It was an arm-wrestling match.

"Ruben, Ruben! You bastard! Ruben, you son of a bitch!"

The man named Ruben lost. His wrist went down with a thud. Some of those who had placed bets screamed his name as though coughing up blood.

The match was being held outdoors, with several tables set out in front of the tavern. The owner's nose was red as he shouted.

"James wins!"

Amid the mounting commotion, someone called out.

"Hey, let me join in!"

Oara pushed straight into the crowd. Encrid stood there blankly, then turned to Aesia.

"She's always like this. Get used to it."

Aesia headed toward the crowd as she spoke. She certainly didn't seem to mind joining in. Encrid, too, made his way toward the tavern.

The owner was so drunk that it was hard to tell whether he was there to sell drinks or drink them. Even so, he recognized Oara.

"Absolutely not! That's cheating, Oara!"

Knights commanded everyone's respect, but surely they wouldn't demand it of their friends. Why shouldn't a knight have friends? The tavern owner seemed to be just that: Oara's friend, an acquaintance, someone she knew.

He snorted as he spoke, and Oara protested.

"Oh, why not!"

Watching her pout, one might have taken her for a mercenary who knew her way around a sword. Yet this woman could kill everyone here with a few swings.

"Come now, how would that work? There'd be nothing to bet on."

The victorious James spoke, rubbing his reddened head. He looked like an angry octopus. There was no dividing line between his forehead and the crown of his head.

"Hey, how can you say that when you see this delicate wrist?"

Oara kicked James out of the seat in front of her, climbed onto the chair, and spoke. He tumbled off and rolled across the ground, but soon got back up.

"Ow, why'd you kick me?"

"You were in the way!"

At her firm answer, the man nodded. Did he actually find that reasonable? Encrid wondered, but merely watched.

With the drinking ban lifted, the tavern's atmosphere was the exact opposite of what it had been on his first visit. It wasn't quite a festival, but everyone was enjoying themselves.

"Come on, tell me. You see this wrist, and not one of you will take me on? Really?"

"Not one!"

"Oara, you're a knight. Did you forget?"

The tavern owner joined in. Oara swept her gaze around, her eyes those of a hunter seeking someone who would say what she wanted to hear.

Among the crowd was that soldier, carrying drinks. The fellow who had been struggling for lack of Krona. He'd been working at the inn; apparently he'd come to work here as well.

"Hey, do you think so too?"

Oara singled him out. The soldier's eyes darted about a few times before he answered.

"No, ma'am. I believe we ought to respect Sir Oara's wishes."

A shrewd response. On the surface, he looked utterly earnest, as though swearing his heartfelt loyalty.

Oara spoke without losing her smile.

"Drag that bastard over here and sit him down."

She hopped lightly into the air and landed in the chair with a thump. At her command, the people nearby grabbed the soldier.

"Huh? Wh-why are you doing this?"

"Shut up and sit down, you little shit."

Oara was smiling as she spoke. Soon the soldier was seated opposite her.

"Here's a wager! You can refuse if you don't like it. Beat the person I choose, and you get three gold coins. You said it'd be unfair if I did it myself, right? So I won't. If your choice wins, I'll give you three gold coins. But if I win, you stand at the front during the next wave."

"... What?"

A monster wave. Being told to stand at the front against monsters pouring out of the Demonic Realm could sound like being told to die. Everyone roared with laughter.

The soldier regretted not leaving when Jack the Swordsman had asked him to come along. Of course, even if offered the same chance again, he wouldn't go.

He loved the woman who plied her sideline in the alley, and dreamed of taking her away from here and marrying her. So what if she'd sold her body? He knew she only let him share her bed now.

"Hey, a man only dies once, not twice! Besides, didn't you say you wanted to marry Rowena? That you were desperate for Krona?" Oara said.

"Do it! Just do it!"

"If that scares you, give up on Rowena, you bastard!"

The shouts around him made the soldier bristle.

"Will you shut up?"

After shouting, he asked, his eyes turning cautious, "Will you choose someone from the knight order?"

"No." Oara shook her head.

"And you won't compete yourself, Sir Oara?" the soldier asked again.

"Absolutely not." This time her head moved vertically.

The soldier was being cautious. No, he was pretending to be cautious. Encrid could tell he had already decided. Even so, he spoke as though intimidated, as though he had agonized over the choice. Some people were simply like that.

That didn't make Encrid think ill of him. How to put it? The bastard was utterly transparent. Everything going through his head was plain to see.

Oara waited with her arms folded, grinning.

"I'll ask Sir Oliver."

Several soldiers booed. Among them, Encrid spotted a man whose forearms were twice as thick as the other soldiers'. He was short, but solidly built, with a heavy jaw.

Shorter even than Oara, this was Oliver, a squire of the knight order, said to be the strongest man in Thousand Brick.

"Is that not allowed?"

The soldier asked warily. Having secured her agreement not to use someone from the knight order, he'd chosen a squire himself. It was a fair question.

Oara shook her head.

"I'll accept that challenge. Now, who should I choose?"

She made a show of deliberating, just as the soldier had. The squire named Oliver put a hand on the poor soldier's shoulder. The soldier rose, and Oliver took his seat. He looked like someone born strong.

Resting her chin on her hand and pretending to ponder, Oara looked at Oliver and asked, "Oliver, you don't mind losing, do you?"

"I won't lose."

His answer was immediate. Oara nodded as though she had made up her mind.

"I choose you as my champion. Step forward!"

Her finger pointed beside Aesia. At Encrid, in other words.

"You mean me?"

Encrid, who had been watching, asked after a beat. His reply disrupted her momentum with exquisite timing, but Oara paid it no mind.

"Should I send Aesia instead? Can't you see her delicate wrists?"

Bringing up delicate wrists seemed to be a habit of hers.

"You can back out if you're afraid. You could get hurt."

Oliver spoke. His opponent might be renowned as the Demon Killer, but he wouldn't lose in a contest of strength. His eyes were full of that conviction.

Encrid watched him for a moment, then stepped forward. Oara smiled and moved aside. Sitting down, he looked at Oliver.

"I don't think there's any need to worry. There won't be any injuries. Oh, I mean you, not me. I'll go easy."

"Easy?"

Oliver's expression hardened at the mild provocation.

"I meant I'll make sure you don't get hurt," Encrid said again.

"Will you, now?"

There wasn't a trace of a smile on Oliver's face. A vein bulged on his forehead. The fellow had remarkably thick veins. His forearms were just as thick.

Encrid rolled up his sleeve, revealing the sharply defined muscles hidden beneath his thin shirt. His arm, honed by the Isolation Technique, was far from slender, but it looked thinner than Oliver's. Yet the Isolation Technique—Audin's teaching—had compressed and tightened those muscles, changing their very quality.

"Place your bets!"

Oara shouted. It was time to wager. The crowd had doubled. Soldiers training nearby, soldiers lazing about, even those rolling dice off to one side all gathered around.

"Still, Sir Oliver's the sensible bet, right?"

"His opponent's a proto knight. The Demon Killer."

"You don't know what you're talking about. Sir Oara said even she can't beat Sir Oliver in raw strength!"

"So what? Sir Oliver could crush a demon's hand at arm wrestling! Haven't you heard of Oliver the Giant-Armed?"

Most of the bets went to Oliver. Encrid didn't care.

Someone set beer mugs beside them. The pewter mugs brimmed with golden liquid and foam. Oliver gulped his down, exhaled, and planted his elbow on the table.

THUD.

Judging by appearances alone, he might have been a stone golem some mad mage had fashioned in human form.

Encrid drank from the mug beside him as well. The beer was bitter, but rich with a nutty aroma. Fresh, too. After drinking, he raised his own arm and clasped Oliver's hand.

It felt just as it looked: like a stone golem's forearm. Absurdly hard and heavy. Oliver met his gaze, and Encrid lowered his eyes. Quietly, he looked inward and concentrated.

Did his willingness to lose mean he lacked the desire to win? That he was easygoing, without a competitive streak? Quite the opposite. Encrid was the sort of man who wouldn't let go until he won. In other words, he hated losing.

He simply put all that strength, all that determination, toward winning the next time. So if he could win here and now, he had no intention of losing.

As the noise around them subsided, Oara spoke.

"Begin."

Oliver and Encrid exerted their strength at the same instant.

CREAK.

The table screamed, but didn't collapse. Oliver's strength truly deserved to be called superhuman. He certainly lived up to his reputation. Starting with his grip, it was easy to see why people said he could crush a demon's hand.

But the man sitting opposite him not only lived through repeating todays; he had learned the Isolation Technique from an even greater monster than Oliver.

Encrid unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman and brought his Will to bear as well. Power surged explosively through every muscle in his body. Few times in his life had he exerted so much strength.

'Giant's Strike.'

He even employed the arts he had learned with a sword. As Rem might put it, he was straining with all the strength a Giant had suckled from its mother's milk.

"Grrrrgh!"

Something like a groan escaped Oliver.

CRRRRACK.

The table shook. Though carved from a single solid piece of timber, it began to crack. Oliver's arm was just starting to tilt sideways.

CRACK!

At last, the table gave way. It split, and the section supporting Oliver's elbow caved in. Even with part of it broken and the table no longer serving its purpose, he tried to hold on.

"Is it a draw?" one soldier muttered.

Encrid stopped exactly where he was. Oliver steadied his breathing. After holding that position for a moment, he relaxed his hand. Encrid released his grip as well, with all the soldiers watching.

"I lost," Oliver declared.

"No!"

One soldier wailed. The fellow who was Rowena's man.

The others who had lost their bets burst out laughing instead. They cheered.

"Wow, you're strong!"

"Hey, handsome, are you that strong at night too?"

A few soldiers tossed out crude jokes.

"Do you even need to ask?" someone shot back.

"Soldier, I'll give you another chance. How about trying to beat him at drinking?"

Oara extended a saving hand to the despairing soldier. The poor fellow couldn't tell whether it belonged to an angel or a demon.

"Let's do it."

The soldier burned with determination. Encrid looked at him and nodded. Since he'd decided to join in, there was no harm in seeing it through to the end.

Hard liquor was brought out. Encrid drank it without even knowing its name.

By his fourth glass, the soldier's eyes had gone unfocused. He shouted, "I love you, Rowena!" and passed out. The other soldiers snickered.

Encrid chuckled, set down his glass, and said, "Next."

He had no intention of losing at drinking, either.

"I'll do it."

Oliver stepped forward again. He passed out after one glass. He was strong, but he couldn't hold his liquor.

Oara drank the spirits as well, while Aesia sipped a light fruit wine. Nearby, some people played dice, while others began trading dirty stories. Encrid happened to overhear two women talking and inwardly marveled at just how filthy their jokes were.

Rem joined them partway through.

"Why's everyone having fun without me?"

He mingled with the soldiers too. Before long, Luagarne and Dunbachel were with them as well. The space outside the tavern became a riot, as though a festival had broken out.

"Fun, isn't it?" Oara asked.

Half-drunk, Encrid answered, "It feels like home."

That was exactly how he felt.

The setting sun bathed the city in its glow. Soldiers chattered in the sunset. A few of those on duty shouted, "Damn it, why'd you have to have all this fucking fun today?"

"Unlucky bastards!" another soldier jeered at them.

A commander who said he led a hundred men poured out his woes and complaints to Oara. One Squad Leader was declaring his admiration for Encrid when Oara chided, "So you don't admire me?" leaving him flustered. One fellow announced he'd fallen for Aesia at first sight and got thrashed for it.

It really did feel like home. The sunset, the city, the soldiers. All of it.

Oara wandered around drinking and listening to their troubles. She even went outside the city briefly and returned with a large tree she'd cut down to replace the broken table.

"Bring me a plane!"

She set about planing the table herself, though her workmanship wasn't particularly good. Then the small female proto knight Encrid had seen in the log house appeared, took the plane from her, and shaped the table. She was good at it.

Everyone had their fill of fun and drink.

"I love this town."

Oara spoke drunkenly. Though Encrid had only spent a few days here, he agreed. There was a trade-off to the constant desertions: only those who truly loved this place remained in the city.

"The last bastion against the Demonic Realm. Isn't that something?"

They had pride.

"If we fall, everyone living in the villages behind us dies. Did you know that? If the Demonic Realm spreads any farther, this entire region is finished."

They had a sense of duty.

"It's my job. That's why I do it. Got a problem with that?"

They had a sense of responsibility.

In the Demonic Realm borderlands, danger was always before their eyes. Without strength, they couldn't survive. That meant strength of mind, not just of body.

"Ahh, that's good!"

Oara shouted, and Encrid, feeling the drink himself, clinked his glass against hers.

And so the drunken night passed.

Encrid returned to the lodgings to sleep. Rem, who had joined in midway and drunk his fill, was already asleep. Luagarne had been served a special meal of insects along with her drinks.

"It was delicious."

She was satisfied too. Dunbachel was already curled up asleep in a corner, breathing softly. Encrid closed his eyes as well.

In his dream, the ferryman asked, "Having fun?"

The question was a hundred times more unsettling than a warning of approaching misfortune. Encrid was about to open his mouth to answer when his eyes opened instead. Waking at the same hour was familiar by now.

He went outside and warmed up, working up a sweat. Luagarne followed, and Dunbachel came out later still.

"Don't you ever sleep?"

Then, around noon, Oara came again. She was dressed much as she had been yesterday, but this time she carried a long, slender sword.

"Sabbath's over," she said.

Those were welcome words indeed.