Chapter 6: Obsession

Wyatt scowled when he saw Darke point her face down and skew the brim of her hat to the left slightly. She’s doing that so it’s harder for an opponent to tell what she’s looking at. He determined that she was most likely not an upstanding swordswoman, but one who preferred using dirty tricks in combat. On top of that, he’d seen her fight in his previous attack, and knew that she had taken out Dawson on the riverbed. He was well aware of her skills with a blade.

However... The red-armored knight rushed toward her, and Darke responded by slashing at him from a high left stance. Wyatt raised his sword, showing her that he’d block it. The black-clad swordswoman then missed her swing...no, she rotated and struck at Wyatt’s other side without losing her momentum. It was a typical feint. Wyatt had seen this coming, however, and dodged her slash, turning his defensive stance into a slash of his own.

“Whoa!” Darke shouted and dodged the Sword Eater, almost falling out of the way. Her hat didn’t fall off, which meant it was probably affixed to her hair with something. She regained her balance right away, and Wyatt attacked once more. As she deflected his second strike, the black-clad swordswoman leapt back to put some distance in between them.

“...Hmm.” Their exchange solidified Wyatt’s suspicions: this opponent was several levels below Gaius Beldarus in skill.

“You okay, Darke?!” A flax-colored kobold voiced his concern for the swordswoman, but the latter held her hand out to stop him from interfering. She had likely gauged the difference in their skills from that exchange as well.

“I need you to stay back, Rain Grass. That goes for the rest of you, too. I am the only one who is a match for this man.”

“Oh? How admirable,” Wyatt said. “Why, if you cry and beg forgiveness, I might just spare your life.”

“Huh? Ah, yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Darke narrowed her eyes and shook her head exaggeratedly. Wyatt was faintly irritated, as she was clearly making fun of him.

“Why’s that?”

“Hmm. Are you always so curious, Sir Why’s That?” She laughed, the sound like a frog croaking.

“...It’s ‘Wyatt.’ Do you really have any reason to side with those barbaric kobolds? Or is your duty to Beldarus that great?” Wyatt never stopped analyzing his opponent even as they spoke. She may have been a lesser opponent than the Black Rose of Igris, but that didn’t mean he’d have an easy time of it against her. He was hesitant to use more of the Scarlet Plate’s power before his confrontation with Gaius, what with the burden it placed on his body. His bones and joints were already screaming just from the two tree-eating lizards and one bugbear he’d had to deal with.

“Oh, no, it’s just, the thing is, I’ve actually never cried before, as far as I can remember, so the ‘crying and begging forgiveness’ thing... I wouldn’t know how.” The black-haired swordswoman gave another croaking laugh and then pointed her finger at Wyatt as if struck by a sudden thought. “Oh, I know! Do you think you could give me an example of proper groveling? I might be able to do it then! Would you be so kind, Sir Why’s That?”

“Enough damn foolishness.” Wyatt spat the words out distastefully and went on the offensive.

Their blades hit with a clang! as Wyatt swung down his Sword Eater and Darke blocked with her hanger. She had unexpected strength for a human woman, and Wyatt couldn’t help being impressed. Her shapely figure was likely in part because of muscle, not just body fat. More than anything, she was skilled at knowing precisely how to apply her strength. He had no way of knowing if this was a natural skill of hers or one honed through hard work. Her ghostly pallor gave off an impression of weakness, and if Wyatt had been any ordinary fighter, underestimating her because of this could have been his downfall.

She is impressive, but... Using their locked blades as a pivot, he lifted his hilt and shifted Darke’s blade to the side. This not only removed her defense, but put him in position to attack. I won’t need to use the Crimson Plate for this.

Darke pulled away and leapt back like she had earlier. Wyatt followed and lobbed an attack at her side. Darke blocked with her sword held vertically and deflected the blow. One. She went for his throat on her counterattack, but Wyatt hooked her blade and spun it away. Two. Darke tried to flee again, but he pressed his attack with a furious strike. She barely managed to deflect his sword that time. Three. After four, five, six...ten such exchanges, Darke finally managed to gain some distance from him again. The two pointed their blades at each other and went back to trying to find an opportune moment to attack.

“Whew! You’re a strong one, Sir Why’s That! Yes, indeed.” Her expression remained unchanged, but Darke couldn’t hide how hard she was breathing.

“You’re more agile than you look as well.” Wyatt, on the other hand, wasn’t breathing hard at all.

“Aw, that’s not very nice! And here I was giving you a compliment!”

“So was I. Be grateful for it.” Wyatt took a step forward. Darke took a step back.

“I see, I see. A good man has to be a good flatterer. But it’s more important to know when to quit.”

“You’ve a glib tongue.”

“Oh, and you’ve a keen eye! I am quite known for my tongue skills.” Darke slowly licked her lips with a wet and deliberate thoroughness, then muttered, “eww, spit,” and wiped at her mouth with her hand. “On closer inspection, you look quite virile and manly yourself, Sir Wyatt! ...Mhm, mhm, not bad, not bad...” She hummed to herself, in thought for a moment. “Oh, but I couldn’t. My type is more rosy-cheeked young men and sweet young women... Them, and virgin men with ugly mugs and smelly feet.”

Wyatt brought his sword hilt up to his right shoulder and pointed the blade at her, holding his sword sideways in the “key” stance. “You are no fighter. You really are nothing but a fool.” He stepped forward, unleashing a powerful thrust. Darke bent backwards and deflected the Sword Eater to her right with her hanger. Wyatt allowed the motion to carry his arm forward and changed the trajectory of his blade, whipping it around in a brutal backhand slash. Against a normal opponent, this attack from the side would probably finish things, but Darke was just barely able to defend against it. Their blades clashed again. Wyatt tried to push her backward, but Darke held her ground. They drew closer, and right when their eyes met over their locked steel...

Pfft! The black-haired swordswoman pursed her lips and spat some kind of liquid at her opponent. During her earlier jesting, she’d hidden something small inside her mouth and bit it open, spitting its contents at Wyatt to blind him.

The spray of vinegar and spices flew at Wyatt’s face, but he pulled back to avoid it. This was a technique he’d had used against him a few times in the war, and one he’d even made use of himself more than once. Since he’d judged her sword skills to be inferior to his own, he’d anticipated that she would stoop to using such tactics.

“Underhanded...” Wyatt re-gripped his sword and stepped forward to counterattack, but right at that moment, the black-clad swordswoman crumpled...no, she hadn’t collapsed. She’d deliberately dropped to all fours. The red-armored knight hesitated for a moment, baffled by the utterly defenseless position she’d taken, but he was able to read her gaze and decipher her aim quick enough to respond to her ruse.

Whoosh came the sound of a thick log swinging down on a rope from his left side. The log had been hung so that it would collide with the upper body of an adult human male when released. From the mass of the log and the speed it was coming at him, the impact would be fatal. Wyatt instantly understood why Darke had continued to cross blades with him despite her inferior skill.

I can’t dodge it. In his accelerated thoughts, he could sense the black-clad swordswoman going on the offensive. He even felt like he could hear her thinking, “Die a pathetic death.” Even if he could crouch and avoid the log, she would strike as soon as he was thrown off his balance. ...In which case...

There was a thud! as the massive log impacted...Wyatt’s left hand. The patterns on his armor glowed red. Inside the red plate, his flesh and bones groaned, and a searing pain tore through him.

Darke was in position to thrust out her blade, but her eyes opened wide at this, and what happened next was enough to freeze her in place.

Wyatt knocked aside Darke’s hanger with his right hand, leaving his left hand holding the entire log. It was the only way for him to defend in his position. But the swordswoman could never have imagined what happened to her blade in that moment; it didn’t simply bend or snap, but shattered. And Wyatt would never let the opportunity her shock afforded him go to waste. Not even bothering to bring his sword back from its swing, he sent a fierce kick her way, his armor still glowing.

Crack. Darke’s body folded at the impact, flying thirty feet through the air in an arc and rolling when she hit the ground. She thudded loudly into a tree and went still, her head lolling. At the same time, Wyatt collapsed to the ground, in agony from the strain of using the armor.

“Darke!”

“Captain!”

Rain Grass and some others from the attack team rushed to Darke’s side while one of them leapt at Wyatt, slobbering and snarling ferociously. It was the young, blue-furred kobold.

“Deyah! Deyah! Deyah! Hoh! Hoh! Hoh!” He was slashing and thrusting with no proper form or thought behind his blows. Without proper footwork, his blows were light and shallow. Still, Wyatt was more vulnerable than he’d been all day now. He couldn’t even lift his sword to defend, so he was left with nothing but his gauntlets to block the strikes of the shortsword. And while he was so occupied...

“Put your back into it! She’s heavy!”

“Gwoooh! You can say that again!”

“Sheeee’s heavyyyyy!”

“She’s too heavy, isn’t she?!”

The other kobolds had thrown aside their weapons and worked together to lift up the unconscious swordswoman, fleeing as fast as they could.

“Mmnh!” The blue-furred kobold who’d bought them time also fled as soon as he sensed that he’d done his part, and by the time the red-armored knight was able to regain his feet, they’d all gotten a considerable distance away.

“...How pathetic. I let the dunce take control of the situation, and ended up having to use the armor in the end.” Wyatt scowled and sighed. He patted, pressed, and rubbed at his body to assess the damage the Scarlet Plate had done to him. Grimacing in pain every so often, he eventually finished his examination and took another deep breath. “I’m good.” He was all right. Nothing had been severed or broken. He could still go on. He wasn’t finished yet.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, looking down at a broken dagger, still in its sheath, lying at his feet. It was likely one of several such knives the swordswoman had strung up underneath her cloak. “I thought I broke her sternum or some ribs.” She’d jumped back at the last moment, probably taking the brunt of the force from the kick with her right arm and this small piece of steel under her cloak. “...A skilled fool to be sure.” Still, she couldn’t have escaped completely unscathed.

Wyatt took a moment to think about it, but decided not to pursue them. If he followed them too far there was ample danger of them luring him into another trap. The guildmaster had a more pressing duty to reorganize his forces. He decided to make reuniting with Ashcroft and his men his priority for now.

＊

“The attack team was defeated by the enemy guildmaster, currently fleeing! Captain Darke is unconscious!” Unease ran through the command center as one of the housewives received a report from the attack team.

“There’s an area of unsprung pit traps a little farther in that direction! Tell them to retreat through there!” Sashalia ran her eyes over the map and pointed out the location in question. “Is the enemy pursuing?”

“No pursuit!”

“Attack team has arrived at traps! Attempting to revive the captain!”

After a short while, the lady kobolds began receiving more updates. The attack team seemed to have been attempting mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions on the unconscious Darke. This was a method of resuscitation familiar to the hunters of the village, who put their lives in danger every day, or so Rain Grass had told Sashalia.

“Darke...” Though she was concerned for her colleague, Sashalia couldn’t neglect her duties, so they went about their work in the command center for a short time, even though the atmosphere was strained with worry.

“Captain Darke has regained consciousness!” This time, the elated report sent a wave of relief through the room.

“How are her wounds?”

“She’s claiming to be fine, but her spirit messenger reports that her right arm looks to be in bad shape. Also, Rain Grass...”

“Rain Grass...?”

“...Is in some distress. ‘She put her tongue in,’ he says.”

“Uegh,” came a chorus of housewives, disgusted looks on their faces. Fog’s childhood friend was very unpopular among the group, it seemed.

In any case, from the reports it seemed Darke had regained consciousness without the actual need for cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

“Any other losses?”

“They abandoned their weapons to flee, so they’ll need replacements.”

“There’s a stash in a moss cave a little further back. Have them restock there. Anything else? No more casualties?”

“Nothing but the ‘tragic loss of Rain Grass’s first kiss.’”

“No one cares,” shouted one of the housewives.

“Er, that’s probably what Darke told the spirit messenger to say...” Sashalia felt the need to make that comment lest her colleague cause the flax-colored warrior to fall even lower in the eyes of the housewife alliance. “It’s harsh, but we can’t let Darke leave the front lines. Tell her to avoid fighting personally, but remain there to command. We’ll restore some of their fighting power with squad five, which is nearby.”

“Got it. We’ll contact them,” two housewives set about their task.

“Red Eye’s squad one should stay where they are to maintain our last line of defense. Squad two should bring their staves with them and begin confronting small groups to replace squad five. While the enemy’s main force is cut off by the river, we’ll finish off the fifty remaining on this side.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the housewives replied.

The attack squad had lured away ninety adventurers, and an additional thirty had followed. They’d managed to reduce that number down to fifty-five. On top of that, most of the adventurers were still scattered. Many had died or been injured by traps, magical beasts, and the kobold squads, but more and more were simply abandoning the fight or fleeing due to the confusion of being cut off from their commanders or their draining enthusiasm for the mission. Wyatt’s use of adventuring parties, which he’d hoped would be able to think for themselves in an emergency, had backfired as the parties were all prioritizing self-preservation over the expedition as a whole. They may have been combat specialists, but adventurers were fundamentally people who fought in their own self-interests. They didn’t live on their reputations and their faithfulness to their contracts like full mercenary companies did.

The reason soldiers were kept close enough for their commanders to see them and speak to them...no, the reason they had to be kept that close was precisely to prevent such losses of morale. That’s why wide-open spaces had always been chosen as battlefields in the past. The Kingdom’s Army was able to maintain morale even while split up largely due to their ability to uphold the chain of command and share information between separate groups using spirit-speak. As long as the command center remained active, the kobolds would most likely be able to maintain order and assertiveness in their actions. Even with a quarter of their forces split off and all the strategies they’d had thrown at them, the dregs of the remaining adventurers still surpassed the Kingdom Army’s fighters when it came to strength, but the scales of battle were starting to tip heavily in the Kobold Kingdom’s favor due to this difference between their forces.

“We’ve made it this far...” Sashalia took a moment to allow herself to feel relief until Hopping Rabbit prodded her shoulder to get her attention and made a report:

“There’s another message from the attack team. It’s from Captain Darke, to the General.”

“Hm?”

＊

[Attack team to Command Center: No lasting injuries. The Captain’s breast provided ample protection.]

[Command Center to Attack Team: Please be more precise in your reports. Did you mean “breastplate”?]

“What in the world are they doing?” The elder sighed after catching that uncoded message.

“...Did something happen?”

“Mm, the pale one seems to have battled the enemy leader and lost.”

Gaius sat against a tree and listened, his expression stony.

“Seems she was injured, but her life’s in no danger and her team was able to get away. No need to worry.”

“That idiot.”

The elder picked up several scents from Gaius, but didn’t ask about them. “How are you doing, though?” the elder asked. Exhaustion and weariness were clear on his partner’s face.

“Pretty embarrassed... Guess this isn’t as easy for me as it was when I was young.” Gaius smiled wryly. It was no wonder he was fatigued. He’d fought battle after battle, and faced quite a few highly skilled opponents all at once. The blow he’d taken from Melinda combined with all his other wounds, large and small, were starting to take a toll on him.

“What’s that? Mocking the elderly, are you?”

“Huh?! Oh! No, that wasn’t my intention.”

“Hmph... Mm?”

“Did you get another message?”

The elder confirmed the contents of the message he’d been sent and sighed irritatedly. “They’re more persistent than we thought. They’re still moving, even in this situation. The twenty-odd uninjured foes they left in the rear have picked up several more and are making their way up the river.”

“I would have expected them to have retreated by now...and if it’s a group of about thirty...”

“It’s a bit too much for them to handle.”

The only troops stationed along the river on the way to the village were three small squads, making a total of nine kobolds. They were precious fighting power, and Gaius would have liked for even one of them to be able to join the attack squad instead, but they couldn’t be removed from their duty of cleaning up the enemies Gaius had already gone through or that had been separated from the main force. They were the bare minimum fighting power needed to perform that role, and absolutely would not be able to deal with a human force of thirty head-on. The path this group was on also had some traps, but there were many more on the western side of the river where the adventurers had been stranded. Once the adventurers made it through the forest and reached the plains, there would be nothing stopping them from reaching the village.

“The little lady’s asking our status, probably trying to decide if we should head back and regroup or go at them as we are.”

“I’m good. We should concentrate our fighting power to the west. That’ll avoid more losses.” Gaius couldn’t hide the fatigue in his voice as he answered.

The elder harrumphed in response, then went quiet in thought for a time. “Say, Slayer of Fifty.”

“...That’s an exaggerated nickname, old-timer.”

“Oh? How many did you slay, then?”

“It wasn’t fifty.”

“Don’t be modest, just tell me.”

“...I counted forty bodies afterward. But I didn’t fight them all at once...”

The elder cut him off by asking, “How many would you say you’ve defeated today?”

“Dunno... Thirty-four or -five, maybe? I wasn’t really keeping track.”

“Hmm. So if we add the thirty we’re going to face now, it’ll be sixty-five-ish, eh?”

“Well...I suppose it would.” Gaius cocked his head, unsure of where the elder was going with this.

“Let’s say you’ve the strength of forty men. I may be your partner, but it is only my first battle, so we’ll say I’m worth half that—call it twenty. What do you get when you add those?”

“...The strength of sixty men?”

“Exactly. Together, we’re the Slayers of Sixty! Sixty-five will only take a tiny bit more effort than usual!”

The elder’s logic was spotty at best. Gaius was confused for a moment, but then he understood what the elder was trying to say.

“Hahaha! You’re right about that! True, it’s just a matter of simple math! You really do know your stuff, elder!” He slapped his knee in amusement.

“Sure I do. Though you’ve lived about thirty times as long as I have! Gahaha!”

“Oh, life’s about quality over quantity! Hahaha!”

The two shared a laugh for some time.

“Well, shall we get going, Your Majesty?”

“Let’s.” Gaius stood, once again ready to take on his foes.

＊

After another encounter with a tree-eating lizard, scuffles with traps, and general interference from the kobolds... Wyatt finally met back up with Ashcroft and the twenty or so men he’d rounded up. A lone adventurer approached him soon after.

It was a messenger Heatley had dispatched from his position at the rear. The adventurer ran up, covered in sweat and out of breath, and reported to Wyatt what Heatley’s squad had discovered while taking care of the injured: that the knight Humphreys had been defeated by Beldarus on the riverbed; that Seligman and the main force had been cut off from them, left on the other side of the river when it filled; that the supplies they’d brought with them on carts had been washed away; that the injured and medical team had taken refuge next to the river; and that Heatley had taken twenty-five men from the rear who were heading upstream to attack the village in place of their main force.

Ashcroft and the other adventurers nearby listened to all this in astonishment, but the shock Wyatt felt was even more extreme. The rest of them were all focused on Beldarus and the river filling in, but Wyatt was finally coming to realize something else. The kobolds’ tactics were entirely based around dividing the adventurers into small groups and crushing them, then relentlessly repeating that process. It’s impossible for ten to defeat one hundred, but in theory the ten would be able to defeat that many foes if they only had to face them five at a time. That would only be in an ideal situation, but it was the fundamental basis of their strategy. The kobolds had meticulously separated the adventurers again and again, using the forest environment to their advantage and working together to do it. Then they’d concentrated their own soldiers with absolute efficiency, finishing off each and every enemy they had separated from the main force. This was not something they could have accomplished by simply deciding to do it beforehand and acting with quick wits.

...Their soldiers were acting together as one body, which meant that somewhere there had to be a head, a commander who had firm control of the battlefield and was moving pieces on it even now. And it wasn’t Gaius Beldarus, who was fighting on the front lines. With all that he’d done in battle, there was no way he was also the one commanding all these forces.

“We have to strike at the head. Or make it unable to function,” Wyatt muttered to himself. But they had no way of knowing when they would be able to mobilize their main force. They couldn’t measure the amount of water now flowing down the river, so it was possible they wouldn’t be able to cross it until night, and they would never be able to traverse the unknown territory of the Greatwood at night, let alone fight in it. Which meant they would have to make camp and re-launch their attack tomorrow...and they’d lost the supplies with which to do that. Of course, people could go a night without eating and drinking, but there was no guarantee they’d be able to fight decently in such states of exhaustion. That meant that he didn’t even know if they’d be able to finish this by the next day.

They could head back to the encampment they’d left outside the forest and replenish their supplies there, but launching another invasion after going back that far would be difficult. Now I realize I should have just let the men who were lured into the forest die and continued down the riverbed myself. Wyatt ran his eyes over the nearby adventurers in irritation. Of course, he couldn’t have made that choice, considering his position as guildmaster. He would have lost all the trust of the adventurers, and none of them would have followed his orders after that. It would be the equivalent of abandoning the role his lady had given him, and all the funds and authority that came with it. So he couldn’t have done that.

This battle would not be the end for Wyatt. He would break through this barrier and continue on... and he was here to make it so that he could begin moving once again. Should we head back to Ryburgh and come back on another day, with a proper force and proper tactics? No, that wouldn’t work. In that time, the Black Rose of Igris could expose the plot of his lady, Keighley Zigan, to the other lords, and that would be the end of that. Besides, open hostilities between the Keighley and Dugard factions were likely to break out in that time, and if that happened, Wyatt would never be able to send a force hundreds-strong to subjugate “some monsters.”

That’s right. Why did I even do all this work to bring soldiers to the Greatwood in the first place? I barely got this force ready in time. He covered his face with his hand, pressing down on the center of his forehead with his pointer finger and his temple with his thumb, as if he meant to crush his own skull. He held this torturous pressure to his head, desperately holding back the impulse to scream.

At the same time, Wyatt was forced to realize that he had been pushed even closer to the brink of ruin than he’d ever been before. He had to finish this before sunset today.

“Heatley’s heading along the river, making for the village.”

The messenger nodded in confirmation. Heatley was clearly acting under his own discretion. The young, courageous knight had let his ardor stir him to rashness. Of course, what he was doing was necessary to carry out Wyatt’s plan to hit the village from two directions at once; this had been the reason he’d brought sub-commanders in the first place.

“Ashcroft. Take the forces here and head for the village.”

“We’re still fighting?!” His subordinate’s response was politically, tactically, and empathetically lacking, so Wyatt replied with his fist.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Sir.” Ashcroft mumbled, one hand clasped to his chin.

Wyatt continued as if the previous exchange hadn’t happened. “I’ll take Quincy and Margot and go around to attack the village from another side.” Two lightly equipped adventurers with swords nodded in acknowledgment. They were more often involved in searching and exploratory work than fighting, but they had both grown up in the mountains and were good hikers.

“Will just the two of them be enough?”

“Good point, Ashcroft. I think I’ll take one more.” The look on his subordinate’s face said that this wasn’t what he’d meant, but Wyatt ignored him and turned to a small man who had been standing behind him. “Cyril. You’re up. You found a route to go around the village when you were with Theron, didn’t you? Tell me.” He drew his Sword Eater from its sheath and placed the blade against the former hunter’s cheek.

“Eek! I-I don’t have a route! I just know some landmarks you could use to find a way around!”

“Wow, a straightforward answer for once. Well done.” The guildmaster smiled and drew his blade across Cyril’s right cheek, creating a red line there. The former hunter screamed like a child and fell to the ground.

“We won’t be able to get in contact with Heatley at this point, so there’s no coordinating with him. We just have to take advantage of his actions.” Wyatt turned back to Ashcroft. “With numbers this small, they shouldn’t be able to confuse us anymore. I don’t know how many times I’ve said this at this point, but avoid the traps and make your way cautiously, carefully, straight to the village.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

“You and Heatley’s group will be both the main force and a diversion. Draw the kobolds’ attention and fighting strength to you, and pressure them to stay there. The enemies shouldn’t be able to ignore you.”

The young knight and adventurers all nodded in unison.

“Meanwhile, my unit will set fire to the village. When you see the smoke, that’s when you’ll begin your attack in earnest. They should be in disarray. Then all we need to do is lure the dogs and Beldarus into an open space and hit them with all of our strength.”

“Roger.”

“Understood.”

“Got it!”

“You can count on us.”

As they all assented, Wyatt looked over the group, a dark fever lurking behind his eyes.

“We’ll set off at once. We’re finishing this before the sun sets, no matter what. Now that there are so many fewer of us, you can expect your rewards to be that much greater.”

＊

Thirty or so soldiers marched in single file along the torrential, revived river. One among them, a knight, bashed the trees with his fist as he walked by. It was the rear commander, Heatley.

“That brainless idiot, Humphreys! That dimwit, Seligman! What were they doing?!” As he gathered an understanding of the situation from what information he could get out of the injured, Heatley had been enraged at the incompetence of Seligman and the main force, who they had been completely cut off from and were no longer able to contact. “Those fools! Useless!” The young knight cursed his colleagues out of a twisted sense of responsibility and passion. The adventurers in front of and behind him continued on silently, unwilling to engage him.

They had triggered two primitive traps so far on their march, and one fighter had been forced to drop out due to injuries to his legs, but otherwise their march was going well. Since they were following the river, there was no chance of them losing their way, and they weren’t walking through a sea of traps like their comrades who had been lured into the forest. They just walked along, accompanied by the occasional sounds of breaking twigs or leaves and the odd thud of a fist against a tree. It was some time before they encountered the enemy.

“Waaah!” The line all turned at the scream. It had come from a young adventurer near the rear of the procession, who had just happened to turn around. When he did, he’d caught sight of a swordswoman lying against a tree, her throat ripped out. Two other men had been behind her in the line, but they were nowhere to be seen. The adventurer who had screamed soon joined his comrades in death when a length of steel lashed out to cave in the side of his head. Heatley’s whole squad understood instantly that this had been the work of the man who had suddenly appeared, bloodied cleaver in hand.

The next person in the line, a sorcerer, immediately turned around to run, but the cleaver hacked down into his shoulder, smashing his ribcage and hewing through the man all the way into his internal organs. The archer behind him began to string his bow, but while he was taking aim, the cleaver slashed through his torso, snapping his bow like a twig as it went. A warrior with a short spear and a tattooed face flailed with her weapon in a panic, and the butt of her spear got caught against a nearby tree. While she was distracted by this, the tip of the faussar plunged into her face. The man mowed down foe after foe, making his way up from the end of the line like a forest worker casually walking through tall brush.

Gaius Beldarus had hidden in wait for the line of adventurers to pass him by, and began his assault on the rear of the line, where the formation’s attention was lowest. Heatley’s impatience meant all his focus had been on what was before him, and Gaius had taken advantage of that.

Heatley’s response was quick, however. “Fall back! You can’t handle him! I’ll do it!” The young knight pushed past the adventurers and headed straight for Gaius, taking up his sword and declaring, “I thought I’d find you on this side of the river, Black Rose of Igris! You managed to shake off Seligman with an underhanded trick, but your luck’s run out now that you’ve run into me!” If the fact that this brute had taken out Homer, Matthew, Chas, and Melinda all at once had gotten back to this young knight, he might have taken slightly different action, but unfortunately for him, it hadn’t.

“I won’t be taking you alive. I’ll cut you down and end you right here, Beldarus!” Heatley’s sword shone. Its blade was curved, waving almost like a flickering flame, so elegant it could have been a work of art. It was a large sword of a style known as a flamberge. He stood facing Gaius with the sword in a high “head” stance used by those who favored large, two-handed blades.

“Ever seen one of these, Black Rose of Igris? It’s not just for show. Wounds caused by this blade end up twisted and torn. The scars are terrible. The flesh will never heal back to the way it was.” He twirled the tip of the sword slowly as if to provoke Gaius.

Gaius went quiet for a moment and then scratched his chin with his free hand as if this were nothing more than a casual chat. “Mhm. I was cut by one in the past. It hurt.”

Heatley was taken aback by that response, but quickly bared his teeth in irritation. “You bastard! Are you making light of me?!”

“...Hey, meathead, you think this fellow’s all right in the head?” The old kobold popped out of Gaius’s rucksack, cutting off any further shouts from the young knight.

“Put your head back in there, old man. This is hardly a safe time.”

“I’m just sayin’, if the man intends to kill you here, why all this fuss about your wounds healing and scars and such?”

“Oh, you shouldn’t say things like that...”

“Don’t you dare mock me!”

Heatley sent a rage-filled swing at Gaius. Gaius held up his faussar with both hands to catch the blow, then released his right hand from the grip, continuing to push up with his left hand as he took a great step forward. The shape of the flamberge made it more difficult to keep the blades locked than other swords would, but Gaius skillfully maintained contact while shifting his blade to keep Heatley’s sword engaged. There was the screeching sound of sharpened steel scraping against steel as he guided the faussar down the length of the knight’s longsword before twisting his own sword to the side and plunging the tip of the faussar into the Heatley’s throat. As he’d stepped in, Gaius had stretched his body and arm forward. Holding his faussar by the very end of the grip with one hand had extended his reach much farther than the range the young knight had been expecting of him.

Thud. The double-edged blade of the faussar pierced Heatley’s chainmail gorget and split his throat open vertically. The knight staggered back and Gaius pressed forward, both hands back on the grip of his sword. A slow, wet gargle came from the knight’s throat as the steel buried itself deeper. As the blade passed through his neck, Heatley’s body spasmed, until the tip of Gaius’s weapon could be seen jutting out of the back of his neck. Gaius pulled the blade out, and the young knight’s eyes rolled back into his head as he collapsed face-up on the ground.

“Huff...” The Black Rose of Igris let out a breath like a growling beast as he shook the blood from his blade. Although it was summer, the adventurers could have sworn they saw the breath come out white and hot.

“Twenty-something left? That’s still a fair few,” muttered the elder, sticking his head out of the rucksack again to survey the situation.

“Indeed,” Gaius answered him, lifting his head and nodding. “Though I don’t think it’s going to be enough to stop us, the Slayers of Sixty.”

＊

The Command Center was still hard at work directing combatants.

“Squad Three has managed to lure two stray adventurers into traps, but one was wounded in the process. That squad’s down to one now.”

“Have the remaining soldier meet up with Squad Four after getting the wounded soldier to safety. Squad Two will take over Squad Three’s territory.”

“Enemy group still heading north,” a housewife repeated a scout’s report, then moved a black stone on the map with her stick.

“Don’t engage them yet,” advised the redheaded general. “Have Squads One and Two hold them there if they can get clear shots.”

Sashalia’s order was quickly sent via spirit-speak. She could see by the movement of the stones on the map that Red Eye’s Squad One and Squad Two, which were both equipped with stolen magic staves, had received and were following her orders.

“The enemy’s movements have changed. They’re not responding to our provocations or lures anymore,” Hopping Rabbit said, watching the positions of the stones representing the enemy.

“Their numbers have dropped enough that it’s actually easier for their commanders to control them. Honestly, any normal group would have retreated by now... It’s like they’re obsessed,” Sashalia said without taking her eyes off the map.

It was as the elder’s granddaughter had said. A group had reformed inside the forest and, after letting a few members leave the battlefield, they’d begun marching steadily forward without being distracted by feints from the kobold squads. This many humans together would be difficult for the kobold soldiers to fight at close range, especially now that Darke had been injured. But the kobolds had to take this group down. They couldn’t afford to risk leaving the group Gaius was fighting by the river or any of the scattered adventurers in the forest alone. Due to fighting, traps, splitting up, and fleeing, there were only about seventy of the Adventurers’ Guild’s original three hundred thirty fighting men remaining on the battlefield. However, the Kobold Kingdom’s original forty-nine-strong army had also been reduced to thirty by death or injury. It was all going to come down to this.

“It’s okay, we can do this with the traps and the terrain on their route...” Sashalia crossed her arms. Hopping Rabbit leaned over to wipe some sweat from the half-elf’s forehead with a cloth.

Just then, one of the housewives went pale and shouted, “Report from Brown Turtle! Humans spotted in the forest to the west of the plains!”

“What?!”

They’d widened their scouting range around the village in response to the previous attack. Brown Turtle was stationed at the very end of that range, as far from the battlefield as possible. He was basically only there as insurance, so when the emergency report came from him, Sashalia and the housewives were more than a little surprised.

“There are four of them. I’ll mark their position!” A small stone indicating a small number of enemies was quickly placed on the great map. Their location showed that they’d taken a wide detour around the battlefield, and it conveyed their intentions clearly to Sashalia.

The enemy had bound the kobolds’ hands and were on their way to destroy their head.

“That smaller group who left the main force wasn’t injured and retreating, but a separate squad going around to attack us directly here...I can’t believe they’d take such a detour right through the Greatwood.” Without the right experience, navigating forests without getting lost was quite difficult, and this was no mere forest—it was the Greatwood. She couldn’t believe they’d purposely head so deep inside without having been lured there. “It’s not a place you can just waltz into.” A small party of hunting-type adventurers quickly came to mind, the memory sparking pain in her shortened ear. “It’s him...”

Sashalia nibbled on the knuckle of her index finger and changed tacks. She didn’t need to get to the bottom of this right now; she needed to come up with a countermeasure. “We could call back the squads fighting in the forest...but if we cut back any more on them, some adventurers will definitely get through...then there will be dozens of them flooding into the plain...but that’s the only way...Sir Gaius is fighting at the river...he won’t make it back in time...”

“M-Miss Sashalia, what do we do?!” Hopping Rabbit asked, panicked.

“Sashalia...”

“What should we...?” The housewives were similarly nervous.

“Wait, just wait. I’m thinking. I’ll think of something.” The small half-elf covered her mouth with her hand, a cold sweat breaking over her as she brought her full thinking power to bear. She continued muttering to herself to organize her thoughts, which only made the housewives more nervous, but Sashalia wasn’t an experienced enough commander to remain perfectly calm and collected in a situation like this.

“Ye bloody idiot!” ...However, there was one among them still in high spirits. He was a bit of a lech, not very smart, and tended to get carried away, but he had more courage and nerve than anyone. His words prevented the room from falling into complete panic.

“What th’ hell d’ye think I’m here for?!”

＊

“Eep!”

“Walk faster.”

“I will! I will! Stop prodding me with your sword!” Cyril flinched away as Wyatt threatened him with his blade.

The guildmaster and his guide, as well as the two adventurers, Quincy and Margot, emerged from the forest and quickly cut across the plain, arriving at the outskirts of the village. Quincy quickly set fire to a storage shed near a line of stakes that had been pounded into the ground for some reason. From there, they set about tossing burning torches into every pit dwelling in sight. Eventually, the frames of the dwellings and the woven branches that supported their sod roofs caught fire, creating several sources of red light in the dark caused by the thick clouds overhead.

“There’s no one in the houses,” Margot remarked to Wyatt, lighting a new torch.

“They’re hiding somewhere, or they’ve run. It doesn’t matter. Just destroy their dens and all their supplies. We can finish off the bitches and pups later.”

“Right.”

“Our top priority is disrupting the dogs still resisting in the forest.” Wyatt was also setting fire to a primitive dwelling, torch in hand.

“Hopefully it works.”

“It’ll work. During the Five Year War, we were surrounding an enemy fort when there was a fire in the fort’s kitchen. It only spread a little before it stopped, and didn’t actually affect the fort’s defenses at all.”

“Oh?”

“However, unluckily for them, the smoke billowing out of the fort made it look like it had fallen, so the reinforcements who were coming to their aid retreated instead. In the end, the fort really did fall two days later. It’s not like this is the exact same situation, but they shouldn’t be able to maintain their cool when they see this.”

“Makes sense,” Quincy remarked, tossing a second torch into a dwelling that was refusing to catch fire. Eventually, the sound and smell of something burning inside reached him.

“I wonder if you can see the smoke from the forest, though.” Margot, who had been a part of the guild for a long time and was relatively friendly with Wyatt, was not afraid to raise her doubts.

“I’m not worried about that.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, look at the things. Their noses probably work better than their eyes, right?”

“Ahahaha! That’s for sure!”

...As they went about setting fires, the group finally encountered the first residents of the village in its center. There was a simple structure consisting of nothing more than a roof, some pillars holding it up, and a floor in the square in the middle of the village. The structure was swarming with female kobolds, one young redheaded girl seated among them. There was a great desk in the middle of the hovel, and the map made of animal skins with countless stones atop it proved this was no mere shelter.

“I see.” Wyatt came to a conclusion instantly. He didn’t know how she was doing it, but it was clear enough to him that this delicate elf with the half-missing ear was the commander who had driven him to his current position.

“I don’t believe you were invited.” The redheaded elf was the first to address the newcomers.

“Who are you, girl? It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one who’s been manipulating my army somehow.”

“I am Sashalia Denan. General of the Kobold Kingdom.”

“...Denan? A child like you claims to belong to House Denan?” Wyatt was a man trying to make a name for himself through his sword. He was aware of House Denan, famed as it was for its military prowess.

“I didn’t choose to be a Denan. And I’m twenty-three. I’m not a child.”

“Oh? I suppose I don’t need to feel terrible about killing you, then,” Wyatt said, signaling with his eyes for Quincy and Margot to go continue burning houses nearby.

They followed his order quickly and set about carefully lighting some more fires. They threw multiple torches into each building so the internal structures would burn more easily. Wyatt didn’t miss the scowl that appeared on Sashalia’s face for a moment as she watched them.

“I am Wyatt, a knight of the soon-to-be head of House Zigan, Lady Keighley. I oversee the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild. We are here on a mission to exterminate the wild dogs that threaten the Marquisate of Northplain. Now get on your knees and submit to our capture.”

“The insolence! You stand in the Royal Capital of the Kobold Kingdom! It’s you who should kneel, Wyatt.”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Stupid, stupid!”

“And another ‘stupid’ for good measure!”

The kobold women around Sashalia all raised their fists in the air and jeered at him.

“That fool in the black was one thing. Are there nothing but jesters here?” Wyatt and Cyril remained still, carefully observing their surroundings.

Meanwhile, Quincy and Margot had finished setting two more dwellings ablaze. Two kobold soldiers rolled out of them, screaming and covered in soot and flame. One managed to put the flames out by rolling on the ground but passed out immediately after, while the other tried to run and was cut down by a slash from Margot’s sword. Wails of grief came from the female kobolds watching from the hovel.

“So you did have soldiers hiding.”

The houses that no one had come out of were burning steadily, red light emanating from their entrances. Wyatt was confident that those two soldiers had been their last line of defense. He gave an amused snort as Sashalia chewed her lip in frustration, and ignored her lackeys to point his blade directly at her.

“But you don’t anymore. I’ll take your head and give it to Beldarus to show him what I’m going to do to hi...”

Just then—a figure leapt out from one of the burning dwellings, cutting off the red armored knight’s words. The figure took Margot by surprise and grabbed her arm, hurling her back into the house it had just been hiding in. “Rrraaaaah!” It then launched itself at Quincy in a powerful tackle. A sword went through Quincy’s throat as Margot’s screams began coming from the flaming building.

“Take THAT!” The figure shouted as it stood. Wyatt turned to see a short man in heavy armor, probably taken from one of the adventurers who’d died in their previous attack. He stood ready with his sword and made his way between Wyatt and the Command Center, making sure to keep some distance between them. He had burns all over his body, some of which still smoldered.

“You were...hiding inside the fire...?!”

“Sure was! Don’t take dwarves lightly, ye rotten bastard! Pt! Pt!” The burned man cursed and spat at Wyatt. Of course, all spitting did was get saliva all over the inside of his helm.

“Dwarves?! I see, you’re the kid who was with Beldarus back then... You were a dwarf?

“Ye got that right! A great dwarf, protector o’ the world, servant to the goddess, warrior of love, full to th’ brim with bravery and courage! I am Dwaemon, son of Dwaske, warrior of the Great Anvil, and Gaius Beldarus’s top disciple! Remember that name, ye lousy old man! And what’s with the poncey red armor anyway? Act yer age!”

A dark flame lit in Wyatt’s eyes, but Emon was unaware that this wasn’t due to his provocation.

“...Emon!”

“Right here!” Emon replied to the voice from behind him without turning away from facing down Wyatt.

“Stop them, even if you have to die to do it!”

“That’s the plan! Don’t worry, I won’t let ’em lay a hand on ye!” The boy swung his sword into position and said with all the fierceness he could muster, “So just sit tight and pick yer nose or somethin’ back there!”

＊

“I’m not gonna do that, you idiot!”

With Sashalia’s shout at his back, Emon held his sword before his face in the “crown” stance often used by those who wielded longswords. As its name implied, it was a stance that prioritized protecting the swordsman’s head, but considering the size difference between the dwarf and his opponent, it basically protected his entire body.

After all that bravado, he was taking a defensive stance. Wyatt huffed in annoyance, running his eyes over Emon’s armor at the same time. It was a strange shape, far from a normal suit of armor.

“I recognize that armor.”

Though he was short in stature, his robust frame fit into a breastplate worn by a much larger man, protecting everything except his short legs. His arms were protected by smaller pauldrons and gauntlets taken from another soldier. He even had besagues to protect his armpits. Underneath, he was wearing chainmail adjusted to his size so that the joints of his armor weren’t vulnerable. On his head he wore a bascinet that protected his neck as well...his unique build made for an awkward sight, like he was just the upper half of a suit of armor with arms and legs growing out of it. The pointed face of his helm didn’t help. Maybe he looked more like some kind of turtle standing on two legs. It must have all weighed a lot, but dwarves were known for their hardiness all across the continent; though he was young, he made it look easy. In exchange, he’d sacrificed most of his mobility, and on the battlefield would be easy prey for magic staves, sorcerers, and crossbows as long as there was no arrow-deflecting magic in effect. None of that mattered in this situation, of course.

“Hmm? Forgot his name, but he was a big rapist arsehole.”

“I’m sure of it, then. That was Hubert.”

“Yer sure, eh?”

Wyatt didn’t stop observing his foe even as they exchanged words. His opponent was small, with thick armor. With this much of a difference in size between them, it would be difficult to pierce the weak spots in his defenses. He didn’t appear to be very skilled, but he had a weapon, so he couldn’t be ignored. “...What a pain.” Still, Wyatt didn’t want to use the power of the Scarlet Plate. He knew he would need its strength and the willpower to use it when facing off against Beldarus.

Clang! Wyatt’s Sword Eater thrust down towards a gap in Emon’s armor, but Emon deflected it with all he had.

“Oh?” Wyatt was impressed by the boy’s strength. A regular fighter wouldn’t have been able to overpower him.

“Dammit! I’ll kill yeh, ye bastard!” The sound of blades clashing rang out as the young dwarf continued defending, allowing his armor to take any blows that got past his sword. His reflexes weren’t bad, but his movements were very inefficient and he wasn’t skilled with the blade. Compared to the knight who had been wielding a live blade for decades, the dwarf was like a child play-fighting.

“Don’t mess with me!” The dwarf had to understand the fundamental difference in their skill levels, but it was like he was trying to make up for it through sheer force of will. Wyatt felt slight admiration for the boy, along with annoyance. He knew why he felt that way, and he hated it.

“What an irritating boy.”

“Yer the irritating one, ye dumbass! Go home!” He kept blocking Wyatt’s attacks, metal clanging against metal each time. He shifted to counterattack, and Wyatt easily dodged.

“You’re going to die if we keep this up. There’s no need to tie your fate to these dogs. I hear the dwarf population is already low...”

“Ye idiot! My brother is here! I’m not just gonna abandon ’im! Now die! Shit yerself and die! Actually, I think I’m about to shit meself!”

“Brother? ...You don’t mean a dog?”

“What else would I mean, ye numbskull?!”

“...Now I understand what kind of race could create that book. Dwarves are all beyond help.” Wyatt swung his sword calmly. Unlike his previous attacks, it was a cut with little power and low speed.

Emon fell for it, and blocked the blade with all his strength. In that instant, there was a crack! as the boy’s sword broke into pieces, shattering from the base of the blade. It was like the sword had suddenly been transformed into porcelain. Strangely, the guard broke, too.

“Whaaaaaat th’?!” Emon let out a shrill cry and Wyatt’s sword struck his helm. The metal didn’t allow the blade to pierce it, but the shock was almost like being struck with a blunt weapon. Emon gave a short piglike squeal and collapsed to the ground, rolling face-up.

“Ugh, it’s like sparring with armor on. It’s been a while since I’ve fought like that.” Wyatt held Emon down with a practiced hand and climbed on top of him, drawing a dagger from its sheath on his belt. It was a weapon called a kidney dagger, with a thin, straight blade that easily pierced the gaps and joints of armor. Since it was used to finish off armored foes, it had a reputation as a fatal, merciful blade.

＊

“Damn yeh! Lemme go! Get offa me! Only sexy ladies can sit on mgwaaah!”

Wyatt skillfully restrained the struggling dwarf under him and stabbed into the chainmail at the joint of the boy’s right elbow. The chain links, weak to this piercing attack, couldn’t defend against the specialized weapon and let the blade through.

“Yowch! That hurts! I’m gonna kill yeh, ye bastaaard!” Emon tried with all his might to shake Wyatt off, but all his efforts elicited was a slight knitting of the red-armored knight’s brow. He could use his legs and hips to neutralize all of Emon’s resistance. There was just too much of a difference between their experience and abilities.

“Of course it hurts. I’m doing this to hurt you.” He stabbed the boy’s left arm next.

“Gwaaaaah!”

“Aaaaaah!” All the kobold women screamed when Emon did.

“It’s because you would intrude on a battle like this...” The blade gouged his armpit.

“...when your mind is as immature as your swordplay...” He stabbed Emon’s leg.

“...that you’re punished like this!” Then the other leg. Each time, the boy and the kobolds screamed in unison.

“Now think about just how weak and foolhardy you are...” Wyatt got a better grip on his kidney dagger as he held the boy down.

“...and sleep!” He thrust the dagger into the boy’s armpit, aiming for his heart. This time, he wasn’t just torturing the dwarf; he was using the dagger for its intended purpose.

“So much for the great warriors, dwarves... You’re pathetic, whelp...” Wyatt muttered to himself as he stood up from the twitching dwarf and sheathed his dagger, taking up his Sword Eater once again. He turned to face the Command Center and said, “You’re next, girl.” However, Sashalia didn’t even look his way.

Wyatt stepped forward...or, he had planned to. There was a hand on his knee and arms wrapped around his legs, holding him back.

“Bfhh... I...know that...already, okay?” The boy squeezed out the words. Bloody foam leaked out from under his helm.

“You...?!” Wyatt hurriedly turned and tried to shake the boy off, but his arms were like shackles, clinging tight and unyielding. The dwarf was clinging so tightly that Wyatt was unable to bring his Sword Eater to bear on the boy’s helmet again, and his armor was too thick to damage with the sword.

Wyatt drew the kidney dagger again with his free hand and thrust it into a gap in the boy’s armor. Plunge. “Aaaaah!” The arms still clung tight. In fact, they only clung harder, the boy’s grip strengthening to the point that Wyatt feared that his legs might be broken if this continued.

“But, ye know...the old man said...he trusted me t’ defend ’em..”

“Boy...” The dagger swung down.

“An’ I told ’im...I wouldn’t let ye...lay a finger on ’em.”

“...let go...” Steel tore at flesh.

“I told Fluff, too...promised...that ’is big bro would protect ’im.”

“...of me...” The blade gouged in.

“...’n dwarves...”

“Let go!” Blood splattered.

“...they never...”

“I told you to let go of me!” The blade reached bone.

“...never...”

“Damn you!” He twisted it inside the boy.

“...LIE!”

“Don’t you say those words to me!” Wyatt’s emotions boiled over. In a rage, he plunged his dagger into Emon’s arms over and over again, but the boy still wouldn’t let go.

“Monster! You damn monster! Fine! You leave me no choice!” Wyatt tossed his dagger aside and lifted the visor to Emon’s helm. He hooked his fingers inside and ripped the bascinet off of him, exposing the boy’s bloodied face. “Let’s see if you can keep that up after I cut your head off! Show me how stubborn a dwarf can be after that!” He put the blade of Sword Eater to Emon’s neck like a saw against wood, and as a red line appeared on the dwarf’s skin—

“That’s enough! It’s enough, Emon!” The voice belonged to the redheaded half-elf who, until now, hadn’t spared a single glance at their battle, merely glaring fiercely at the map in front of her. Wyatt, who was more than a little surprised, and Emon, whose eyes had been gradually growing duller, both turned their heads to her.

“You fought well, Emon, but you’ve done enough.” Sashalia’s words were gentle as she shook her head at the young dwarf. Emon listened silently, no longer even having the strength to open his mouth.

Meanwhile, Wyatt, still shackled in the boy’s grasp, burst out laughing as if finally comprehending what was happening. “Ha...hahahaha! I see! So that’s it!”

“Yes. That’s right, Emon.”

“Is this what it took to finally convince you to give in, girl?! I don’t blame you!”

“You’ve fulfilled your mission. It’s all right now. It’s okay.”

“You did put up a good fight, boy! Right up until your ally lost heart! Hahahaha!”

Sashalia ignored the triumphant laughter from the knight in the red armor. She took a deep breath and took her glasses off, then wiped the sweat from her brow and gathered up her disheveled hair, even while she smiled at the boy who’d fulfilled his duty. There was relief in her face as she said, simply, “...We’ve won.”

Right as she finished speaking, one of the flaming houses collapsed. It hadn’t finally burned down; rather, it had been smashed by a figure that barreled through it towards them as if it couldn’t even consider taking a detour around the burning building to reach them. It groaned and huffed like a beast, covered in blood, and fearsome power swelled all through its body. There was only one person this figure could be—none other than their king, Gaius Beldarus.