneath the torrent.

“Claudette?!” Gaius spun back around, but he was forced to beat a hasty retreat across the river as the archers on the other side of the river continued to fire at him. The adventurers were forced to give up their pursuit as well, as the river was only getting deeper and flowing faster.

＊

The reason the river had dried up was because a large amount of soil had formed a natural dam at the mouth of the river in the lake at some point. The kobolds had done some work on their own to create a channel the water could escape down, and had dammed it off so they could release the water whenever they chose. Then they’d waited for the perfect opportunity to unleash it.

There were too many examples to count throughout history of rivers and lakes being used in warfare. Most of them consisted of damming rivers and using the water to wash away enemies, or flooding a lake to submerge a castle, or filling a field with water to halt the advance of cavalry. Sashalia, who had always been diligent in her study of military history, had thought to use the riverbed in this way as soon as she gained an understanding of the terrain around the Kingdom. That and the spirit-speak tactics she’d come up with had allowed for the coordination required to put her plan into action. The water level of the lake was high enough due to the sediment that had dammed the river, and the rain a few days ago had allowed the level to rise as well. The water rushing down the riverbed now would easily sweep away anyone who tried to set foot inside it. In addition, there was a construction team upriver throwing logs and other detritus into the flow at regular intervals to discourage anyone from trying to cross the river. That would likely keep anyone from trying for a good while. Thus, this torrent of water and mud succeeded in separating the majority of the adventurers’ forces, still over three hundred strong, from the battlefield.