He had learned something fighting the knight of Aspen: if he stayed on the defensive merely to hold out, he would die without accomplishing anything. He knew that from experience now.

Encrid stepped forward as he swung his sword, his black-bloodied boots pressing into the earth. Blade and feet moved together. His strokes incorporated what he had learned watching Oara strike.

He merged footwork and swordplay into one. It was only a matter of bringing his sword down in time with his advancing step, but of course it was not easy. Even mastering this had taken more than sixty todays.

Two blue eyes left long trails through the darkness. Adding determination to the superhuman strength coursing through his body, he brought his sword down.

CRACKLE.

The stroke carrying White Thunderbolt shifted from the Ghoul's head toward its shoulder and plunged down. It seemed poised to slice away part of the creature's body.

TAP! WHACK!

But the Ghoul pushed the flat of the sword aside with its palm and blocked, stopping the proto knight's strike with disheartening ease. The difference in their speed made that possible.

Encrid did not falter. He simply drew Spark and stabbed again. As though he had expected the first strike to be blocked, the stab flashed toward the Ghoul's eye.

SWISH.

This attack missed as well. The Ghoul tilted its head aside to evade it. Encrid swept Spark sideways, but a single step carried the Ghoul completely clear of the blade's path.

That left it at Encrid's flank. Having evaded him, it extended its claws and struck. Encrid tucked his chin and raised his left shoulder. Its nails struck his pauldron.

CRACK!

Part of his armor shattered, and a flying fragment struck his eyebrow. A slightly worse angle could have cost him an eye, but he did not so much as blink. He extended his left foot behind him to make room for a swing, then brought Aker down.

Being able to fight a knight did not make the creature a knight. It might imitate Oara's smile, but it could not perfectly imitate her swordsmanship.

This strike came from beyond its expectations. Still charged with superhuman strength, his blade aimed for the Ghoul's head. However tough its hide was, this blow would hurt if it landed. Enough to send blood gushing and sever something.

THUD!

The Ghoul bent its knees, straightened them, and kicked off the ground to leap backward. It escaped the sword's reach so easily. Encrid saw the hollow left where its feet had been.

How could it dodge like that? Because the swipe that had destroyed his pauldron had been a light attack, little more than a check. Because its innate physical abilities were different from his. And that mere check had cost Encrid his left pauldron.

"Whew."

Encrid put Spark away and gripped Aker with both hands. Its point angled toward the sky. Holding his stance, he watched the Ghoul and its pitch-black, pupil-less eyes.

How many of its attacks could he withstand? He did not know. Of course, he intended to keep going until he won. His desire to win blazed.

But he had not forgotten his goal. He could only keep barely holding his ground here for a short while. Not because he could not endure any longer, but because Oara would only watch for so long. The moment she intervened, his today would be a failure.

'So.'

Hurry back.

Encrid had drawn up a picture based on his senses, and it included people who needed to finish their jobs and come rushing back. If he could not overwhelm the Ghoul, Oara would intervene. Then he simply had to kill the bastard before she did.

If he failed, this would be no different from all the todays before it. He hated that. He would not watch Oara lose her smile. He would show what a true knight was. And so he would twist today.

["Do you believe you can twist causality?"]

The ferryman had asked him that at the end of one of his countless past todays. Encrid had not considered it a question of belief, so he answered.

["I just do it."]

Keep going until it worked. Those words alone had kept him walking all this way. The ferryman had smiled at him. Was Encrid being too optimistic in not seeing mockery in that smile? There was no knowing.

* * *

It had only been a hunch. A hunch that something might happen.

"That's why I sharpened my axes so well. That's what you call my gift of foresight."

Rem spoke as he displayed a keen, blue-gleaming axe blade. Even while talking, he walked remarkably fast. He was not running, but his pace was as swift as a run.

Dunbachel kept up easily and replied, "Don't you sharpen them every day anyway?"

In other words, wasn't his talk of foresight a load of dog shit? He sharpened his axes every day. What was so special about that?

Dunbachel could be oblivious sometimes. No, often. And right now, she was a little giddy from the shower of praise Encrid had given her.

"Didn't you say you were just excited to have found a good whetstone?"

At times like these, her tongue operated independently of her brain. The seeds of words arising in her chest bore the fruit of speech directly. Rem's lips curled at her remark.

"The foresight started there."

That was a stretch, Admorr thought as he followed behind. But he did not say it aloud. No, he had no chance to speak at all.

He had trained his own body tirelessly, yet even keeping up was a struggle. It was practically an all-out sprint. Keeping his mouth shut was certainly wiser than opening it and needlessly biting his tongue.

Of course, he would have kept quiet even if he had not been running like this. He could read the room. A murderous gleam shone in the barbarian's eyes. One more wrong word, and he looked ready to split the speaker's head before bothering with any monsters.

But Dunbachel braved the threat of the axe and provoked him.

"That's a stretch."

With a smile feigning kindness, the barbarian made an appointment for after the fight.

"You and I will have a talk when this is over."

Dunbachel faltered briefly, but her pace did not slow. Instead, she stuck out her chest.

"Suit yourself."

She had just resolved to prove herself. She would no longer back down before she even began. It was not as though an axe blade was flying at her face right now. That mad axeman had pushed her as though he meant to kill her, and she had nearly died several times because of it, but killing her had not been his sole intention.

She had suffered too much over those days to dismiss it all as training, but facts were facts. So she would not back down. If this much made her retreat, proving herself would remain a very distant prospect.

"Good. Just you wait."

Rem quickened his pace as he spoke. Admorr followed, gasping for breath. He revised his preconception that "just you wait" was usually bluster or an empty threat.

This man Rem meant every word. Even Admorr could feel it. He was clearly someone who could hold an appalling grudge.

"A scent."

Dunbachel stopped abruptly in mid-run, her nose twitching constantly. A marsh exuding poisonous fumes lay to their left, with the gray forest directly ahead.

Admorr raised his right fist for the soldiers following him, the back of his hand facing outward. It was the signal to halt. Everyone stopped, shoulders heaving.

A cold tension gripped his whole body. Why wouldn't it? This was the Demonic Realm.

Even for soldiers stationed on the border to defend Thousand Brick, venturing into the Demonic Realm was rare. No, it almost never happened. Even scouts usually only swept the surrounding area rather than entering the Realm itself.

But they had no choice now. Watching Rem and Dunbachel, Admorr felt the anxiety he had forgotten surge back. It felt as though someone were slicing his heart thin with a narrow knife.

'Rowena.'

His eyes swept his surroundings. He did his best to find tracks, but he was no ranger. Nothing readily stood out.

Ordinary scouting meant sweeping the perimeter of the Demonic Realm. Those patrols had led to killing monsters on the verge of becoming colony leaders, and more than once had helped predict when a wave would occur. Yet what should have been a routine patrol had ended in a disappearance.

'Please.'

His pounding heart, the damp air, the tension: all combined to make his body stiffer than usual. He knew his field of vision was narrowing, yet he could not look away. He stared where Dunbachel had looked when she mentioned the scent.

Through his narrowing vision, he saw a monster crouching in the forest. Long legs wavered like a mirage in the darkness. The grotesque creature moved, its feet touching down lightly. An enormous spider.

A monster called a Giant Spider. A creature that caught people, wrapped them tightly in silk, and ate them alive.

'Why is it so big?'

It was larger than any spider monster Admorr had ever seen.

"There are a lot."

Dunbachel took the monster's size in stride. Instead, she remarked on their numbers, having estimated them roughly by scent.

As he listened to her, Admorr also saw feather-covered monsters moving beyond the spiders. There, among them, stood owlbears, known in these parts as the reapers of the night.

No, they were not merely standing there.

'They look like they're waiting to charge. Am I seeing this right?'

Surely he was imagining it? Though they were not in formation, the monsters looked ready to rush forward at any moment. It did not feel like his imagination. And there were owlbears among them?

He was on the verge of blurting out a curse. Once you had experienced a bear-sized monster silently pouncing on your back, it was only natural to need a piss at the mere sight of darkness. Of course, even that urge was a privilege reserved for survivors.

Usually, encountering an owlbear while separated from the others was synonymous with having your name engraved on a headstone. But Rowena would not have died so easily. The scouts would have set out prepared to guard against approaching dangerous monsters.

Then where was she now? Fuck, why were there so many monsters over there? Fuck, fuck, this was a goddamn nightmare.

"Hey, relax. Don't know why he sent you lot along, but I told you. My foresight's proved its worth."

The words came from the gray-haired barbarian, whose head Admorr could only see from behind. Admorr realized he was holding his breath and steadied his breathing.

Looking ahead, he saw the barbarian place a hand on the haft of an axe at his waist. Rem undid the custom-made leather sheath and drew it.

To forget the dreadful tension and the unpleasant thought that he might lose the lover as dear to him as his own life, Admorr asked, "Why do you do what he tells you without asking any questions?"

Was he that loyal? He did not look it. Admorr had a fair idea of what Rem would say. He was asking a question whose answer he already knew. It was meant to ease his tension, not satisfy any real curiosity.

He had already decided that this man Rem must owe Encrid his life or have sworn him allegiance. But Rem's answer was so unexpected that Admorr momentarily forgot his tension.

"He asked for help, so I'm helping."

"... Uh, what? Sorry?"

Admorr asked again without thinking. No, he was simply blurting things out in surprise. Listening beside them, Dunbachel twitched her nose and added a word.

"He asked us to help. Earlier."

No, when? Admorr briefly recalled their earlier conversation. Was something wrong with his ears? Had worrying about his lover broken his hearing?

He turned to look at a subordinate behind him and saw his own expression reflected there. The subordinate's face spoke plainly: What the hell are they talking about?

"He asked for help, so I'm helping. He's not the sort to say that unless he has to."

With Rem's words, Admorr achieved the effect he had wanted from his question. For a moment, he forgot his anxiety and tension. He also gave up presuming to judge the man.

So he shut his mouth. He did not bother saying more. This was not someone he could talk sense with.

The conversation had been brief. Lowering his gaze, Admorr noticed bootprints mixed among the marks on the ground. There were signs that something had been dragged, too. He had no particular talent for tracking, but these were unmistakable.

Whatever they had been trying to do, broken wood and tough vines lay scattered nearby. What on earth had happened here? Just as that question occurred to him, a sound rose.

RUMBLE.

The gray forest trembled. He felt the vibration. His body began to shake.

Then Rem looked back. A smile had appeared on his face. It was not a smile that brought Oara of the Smile to mind.

It was the smile of a mischievous brat who had found a wonderfully entertaining toy. The kind of brat who caused trouble without end.

Just then, a cloud hid the moon, darkening Rem's face. For a moment, Admorr felt as though he had vanished. Immediately after Admorr thought he could no longer see that crooked smile, Rem truly disappeared.

He kicked lightly off the ground and darted forward too fast for Admorr's eyes to follow. He managed it by ducking low and using the darkness as he ran.

Admorr had not seen Rem run, but he knew the man had gone forward.

THWACK!

There was no mistaking it when the head of a monster blocking the way ahead split open.

Then what was his own task? He gave a hand signal. Everyone was to advance at a quick march. They would follow the path those two opened and fill the gaps in their allies' line.

Having supported the knight order before, the soldiers were well practiced at this sort of work.