Rem did not know why Encrid had told him to tear through the Demonic Realm.

'Did he sense something? Or was it a guess?'

The reason did not matter. He must have sensed something ominous to ask for help. Rem left it at that. If he checked and found nothing, he could simply head back.

But there was work to do. He could see it right before him. The reason Encrid had sent him here stood ahead, reeking to high heaven: thinning the hordes of monsters waiting inside the Demonic Realm.

Having settled on his task, Rem deliberately raised his chin and swept his gaze wide. Even in the darkness, he could roughly make out his surroundings. Everything he saw was a monster. Clustered between the gray trees, they looked like a vast army drawn up in ranks. There were two kinds: giant spiders and owlbears.

'What, are you practicing drill formations?'

With that idle thought, Rem let his axe-bearing hands hang and lowered his stance. He ran with his chest almost brushing the ground and his arms trailing behind him, like an eagle running across the earth. His axes served as its wings. Those wings would never carry him into the sky, of course. But they could cleave and cut through whatever barred his way.

A soft red light shone down from overhead. The Twin Red Moons had risen, a phenomenon called the Red Moon. It was a night when monsters grew stronger. Rem did not care. He focused only on swinging his axes.

His axes moved as he skimmed across the ground, crouched lower than if he were sitting. He slashed as he ran. Two lines passed through the monsters' bodies, bathed in red moonlight.

SLICE! CRACK!

Everything that met the axe blades was severed with a sound. Heads, legs, torsos: it made no difference. Black fluid sprayed from the severed parts, but not a drop touched Rem. A gray streak casting its own distinct light in the darkness, he passed among the monsters as swiftly as he swung his axes.

Several spiders straightened their legs, raising their bodies.

TAP! CRACK! GRRRK!

Rem pressed his blades against them and sliced as he passed. A leg broke with a crunch, but the spider had six legs supporting its body. Losing one would not kill it. The axe that sliced that leg burying itself in its head, however, would.

His axe swept forward, slicing through a spider's leg, stopped the instant it cut through, then reversed to strike its head. The sequence flowed utterly naturally. It looked as effortless as a child playing with a thread unwound from a spool.

THWACK!

Another monster bowed its head to the ground. Rem liked how his axes moved exactly as he intended.

'Not bad.'

They were no ancestral weapons, but weren't they the finest money could buy? They had to be. Axes forged entirely from Lewis steel were hardly commonplace. No one but Rem could even wield them properly.

The key was applying or easing off exactly as much force as he wanted, and the weapon had to withstand its owner's strength. With such a weapon, he could use the Feather Axe technique. Rather than relying on the weapon's weight, this feat depended entirely on his own muscle.

What did fighting this way make possible? He could change direction without a backswing, just like that reversed slash. In other words, his axe strikes became unpredictable.

Rem kept swinging. The axe blades scattered in every direction without recoil, cutting everything caught within them. Two lines that severed anything they touched curved through the air, sweeping all around him.

SCREEEECH!

A screaming spider, cut in half as it crawled along the ground—or rather, lucky enough not to have its head cut off—warned the entire horde. That cry convinced Rem there was something controlling these monster bastards.

His five senses merged into Sixth Sense, lighting a path through the realm of instinct. Rem looked in one direction.

Anyone watching from above would have found the sight curious. They would have seen the monsters clustered in a circle around the center of a clearing near the forest. Rem could not survey the battlefield from overhead, of course. Instead, he found his way by instinct. At that same moment, claws descended behind him.

There was no sound, not even a whistle through the air. Only superhuman strength filled that feathered forearm, enough to slice a mere human into a bloody lump of flesh.

Rem twisted at the waist and kicked backward. With his left knee braced, he drove his right foot out with the force of that twist.

THWACK!

His foot caught the charging owlbear in the chest. Feathers tough enough to stop most sword blows caved inward. Through his sole, Rem felt the monster's breastbone crunch. The kick sent it flying backward and rolling across the ground.

After tumbling with several heavy thuds, it tried to rise and regain its balance despite its crushed breastbone. An axe descended on its head. Rem had followed up his kick, of course.

CRACK!

The monster fell flat, its head split open. Black blood streamed out, pooling in a hollow in the ground.

"That Sneaky alley cat was several times nastier than you, you bastard."

Black liquid dripped from the Lewis-steel axe blade, honed to an edge finer than a strand of hair. Under the Red Moon, the axe, his skin, and the black fluid all looked reddish. Well, black or red hardly mattered. Rem let his arms and axes hang again.

And though he hated to admit it, truly hated to admit it, and would never say it aloud even if it killed him...

'It did help, you crazy bastards.'

Rem acknowledged that his muscles had grown tougher, his axe blows stronger, his senses sharper. All of it came from spending time with those lunatics.

He had once thought he had reached the end of what his physical techniques and abilities could achieve. He had been wrong. That was something he had learned from watching a man who did not know how to give up. There were no limits. There was no end to anything.

It gave Rem something to look forward to. Now, the difference between his former abilities and his present ones was plain. What would happen if he added spells to that? Even back when he had his spells, he had never thought himself inferior to those knights.

"Hey, I'm busy. Hurry up and come at me."

Smiling, Rem ran again, straight toward the mass of monsters.

While he swung his axes, Dunbachel split the head of an owlbear that had suddenly lunged at her with her curved sword, then leaped into a tree. Her night vision far surpassed that of an ordinary Beastman, and her eyesight was keen as well. Behind the monster horde, she spotted a group of spiders whose arms curved like bows.

The instant she saw them gathered there, she could anticipate the damage they would cause. Naturally. She might lack social awareness, but she was no fool incapable of assessing a battlefield.

'Arrows. Bows. Monsters.'

An unforeseen threat, an unforeseen attack. What would she have to do to eliminate it? Strike first.

Dunbachel's survival instincts began to work in a different way. Following her instincts, she sharpened her sense of smell. Even she did not know how she could do it. But a different kind of scent lay beyond, and she could smell it.

If they communicated through scent, something had to receive the signals, and something had to send them. That different scent—the sender—was nearby. In other words, the ones commanding all this.

Dunbachel looked toward the rampaging barbarian. That bastard was carving into the horde alone, slaughtering everything. At its center, too, were monsters giving off a peculiar scent. Not just one, but perhaps five? Those felt like a problem that needed dealing with as well.

Yet somehow Rem knew, and was driving straight toward them through the monsters. As she watched, Dunbachel heard the voices rising in her heart.

'I can't.'

'It's dangerous to push in there.'

'Then what can I do?'

'I might die if I hold out here.'

'So I fight? Is fighting how I survive?'

'When I could just run away?'

Instinctive warnings. Dunbachel's fur stood on end. At the same time, she took a step. She ignored the countless questions tormenting her. She had chosen her task.

'Prove myself.'

What was she standing here for? Now the answer was clear. To slice, cut, and kill monsters. For that purpose, she drew her curved swords and ran.

As her feet drove off the earth and her body cleaved through the moonlight, fur sprouted across it. Snow-white fur soon covered her face as well. This was the transformed shape her Beastman village had called a curse.

Her body changed, altering the quality of her muscles. Power filled her feet as they kicked off the ground, and she grew faster. She ran with soft footfalls, using her ankles and knees to muffle the sound.

A crack of tearing air made several monsters turn their heads, but Dunbachel was already racing past. She ran to the edge of the marsh. Poisonous fumes tried to seep through her entire body. She held her breath, then plunged straight through the toxic mist. Her target lay at the center of the marsh.

* * *

Reaching the vicinity of the battlefield, Admorr saw Rowena bound to a pole.

"Damn it, Rowena."

Gritting his teeth, he approached, loosened her bonds, and checked her injuries.

"How?"

Rowena blinked as she asked. She had no serious injuries, though strips torn from her underwear were wrapped tightly around her thigh.

"Did you come to rescue us? Is Lady Oara here? Or Sir Roman?"

"A barbarian and a Beastman came. We can talk about the details later."

Admorr drew a dagger, cut the ropes, and hoisted her onto his back. Half her soldiers were dead, but half had survived.

"I thought it was over," Rowena murmured.

"Where do you think you're going without me? What do you mean, over?"

Admorr wound rope around himself and Rowena, securing her to him. Now what? He had found and rescued their people. Around them lay nothing but monsters already hacked apart by axes. But he did not let down his guard. This was still a dangerous, threatening, terrifying place.

Could they simply head back? As he considered their next move and kept himself alert, a shout rang out.

"Come aaand get me!"

Someone was rampaging near the marsh, making his caution seem pointless. The objects in those hands drew lines through the air. He knew perfectly well they were axes, yet they looked like feathers. Only those feathers were crushing and cleaving everything they touched.

For a moment, Admorr watched Rem fight in a daze. Black fluid erupted wherever he passed, staining the surroundings. But Admorr could not stand there transfixed.

"Let's get out."

He withdrew with his lover secured to him. It seemed no monsters would pursue even if he simply walked away.

* * *

Oara felt a sense of déjà vu.

'Has this happened before?'

Surely not. She had never handed someone else a fight that was hers to take. Oara watched Encrid and Jerix battle. She had even given that opponent her ex-husband's name. It was hers to cut down.

Then why wasn't she stepping in? The reason stood right before her. It was this fellow Encrid. The determination he had shown had stopped her.

'He's defending well enough, but...'

It looked like one crisis after another. Watching from the sidelines, she felt he was barely hanging on.

CLANG!

She saw Encrid block Jerix's raking claws with the flat of his sword. As he blocked, he hooked a foot around the Ghoul's leg. The Ghoul lifted its foot just before it could be tripped and drove its knee at his groin.

As though he had anticipated it, Encrid was already pulling back his sword, held parallel to the ground, to hammer its knee with the pommel. Just before knee and pommel met, the Ghoul leaned backward and straightened its leg. Jerix's foot still aimed for the same spot.

On the verge of losing his manhood, Encrid lowered his left forearm to block Jerix's shin. Its foot and his forearm met in a cross.

CLANG!

Metal rang with a shivering resonance. The silver vambrace covering the back of Encrid's left hand stopped Jerix's instep. After that lightning-fast exchange, the two briefly drew apart.

Watching, Oara considered the situation. Jerix would not stop, but neither would it readily commit to a decisive attack. Even as it fought Encrid, it was keeping her in check.

'That bastard Jerix has improved again.'

Should she just let this continue? At this rate, Encrid looked likely to die. He was too good a man to waste. Both that face and that skill. She did not want to let him die. Yet neither could she easily step in.

Though he was no knight, Oara had seen Encrid emanate a knight's level of Will. Just for that one instant when he had barred her way. She must have imagined it. Of course she had. Even now, he was barely holding on.

And yet Encrid was still blocking. By the narrowest of margins, he somehow kept blocking.

Oara was a knight. She understood honor, and through her oath, she wielded a sword that upheld her convictions. That was why she could not stop the man who now stood in her way. Encrid, too, was showing something like what she possessed.

An oath to smile, no matter what happened. Underpinning that oath was her resolve to protect this city. Because to her, this city was her smile itself. She saw something akin to that in Encrid.

What lay behind that man? What was he protecting?

'What is it? Seriously.'

Curiosity stirred in Oara. Somehow she had ended up watching, but she also wanted to know why Encrid was doing this. Of course, she would intervene if things went wrong. Yet even that would not be easy.

Right beside them, Roman was fighting the spider swordsman, while the owlbear, strong enough to take on a knight, waited for an opening. Oara was the fulcrum of the balance. If she moved, she could certainly kill one of the three. But the other two monsters would target one of her allies. Could she stop that as well? That would be difficult.

She chose to serve as the counterweight. If someone here could kill just one of those three...

'The rest will be easy.'

They might end this battle without losing anyone. Of course, the situation was unfavorable. Time was on the enemy's side. The monsters did not tire, while her allies seemed to be slowly losing ground.

Even so, the fierce light in their eyes did not fade. Their battle, their fight, their struggle, their determination set the soldiers' hearts ablaze.

"Oa!"

Behind her, a soldier on the wall shouted the rallying cry.

"Let's die smiling!"

She heard the cries of those prepared to die. Oara did not want to ask anyone to die if she could help it. And so, for a little while, she deferred the moment of choice.

* * *

["Just my luck."]

Oara, bitter at being unable to fight properly because of the poison.

["I'll hold them off to the end."]

Oara, holding on until she died.

Oara had never lost. She had simply never had a proper fight. She had died without ever being given a chance. At least, that was how Encrid saw it.

That balrog fragment, or whatever it was, had sent monsters ahead to exhaust Oara, then taken an easy victory. What if she had not been poisoned? Then she could have fought.

The poison kept her from fighting properly? Then he would let her fight properly, even if only once. What Encrid was trying to protect was Oara's pride as a knight.

His muscles ached from blocking the Ghoul's claws. Because it was wary of Oara behind him, the Ghoul could not easily seize a chance to kill him. And so he held on. Held on, and held on again.

At last, his wait was over.

"What's this? It's a mess here too."

Rem had arrived.

"There was one commanding the archers. I killed it."

Dunbachel had returned as well, limping and hungry for praise.

"I've been waiting a long time, Rem," Encrid said.