Chapter 6: That Which Was Entrusted

“Fog!”

Gaius raced to the fallen warrior’s side. There was no reply. He quickly scanned her body and saw the terrible wounds she’d suffered, a large gash across her stomach.

He’d seen this before. So very many times before. And he knew just how unlikely it was that she’d recover.

Gaius turned to the others. Bloody saliva trickled from Fluff’s slightly open mouth as he lay unconscious. There were no visible wounds on the young boy’s body, but he guessed one of the adventurers must have punched or kicked him. Whatever the cause, it was apparent that his condition was critical.

Fishbone moaned feebly in between ragged, pained breaths, just barely conscious; he, too, was in grave danger. Blossom, though badly shaken, was fortunately uninjured. Emon’s head was so grotesquely caved in that Gaius jumped in surprise when he heard the dwarf’s voice.

“I’m...sorry...” With tremendous effort, Emon managed to lift his head ever so slightly and choke out the words. A human would have long since succumbed to his wounds.

“I’m going to carry you back to the village.”

“So...rry...I’m...so...”

“Don’t try to speak!”

“I’m...so sorry...Fl...uff...”

Gaius bit down hard on his lip. He scooped Emon up, set him on his back, and used his handkerchief to tie the young man’s hands around his neck. Under better circumstances, Gaius would have carried him with much more care, but there was no other option now. He gently lifted the three kobolds in his arms, then turned to Blossom.

“Stay here! I’ll send someone to come and get you!” With that, he took off, running for the village as fast as he could.

＊

“Light the fireplace and boil some water! You there, go fetch some water and a bowl! Hurry, you numbskulls! Ladies, go grab some clean cloth, as much as you can!”

Fog’s house was packed with as many villagers as could fit inside, and the village elder shouted commands at the group.

“Hopping Rabbit, go and fetch your medicines! Especially some bewitching herb! You there, go outside and build a fire near the house! It’ll please the fire spirits and ward off the evil ones! And it’ll attract the spirits of healing!”

One by one, the villagers took off to fulfill their respective tasks. Gaius, Sashalia, Darke, Fishbone’s parents, and the elder stood over the wounded, watching over them with clenched fists and bated breath.

“This is my fault. The children got far too used to my being here...they stopped feeling wary of humans...”

“Shut it, you big oaf!” the elder rebuked him. Gaius hung his head. Sashalia thought to comfort him, but once she saw the clear anguish in his face, she hesitated.

...The situation was dire. It was clear how terrible Fog’s and Emon’s wounds were, but no one knew the extent of the two boys’ internal injuries. To treat them, they would need a specialized facility, operated by a sorcerer trained in the healing arts—none of which they had in the village.

The village elder had done what he could, calling to the spirits of the departed, but they could not heal such wounds; spirit magic could only accelerate one’s natural healing ability to suppress poison, rot, and other such ailments.

Emon opened his eyes, whispering, “Sa...shalia...”

“Emon?! Don’t push yourself, you need to rest!”

“I’ll...be...fine...”

“‘Fine?!’ You should see yourself! Your head, it’s...!”

“I said...I’ll be...fine! Dwarves...don’t lie!” Emon growled as he struggled to hoist himself to his feet, wobbling like a newborn attempting to walk for the first time. He slumped against the wall and dragged himself forward little by little.

Sashalia leapt up to help him, and together they made their way to Emon’s bag. He collapsed onto his knees and fumbled through his belongings until he felt his fingers close around what he was looking for, then held it up: the small bottle of red liquid.

“That’s the medicine we talked about before, isn’t it?” Sashalia said as Emon held it out to her.

“Use it...” Despite his protests, it was clear Emon was pushing himself harder than he should have been. As soon as Sashalia took the bottle from him, he sank back down onto the floor.

“Ye can...use it on their wounds...to seal ’em up...or make them...drink it...to heal their...insides...”

“How much should I give them?!”

“Dwarves need...tae drink the whole bottle...but if ye’re...applyin’ it to wounds...ye’ll know when it’s enough...”

“Okay, Emon,” Sashalia said, squeezing the bottle tightly. “I’ll make sure the others get the proper dose.”

“Than—” Emon had meant to thank her, but could no longer hold on and passed out once again.

“The spirits say they can feel the magic in that medicine! Hurry up and give it to them!”

“Over here, Lady Denan!” Darke waved her over.

But they’d all realized the same fact: there simply was not enough medicine for everyone. Only a little remained, just as it had when Emon had shown it to the rest of the group. Even taking the kobolds’ smaller bodies into account, there was not even enough to treat one dwarf, let alone the three kobolds.

Gaius was the first one to break the silence. “What if you gave each of them a little bit of the medicine...? Just enough to keep them alive?”

Sashalia shook her head. “That might work with normal medicine, but this is magical. I’ve read about similar potions in the castle library: this one most likely works by catalyzing the magical elements in the body. You need to administer a fixed amount in proportion to the patient’s body mass. Anything less than that, and the magical reaction might not occur.”

“Then...”

“Like Emon said, we should be able to heal Fog’s wound with this, because we can observe its effects. But for the boys’ internal injuries...” Sashalia’s expression turned even darker. “...all we can do is try it and hope for the best.”

With each kobold they treated, the others’ chances of survival diminished greatly—that was the part she couldn’t bring herself to say.

Darke, on the other hand, asked the question that had been hanging over their heads: “Sir Gaius, Lady Denan...who should we treat first?”

If they used all the medicine on one, they might be saved, but that would mean leaving the others to die.

Gaius’s reply came without hesitation. “The children, of course.”

Sashalia blurted out in surprise, “But Sir Gaius, that means Fog will...” Even though she understood Fog would want them to do the same, her heart hadn’t yet accepted it.

As if to dispel her conflicted emotions, the village elder spoke with a powerful conviction. “He’s right, young lady! Even Gaius has good ideas now and again.”

“But Fog...!”

“I’m so sorry, Fog...if only I’d found you sooner...”

At the sound of their voices, Fog’s eyelids slowly fluttered open.

“I’m...so glad you did...that was enough for me. So, please...just do it...it hurts...”

With that, Darke quickly poured a tiny amount of the medicine onto a spoon and carried it up to Fluff’s mouth.

The magic seemed to take effect as soon as she poured the medicine in. The liquid was absorbed almost instantly, and soon, they could see a faint red glow emanating from the skin beneath Fluff’s fur. They began to hear a soft sound reminiscent of a chanting voice, and his whole body grew noticeably warmer. His irregular breathing soon settled down and before long his anguished face started to look as though he was sleeping peacefully.

“It looks like it worked...!” Darke exclaimed and everyone else heaved sighs of relief. She quickly gave Fishbone a dose as well, and his pain also seemed to wane. Behind her, Red Eye and his wife swooped down to scoop up their son into an embrace.

Fog watched the emotional scene then beckoned to Gaius. “If I don’t...make it...I’m counting on you to...take care of the kids...and the village... After all, you’re...one of us.”

“...You can trust me.”

It took Fog all the strength she had to utter those words; like Emon, she soon fell back into unconsciousness.

“Even with the bewitching herb there to help numb the wound, that kind of pain would be too much for anyone to bear,” said the elder. “It’s for the best that she isn’t awake.”

It was time for the final treatment. Everyone looked down at Darke’s hands. As they’d expected, they saw only the tiniest amount of red liquid remaining in the bottle, even less than she’d administered to each child.

“We should apply it to her wound, like Emon said,” prompted Gaius.

“That does seem to be our only option, but...even if I attempt to pour the medicine onto the wound, I cannot ensure it will reach all the way down. And once the medicine heals over the surface, we’ll never know whether or not it truly fixed everything.”

“That’s true. I can ask the spirits to help, but if Fog’s body doesn’t have enough strength left to recover...”

Though imperfect, it was the only plan they had, as Darke had said, so she and the elder soon set about implementing it. Darke tilted the bottle over Fog’s abdomen and poured the rest of the medicine onto the stab wound as the village elder resumed his communication with the spirits. Everyone then waited to see if Fog’s body could take care of the rest. In the end, her fate would come down to her own strength.

＊

Fog awoke with a small groan, as though she’d been taking an afternoon nap. On the side of her makeshift bed sat Gaius, cradling the still-sleeping Fluff in his arms, and Blossom, who couldn’t stop sniffling.

“Oh man, was I asleep...? I need to get started on dinner, or else...” Fog’s face was peaceful and relaxed.

“That’s right,” Gaius replied, smiling kindly down at her. Fog was still under the anaesthetic effects of the bewitching herb; she had no recollection of what had happened, at least for the moment.

“Fluff looks as dopey as ever when he sleeps. Gosh, I feel so out of it...Blossom? Is it alright if I make kobroth again tonight?”

The young girl’s head was slumped forward, and she gave the tiniest nod in reply.

“Good...I’m just going to get a little more sleep before I get started on that... Can you tuck Fluff in for me? Make sure he gets all wrapped up in his blanket.”

Blossom gave another almost imperceptible nod.

“Wonder if I have enough...vegetables...” Fog’s voice trailed off as if falling asleep—she’d lost consciousness once again. For a moment, a heavy silence filled the small house.

Suddenly, Fog’s body twitched violently. Her face, which had been peaceful just seconds before, contorted in agony. Gaius held her down to keep her from thrashing, a different sort of pain etched in his face.

She’d lost too much blood. Her body couldn’t hold out for much longer. Even with the bewitching herb to lessen the pain, even after passing out, the fact that she was still suffering so much was a terrible sign.

The village elder leaned in close to Gaius. “The spirits say they’ve done all they can.”

Gaius closed his eyes.

“Miss Sashalia. Darke. I’d like you to take the children over to Red Eye’s house.”

The two women nodded. Darke took Fluff from Gaius’s arms as Sashalia held a hand out to Blossom, and the four of them left the house. Gaius waited until he was sure they were out of earshot before turning back to the elder.

“We should end her pain.”

“Yes...she’s fought hard. But can you do it?”

Gaius nodded. He reached down to his waist, where he wore his short sword, and unsheathed it. Gripping the blade with both hands, he held it up to eye level and said, in a voice that seemed to come from deep within him:

“It’s something I’ve done many times before.”

＊

From the outskirts of the village, columns of smoke rose up into the star-filled sky.

Several stakes had been driven into the ground and were now burning gently.

According to kobold folklore, all souls on this world came down from the stars, and would eventually return.

The smoke was said to help carry them back to the skies in a ritual called the “star send-off.” Sending the deceased back home allowed those who remained to remember the lives of the departed and say one final farewell.

One man and two children stared up at the smoke disappearing into the sky, watching Fog return to her place among those twinkling lights.

Tears dripped from Blossom’s muzzle as she sniffled again and again. Fluff had recovered and was now awake, but did not yet fully comprehend what was happening.

Gaius sat down in the grass and pulled the two in close, crossing his legs so they could each sit on one of his knees. The other villagers had all returned home, most likely to give them some time alone.

He drew Stingfeather and plunged it deep into the earth. “My offering to you.”

With a sigh that seemed to come from the very bottom of his heart, he brought a hand up to each child’s back and stroked them as the three continued to gaze up at the waning smoke.

“Fog was an incredibly brave, magnificent warrior...”

Gaius’s voice hitched.

“...and above all else, she was your mother, right down to the very last moment.”

He looked down at the children, a small smile on his face. Blossom and Fluff gazed back up at him in confusion, sniffling.

“...It’s all right if you don’t understand. I just wanted to tell you that.” He brought a finger up to Fluff’s face and stroked him under his chin. “We can talk about it again when you get older.”

The three turned their gazes back to the stars once more.

Long after the fires had burned out and the smoke stopped rising from the smoldering wood, they watched as Fog’s soul made its way back to the stars.

＊

After the dust and smoke from Fog’s funeral had settled, all the adults of the village gathered in the town square along with Gaius. The topic of the meeting was what their next moves should be—and how they needed to begin acting from now on.

Sashalia stood beside Gaius. Emon had also wanted to attend, but he had stayed in bed at everyone’s insistence to continue his recovery. Darke had stayed behind as well, to console the heartbroken children.

“So they were adventurers...” Red Eye said, a hand on his chin. “I’m glad you got rid of them all. At least there’s that.”

He’d known Fog since they were children, but right now, the village needed him—he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to his grief.

They’d inspected the adventurers’ belongings and learned of their affiliation with the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild. Just as Fog had learned, the kobolds’ sharp noses confirmed that they were indeed the group that had destroyed their last home. Judging from the several large burlap sacks they all carried, they’d most likely come to pillage any valuables the kobolds might have had.

“Gaius, you think there’s a chance any humans will come for payback?” Red Eye asked.

“Adventurers will go to any means to get what they want, no matter how underhanded. But that also means they won’t do something if they see no benefit in it for themselves. They might have some kind of code of honor, but...it isn’t strong enough to make most willing to brave the Greatwood.”

Sashalia nodded. “It’s just assumed that anyone who goes missing in the forest was killed by a magical beast.”

Red Eye said, “But Gaius killed all of them. Doesn’t that mean our village being here is still a secret?”

Sashalia said, “It’s very likely they told someone where they were going. And there’s no guarantee that was their entire party, either.”

“So basically, we could get hit again at any time?”

“Yes. However, at least we know the direction they’ll come from: the dried-out river.”

“How do you know that, Sashalia?”

“Kobolds can freely traverse the forest, but to humans the Greatwood is something to be avoided at almost all costs. So if someone absolutely had to go any distance into it, they’d take the easiest route through it they could.” Once she’d explained it that way, the kobolds nodded in understanding.

“That’s why I suggest that we dig a trench around where the riverbed enters the clearing. We should also assign lookouts in shifts to keep watch. That way, no intruders would go unnoticed. The lookouts can light a signal fire to alert the village—although that would also tip off any enemies, and could be hampered by the weather... We’d need someone who can run back and relay messages and so on, so ideally there would be three lookouts in position at any one time, in two different locations if possible. That should provide the bare minimum level of surveillance, I think.”

Sashalia was right to consider these preventative measures, but the village had been short-handed even after Gaius and the others arrived. To take able-bodied villagers away from the other daily necessities—building, hunting, farming—seemed unfeasible. Even if no one came to loot the village, the kobolds would surely succumb to the strain of remaining on high alert and keeping watch at all hours.

“You know, Sashalia, you’re smarter than I thought.” Rain Grass nodded,

“Oh, well, thank y—wait, ‘than you thought’?”

Instead of responding, Rain Grass turned to Gaius and said, “Even if someone comes looking for revenge, we have you here with us so we’ll be fine! I heard from Emon that your people used to call you the ‘Slayer of Fifty.’”

Gaius grimaced. “That was nothing but an awful rumor that spread after the war. It wasn’t that I cut down that many people at the same time. My reach is longer than most, that’s true, but I doubt I could defend against dozens of assailants at once. And...”

“‘And’...?”

As long as Gaius could still swing a sword, he would fight. But he wasn’t the same young knight he’d been twenty, or even ten, years ago; the years had begun to take their toll, and any injury or illness that might befall him would take him much longer to recover from. Gaius had to admit to himself that he could not defend the village single-handedly; staking all their hopes on him was far too risky.

“N-No, it’s nothing.” He shook his head, both to dispel their queries and to clear the thought from his mind.

Fog had been right to suggest that every adult in the village learn how to defend themselves. As things were, Gaius had doubts that any five or six kobolds would have been able to take down even one of the adventurers that had attacked. Whether or not any of the others would ever grow to be as skilled as she had been, the most important goal now was to close that gap as much as possible before any other assailants could arrive.

Gaius cleared his throat before speaking up again. “In addition to keeping watch, we should also prepare ourselves for combat. I can train anyone who is willing to learn.”

“Yeah!”

“Count me in!”

“I thought you’d never say it!”

Red Eye, Rain Grass, and the other adults all nodded and voiced their agreement. All but one: the village elder, who stood glaring at Gaius, his gaze burning with even more anger than when the man had first arrived in the village.

“Have you all forgotten already? It’s his fault. If he’d never showed up here, the children would have run from those humans! Fog might not have died!”

Gaius flinched, but said nothing. He felt the exact same way.

Rain Grass, on the other hand, shouted, “You shut your mouth right now!” He stormed right up to the elder and shoved the old kobold to the ground. “How many do you think we’d have lost without Gaius? Huh?! You tell me!”

“Hah! He’s still nothing but a human. If things had gotten that bad he’d have turned tail and run away!”

“‘Run away’...? You’re gonna accuse someone else of running away? You?!”

“That’s enough, Rain Grass! Don’t say any more!” Red Eye rushed forward to stop his friend, who had been advancing on the village elder; other kobolds jumped in to help him hold Rain Grass back.

Gaius merely stood there with his eyes closed, his mouth a thin, hard line.

＊

Wyatt’s personal office was on the second floor of the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild. The desk and chair were purely utilitarian and clearly not selected for comfort or style, but landscapes painted by a popular artist lined the walls and an antique vase sat on a shelf in the corner. The room’s strange juxtaposition of austerity and adornment reflected its owner.

Wyatt sat at the desk, a map dotted with numerous x-marks spread before him. He tapped one in irritation as he muttered under his breath, “McArdle should have returned from his job by now...”

The dispute for the leadership of House Zigan was on the verge of all-out war between Keighley’s and Dugard’s forces. Loyalties were split in roughly equal amounts between the house vassals, but Keighley’s personal forces beat out her younger brother’s in sheer numbers. Recently, Dugard had begun recruiting the aid of mercenaries to gain the upper hand, which in turn made Keighley eager to settle the matter once and for all before she lost her numerical superiority. Sending McArdle and his band of rogues to lay waste to that settlement wearing Dugard’s crest had been Wyatt’s way of moving things along. He’d won Keighley’s trust by eagerly taking up many shady jobs just like it.

Despite his achievements in the Five-Year War, when you came right down to it, the elites still looked at Wyatt and saw nothing more than a social climber of common birth. He needed something more than military exploits in order to earn the recognition he craved, which is why he had sought out the position of guildmaster. Though he presided over a bunch of adventurers that could only charitably be called “competent,” it was still an extraordinary feat for someone without political connections to attain such a post.

Together with this achievement, the imminent infighting would kill two birds with one stone; Wyatt could rack up even more recognition for his feats on the battlefield while also earning even more of Keighley’s favor by helping her wipe out the vassals of House Zigan that opposed her. The Adventurers’ Guild was also a good source of manpower, which he’d been ordered to gather by Keighley.

She’d also secured assurances from the prime minister that the king—his son-in-law—would not interfere with House Zigan’s affairs. Keighley’s victory was all but assured on all fronts. All that remained was for the armed conflict to break out, where Wyatt would prove himself before the nobility of Igris. This time, they’d have no choice but to acknowledge his worth. Everything was falling into place...

...so why was he so frustrated?

In his heart of hearts, he knew exactly what—or who—was the cause.

Lord Beldarus. The man who, despite his illegitimate birth, earned himself the title of baron with nothing but his blade. Wyatt had admired the Black Rose of Igris like no one else. Gaius Beldarus was the shining example of the principle Wyatt had once lived by: that one could climb the ladder to such heights through valorous deeds of arms.

And Lord Beldarus had thrown all of that away without the slightest trace of regret. As though he’d never wanted it in the first place. As though he’d never realized how valuable it all was. When he’d heard this, Wyatt felt as though everything he held dear had been rejected. The words were like filthy boots trampling over all his struggles and determination, his past, even his very existence. In that moment, Wyatt felt as though he could have killed the man.

As the encounter replayed itself in Wyatt’s head, the anger filled his heart once more, threatening to overflow. Wyatt brought his fist down hard on the desk in an attempt to vent some of his black rage, making the ink bottle resting near the map jump slightly, then swept a stack of books across the desk and sent them fluttering to the floor. He still had enough restraint, however, to lash out in a calculated way; he’d purposely spared the ink bottle to avoid the mess, but targeted the books, which would be much easier to pick up.

After Wyatt was sure his anger had abated, he rose from his chair and walked over to the scattered books. He knelt down and calmly stacked them, snorting in self-derision at his childish fit, then took them over to the bookshelf.

This one goes here, and this one is...yes, over here...

As Wyatt held the last book in his hands, his eyes passed over the faded title printed on its well worn spine: “Iron Knight Iwanoshin,” a dwarven illustrated book that had enjoyed some popularity years ago.

“Now this takes me back,” Wyatt chuckled to himself, then searched for the book’s proper place on the shelf. His father had brought it home to him as a birthday present when he was a young boy, and he and his friends had re-read it countless times. The story itself was very simple: a valiant tale of a noble knight triumphing over evil and saving the weak. Still, it had left a huge impression on him, and in truth this story was the whole reason he’d taken up the sword in the first place.

He’d worked himself to the bone and realized he had true talent even before he saw real combat. He’d slain many knights in the war, and managed to become one himself thanks to his service.

Wyatt flipped idly through the book, the breeze from the fluttering pages tickling his face. “‘Dwarves never lie,’ huh...” he laughed to himself once again as he recalled Iwanoshin’s catchphrase.

You could say this book made me who I am today.

Yes, this tale set him on his current path. And yet...Wyatt tried to put himself back in the shoes of himself as a boy and recall just what it was he’d wanted when he’d picked up a sword for the first time. No matter how he searched through his memories, he couldn’t recall just what that motivation was.

＊

Cyril was in the best mood he’d been in for a long time as he made his way back to Ryburgh. He walked with a spring in his step, feeling as though he could jump for joy with every stride.

Theron’s dead! I’m free! And I didn’t have to lift a finger to get rid of him! Now I can finally go home! He rejoiced on the inside as he pumped his fists in triumph.

Cyril and Theron never did get along, even as children. He’d never wanted to tag along with Theron the way he had, helping him as he fled from one domain to the next.

Unfortunately for Cyril, Theron had known his darkest secret.

It had all started one summer, when Cyril was eighteen.

Lily, the girl he’d loved, had been unfaithful. Cyril killed her in a blind rage. He’d then carried her body into the woods in the hopes that he could disguise her death as a magical beast attack, the kind of thing that happened all the time out on the frontier. The whole plan had gone off without a hitch...except that Theron had seen the cover-up.

And so, Cyril had been forced into the life of an adventurer, living life as Theron’s lackey under the threat of having his secret exposed, doing whatever he was told.

When Theron had insisted on venturing back into the Greatwood, Cyril knew this was his chance at freedom—there was no way he’d let it slip by, even if it meant the deaths of the rest of the party. In fact, he welcomed that outcome.

Cyril hummed to himself as he walked into the Adventurers’ Guild, strolling up to the clerk’s desk to report their deaths and submit his resignation.

＊

“Heard about what happened to your party. It’s a real shame.”

Cyril looked up from his forms and found himself face-to-face with an enormous man, even larger than Graeme. His head was shaved, and his face looked as though it was etched from stone.

“Oh, Hubert. Thanks...we went into the Greatwood on a survey job, but these dog goblins swarmed us. There were too many of them, and the others, they...”

The “surveys” Cyril referred to were jobs regularly offered to adventurers all over Igris. Just as a splinter is pushed out of the skin, every so often, a strange, ark-like ship would emerge from the Greatwood. They were almost always empty, but on occasion they contained valuables: ancient relics, mythril, and other treasures. A religious order even claimed to have once found an angel slumbering in one of the ships; it was also not uncommon to find dangerous magical beasts on board.

Adventurers were dispatched as a preliminary measure, to assess the situation aboard these arks. Domains would outsource the task, enticing adventurers to brave the woods and report their findings in exchange for rewards. The practice had become so widespread that some adventures specialized solely in such jobs.

“I see. A damn shame, that. You must be real cut up about it.” Hubert nodded to himself as though he already knew that for a fact. Even if Cyril had been lamenting their deaths, he never would have said so. He knew that Hubert couldn’t care less about his feelings. If anything, he would have enjoyed Cyril’s sorrow, had there been any—he was the type to revel in the misfortune of others. Cyril wanted as little to do with the man as possible.

“Yes, I’m truly shocked. Now, I really should finish these forms, so if you’ll excuse me...” He turned back to his paperwork, but a huge hand clapped down hard on his shoulder.

“Hold it, pal. You know your buddy Theron and his gang owed me money, right?”

“I-I do, but I never borrowed a single coin from you...”

“True, true. But I’ve got something here you oughta look at.”

Hubert reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He spread it out on the table before Cyrus, revealing a promissory note signed by Theron.

“See this? You’re listed as the guarantor.”

“Whaaat?!” Cyril’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head. He couldn’t deny it—there was his name, clear as day. “B-B-But I never signed this!”

“I don’t give a damn who wrote it.” Hubert sneered, baring his pointed teeth like a shark who’d caught up to the wounded seal he’d been chasing down. “That’s your name, and that means you’ve got until the end of the month to pay up.”

Cyril cursed Theron again and again in his heart. If his “childhood friend” weren’t already lying dead in the woods, he’d strangle the man himself. His vision swam as his heart hammered in his chest.

What do I do? What do I do?!

“Don’t think you can weasel your way out of this, either,” Hubert leaned in and hissed in his ear. Cyril was on the verge of full-blown panic, until—

—at the last second, a flash of inspiration struck him.

“...No, I won’t run away. In fact, I have an idea of how to pay you back in full. Maybe even more than Theron owed you.”

“Oh? Out with it, then.” Hubert’s terrible smirk was back, only this time, Cyril smiled along with him.

The answer was so clear, so simple: all he had to do was take Hubert to the dog village as well. That monster of a man would take care of him, just like he got rid of Theron and the others. And if by some miracle Hubert were to kill the man instead, then he could raid the village and get his money’s worth.

Cyril’s panic had completely vanished, as though nothing had ever gone wrong at all. He hid his malicious plan behind a beaming smile as he sat down and drew up an entirely different plan with Hubert.

＊

“Hubert wants to go and avenge Theron...?” When he heard the guild clerk’s report, Wyatt was somewhat taken aback. He knew exactly the kind of man Hubert was, and only kept him around for his talents at drawing in—and trapping—new recruits.

“It doesn’t matter. Tell him he can go if he wants...on second thought, don’t.” The clerk froze, having turned to leave the office.

“Theron’s party died on the outskirts of the Greatwood...around here, was it?” Wyatt pointed to the map, still spread across his desk.

“That’s right,” the clerk nodded. “That’s what they say.”

Wyatt rubbed his chin in thought. This was convenient for him—extremely so. Just as he’d sent McArdle to lay siege in Dugard’s name, he could round up more adventurers and have them do the same along the way; the point on the map was very close to the site of McArdle’s latest job. He’d outfit them in armor with Dugard’s crest and send them off to light another pitiful settlement up in flames. They’d kill off all but a few of the residents and let the survivors spread the news of another act of atrocity.

“All right.” Wyatt looked up from the map. “Tell them I’m coming with them. Put out a guild order to all available adventurers—we’ll need the manpower. And tell Hubert to let me know when he wants to set out.”

＊

Some time after the humans’ plan began to come together, back at the kobold village square...

“Hey, gramps, let’s get back tae trainin’ already,” a perfectly healthy Emon called out to Gaius, who sat whittling a tree branch.

“We can train some more after I finish this,” Gaius replied. “I’m going to show the kobolds how to lay traps.”

“What’s that stick for?”

“A pitfall.”

“What, are ye and the wee ones gonna play a prank on the elder?”

“No, nothing as silly as that. It’s to thwart any potential invaders. I’m sharpening sticks to plant in the bottom of the pit. If one catches an enemy in the leg, they’ll be unable to continue on.”

“Crivvens...and how about this prickly thing, all wrapped up in rope?”

“We’re going to hang those in between the trees at the forest’s edge. When someone trips a rope attached to that log, it’ll swing down like a pendulum and strike them.”

“And this?”

“That will fire arrows when someone walks into this string here.”

“How about all these?”

“You drive these stakes into a flexible tree branch, bend it backward, then tie this rope like so. When someone steps on this part, it releases the branch, which springs back and drives the stakes into their torso.”

“Gramps, weren’t you a knight?”

“I was, yes.”

“Don’t knights fight all, y’know, dignified and one-on-one? Real proper-like?”

Gaius laughed. “Only in stories. Well, not quite...there certainly are a good number of knights that still think that way. They believe a warrior’s most noble calling is to best their opponent in direct, open combat.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“I don’t,” Gaius replied as he resumed whittling. “Although I can see why people admire those who live by the sword.”

“Then what’s so wrong with it?”

“Those who choose that path are free to do as they see fit. But Emon, most of the time, those who fight aren’t motivated by such lofty ideals.”

Gaius set down the newly completed stake, then picked up another branch and set about sharpening it as he spoke.

“Many, many people charge into battle thinking only of achieving glory—and they die pointlessly, blinded by their ambitions. That’s why I don’t concern myself with ‘knightly’ ways.”

Wood shavings flew this way and that.

“A head-on battle is only a good idea when your forces outnumber theirs, or when there’s no other option. The best outcome is to avoid combat altogether—and if that’s impossible, to halt their advance before the two sides meet. If it comes to that, one should aim to ambush the enemy and overwhelm them before they have the chance to recover.”

“I dunno if a knight should be talkin’ like this...”

“It’s the truth—and I knew you’d be upset with me if I told you this during training,” Gaius said, looking back down at his work with a small smile on his face.

＊

“...and all of these traps can be made from materials found in the forest.”

Gaius stood before a group of kobold men, teaching them how to make the traps he’d showed Emon. They nodded, eager to set about making them right away.

“All right! Let’s get started!” One cried out, but Red Eye held up a hand.

“Wait. First, we should scout out the best spots to set them. It’d be fastest to make the parts back home and carry them out to the forest once we know where they’re going.”

Right on cue, the village elder scoffed. “You’re all a bunch of simpletons, buying into these pea-brained human schemes.”

Sashalia did her best to avoid any more argument by ignoring the comment. “That’s right, Red Eye, the forest is so vast that we can’t just set them anywh—”

“Listen, I’ve had it up to here with you,” Rain Grass cut her off to point an angry finger at the elder. “How many times do we have to tell you to shut it?!”

It seemed he still burned with anger over his last confrontation with the older kobold. Since the others had stepped in between them that time, he hadn’t been able to vent all his anger, and it flared back to life now at the elder’s latest derisive remark. He marched forward, pushing those in front of him out of the way, and delivered a swift punch to the old kobold’s jaw.

Or, at least, that’s what he’d set out to do. With surprising agility, the elder stepped out of the way and countered with a swift left jab into Rain Grass’s stomach. The blow sent him tumbling backwards, and he crashed to the ground at Gaius’s feet. No one had ever seen the village elder move like that.

“You old piece of—I’m gonna—!” Rain Grass sputtered as he scrambled back onto his feet.

“Still learning how to use your words, little pup? Just try and hit me again!”

Gaius grabbed Rain Grass by both arms before he could act on whatever threat he was trying to verbalize. He picked the kobold up, sat down cross-legged and set him down in his lap. He then began to vigorously pet and scratch Rain Grass’s arms, belly, and cheeks, all the while murmuring, “There, there. Who’s a good boy?”

Rain Grass tried to wriggle free, snarling “Let me go! Get off me! I said let me go...!” Before long, his struggling grew more and more languid, and his growls turned into murmurs of satisfaction. He settled into Gaius’s lap, his foot occasionally kicking and twitching.

Gaius massaged and kneaded his face, gently pulling at the excess skin on his cheeks. Not only had he managed to completely dispel Rain Grass’s anger, the kobold himself was practically melting into a puddle before everyone’s eyes.

“Oh, wow...”

“That looks...kinda nice...”

“Yeah, I wanna go next!”

“How’s it feel, Rain Grass?”

“Yeah, tell us!”

Rain Grass murmured, “...like a bride just after her wedding night.”

“Eww!”

Everyone who had been leaning in immediately backed away like oil being parted by water. Sashalia, who had been standing off to the side with a strange expression, tried to dispel some of the discomfort with an awkward, unnaturally loud cough.

“R-Right, so about those traps...”

Once again, she was interrupted—this time, by a terrified voice shouting at them from the distance.

“We’re in trouble!”

Everyone turned in the direction of the shout to see a young kobold running at full speed toward the village square; she was one of the lookouts on duty that day, and even before she reached them, everyone knew what her presence meant. Even Rain Grass, a puddle of contentment just moments before, snapped to attention with a grim look on his face.

“Humans! There’s a group of humans in the forest!”

＊

Many, many years ago, at a time when fully equipped armies were a rare sight...

After suffering several crushing losses at the hands of the neighboring kingdoms, Igris’s royal family devised a last-ditch effort to bolster their defenses. They gathered their most elite soldiers from domains throughout the kingdom, outfitted them in chainmail armor, and sent them off to battle. This new unit went on to achieve one glorious victory after another, and thus, the Knights of the Chain was born.

As time went on, the Knights lay the chainmail to rest, instead choosing to wear jacks, leather vests interwoven with hundreds of small metal plates. A jack was less durable, but easier to make and maintain. It was also easier to put on and take off, which could mean the difference between life and death when tending to a comrade’s wounds on the battlefield. One could also decorate their jack, and they made the wearer look somewhat less intimidating—both of which made them an ideal choice of armor, as the Knights were constantly seen going to and from the king’s castle.

...Unfortunately, they tended to smell rather unpleasant, as they were impossible to wash.

Gaius, Sashalia, and Darke were busy outfitting themselves in their knight’s armor, helping each other fasten ties here and clasp buckles there. Each wore a jack, leather guards, and gauntlets.

Darke had also put on her brimmed cap and had thrown a mantle over her shoulders. “I believe we’re ready to get into formation. Shall we make for the village square?”

With that, the three former knights left Fog’s house, with Emon trailing behind them, sword in hand.

“Ahh, I’ve been waitin’ to put me skills to use!” he beamed, bursting with excitement at the thought of chivalrous combat.

Unfortunately, Gaius did not share his enthusiasm. “Emon, you won’t be coming with us—we need you to stay here.”

“What?! Why?! I need tae go avenge Fog, too!” The clear shock and hurt in his voice showed how unprepared he was to hear these orders.

“That’s exactly why I can’t bring you along,” Gaius replied.

Darke put a hand on Emon’s shoulder. “Don’t be selfish, now. Please try to understand.”

But Emon pushed her hand away and blurted out, “Don’t be treatin’ me like a wee lad!”

“This isn’t about vengeance,” said Gaius. “We’re going to negotiate—to ask them to leave this village alone.”

“Ye won’t have tae negotiate for anythin’ if ye jest kill the whole lot of ’em!”

This time, Sashalia replied. “It isn’t that simple. Last time, Sir Gaius only had to take down a few adventurers. But, according to the scouts, this time there are well over forty humans. And even if we did manage to beat them back, all they would have to do is come back with even more people. Then what would we do?”

“D-Do our best and beat them all?”

Gaius replied with a voice that was gentle yet firm. “The more we fight, the greater our losses, in numbers and in morale. The kobolds wouldn’t have been able to repel those adventurers, let alone the entire guild. These people might return with an entire town’s worth of forces, or they may even enlist the aid of one of House Zigan’s armies. I’ve seen matters escalate to that degree before.”

“That’s why they need to try and negotiate first,” said Sashalia. “You aren’t as used to the forest as the kobolds, so you need to stay here. If worse comes to worst, you need to help them get to safety.”

Reluctantly, she left Gaius’s side and walked up to Emon. “And I will, too.”

“But... Ye mean big sis is goin’ and ye’re not?”

Sashalia winced at the question but soon recovered, replying with a nod. Seeing her do her best to suppress her own disappointment, Emon heaved a deep sigh and gave a very reluctant nod of his own.

“Alrigh’...but next time, ye better take me with you.”

“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time,” Gaius replied. “Miss Sashalia, I’m leaving the village to you.”

“Understood.” As though willing her emotions to settle down, Sashalia brought a fist to her chest, saluting Gaius and Darke as they departed.

＊

When Gaius and Darke arrived at the village square, they were greeted with the sight of around fifty kobolds armed with spears, bows, and other weapons. They’d gathered the strongest villagers, most of whom were from the hunting party; most of the group was huddled around something. Their wives, mothers, and children stood around them, waiting to bid them farewell.

“So that’s human armor, huh...” Red Eye looked up to greet the three as they approached. On the ground was a map Gaius had drawn, based on the kobolds’ description of the surrounding forest. Two stones rested on the map: a black one to represent the incoming band of humans, and a white one to mark their own forces.

“One of the boys tracking them’s just come back. He says they’re on foot, but moving pretty quickly—at this rate, they’ll be here before sundown.”

“I see...and I heard someone say they weren’t very well equipped, is that right?” Gaius turned to the young kobold scout, who nodded. “Then they’re either a band of adventurers or mercenaries, most likely the former. An army would be more heavily armored.”

“And even with the path leading them through the forest, I doubt they’ll want to stop and set up camp,” Darke said, ending with her peculiar cackle. The incoming humans would most likely march through the day, spend the night in the village once they’d concluded their terrible business, then head back to Ryburgh in the morning.

“There’s something I want to make sure of,” said Rain Grass, crossing his arms. “We’re just going to be hiding nearby, right?” Like Emon, he’d been strongly opposed to the prospect of negotiations at first, but was now doing his best to hold back his temper and cooperate.

“That’s right,” Gaius replied. “If all goes well, no one will need to draw their weapons. But if the worst does come to pass...”

The village elder tried to interject once again, but this time Darke stepped forward to disable him with scratches and belly rubs. All the other kobolds nodded, the group buzzing with voices of affirmation. Behind them, Sashalia looked on, visibly restless.

＊

“Now how the hell did this happen?” grumbled Hubert, a sour look on his already grim face. Cyril shot him a sidelong glare and on the inside, spat back, That’s what I want to know!

The two walked side by side, bringing up the rear as their group walked along the dried riverbed. They had originally only planned to bring along an additional ten guild members. However, when Wyatt had announced he would be accompanying them, the numbers had swelled to nearly fifty adventurers.

On the one hand, their numbers meant they did not have to fear magical beast attacks, and they would be more than able to completely overwhelm the village of dogs that Cyril had described. There was one downside, though...

“At this rate, my cut of the loot isn’t gonna be more than a few coins!” Hubert growled. Guild rules stipulated that all gains were to be divided equally among the party, and with the guildmaster himself present, there was no chance he could take the lion’s share as he had planned. This meant that Cyril’s plan to claw his way out of the hole Theron had dug for him was also unraveling.

Damn it all... Cyril cursed Wyatt inwardly. It was the perfect plan... Why is my luck so terrible?!

Whether Hubert stole his money from those dog-goblins, or whether that terrifying farmer killed him, Cyril would have been freed either way. Now, though, he could see neither a way to get rid of Hubert nor any other way to scrape together the money he needed. Cyril wanted nothing more than to scream and shout his frustration, but he just barely managed to content himself with the occasional kick at the sandy riverbed.

Hubert stepped in front of him, bringing his face close to Cyril’s as he whispered, “Hey. You’ve already scouted this area out, right?” His breath reeked.

“O-Oh...I did. Just before our party set out.”

“Ssh! Keep it down!” Hubert hissed. “That means you can find us a shortcut to the village, right?”

“Yes...I think I could. We’d have to leave the path and cut through the woods, but I could lead us there. But why...?”

“You and me are gonna get there first, steal their most valuable stuff, and stash it away somewhere.”

Cyril was genuinely impressed, and pleased that something good had come from Hubert’s vast greed for once. “Would they just let us go off on our own like that?”

“I’ll leave it to you to come up with a good excuse. Tell them we volunteer to go on ahead as scouts or something, or that there might be traps set up.”

“What do I do if the guildmaster says no?”

“Wyatt’s not that bothered. Killing a few goblins is gonna be a breeze with this many people, and he knows it.”

“But—”

“Cyril, Cyril, Cyril, don’t tell me you forgot? If we can’t make good money off of this, you’re the one who’s screwed.”

Tch... He’s right, though. All Cyril had to do was bear the guildmaster’s annoyance for a little while. If their backup plan worked, his chances of having that farmer kill Hubert would greatly improve.

“All right,” he replied. “I’ll go talk to him now.”

＊

It wasn’t until the group stopped to rest that anyone noticed Hubert, Cyril, and several other people had slipped away. Wyatt had only just sat down against a tree when someone stepped forward with a message for him.

“Hubert went ahead? And took some of our men with him?” Wyatt said, frowning.

“Yes, sir,” the messenger replied; she was one of the many adventurers under Hubert’s thumb. “H-He said he felt bad, dragging everyone into his plan to avenge Theron and the others, and that the least he could do was to survey the rest of the path.”

With a sigh of irritation, Wyatt waved the woman away. He’d expected something like this to happen, leading a ragtag group of selfish adventurers on a march like a proper army. The only surprise was that the motley crew was unraveling so soon.

Many adventurers either loved violence, or had grown up with it, which meant that one could easily find incredibly skilled fighters among their ranks. The armies of Igris’s nobility, on the other hand, were packed with nothing but young upstarts as of late. In a smaller skirmish—two-on-two, or five-on-five—adventurers would come out victorious in almost every instance.

However, if a hundred of each were to do battle, a trained army would win easily. A band of lone wolves, no matter how skilled, could not best a synchronized force led by a commander. Wyatt would continue to aid Keighley and gather soldiers for her, but he was already learning just how difficult it was to control such unruly characters. Adventurers never received any formal training under an authority figure, and the more he gathered, the more they slipped out from under his thumb to do whatever they wanted.

What made an army an army was its organization; with that, even a force of thousands could operate as harmoniously as a single body. A battalion of adventurers lacked that critical element, and that made it an unwieldy weapon to wield in an actual fight. Wyatt wished he could take the time to actually train them, or at the very least figure out how best to corral them.

Maybe I should treat this monster-culling expedition like training... We’re more or less marching in formation.

When he thought about it like that, the undertaking could potentially kill not just two, but three birds with one stone: it would worsen Dugard’s reputation, build Wyatt’s reputation, and begin turning the adventurers into a respectable unit.

These are the cards I’ve been dealt, so there’s no sense in complaining. Just need to make them work in my favor.

Wyatt rose to his feet, announcing that their break was over as he took his place in the procession, behind the adventurers he’d assigned to the vanguard. They’d covered a fair bit of ground, when they suddenly heard a voice from the trees.

“Pardon me. Can I have a moment of your time?”

Pushing his way through the brush, a giant of a man emerged from the trees lining their path, stepping out in front of the vanguard.

“Who are you?!” one of the adventurers shouted at him, quickly drawing his sword and pointing it at the man. His nearby comrades followed suit, preparing to attack. Of the three sorcerers preparing their magical strikes, two held staves made from precious magical substances.

“Ah, no, I didn’t come here to cause any trouble.” The man held his palms up in a show of peace. While he was clad in leather armor, he carried no visible weapons. Realizing this, the adventurers gradually relaxed, lowering their weapons.

“All I want is to talk,” the man continued. “Could I speak with your general...or rather, your leader?”

Those in the vanguard looked to each other in uncertainty before looking back in the direction of the guildmaster. They parted as Wyatt emerged from behind them, still on horseback and with a hand on his sword hilt.

“My name is Wyatt, guildmaster of the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild and commander of this expedition. What business do you...have...here...”

Wyatt’s voice petered out as he came face to face with the intruder, and from the furrowed brows on both sides, their surprise and confusion were mutual.

“Sir Wyatt...?”

“Lord Beldarus?!”

Wyatt, however, was far more shaken by the chance encounter. He rushed to dismount his horse and walked up to Gaius Beldarus.

“So it was you coming all this way...” nodded Gaius. “I suppose I should have considered that possibility.”

“Y-Yes...I organized this unit to cull some monsters. But more importantly, Lord Beldarus, what are you doing out here?!”

Unlike Wyatt, it seemed Gaius had already accepted this latest development; his demeanor and speech were as calm as usual. What struck Wyatt as even more strange than his calmness, or even his presence in the Greatwood, was an unexplainable...pressure.

His eyes, his aura, the deliberate weight behind each word—even though he was unarmed, a terrifying intent to kill radiated off of Gaius’s entire body. What was more, Wyatt only began to feel this once Gaius had seen his face.

“At the end of this path lies a village of kobolds under my care. As long as you’re armed, I would appreciate it if you went no further,” Gaius declared, addressing not only the guildmaster, but the entire group.

“Kobolds?”

“What are those?” The adventurers murmured to one another, clearly confused—except for Wyatt.

“Kobolds...so that’s what those ‘dogs’ truly are. I’d read about them in a monster encyclopedia.”

“Indeed. They’ve made a home for themselves here, farming and hunting. They’re simple folk that take only what they need from the forest, and they aren’t very used to humans. Would you kindly turn back? And we would appreciate it if you didn’t come back.”

“I can’t agree to that, milord. Those beasts...those kobolds have attacked and killed humans—my guild members, no less.”

In all honesty, Wyatt could not have cared less about who attacked whom. Exterminating the kobolds was only an incidental part of his plans, but he had to at least pretend to care in front of the others.

More importantly, he did not want to do as Gaius had asked. The sludgy black resentment and pride that had seeped into his heart would not allow him to. Wyatt could not deny it: he was objecting out of emotion, not because a retreat would thwart his plans. While he acknowledged that, he barely wanted to admit it to himself because he realized how petty his reasons really were.

Instead, he replied, “As one who serves House Zigan, I can’t abide the presence of any monsters that would pose harm to the people of this domain.”

For a split second, Gaius’s brow twitched at the word “people,” but Wyatt could not fathom why.

“You’re wrong, Sir Wyatt. Your people attacked the village. That’s why there have been deaths on both sides. Those adventurers were only killed out of self-defense because they initiated the violence.”

“And do you have proof of that?”

“I witnessed it myself. I swear it on my life.”

“Oh, do you?! Now the Black Rose of Igris makes a solemn oath on his illustrious life! Of course, you can’t get more certain than that!” Wyatt burst into bitter laughter.

Hearing that moniker caused a stir among most of the adventurers behind Wyatt. The younger members of the group did not seem to understand the impact of that name, which was only natural. Fifteen years had passed since the Five-Year War; they belonged to a different generation entirely.

Wyatt regained his composure and continued. “That isn’t good enough, Lord Beldarus. It doesn’t matter why it happened. Think about it: humans have the right to slay monsters by law, but under no circumstances is a monster justified in killing humans. How could they be? In the eyes of the law, they’re in the wrong, and now we are obliged to wipe them out.”

Of course, this was a twisted interpretation—most of the time, even man-eating magical beasts were left alone if they stayed away from human settlements.

“Sir Wyatt! Those rules may apply to the human world, but this is the Greatwood. Right now, we are no longer within the borders of the kingdom of Igris, let alone in Northplain.”

“Then consider us in pursuit of fleeing criminals. No one would object to that.”

At this point, Wyatt was pressing the issue out of pure spite. He wanted to rebel, to deny Lord Beldarus at every turn, to take everything from the man who had once exemplified everything Wyatt had ever dreamed of, only to throw it all away. Just as Gaius had trampled all over every principle he held dear, Wyatt now wanted to take away whatever it is the man was protecting and crush it entirely.

No, he had to. It was the only way to quell this terrible darkness that had overtaken him inside. If he could not do that, he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to go on. His heart, the ground beneath his feet—everything would crumble away.

“So you aim to exterminate the kobolds? Just like that?”

“Correct. And you’d do well to leave here soon too, Lord Beldarus,” Wyatt gloated, his expression warped with self-satisfaction. For a moment, Gaius looked at him in silence, a hard glint in his eyes. It was then replaced by a flicker of realization as something dawned on him. His next words came slowly, thoughtfully.

“...There’s no reason for you to harm them. I killed those adventurers. If you arrest me, that should settle the matter.”

Another ripple of murmurs ran through the group. Wyatt held up a hand to silence them. “Is that so...?”

His former hero replied with a nod. “Kobolds are no match for humans, let alone skilled combatants. I am the one who killed those five adventurers.”

“You could have simply stayed silent and let those dogs take the fall.”

“I could never let that happen. It was my fault that harm befell them. But I acknowledge that I should answer for what I have done, and so I am willing to turn myself in.”

“All right, then. We’ll see what the judge has to say once you plead your case.” A sick joy filled Wyatt, twisting his lips into a smirk. He jabbed his chin toward Gaius, and several of the adventurers stepped forward hesitantly to restrain him.

How far the great Gaius Beldarus has fallen. Serves him right. If he’d only stayed on the proper path, he’d still be enjoying life in the castle right now.

Gaius had knelt down to allow his captors to bind him, but he looked up to ask Wyatt, “If I come quietly, do you promise to leave the kobold village alone?”

There wasn’t a single trace of hesitation or regret in his eyes. A strange pain assaulted Wyatt’s chest, and he unconsciously brought a hand to his chestplate. “Why are you going so far to save a bunch of creatures...?!”

Ah, it hurt...it burned, it felt like he was being crushed. The sensation was unbearable.

Wyatt knew full well what was tormenting him: hatred. Hatred borne of a sense of inferiority...and envy. Though he loathed to admit it, once the word came to mind, he knew it was true—he envied Gaius.

Even as he sneered at the impossibly foolish man, who threw away one precious treasure after another and chose to run around with beasts in the forest, Wyatt still envied him. He envied the path Gaius had chosen for himself. That was why he’d been so agitated since their meeting.

And with that realization, in that moment, his fate as Gaius’s enemy was sealed.

“...Are you listening? Sir Wyatt? Do you promise not to harm the kobolds?” Gaius’s voice finally reached Wyatt through the murky haze.

“Of course,” Wyatt replied with a smile. “I promise. We won’t lay a finger on those dogs. Now, please don’t resist arrest, Lord Beldarus.”

“I’m trusting you.”

“And I won’t betray your trust.”

You damned fool. Still playing the hero. Just wait—I’m going to kill every last one of them. But don’t you worry, you’re off to the gallows, so you’ll be joining them soon. Then I won’t have to feel this way anymore.

“Go on then, tie him up,” Wyatt barked at the nervous adventurers. Just as they began to approach Gaius, rope in hand, a voice cried—

“Don’t fall for it!”

A dog—no, a dog-like creature—burst out from the nearby trees.

“No, Rain Grass! I’ve taken care of it!”

“He’s lying to you, Gaius! He’s gonna kill us! I can smell it in his soul.”

Gaius’s head whipped around to face Wyatt, who chuckled.

“‘My soul’...? Lord Beldarus, a talking dog is interesting enough; I had no idea they could be comedians as well. Now please hold still, or my men won’t be able to tie your—”

“You gotta believe me!” Rain Grass cut him off. “Even if this guy was telling the truth, there’s no way I’m gonna let you sacrifice yourself! How could I ever face Fog if I just let you go with him?!”

Wyatt watched as a small smile formed on Gaius’s face as he said, “...You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this.” Slowly, he spread his arms out and brushed Wyatt’s underlings aside. He met the guildmaster’s gaze, this time with a different sort of resolve burning in his eyes.

“Sir Wyatt. Even after seeing the terrible deeds you ordered your men to commit, I forgot you aren’t a man to be trusted.”

“I don’t follow,” Wyatt replied, drawing his sword. A faint rainbow glow emanated from Sword Eater, his enchanted blade. Seeing the guildmaster unsheath his weapon made the adventurers around him follow suit.

Gaius looked at the glimmering blade in Wyatt’s hand, then looked back into the guildmaster’s eyes. “I’ll ask once more: will you turn back now?”

“I will not!”

It was clear now that there would be no more negotiations.

“That’s disappointing. In many ways.”

“I’m the one who should be disappointed here, Gaius Beldarus.” Wyatt spat out his name as though he’d tasted something foul.

At the same time, the two men took deep breaths, and shouted—

“Attack!”

＊

When Wyatt realized they’d both given the same command, he spun around just in time to see kobolds appearing from between the trees and out of shrubs holding drawn bows.

“Aim for the sorcerers!” Gaius shouted. The kobolds aimed for those holding staves, as well as those wearing only light leather gear and holding no visible weapons.

“Take cover behind those with shields! Quickly!” Wyatt shouted, but the order came too late; the arrows were already loosed. Though the kobolds’ arrows were smaller than what a bow used by a human would shoot, they were effective enough against the lightly armored targets. The five sorcerers caught in the flurry of arrows fell to the ground, writhing in pain. They would most likely not succumb to their wounds, but they were out of the fight for now.

More importantly, this first attack was all it took for the adventurers to lose whatever shred of unity they’d had:

“Damn it all! They got me in the arm!”

“Hey, back off! This shield isn’t big enough to cover both of us!”

“Shoot back at them, already! What’re you just standing around for?!”

“They’re dodging in and out of the trees! I can’t get a good shot!”

Considering the adventurers usually operated alone, it made sense. If anything, they had always been more like rivals, competing for the best quests. Seeing this shameful display, Wyatt growled in frustration before shouting out his next orders.

“Don’t just stand around waiting for the next volley—get in there and attack before they shoot again!”

When a melee fighter faced archers, one’s options were to either close the distance, find cover, or get out of range. The dried riverbed was practically a shooting range; they had nothing to hide behind so long as the trees on either side were full of kobolds. Nor could they launch a ranged counterattack of their own.

If they closed the distance, the enemies’ arrows would no longer be effective. In their panic, the adventures had forgotten this obvious fact, but at their guildmaster’s orders they regained their senses. They drew their weapons and faced the trees, no longer fearful of the kobold archers.

“Run!” Gaius shouted. From both sides of the dried riverbed, the trees and bushes rustled with the sound of many kobolds dropping their bows and taking off.

“Don’t let them escape!” one of the adventures hollered. “All you gotta do is catch ’em and they’re good as dead!” In the next moment, nearly half of the adventurers had scattered, running into the trees after the kobolds.

They’re splitting up?! Wyatt took off after them, to order them to regroup before they ran out of earshot—but after a few steps forward, he froze in realization. This was Gaius’s plan. He wanted to lure them into the trees, to divide them. No doubt he had come armed, his signature faussar stashed away nearby. That heavy, enormous sword that looked like an oversized machete. A split second later, his suspicions were confirmed, as Gaius stepped out from the woods, sword in hand.

Wyatt knew that if he’d gone into the forest after the kobolds, that blade would have cut him in half.

＊

If one were to liken it to other swords commonly found in the southern kingdoms, Wyatt’s Sword Eater was most akin to a bastard sword; the blade was longer and slightly thicker than that of a common longsword, but one could still wield it one-handed. In recent years, two-handed longswords had become one of the more common bladed weapons, but the more versatile bastard swords boasted a wider variety of offensive options.

On the downside, the thick blade made it heavier than most one-handed swords; this, combined with the different center of gravity compared to a longsword, meant that one had to train specifically with a bastard sword to make good use of it.

Wyatt had learned the ins and outs of his weapon, and it was with that knowledge that he took up the “rage stance,” his sword resting on one shoulder as he gripped the handle with both hands. Unlike less skilled swordsmen, he knew that the posture was not just for brute-force offense. If anyone dared to attack him, he could parry the blow and keep his attacker occupied long enough for the others to surround them.

Wyatt had unwavering confidence in his skill, his experience, and his feats in battle. Even so—no, it was precisely because he felt confident that he knew not to underestimate Gaius Beldarus.

“Forget about the dogs! Kill this man first!”

At Wyatt’s orders, the remaining adventurers drew their swords and spears before surrounding Gaius. Those with bows knew they risked hitting their allies if they fired now; instead, they stood behind Wyatt with arrows at the ready.

Gaius did not make a move to defend or attack, standing almost perfectly still. He closed one eye and swept his other eye over the people before him. He nodded once, then roared, “Daaarke!”

The trees behind Wyatt rustled, and a split second later a woman in a brimmed cap and a black mantle leapt out. She tipped her cap to Wyatt and the adventurers, a silly grin on her face.

“Hello hello, one and all! So very sorry to intrude—I see you’re busy. I won’t need but a moment of your time.”

The woman exuded a strangely insoucient yet sensual aura as she sauntered over to the archers, her right hand behind her back and under her cloak. The adventurers stared, dumbstruck, until Wyatt yelled. “Get away from her!”

But it was too late. Though her gait had been relaxed and ambling, she’d somehow already managed to close a fair bit of distance. She removed her arm from her cloak to reveal a dagger in her hand. In a sudden contrast to her earlier movement she dashed toward the archers, slipped behind the one closest to her, and slit his throat all in one swift motion.

Even before he hit the ground, she was already halfway to her next target. The archer screamed as he saw her approaching; one bow-wielding adventurer beside him nocked her own arrow while another threw his bow aside and drew the sword that he wore on his hip.

Wyatt hesitated. That was long enough for Gaius to begin his own attack, and Wyatt knew that even ten adventurers stood little chance against the Black Rose of Igris.

Gaius swung his massive blade to the right, and cleaved through one swordsman in a single stroke without even turning to face him. With another flick of his sword, he cut the spearhead from an adventurer’s lance before delivering a solid kick to the man’s stomach that sent him flying. The adventurer collided with a tree headfirst, his neck bent at a grotesque angle. Another stepped forward in an attempt to attack Gaius from behind, but before he could even draw his blade his head went flying.

Wyatt knew he was the only one who stood a chance. “I’ll take Beldarus—three of you, go out and round up the others! The rest of you, get that woman!” The remaining adventurers surrounding Gaius quite literally leapt at the opportunity to get away from him. As ordered, three people raced off into the woods, and the rest rushed at the woman in the black mantle.

“It’s so nice to meet you all! My name is Darke, and to be perfectly honest, Sir Gaius and I are lov—oh, that was a close one!” Her unprompted confession was cut short by an incoming lance thrust, which she jumped back to avoid. Darke skipped off into the woods, and the adventurers ran after her.

The sorcerers who had been hit by the kobolds’ initial volley of arrows still lay on the ground, but as far as Wyatt was concerned the only people in that dried riverbed were himself and Gaius Beldarus.

Gaius had been watching the situation unfold behind Wyatt, but now turned back to meet the knight’s gaze. Furrowing his brows, Gaius appeared to be in deep thought, and after a moment he took his own stance. He held his blade directly in front of himself, the point angled upward, in what was known as the “receiving stance,” one of the most defensive postures.

I never thought I’d see this... The Black Rose of Igris, preparing to cross swords with me, one-on-one...!

The man hadn’t flinched even when he was outnumbered ten to one. He’d survived the hell of the Five-Year War. And now, that very same man was not only deigning to face him—he was on the defensive. He was acknowledging Wyatt as a threat.

Wyatt was so moved, he felt as though he could cry. Even though most of his admiration had turned to hatred, it was still an honor to be treated as an equal by a warrior like this—the greatest compliment he’d ever received in his life.

This wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Wyatt shook his head to clear his thoughts before raising his sword overhead, taking the roof stance. He charged forward and began his attack with a powerful downward slash angled diagonally. He wanted to avoid having to go on the defensive as much as possible. His Sword Eater was made of sturdy mythril ore augmented by a strengthening sigil, so it would likely survive the brunt of Gaius’s strength; whether Wyatt could continue to hold on to his sword in the face of Gaius’s assaults was another matter.

Gaius angled his sword to deflect the blow. Sparks flew as the two blades clashed and scraped against one another. Gaius broke away by wrenching his sword upward before quickly pointing the double-edged tip of his sword forward and thrusting.

Instead of parrying, Wyatt attempted a counterattack of his own, locking them in another bind. However, Gaius’s faussar had a much wider, flatter blade, and with a twist of his wrist, he broke the lock, his sword now under Wyatt’s. For a split second, the cutting edge of that broad sword was aimed squarely at Wyatt’s ribs—

The knight realized his mistake just in time to leap backward. Too close...! I can’t rely on the usual techniques against that oversized meat cleaver!

All this time, he’d thought the Black Rose of Igris had earned his reputation through sheer strength and his massive size. After their brief clash, though, he knew that impression was wrong. Gaius Beldarus had skill to match that strength—and that was what made him a monster.

＊

They must have exchanged over thirty blows. Wyatt’s armor was damaged in several places, and he’d suffered more than a few injuries. Blood poured from a cut on his cheek, and his breath was ragged and labored. Gaius, on the other hand, stood tall, as calm as ever. There wasn’t a single scratch on him.

Wyatt was only just barely able to keep pace. He’d gotten close to landing a blow a few times, so close, but he could never reach Gaius. There was one technique he hadn’t yet tried—but should he use it now? How much longer should he try to hold out? No, if he waited any longer, he would die before an opportunity presented itself.

How can anyone be that strong?! Every time I strike or block, it feels like he could rip my arms off!

“You... You’re so skilled...!” Wyatt’s words started out halted and strangled, but before long, he was screaming. “Your name is known far and wide for what you’ve accomplished on the battlefield! You became a baron! You were nobility!”

“Hm?” Gaius looked confused, but nothing in the man’s posture changed.

“How could you forsake all of that?! All that a warrior aspires to be?! All that those of us who live by the sword could ever dream of?! All that glory, in exchange for what?! Pretending to be a farmer or a lumberjack out here?! In the middle of nowhere?! And when you do take up your sword again, it’s to protect some kobolds?! You’re even willing to accept the fate of a criminal for them?! For a pack of lowly, worthless monsters?!”

Gaius listened calmly, and when his answer came, it was delivered as though he was saying the most natural thing in the world.

“Of course. I made a promise to a friend.”

“A ‘friend’...Don’t tell me you mean one of those dogs...?”

“I do. Is there something wrong with that?”

Wyatt’s face twitched, and he exploded.

“Everything’s wrong! You’re the hero of the Five-Year War! Even if you don’t care about ranks or titles, you’re still a hero—heroes have responsibilities to uphold! A duty to those following in your footsteps! And what you’ve done—spitting on everything we live and die for—it’s an insult! An insult to everyone who strives for what you had! No, it’s sacrilege! You’ve desecrated that honor, those riches, that rank! All the while, we’ve been striving, clawing, fighting to reach such heights! We’ve dirtied our hands—no, we had no choice but to dirty our hands just for the chance at such glory! And you’ve cursed us! Denied our very existence! That’s it! You can’t get away with this!”

Wyatt himself hardly knew what he was saying—the words poured out of him through no will of his own. But it was precisely because the words came so readily that he knew they were true: this was the true form of that black sludge that had overtaken his heart.

Gaius, on the other hand, merely tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“I apologize. I don’t quite understand—this is all a little too complicated for me...”

He tightened the grip on his faussar before continuing.

“...but my dear friend entrusted me with something, and I’ve dedicated my life to protecting it. Isn’t that reason enough?”

The words burned Wyatt’s heart like a blazing fire.

“I’ll kill you...I’m going to kill you, Gaius Beldarus!”

“I can’t allow that, Sir Wyatt.”

The next clash would decide everything. The air between them grew even more charged. Both sides were prepared to kill.

But it was neither Gaius nor Wyatt who broke the tension—instead, a kobold burst through the brush. Breathless and frantic, the kobold ran up to Gaius, shouting:

“It’s awful...! They’re... They’re heading for the village!”

＊

Kobolds were fast, but were not suited to running long distances. Under these dire circumstances, however, the kobolds that had joined Gaius had pushed themselves to run as fast as they could until they reached the village; no sooner did they arrive in the village plaza than they collapsed, gasping desperately for breath.

“There are...about ten humans...on their way...to the village...!” one kobold struggled to announce to Sashalia and the village elder.

Sashalia turned to the elder and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Please, take the others and hide in the forest!”

“And what do you plan on doing?”

“I’ll buy you all some time. Sir Gaius will be here soon.”

“Don’t be a fool!” he cried. “There are too many of them! That great big oaf might be able to handle himself, but they’ll kill you!”

Sashalia drew herself up to her full height—which was only a little taller than the elder. “I’ll have you know that I was a knight, thank you very much. I even graduated with the second highest honors in my class. I’m more than capable of holding them off long enough for you all to hide.”

She was only bluffing. Sashalia knew full well that her high marks had been purely academic, and that her greatest weakness was her lack of combat prowess. Even with the training she’d recently undergone, the half-elf still only had the physical strength of a twelve-year-old human.

“The forest is still dangerous, of course, but it’s still better than staying here. Please, elder, your people need you right now.”

“...All right, already,” he grumbled in response. “Don’t go getting yourself killed, young lady.”

“Don’t worry! I was the best of Sir Gaius’s aides!”

The elder saw clear through her facade, but merely patted one of the hands she’d rested on his shoulders. Sashalia smiled warmly back at him.

I sound like an idiot. “His best aide”? That won’t do me any good in a fight, and he knows it.

Even though they had superior numbers, the adventurers were so divided they could not take advantage of this. On top of that, those ten adventurers had split into two even smaller groups. Naturally, Sashalia and the kobolds that had returned to the village had no way of knowing this, and unfortunately what should have been an advantage now worked against them.

But, most of all, Sashalia blamed herself for being unable to offer Gaius an alternate strategy. If she had, maybe they would have been able to mount a counterattack—or so she told herself.

“Hey, ye got me too!” Emon appeared between the two of them, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders.

Sashalia sighed. “Don’t go getting all confident just because you managed to beat me once.”

“Ah, I’ll be better’n ye in no time! Ye’d need to be a lot bigger and a lot bustier to stop me!”

“Excuse you?! Don’t make me knock your lights out again!” Sashalia drove a fist into Emon’s stomach, making him double over.

“Crivvens! Ye’re like my sister...ye both got wicked tempers...”

The village elder shook his head as he walked away. “You started it, boy.”

And with that, Sashalia and Emon—still hunched over on the ground—were left to hold off the invading humans.

＊

Eight adventurers reached the village. One walked ahead of the rest—he appeared to be the leader. His massive frame was clad in metal armor, and he gripped a heavy-looking mace in one large hand.

Trailing just behind him was another man wearing lighter gear. He pointed ahead of the leader and seemed to be explaining something to him, as though leading the group to their destination, despite the fact that he could not seem to keep ahead of the larger man’s impatient stride. He somewhat resembled a hunter.

Sashalia watched their approach from under the cover of one of the kobolds’ pit-like homes. In the next home over, Emon lay in wait as well. She flashed him a hand sign telling him to wait then turned to the forest to her left. The kobolds had fled in that direction, but she could still see a few of the children and older villagers trailing behind.

I’ve got to make sure those adventurers don’t follow them, no matter what... Sashalia took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady her nerves.

The adventurers had drawn close enough by now that their conversation was audible. She could hear one knightly adventurer clad in chainmail say to their leader, “It looks like they’ve evacuated, Hubert.”

“Damn it...and I was gonna tell Wyatt we got attacked by the mutts when we got here. If we don’t kill a few, my cover story won’t fly.” The man called Hubert scratched his neck, visibly irritated. He then turned to the man who looked like a hunter and said, “Hey, Cyril. You know your way around the forest. Take two of these guys and go find us some dogs to kill. The rest of you, search this place for some magic beast parts—claws, fangs, any stuff we can sell. But if you see something that looks like a liver, be sure you take it. Could be from a bugbear.”

Cyril nodded. With two others following behind him, he set off in the direction the kobolds had fled.

Sashalia bit her lip. That man knows how to navigate the Greatwood...this is bad. He’s going to find the others! She had planned to stall the invaders in the village until Gaius returned, picking off as many as she could with sneak attacks, but she couldn’t afford to lie in wait a second longer. She sent Emon another signal, then drew her sword. She gripped the hilt tightly as she prepared herself to go on the offensive.

During her time in the Knights of the Chain, she’d often been teased for not letting out a loud battle cry during practice like so many of her peers did. They’d said it made her seem even less intimidating than she already appeared. But Sashalia understood now, as she slipped out from her hiding place, that she had never been meant to charge headlong into battle. This was what she was best suited to.

The three adventurers walked side by side. Sashalia crept up behind Cyril, preparing to strike. When she had closed the distance between them, she held her sword with both hands, bringing it so far behind her that it touched her back. Even if she only managed to take down their guide, that would at least increase the odds that the villagers would be able to escape.

Sashalia was moments away from swinging her sword down with all her might...but luck was not on her side. By sheer coincidence, Cyril looked over his shoulder a second before her blow came down. Their eyes met as she swung her blade, and the strike that was meant for his neck only managed to lop off half of his ear.

Cyril roared in pain and confusion, but his instincts kicked in; he tumbled to the ground, but rolled away from his assailant. His companions took up their weapons—a war hammer and a curved sword called a falchion, respectively.

“Uwoooaaah—!” Emon, who had followed Sashalia, let out a battle cry as he lashed out with his sword, aiming for the man with the hammer. His strike was parried with ease by the man wielding the falchion.

Both Sashalia and Emon had completely failed in landing their surprise attack.

At the sound of Cyril’s cry, Hubert and the others had come running. Suddenly, the half-elf and dwarf found themselves in a two-against-eight situation.

“Oi oi oi, these aren’t dogs. What’s the meaning of this, Cyril?” Hubert’s eyes narrowed at the man clutching his bleeding ear.

“Damn it...! I-I don’t know! I haven’t seen them before—this is the dogs’ village, I promise!” His voice cracked as he trembled beneath Hubert’s stare.

“I don’t believe you. You did know there were others here. But I’ll get the truth out of you later. For now...” Hubert turned back to Sashalia, a vulgar leer on his face. “...I’m gonna enjoy this pleasant surprise. Here I was thinking this job would be boring, but what do you know—we found ourselves a girl here...”

The look in his eye sent a chill down Sashalia’s spine. She took two steps back, holding her sword up between them.

“But look at her, sir, she’s still flat as a board,” the man with the hammer snickered. Unlike Sashalia, he seemed to believe his leader was only joking.

“Shut it, you idiot. That’s just how I like ’em: just when they stop looking like little boys. This puny little elf’s the perfect size, too.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before, Hubert!”

“Only four times!” He cackled hideously. The other adventurers looked at him, half in awe and half in disbelief.

“Leave the elf to me,” Hubert said. “You and you, kill that ugly brat over there. Cyril and you two, get back out there and find us some dogs. The rest of you, stick to the original plan: find us some valuables in those hovels.”

“Um, but...” Cyril replied hesitantly, “My ear... Can I at least treat it first?”

“That’s not gonna kill you, is it?!” Hubert spat. “We don’t have time for that. Go! And when you get back, you and me are gonna have a chat about this secret you were keeping from me.”

Cyril looked like the last thing he wanted to do was agree with the larger man, but he nodded and struggled to his feet. Each of the adventurers set off for their respective assignments. Emon prepared himself to square off against his two opponents, and Hubert stepped closer to Sashalia, blocking her view of her friend.

“Now then, little lady, let’s have us some fun. Not that I expect it’ll be very fun for you...”

Sashalia’s sword was small, suited for her petite frame. Against such a huge, armored opponent wielding a heavy weapon like a mace, it stood little chance of winning. Instead, Sashalia focused all her attention on evasion, struggling with all her might to dodge his swings. As though corralling a wayward sheep with a stick, Hubert slowly but surely closed off each avenue of escape until he had her backed up against one of the kobold houses. Sashalia felt the wall against her back and knew she’d been completely cornered.

“Don’t play so hard to get!” Hubert jeered.

“You’re sick! I’m not just going to give up and let you do what you want with me!”

“Ho ho, so you do know what I’m gonna do to you.”

Sashalia saw his gloating as an opening to strike. She pointed the tip of her sword beneath his breastplate and thrust—but with a light swing of his mace, Hubert easily brushed her blade aside and the tip of her sword screeched against his armor.

The force of his swing knocked the sword from her hands, and it disappeared into the grass. She realized then that he hadn’t been recklessly taunting her; he was still on guard, anticipating her resistance.

Hubert drove the metal-plated tip of his boot into Sashalia’s stomach, kicking her down. She tasted bitter bile as she crashed to the ground. Hubert straddled her, and slapped her hard across the cheek once, twice, three times, four times. Five, six, seven times. He then raised his fist and brought it down into her face three times. His hand was soon painted with red.

Sashalia lay perfectly still. Hubert grabbed one of her pointed ears and drew a dagger from his waistband with his other hand. He brought the knife up under her earlobe and sliced away the lower half of her ear.

“I don’t really owe him anything, but let’s call that payback for what you did to Cyril.” He flicked the bit of flesh aside. With a sudden burst of energy, Sashalia lifted herself onto her elbows, and with as much force as she could muster, brought her left knee up to strike him between the legs. She was still determined to fight back, even without a weapon.

Unfortunately, Hubert seemed prepared for this, as well. He clamped his thighs down on her leg as she kicked at him, stopping it in its tracks with a disgustingly smug sneer.

“Hah! Girls always resort to that one. Man, I can’t even remember how many times I’ve seen that move by now. Looks like I’ll need to punish this naughty leg of yours.”

Hubert reached back to his waistband, rummaging around in a hip pouch before withdrawing a vial filled with green liquid. “Ever heard of a ‘sea snake’? They’re this magic beast that lives in the southern ocean.”

“Their venom is...used as an...anesthetic...”

“Smart kid. That’s right. It’s used as a painkiller, too. Only problem is that it works a little too well. Know what happens when you apply it?”

“It causes...permanent...nerve damage...”

“Very good! It doesn’t just kill the pain—it kills your nerves, too! That’s why doctors don’t use it anymore.”

Hubert slowly lowered his dagger to Sashalia’s left leg. He stabbed her in the calf and dragged the blade upward, making her twist and groan in pain. She struggled to get away, but could not wrest herself free.

“And now for the venom...” Hubert tipped the vial, pouring the green liquid into the cut he’d made. It burned as soon as the venom made contact with her flesh, but soon the pain dulled into a warmth that spread up to her knee and down to her ankle.

Hubert looked up from his handiwork to face Sashalia. “Now, for the next legggh!” He was met with a nasty surprise; Sashalia lifted herself up once again, this time to headbutt him squarely in the face. Even after the way she’d been beaten and pinned down, all of Hubert’s torture had not taken away her will to fight back.

The headbutt had caused Hubert to bite down hard on his tongue. He fell backward and rolled around with his hands to his face, making muffled screams of pain. Sashalia saw the chance she’d been waiting for and made her escape—or at least, she tried to. Her left leg wouldn’t move, and she couldn’t feel anything at all below her mid-thigh.

However, this didn’t stop her from trying; she rolled over and scrabbled at the grass, trying her best to crawl away on her hands and her one good knee. Hubert roared behind her.

“You goddamn little thit! That’th it! I’b gonna gut you like a pig!”

Sashalia continued to desperately crawl away as Hubert rose to his feet. He slowly stomped over to her, deciding what part of her he was going to break next. This time, there will be no escape—both Sashalia and Hubert had the exact same thought. His shadow crept over her...

With her face down near the ground, Sashalia was unable to see what happened at that moment, but she felt the wind as something leapt over her to land between her and Hubert. Sashalia struggled to open her swollen eyelids as wide as she could as she struggled to turn over and look behind her. When she saw what—who—it was, her eyes burned, and tears flowed down her bloodied face.

By struggling with all her might, Sashalia had bought herself the time she needed. Hubert’s screams of pain were the signal she needed so that he could find her. Her refusal to give up, even when all seemed lost, ended up saving her.

And in one brief moment, it was over. Hubert’s hands were severed from his arms, still holding onto his mace, followed immediately by his torso tumbling away from his legs. Both cuts had been made quite literally in the blink of an eye.

Hubert let out a strangled, bizarre scream even as his upper body fell to the ground, an expression of blank shock etched on his face.

“Miss Sashalia!” Gaius yelled, dropping to his knees beside her. Sashalia knew she’d never forget the sight of him running to her, calling her name like that—not for as long as she lived.

There was so, so much she wanted to tell him. She wanted to cling to him and never let go. But she pushed all of that down, and instead cried, “I’m okay, sir...! Emon needs you! The villagers fled into the woods, but they’re being pursued! Please, they all need your help more than me!”

For just a brief moment, Gaius wavered. But he nodded to her, stifling his own urge to cry. He stood and took off running at blazing speed.

Sashalia listened to his footfalls for as long as she could before collapsing back into the grass. Her body and spirit had both reached their limits. Her vision and her consciousness faded to black as her eyes closed. Sashalia sank into a deep, deep darkness.

＊

Gaius had saved the kobolds that fled the village, restraining the two adventurers that pursued them. Only Cyril had managed to escape. After returning to the dried riverbed, he found ten dead adventurers...and six fallen kobolds. Although their plan to ambush the humans had been successful, their tactics could only go so far towards making up for the huge disadvantage that kobolds faced against humans. It appeared that some had failed to outrun their pursuers, while others had been forced into combat. They’d successfully defended the village from the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild, but not without losses.