Encrid had faced blades that struck from beyond his awareness before. Jaxon had done it time and again.

This was no different. The blade came from beyond his awareness, so fast that Oara's words seemed to reach him after it.

"Stomach."

That single word reached his ears. The blade had already swept across his stomach.

Concentrate on a Single Point and his dodging sense activated. Encrid pressed through his heels, shifting his weight. He moved backward as though pushing the floor away with his soles, and just as he thought he had dodged, he saw Oara's face.

A faint smile. The corners of her mouth had risen a little farther.

"Knee."

Encrid realized the blade cutting across his stomach had been an illusion. It was like magic wrought through determination.

No, he had experienced this, too. It resembled the sword Sinar had made from spiritual essence, though this time it had been done entirely through presence and suggestion.

As Oara spoke, a blade plunged vertically toward his knee. Rather than dodge, Encrid swung his sword diagonally upward. Curving like a whip, it cut through the place where Oara had stood.

She avoided his blade without changing the course of her own. The vertical stab continued unchanged. She had left her right hand in place and twisted only her body out of the way.

TAP.

The tip struck his knee. There was no wound, only a mark on the fabric.

"That's enough for today!" Oara called.

"Hah, hah."

Encrid released the breath he had been holding in ragged gasps.

Oara sheathed her sword with a click and approached. She studied him, then tapped his cheek, her eyes smiling.

"Feel like you fell for something too simple?"

Encrid knew she had shown him just two sword strikes. The first had seemed to strike his stomach: a feint. The second had plunged straight down toward his knee.

That second strike had decided the match.

He had sensed a great deal, but knew what mattered most.

'The difference is experience.'

Oara was practiced. She had not only just attained knighthood; she had lived as a knight for years. That seasoned skill showed.

"How old are you?"

Instead of answering, Encrid asked a question in the Thousand Brick manner. He adapted quickly. There was a touch of humor in the question.

The smile froze around Oara's eyes.

"I'll let that slide because you're handsome. Didn't anyone teach you that asking a lady's age gets you a hole in the head?"

Encrid said nothing. Oara walked past him, smiling.

"Ah, I'm hungry."

As she ambled away, Luagarne approached.

"A stab to the knee would have cost you your mobility. We needn't have seen it through to know you'd have lost."

"I know."

"Those two movements were simple, but they embodied a simple principle."

Luagarne waited a moment after speaking. Encrid thought it over for himself and arrived at an answer.

"If you're faster and stronger than your opponent, they can't stop you."

That was what knights were.

Taking that thought further, she must have been confident she could subdue him with simple movements alone. Simplicity rather than showmanship. Being simple did not change a blade's lethality.

A Gentle Stroke Does Not Turn a Blade into Cotton. He had already grasped that principle himself. In short, if efficient sword strokes would win the fight, that was how one should fight.

"Correct."

Luagarne nodded.

The defeat did not discourage him. Nor did it leave him satisfied.

Encrid gave himself a quick wash, ate his fill, then sought out the tavern owner.

"No insects, I see."

Luagarne had complained about the food along the way. Fair enough; there seemed to be nothing particularly suited to a Frog's palate.

Encrid caught the eye of the owner sitting at the bar, and the man approached. The tavern was quiet because of the drinking ban.

"Do you know where those Cultists or sham believers or whatever they are can be found?"

"Never mind that. Go ask Sir Oara to lift the drinking ban, will you? I'm going to starve."

Contribution credits covered most living expenses, but not everything. Krona still changed hands, of course. Visiting merchants paid for lodgings in Krona, and the same went for alcohol and the red-light district.

While the tavern owner lamented his lot, Encrid placed a special order.

"A plate of well-roasted grubs, please."

"... Where am I supposed to find... Well, that's for me to figure out, of course."

CLINK.

While the owner was speaking, a pouch on the bar opened its mouth and offered a glimpse of its innards. Silver innards. The tavern owner was quick on the uptake.

"Tomorrow at lunch will be fine."

A dozen or so silver coins gleamed on the bar. The owner pocketed the Krona and told him what he knew.

The information was not particularly useful. Aesia had also given him an approximate location, but apparently they wandered about like nomads.

What was there to feed on out here that kept them roaming? The answer was simple enough: they were recruiting believers for their sham religion. A few deserters here, a few people struggling to survive in the Demonic Realm there.

They approached people whose spirits had weakened and slipped their ideology into the cracks. Once their numbers had grown, they could flee far away and live in luxury.

Well, why those bastards were here was not important. What mattered was that they needed dealing with.

A whole day spent roaming the city yielded little.

"You'll have to get out there and find them yourself."

That was the most useful thing he heard. Milio had said it. He had also watched Encrid spar with Oara.

"Please spar with me, too."

An enthusiastic fellow. Encrid obliged. His weapon was a solid, heavy hammer, well suited to crushing an enemy in a single blow. But if his opponent dodged or blocked, his follow-up was far too slow.

"What if I grab you here and twist like this?"

"Ah, ah, that hurts."

Encrid taught him a few foot tricks and joint locks to use between swings. They hardly even qualified as Balaf-style martial arts. They would let him exploit the complacency of an opponent trying to take advantage of the opening after a broad swing.

As he spent his time that way, Rem woke. Opening his eyes late in the afternoon, he said,

"Those sham-religion bastards? They were a day's journey away."

An entirely unexpected lead. Rem said he had spotted them while looking for a whetstone.

"... You saw them?"

"They were gathered off in the distance doing something. Thought they were bandits, but from what I've heard, sounds like your sham believers."

"And you know where that was?"

"Do I look like that idiot swordsman to you? The one who can't find a road or tell which way he's going?"

Rem glared, plainly offended. He looked ready to draw an axe on the spot.

Watching him, Encrid wondered whether there was any reason to put this off. It was his job anyway. Hadn't he come as reinforcements to catch deserters and deal with the colonies?

'A deserter turned leader of a sham religion.'

However notorious he might be in the area, he certainly would not be on the level of a Cultist bishop. Perhaps he had a squire's strength at best?

A small elite group—himself, Rem, Dunbachel, and Luagarne, no less—was more than enough to deal with him.

There was talk of strange spells, but his instincts did not register them as a threat. Probably no more than annoying tricks. With this much fighting power, they were almost using excessive force.

Encrid had an objective grasp of his current abilities. More importantly, if things became dangerous, couldn't they simply pull back for a while?

They had nothing to protect; this mission was closer to a raid. Let time pass, and the bastards would become harder to find, making them a nuisance.

That was why he asked,

"Shall we go now?"

He had already decided the answer.

The sun was beginning to set. There was a saying: the sun sided with humans, the dark with monsters. Night favored monsters that disliked light and could see well in darkness.

That time was coming now. The sun was setting.

Of course, nobody here gave a damn about that.

"Just the four of us?" Dunbachel asked.

"Know anyone here?" Encrid countered.

There was no one else to bring. Should they requisition some soldiers? They plainly would be no help.

They headed straight out of the city. The soldier guarding the gate tilted his head.

"You're going out now?"

"Is that a problem?"

This was the Demon Killer, the hero of the civil war. The soldier shook his head.

He assumed Encrid's party was going out for a short stroll. That barbarian called Rem had stepped out for a little while yesterday, too. So he gave them the password to use on their return.

"Not at all. Just shout, 'Red is the only color for a cloak,' in front of the gate."

They couldn't let just anyone into the city at night. He only needed to pass the message on to his replacement.

And so he did. The next guard nodded, and when the party still had not returned by the end of his shift, he passed the same information on to his own replacement.

"They're a bit late, aren't they?"

"What could happen to them?"

To an ordinary soldier, a proto knight stood at an exalted height. A few monsters on the road would not trouble people like that. Besides, they had a Frog and a Beastman with them.

Dawn broke. The morning guard saw a group returning with the first light at their backs.

Encrid's party.

"Open the gate."

Their bloodstained armor stood out. Black blood mingled with red.

"Did you run into monsters?"

"Something like that."

With that, Encrid entered the city.

* * *

When they had first left the gate, Encrid had thought all they needed to do was find their targets. In his judgment, finding them was the hard part; dealing with them would be easy.

"Which way?"

"This way."

Rem led them. Clouds covered the moon, leaving their surroundings dark, but the faint moonlight was enough for this group.

"Want to learn how to track people?"

"Now?"

Encrid responded to Rem's unexpected question with one of his own. That was not a refusal.

Rem thought finding the sham believers here would be easy. He had a reason.

His gaze turned to the Beastman. Dunbachel's eyes shone gold even in the dark. He had always thought they were an unusual color.

Her sense of smell was also far better than that of an ordinary Beastman. Rem knew that.

The instant Dunbachel felt his gaze, she put a hand on her curved sword.

"Sniff them out, you crazy Beastman. We're not sparring."

"That's your method?" Encrid interjected.

"Why take the hard way when there's an easy one? We've got a Beastman, and she's got an uncanny nose for everything except her own stink."

Nothing he said was wrong. Even Dunbachel went along with it. Her nose twitched toward one side.

"There's a smell that way."

They moved and found a group. Sure enough, the men had what looked like traveling tents.

"Who are you?"

A man stood right in front of them, picking his nose.

Instead of answering, Encrid used force. He stepped forward and swung his sword upward. The rising blade drew a red line from the man's chin to his forehead.

SPURT.

Blood sprayed as a corpse toppled forward.

"Are you bastards insane?"

The man beside him, with spiky blond hair, spoke in alarm. His voice trembled.

THUNK.

A curved blade struck his face.

As Encrid stared, Dunbachel asked,

"What? Should I hold back?"

"No."

Encrid answered and stabbed and slashed whoever he saw. He left the fleeing men alone.

"The demon's servants have come!"

Their supposed religious leader appeared. One glance told Encrid he looked like an old hand at banditry. Encrid examined him with his senses.

He was no mage. Yet he did do something resembling magic.

The man closed the distance and thrust out a hand. An unseen blade flew at Encrid from it.

Encrid had already faced similar attacks from Sinar, and from Oara earlier that day. Invisible did not mean nonexistent. Its presence remained unchanged.

TING.

Encrid drew his gladius and twisted it to deflect the attack. The leader's hand twisted as though he were gripping a sword.

Curious. It was as if he held a transparent blade.

Without hesitation, Encrid raised his sword and chopped down into the man's shoulder. It was an indifferent stroke, as though splitting firewood.

CRACK!

"Aaargh!"

His shoulder split and blood spurted as he rolled backward. He was remarkably quick on his feet. Even now, he had evaded a blow meant for his head, not his shoulder.

"Fuck, please spare me. Let me live."

He was nothing like the man who had shouted about the demon's servants.

"I heard the Cultists were backing you."

"I started that rumor myself."

The man's eyes darted about as he spoke. Rem saw no reason to talk to a bastard like that, so while Encrid exchanged a few words with him, he hurled a throwing axe.

WHOOSH! THUNK!

The axe became an ornament on the man's forehead, its impact lifting his fallen body slightly and flinging it backward.

Encrid saw something fall from the man's hand. When he approached, he found something faintly reflecting the torchlight.

["Dozens of gold coins alone won't buy you one. Do you know who Carmen is? They don't call him a master craftsman for nothing. When one of those blades appears on the black market, people will kill each other over it. In fact, a few years ago, the appearance of Katar, the third piece in the Carmen Collection, caused quite a stir among the assassins' guilds."]

Jaxon's words came back to him. While explaining the Carmen Collection, he had also told Encrid the name of the final dagger.

Invisible Blade.

An unexpected gift.

Encrid collected his gift and headed back to the city. Demonic beasts attacked them along the way. There were quite a few, as though an entire pack of wild dogs had changed professions to become demonic beasts, but they cut and stabbed every last one to death.

Before they knew it, dawn had broken. Time to return to the city.

They went back in, ate, washed, slept a little, and headed for the gate again.

"How to find a colony? That's even easier. One look at the terrain makes it obvious."

Rem spoke as they headed out. The sweltering heat had not abated. This region was both hotter and more humid than elsewhere.

They had already seen for themselves how troublesome a harpy colony could be. Encrid and his companions acted without delay.

Somehow, they had ended up returning and resting during the day, then setting out again in the evening.

"Going out again?"

The soldier, who happened to be on duty at the same hour, found himself reliving yesterday's encounter. He had been grumbling to himself about having to work two shifts in a row when Encrid's party appeared.

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all."

Encrid and his companions left. Rem had extensive experience hunting monsters. Dunbachel had a keen nose, and Luagarne possessed broad knowledge of all sorts of things.

These were not people who had spent their lives training within some organization. They had spent more of their time roughing it in the wild.

Now they were together, and Dunbachel's sense of smell was so acute it was almost cheating. Combined with their experience, that made finding the harpies' nest child's play.

"There's a foul smell."

"Good place to hide, good place to live in a group. Has to be here."

Dunbachel and Rem spoke in turn. Encrid looked up at the towering cliff.

The Demonic Realm's terrain followed no rules. Should he call this a cliff, or a natural tower?

He had to crane his neck to glimpse the top of the circular rock formation. Eyeballing its height, he doubted even ten Rems stacked together would reach it. In short, it was tall.

Here and there, harpies came into view above. They could cast spells, but only unimpressive wind spells and the like.

"I'll go first."

Rem took out a sling. A javelin would struggle to reach, but here stood a barbarian who could launch stones more fiercely than any javelin.

It was brighter tonight than last night. Two moons shone in turn, one large and one small.

WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH.

Beneath the two moons, the sound of something cutting through the air began. It soon grew into a roar that ripped the air apart.

WHIIIIIR!

In the moonlight, Rem began whirling his sling.

Soon a third moon rose above his head: a full moon formed by his sling.