Wing, Garam, Maru, Fortune-Teller, Cloud, and West Wind. Aside from the smaller tribes, these six made up the bulk of the West. They had apparently developed as numerous small, nameless tribes gathered into larger ones.

Whether it was Wing, Great River, or Stamping Foot, the smaller tribes that split off shared the larger tribe's name. Say an elder decided to leave with his household and strike out on his own. If he belonged to the Wing tribe, his group would simply be called Little Wing. The largest of these groups became Great Wing, which was Rem's tribe.

Most western tribal societies took this form. Within them were positions such as chieftain, foremost warrior, and eldest shaman. These positions carried authority and symbolized martial strength. Wing was something like a parent to all the tribes, since Great Wing was the largest of them all.

That was the gist of what Encrid had heard about the western tribes on several occasions. There were plenty of people around to tell him: Geomnarae, the twins, and a warrior from the Maru tribe who visited incessantly. Others sometimes asked him for instruction after sparring. What else was there to do while resting after a fight? They chatted.

Gossip might well have been one of the westerners' favorite pastimes. Perhaps that was why quiet people were so hard to find. At any rate, those were the sorts of things they talked about.

"It probably won't make much sense to you. We have this idea that once you're family, you're always family. Things like that."

So Geomnarae said, but Encrid understood readily enough. He had grown up in a village like that himself.

Even on the continent, small villages often formed in places where monsters were scarce. Villages, not cities. They began as clan settlements where people with some degree of shared blood lived together; go back one connection, and most were relatives. When outsiders moved in, they lived much the same way. Even without blood ties, everyone lived almost like family.

Encrid's village had not quite been a clan settlement, but it had been similar. It had formed when refugees displaced by war gathered together. That was how it began: barely more than fifty modest houses, home to people who had been hurt in places all across the continent.

It was also where Encrid's dream had begun. Where the apple seller trimmed the rotten spots from his apples. Where an old serving woman roasted potatoes for him in the hearth. Where a bent-backed, foul-mouthed old woman said she had once sold her body. Where a mercenary had fled to escape fighting and battle.

Had monsters and demonic beasts not been relatively scarce there, the village would have vanished long ago. It had no special food or lodging to offer, nor any value as a trade route, so it had never grown into a city. But people lived there, doggedly carrying on.

"We'll pay them back for everything they've done."

Was this a march to war? Whatever one called it, Geomnarae said those words before they set out, smiling broadly enough to bare his canines. A grim resolve showed clearly in that smile—the unmistakable air of a man staking his life.

'Retaliation.'

His village had known a similar principle. Fail to retaliate and people thought you were easy prey. Once they did, they plundered you. The reasons might not have been exactly the same, but it sounded similar to Encrid.

Geomnarae wore a faded pelt with a wolf-shaped hood. If he got down on all fours in it, he would look like a wolf. The fine veins visible on his forearms were still purple, but he clearly had no intention of sitting this out. He was the warrior who led them all, their foremost warrior. How could Great Wing's foremost warrior stay out of a fight like this?

Naturally, the westerners had not simply endured every blow without responding. They had been preparing for something, gathering warriors and resisting the curse. The man directing those efforts was Wing's chieftain.

'Sky God, watch over us.'

The chieftain stood beside Geomnarae, hiding his unease. If they did nothing but suffer, the enemy would only grow bolder. Ordinarily, he would have urged patience, speaking of Utkiora, the dark dawn, but they had no room for that now.

As soon as they had recognized the curse, the eldest shaman had blocked it, then suppressed it through several experiments. Even that had cost them dearly: both the eldest shaman and the foremost warrior had fallen victim to it. On the other hand, without those two, the curse would have struck most of them.

'Those two held back the misfortune.'

It was like blocking a rushing torrent with a great boulder. Little streams would trickle around it, but it could at least stop the main surge once. In the time that bought them, they could mix earth and build a wall to stop even the smaller streams.

That had been the plan. The fortune-teller tribe might have been the best at spells, but their side had several formidable practitioners too. Then the two Giants had appeared, threatening the five tribes gathered around Great Wing. In the process, the Maru tribe's foremost warrior had died.

["I'll hold them off. Everyone, go to Great Wing!"]

He had gone out with three warriors to protect the entire Maru tribe. Better with a club than with spells, he had often demonstrated his skill and taught others at festivals where the tribes gathered. Even Rem had once learned something from him. But two Giants had been too much.

Now those two Giants were dead, killed by the outsider who had come with Rem. The shock to the westerners, and the Maru clan in particular, had been tremendous.

"Hero!"

It sounded only natural for one of the Maru clan to shout that. They had every reason to.

The Wing tribe's chieftain had continued gathering warriors afterward, to wipe out the bastards holding the approach to the sacred grounds. The fortune-teller tribe would be there, along with Giants, and whoever had orchestrated this.

Their chances of winning? There was no time to think about that. At this rate, they would wither and die. Frankly, if those Giant bastards had brought their companions and attacked earlier, the fight would already have been over. Yet for some reason, they had dragged their feet. That had bought the tribes time.

The curse being dealt with, the deaths of the two Giants—those had indeed set things in motion. Even so, the chieftain remained uneasy. Again and again, it occurred to him that they were setting out simply to avoid being struck first.

Were Giants the only things gathered before the sacred grounds? Was that all? There was more than one strange thing about how this had unfolded. The more he spoke with the returned Rem, the stronger that impression grew.

["So the Giant bastards made a few probing attacks and herded the tribes here like game? A bunch of warriors died, and that's how everyone ended up together?"]

["Yes. Probably to spread the curse."]

The curse would be more effective with everyone gathered together.

["I see."]

Rem had fallen into thought before speaking again.

["What happened once everyone was together?"]

["What do you mean, what happened?"]

["Did the Giants make any other demands? Anything like that?"]

There had to be a purpose behind an undertaking this large. It might even be plain to see. This was the West, not a land of plenty. Attack here to eat people? It wasn't worth the trouble. Better to raid a few little villages beyond the region called the frontier.

Then why? The chieftain could not begin to guess. He only grew more uneasy. No demands, no attacks. Just time passing.

So this was a desperate struggle. Fighting was a far better choice than letting time pass until the curse withered them away.

"Let's go."

They had long known that a group of Giants had gathered before the sacred grounds. The western warriors set off.

"You're coming too?"

The chieftain listened to the voice behind him and turned. Off to one side, he saw a man speaking with complete, unhurried ease: the Giant slayer, the tribe's savior.

Black hair, three swords, black leather armor, and equipment imbued with spells. He carried a remarkably varied assortment of gear. Yet all of it looked necessary. None of it seemed to impede his walking, nor did carrying so much make him look awkward.

Rem answered his question. With his attention turned that way, the chieftain could hear their entire conversation.

"Says she's coming because she's my wife," Rem said from beside their savior.

"Naturally."

Ayul answered from Rem's side. A faint unease showed in her too. Both father and chieftain, he looked at his daughter's face. He could not stop her. He could not tell his own daughter to stay out of danger while ordering everyone else to fight.

A chieftain must never do that. He was Great Wing's eldest, responsible for all these tribes.

"Let's smash them all!"

He shouted again to hide his anxiety. Geomnarae answered with a perfunctory wave. The warriors nodded. Everyone strode onward.

Encrid glanced at the chieftain, who kept shouting things. Why was he coming along?

"I think there'll be Cultists too, not just Giants," Encrid said.

"Looks that way."

"You knew?"

At his question, Rem lowered his voice sharply.

"Did you really think I was only out picking flowers?"

Well, yes.

"That's a funny look in your eyes."

"It's nothing."

Standing beside them, Dunbachel tilted her head.

"You said a whole lot of Giants had gathered? Will this many of us be enough?"

She had spotted the problem with uncharacteristic acuity.

"First, we test the waters. We aren't launching an all-out war on arrival. We go there, get a proper measure of the enemy's numbers, establish a camp nearby, and so on. Fighting is not simply charging in and hitting things. That's how an ordinary battle would go, at least."

Luagarne stepped into the conversation at just the right moment.

She was right. Encrid knew plenty of warriors had stayed behind. The twins, for instance, had not come, nor had Hira or the others called shamans. This group was something like a scouting force preparing for an all-out war. People called westerners barbarians, but that did not mean they charged into battle heedlessly, without strategy or tactics.

Riders on ten Velopters accompanied them along one flank. Apart from those, a little over fifty deserved to be called warriors. Of those, fewer than twenty were any use by Luagarne's standards.

"The rest will need to keep their wits about them if they don't want to die."

Her eyes had grown deeper and her speech slower, as though she had come to some profound understanding. Encrid did not bother asking what it was.

Well, life brought all sorts of thoughts. Often, those thoughts helped. If they began to get in her way, she would soon pull herself together. That was what the Frog named Luagarne he had come to know would do. Encrid had faith in her.

He felt no particular tension as they advanced. There was no reason to. His Sixth Sense gave no warning. All he had to do was fight and cut down whoever they met. The Giants might be dangerous, and there might be unexpected threats, but he still felt no particular tension.

The sacred grounds were apparently a cliff with more than a hundred caves.

["Long, long ago, all kinds of animals—bears, tigers, wolves, foxes—became human inside those caves under the Sky God's care. That's the myth, anyway."]

That was something Rem had told him.

Rem walked along picking his ear, while Ayul beside him kept telling him to stay alert, that the two Giants were not all they faced.

"The enemy has no idea. They'll need a good deal of beating."

That was Luagarne, with her newly strange manner of speech.

"No idea about what?"

And that was the Beastman, who had briefly shown keen insight only to become even more clueless than the enemy. Lately, Dunbachel seemed to have given up thinking altogether. Apart from sleeping, training, and washing when nagged into it, Encrid never saw her do anything. At most, she watched butterflies and swatted at them with her claws.

Listening beside them, Encrid agreed with Luagarne. What didn't the enemy know? They didn't know him, and they didn't know Rem. Would the deaths of the two Giants have put them on guard? They would. So what were they going to do about it?

Luagarne had told him he was somewhere between a proto knight and a knight. What did that mean? He didn't know. Nor did he need to. He would simply keep doing what he always did. Inwardly, Encrid thought dividing swordsmen into categories was rather ridiculous.

All right, then. If a lowest-grade soldier fought an intermediate-grade soldier, did the intermediate-grade soldier always win? If a proto knight fought a squire, did the proto knight always win? Not every fight was a spar on firm, level ground that began with someone calling out the signal.

A battlefield was a place where you risked your life. You had to remember you could die at any moment. There was no rule saying a knight could not die at a proto knight's hands. Carelessness brought defeat. Defeat brought death. So always give it your all.

'Well, maybe I can afford to worry a little less about spells?'

The ferryman said he swallowed every curse, after all. Walking along with these thoughts, Encrid steeled himself once more.

That, too, was one of his talents. He never let his guard down, even against a child. Having a brat of about twelve stab a hole in your stomach could teach you that.

As they reached the place called the sacred grounds, several low hills came into view. They stood before what could reasonably be called a canyon, with high ridges rising on either side.

Dozens of Giants had gathered on the broad stretch of ground. They looked almost like an army. Even a rough count put them at more than thirty heads. They were not quite soldiers; they had not lined up in neat ranks and files. Their formation was crude. Even so, the sight of so many enormous creatures standing together was tremendously intimidating.

Several westerners swallowed hard. Fuck, they looked ready for battle already.

"They said an outsider. So it was you."

An unfamiliar old man spoke from in front of the Giants. Their hulking companions had initially hidden them from view, but a whole line of human-looking figures stood there too. The speaker was the old man in the center.

A long cloak, a wooden staff in hand: the very picture of a mage. Several people stood on either side, filthy and unwashed. Were they all friends of Dunbachel's? They had gone so long without washing that their faces were black, which made their eyes stand out all the more. One opened his mouth and smacked his lips.

White eyes, black teeth, and a mage. Taking in that lot, Encrid flexed his toes.

Back when he had been immersed in the lake of experience with Luagarne, Esther had helped him a great deal too. She had taught him how to fight a mage.

How to fight a mage.

"You there, I am the very Si—"

Whatever the enemy mage babbled, cut him down first. Encrid did exactly that.

After his toes, he braced his left foot. He tensed his thigh muscles and drove down into the earth. The reaction to that downward force shot his body forward. It was a charge adapted from a knight's strike—an explosive rush far faster than what the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order's proto knight had once displayed on the battlefield against Aspen.

Most of the westerners probably could not even follow his movement.

BOOM!

The earth burst apart. Dirt fountained upward.

CRRRAAACK!

Already drawn and swinging, Aker's blade cut diagonally through the mage's body. Though it sliced flesh and bone, the sound was like hard wood splitting. The stroke happened to cross his mouth, so he never finished speaking.

Yet there was no hint of death in his eyes. His form blurred, and an identical figure appeared behind him.

"You bas—"

He tried to say more, but this time a flash shot from Encrid's left hand. Spark pierced his face.

The second rule of fighting a mage: don't give him time to speak.

"Impatient as fuck."

Behind him, Rem kicked off the ground and surged forward too. Before anyone could express surprise or get a word out, the melee had begun.

In Rem's view, a melee with Giants was ordinarily the sort of fight to avoid. But frankly, right now, it didn't matter.

Seeing Encrid and Rem go, Geomnarae advanced too. They had come to fight anyway. What was the point of talking? They only needed to do what they had come to do. In other words, it was time to pay them back for everything.