"Bows up!"

An order they had heard countless times rang out. Though swept up in the same exhilaration, the commander still did his duty.

Milio glanced to one side. A clump of monsters broke away from the forest. The soldiers atop the wall actually welcomed the sight. So did Milio. At last, they had enemies on whom to unleash their burning hearts, the heat that threatened to consume their entire bodies.

"Aim!"

The commander's cry raced along the wall. Each unit's commander echoed it.

"Aim!"

They nocked arrows and adjusted their aim. Strings of twisted sinew drew taut on horn bows made from the bones of demonic beasts, monsters, and ordinary beasts.

CREEEAK.

Milio waited for the order, holding his bowstring taut. Every soldier held position. The commander busied himself gauging the size and numbers of the charging horde. It was difficult to make them out properly at night. Even frowning in concentration, he could not see clearly.

One of his subordinates loosed a flaming arrow. It flew with a twang and landed among the enemy. The monsters paid it no heed. In truth, it could do them no harm. The black soil swallowed its flame, which quickly died. One arrow was hardly enough to give them a clear view.

"That's about right. Where you're looking is roughly their center. Nothing we can't handle. There aren't that many."

For the Twin Red Moons.

Oara left that last part unsaid. The knight stood motionless atop the wall, arms folded.

The commander nodded at her words. The flaming arrow they had just fired would serve as everyone's target. They would remember roughly where it had landed.

"Loose!"

At his command, the flag dropped.

FLAP!

Wind, red moonlight, torches, and lengthening shadows mingled. Beside the archers holding their strings drawn, a commander who had been watching only for the flag to fall opened his mouth.

"Fire!"

A fine archer was someone who could hit a target. But a fine military bowman was a different breed. Their skill lay not in hitting a target, but in sending arrows precisely where ordered. And these were fine, well-drilled soldiers. Missile troops armed with bows.

Arrows cleaved the air and rained down on the charging monsters. Arrowheads forged in fire buried themselves in spiders' heads and struck the earth.

* * *

FWIP-FWIP-FWIP-FWIP!

Encrid heard the air splitting overhead. Arrows in flight. The sound came not from enemy territory, but from his own side.

What did that tell him? Rem and Dunbachel had done their jobs properly.

Milio and the soldiers were not the only ones stirred into action. Roman, Aesia, the short-haired blonde, and the four squires moved swiftly as well.

"We hold them here."

Roman spoke through clenched teeth.

"You four, form up around me."

The short-haired blonde proto knight stepped among the four squires and took command. Her weapons were daggers and poison. It was a fitting position.

Roman and Aesia worked in concert. Roman became a bold spearhead, delivering tremendous blows, while Aesia became the shield that knocked aside spider legs striking between his attacks. They made an excellent pair.

The monsters were numerous, and the Twin Red Moons hung above.

"I'll kill them all."

Roman made no attempt to conceal his surging presence. With a torch at his back, he brought his sword down.

WHOOSH, CRASH!

His club-like greatsword crushed six spiders at once. Aesia had first darted in and out, her quick strikes herding the monsters together.

Amid the endless killing and blows, Encrid sensed something slipping in from beyond his awareness. Something sharp surged upward from below. A twinge ran through his lower belly. It was aimed at his abdomen.

He barely caught it in time, reflexively drawing his gladius to knock it aside. He turned his left wrist, combining a block with a deflection.

CLANG, SKREEE!

The block and deflection failed. The force behind that single thrusting line was as heavy as a Giant's. Encrid twisted his torso.

SKRRRT.

It barely missed tearing his flesh, scraping only the surface of his armor. No—without the bandage armor, it would have torn away a chunk of flesh at the very least.

What had struck was a monster's forearm, transformed into a blade, tipped with poisonous nails. A Ghoul. Its name was—

"Jerix!"

Oara's shout came from atop the wall.

If he did nothing, Oara would come and fight it. Then this would be another repetition no different from all the other todays. So from this point on...

'I insist.'

He would be stubborn. All he had to do was become Ragna trying to find his way. In short, Encrid had no intention of yielding this fight.

"Roman! Let's make a wager!"

The shout burst from Encrid's mouth. Just then, a similar monster bastard had appeared before Roman: the spider swordsman, the monster that wielded eight arms like swords.

Everyone was startled. The enemy exuded a tremendous presence resembling a knight's. As they reeled, a shadow rose behind the squires. The owlbear.

Encrid had not predicted everything. But he knew one thing: when he set the stage like this, that owl-headed bear bastard always attacked the weakest point. If a unit stood outside the wall, for instance, it always went for them first. So now it was targeting the squires.

He had anticipated it before the shadow even rose. Shouting to Roman, Encrid leaned halfway back. The four squires entered his view. Torches, shadows, red moonlight, the short-haired blonde, the positions of the four squires—he took it all in at once and caught something wavering behind Oliver.

Oliver had been panting with fatigue for a while now. He lacked stamina. The owlbear had seized on that.

As Encrid looked back, he stepped outward with his right foot and twisted at the waist through a semicircle. At the same time, he thrust his left hand forward. The sword in his hand turned perpendicular to the ground, becoming a spinning disc that sliced through the red moonlight and cleaved the air.

WHOOOOSH!

The moment he threw the sword, rather than correcting his off-kilter balance, Encrid spun all the way around again, sweeping Aker horizontally.

CLANG! THUD!

Two sounds struck his ears at once. One came from the owlbear, the other from right before his nose. Aker struck the Ghoul's nails as it exploited his opening. The owlbear lifted the hands it had been bringing down and crossed them before its chest to block.

Some of its feathers tore and black blood flowed, but the wound was not fatal. The gladius bounced aside and fell to the ground. It seemed he had not actually cleaved anything with his gladius lately, but the blade had done its job well enough.

Encrid raised Aker horizontally to face level. Beyond the blade, his blue eyes shone amid the red moonlight. With its nails blocked, the Ghoul took a step back.

Was it disconcerted that its attack had been stopped? It probably lacked the intelligence for that. It was likely a monster that had mastered its killing arts wholly within the realm of instinct. Yes, it was remarkable. This bastard deserved the name Jerix.

"Insane."

Luagarne's mutter came a beat late. He understood what she meant. With a knight-level monster before him, he had turned his back to save an ally. It was truly insane. Which made it all the more enjoyable.

'Ah, this is fucking exhilarating.'

Encrid did not hide what he felt. There was no need. He was smashing those monster bastards' plans one by one. He delighted in it. And the chance to fight a battle like this was a reward in itself. He smiled.

So far, things had gone as intended. But would everything go according to plan? The odds were low.

'I can't know everything.'

Not everything would unfold as expected. Of course it wouldn't. Today repeated, but it could not always be the same today.

Yet some things did not change.

'The Ghoul, the owlbear, the spider swordsman.'

Those three kinds of monsters, those fucking monsters, remained the sacrifices for the knight hunt. This was the trap laid by the balrog fragment that appeared afterward. Then what was his task? He had already decided.

"Your mother really must be a Ghoul."

Encrid tossed out a meaningless remark. The Ghoul exhaled with a guttural growl. There was something poisonous about its breath. Poison in its nails, poison in its maw.

"Try brushing your teeth."

More lunacy spilled from Encrid's mouth.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Luagarne asked.

He was indeed all right. This was like warming up before exercise. Like a rite performed before a sacrificial ceremony.

Words might not provoke this opponent, but actions seemed to work. Look. Whether a thing like you stands in front of me or not, I can land a blow on that uppity owlbear bastard behind me and still not fall to the likes of you. That was his taunt.

GRRRH.

The Ghoul exhaled again. Sensing its irritation at things not going its way, Encrid grinned broadly.

"Are you trying to earn the name Encrid of the Smile?"

Even Luagarne was tense. That was how formidable this monster was.

Still smiling, Encrid recalled his goal: to send Oara into battle with her limbs intact and her strength unspent. To send out Oara of the Smile. If the enemy wanted an Oara without her smile, an empty shell stripped of her determination, he would show them an Oara with everything still inside.

"What wager?"

Only then did Roman's voice reach him. He spoke without lowering his guard against the enemy ahead.

Encrid sensed Oara approaching from behind. She made no attempt to hide her presence. There was that familiar pressure. Her intimidation spread outward, crushing down on everything before her. This time, it targeted only the monsters.

Some nearby spider monsters recoiled at the sight of her, as though flung backward. She had not even drawn her sword.

"That one's mine."

The determination in her voice was unmistakable. Encrid refused that unmistakable determination.

"Wait your turn."

A brief silence pressed on his shoulders. Wordless pressure. He refused that as well. Oara broke the silence.

"You don't need help?"

"You can just cheer me on."

Encrid answered without taking a breath. It was the determination of a path already chosen. The determination that, up to this point, this was his fight. Insistence. Stubbornness. Defiance. Obsession.

Jerix was the prey you had your eye on? It was his now. His prey. Determination bordering on sheer obstinacy rose into a palpable presence.

Oara saw the back of someone who wore no scarlet cloak, yet was more than worthy of joining the knight order.

"You're a strange bastard."

It sounded like the highest praise.

Had his words made her smile? They probably had. He no longer had the leisure to look behind him. He could feel the Ghoul's presence. It seemed to warn that if he so much as glanced the wrong way, an attack like that knight of Aspen's strike would come flying at him.

Encrid opened his chest, letting his body speak: try it if you can.

The dice were cast. Now it was time to see how they had landed. Just as the roll of the dice had been an unchanging constant in his first repeating today, this battlefield had constants of its own.

Then what was the condition for getting over the wall? Simple. All he had to do was survive. Hadn't the ferryman said as much? Run away. He called it kindness, but it could never be kindness to Encrid.

If all he had wanted was to survive...

"I wouldn't have dreamed at all."

Encrid murmured again. With those words, his determination shone brighter. The obstinacy rising from his entire body brought Oara to a halt.

Unable to understand human speech, the Ghoul merely stood there as he talked to himself. Encrid steadied his breathing and concentrated.

He could imitate a knight's strike. But would his opponent meekly let it hit? Tension stiffened the shoulders. Better to loosen up a little.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the Ghoul, Encrid finally answered Roman's question about the wager.

"Roman, if you kill your monster before I kill mine, I'll admit you're better-looking than me."

Cracking jokes at a moment like this was madness in itself. But someone who could not enjoy a moment like this would never have reached the rank of proto knight.

A knight possessed a talent found in one out of ten thousand. Becoming a proto knight, too, was beyond anyone without comparable talent. Without the repeating today, he could never have reached this place where he now spoke of wagers and stubborn pride.

Encrid felt every hair on his body rise. He had never thought he would be content to die. But this was undoubtedly the kind of moment he had longed for.

A life spent protecting the people at his back. The life of a knight from the Bard's song.

"I want to become a knight."

Those words had become a dream. It had been torn and faded, but now it was stitched anew, filled with light.

"You're on."

Roman's answer reached him. Sometimes, a man needed acknowledgment from a rival.

"Just cheer you on?"

Oara spoke from behind him. He no longer felt the same determination in her voice. Yet her presence made it abundantly clear that she would intervene at any moment.

Encrid knew her weakness. The poison meant she could not fight for long. Her stamina fell short of a knight's. So Oara was not the one who should dance across this battlefield now. This was not the moment to draw the sword called Oara.

"Or you could dance."

Encrid swung his sword as he answered.