Divine possession. It meant calling a god down to this world.

Say that on the continent, especially in a holy nation, and an Inquisitor would come running at once. They would pull out your teeth so you could never chew meat again, or tear out your fingernails and toenails, saying:

"Admit that you're a heretic."

To certain fanatics, the West itself was a gathering place for heretics. Without the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm, the continent and the West might well have been at war.

History recorded wars between the West and the continent over their differing ideologies. Conflicts of religion, conflicts of language. People with different views on life often tried to impose their will through fighting. When rulers were like that, such things happened easily.

Of course, those rulers might also have used religion as a pretext to wage war for some gain. Fortunately, this was no longer such an age.

Punish the heretics of the West while the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm operated openly? More often than not, anyone proposing it would simply be called a madman. No one would agree, either.

After long years, an age had come when the West, too, was respected as a culture in its own right. Heretic and barbarian were merely words used to disparage its people.

Of course, whether someone called Geomnarae a heretic or anything else, he would simply honor the god he believed in.

"Bite them, rend them, tear them apart."

A spell. Black smoke rose from the charred piece of wood in his hand. Rather than dispersing, it took shape before him.

Its pointed, upright ears were white. Everything else was black. Those white ears stood out amid the pitch-black smoke.

"Go."

His open mouth was red as he spoke. Blood trickled from its corner.

No sooner had he finished than the legless wolf of smoke moved forward. Its body undulated up and down, making it look as though it were running despite having no legs. Its two white ears traced a pair of white lines through the air.

AWOOOO!

A wolf's howl reverberated through their guts. In the blink of an eye, the black smoke wolf slipped between the tribespeople and sank its teeth into a Giant's thigh. The creature had been edging sideways, out of reach of Rem's axes.

Even Rem had only one body. Without spells, his physical abilities alone could not hold back dozens of Giants. Just as a few began creeping backward, the wolf appeared and tore into a thigh.

Fangs made of smoke pierced the Giant's thick skin. It was a strange sight. Through the smoke, they could plainly see flesh being bitten and torn away.

CRUNCH!

Purple blood sprayed through the smoke.

"Graaagh!"

The Giant screamed and swatted at it. The smoke scattered briefly, then regained its shape.

CRUNCH.

The wolf Geomnarae had summoned blithely ignored the Giant's flailing hands. It bit once, twice, then kept on tearing into it.

Flesh fell away and blood spattered. The wolf buried its head in the ragged meat. The Giant's screams grew twice as horrifying.

"Uwaaagh!"

Naturally. Even an ordinary wolf's bite would hurt, and the Wolf God's fangs carried a curse of pain. Its bite would hurt worse than a needle driven beneath a fingernail. Like fingers digging through a festering, ruptured wound.

When the Giants had attacked before, his spells had been blocked, perhaps by some trick of the Sky God. More likely it had been the fortune-teller tribe, or that enemy son of a bitch from the continent. No, the mage. But nothing of the sort was happening now. There was no interference.

He had prepared for interference, of course, but in a situation like this, even Geomnarae would have been at a loss for a moment if he were the enemy commander. How the hell was anyone supposed to anticipate this and respond?

"Shit, you son—"

"Hey, you."

"You..."

He could see the enemy leader, unable to get a word out under the ceaseless sword strikes aimed at his mouth. His body kept blurring to let the blade pass through, but how long could he keep that up?

The outsider named Encrid did not look likely to tire. How could he swing a sword so calmly?

'Was asking him to spar really a mistake?'

Even to a Westerner brimming with courage, that was a bit much.

"Urgh."

Despite those idle thoughts, Geomnarae could not suppress the nausea rising in him and vomited blood. It felt as though someone had grabbed his stomach and was wringing it out. Forcing himself to summon the Wolf God had twisted his insides.

Before, he would have strained himself further trying to hold it in and look fine. Now there was no need.

"Don't push yourself. Just watch. What's a sick man doing out here?"

Rem's shout came from up ahead. He had noticed him vomiting blood, even in the middle of all that? The words were decidedly unpleasant, yet reassuring in their own way.

"Worry about yourself."

Geomnarae wiped his mouth as he answered. Rem did not even pretend to listen. In truth, he probably could not hear him.

Geomnarae had stepped up even at the cost of vomiting blood. The tribal warriors raised their spears high.

"The earth trembles. The earth trembles. Mother of the earth, watch over us, watch over us."

Seeing them, two shamans murmured as they jingled their bells. The bells sounded like children's toys. To their allies, it was merely a pleasant sound they could ignore. Not so for the Giants.

"Grruuh."

The creatures shook their heads, eyes unfocused. A few staggered. The spell concentrated sound waves to batter their heads.

The Wolf God, the bells, and the brave warriors of the West charging in between them. Fighting this way, even Giants were manageable. Of course, Rem's performance was by far the most overwhelming.

"Don't get yourselves killed charging in for nothing. Ayul, take command."

He spoke while swinging both axes without pause. Even in the middle of the Giants, he sounded perfectly at ease.

"Dallae, Maru, Tamu, Altan, sling stones. Range, Naran, Geut, Tan, Hun, javelins."

As it happened, Ayul was also a commander of the western warriors. Who had led the warrior ranks when Geomnarae collapsed? Ayul. She was one of the pillars supporting the faltering tribe.

At her words, they changed formation. Four spread out and drew their slings at the order to use stones. Two stood forward and two behind, spacing themselves apart, while the other four warriors raised black-tipped spears.

The spearheads lashed tightly to the ends of the sturdy wooden shafts were black. Obsidian. Their durability was abysmal, but there was no better weapon for a single decisive strike.

All of this had been prepared for fighting Giants. The western peoples were no fools. They had all readied themselves for a fight, for battle. They would have fought without Rem, though it would have been a desperate struggle.

Now it had become a fight they could comfortably watch from a straw bed.

"Hah!"

The Beastman running wild on one side was extraordinary, too. She wove among the Giants as she fought, her movements seeming divinely inspired.

She kicked off a Giant's thigh and vaulted upward, grabbed its greasy hair, and drove an elbow into the crown of its head.

CRACK!

The sound of a skull caving inward rang out. The Giant staggered and tried to stay upright, but after driving in her elbow, the Beastman immediately raked her claws through the inside of its head and leaped off to the side.

"Grrrugh."

With a bizarre groan, the Giant toppled sideways. The blood and other matter leaking from its crown were evidence enough that it would never rise again.

* * *

The chieftain almost rubbed his eyes, then thought it would be a shame to wake if this were a dream. Of course, it was no dream. He knew. He knew very well. He was not an idiot who could not distinguish reality from fantasy. It simply felt too unreal.

On one side, a man kept turning to smoke as sword strikes chased him. The wielder of that sword was the outsider, the fellow said to be Rem's companion.

"All evil cults are my enemies. I will slaughter them all."

The Frog fought with puffed cheeks, muttering constantly as though she had undergone a spirit's descent. Just hearing her words was enough to feel her killing intent. Then there was the Beastman fighting Giants.

Fine. Those three were outsiders. They could be like that. Even the chieftain could scarcely gauge their abilities. But the other one was different.

Rem, the candidate to become a Hero who had brought these outsiders. The chieftain's gaze settled on him. There stood the returned prodigal, chopping firewood.

"Axe."

Whenever an axe broke, he received a new one and went right back to chopping. The only difference was that he was splitting Giants rather than green wood or dry logs. The man-eating Giants that had threatened their people were being chopped apart and killed, reduced to less than firewood.

It would be a lie to say the sight did not bring satisfaction.

The chieftain had endured until he was pissing blood. The pressure he had suffered was enough to slowly kill a man. He could not sleep. His chest felt tight, and his heart would hammer uncontrollably. His worsening anxiety had stolen his appetite.

He had grown thin and more hollow-eyed by the day. Without the painted markings, his face would have plainly been that of a sick man. That was how it had been. That was how hard it had been. Because he understood their situation better than anyone.

'We're doomed.'

The dark clouds hanging over the West blotted out the sun and covered the sky.

Whether it was possible or not, he had tried everything he could. Seeking out the smaller tribes? He had done that before Rem. None of the bastards had responded.

He had even tried to establish secret contact with the fortune-teller tribe. He had wanted to ask why the hell they were doing this. If they wanted to become a damned great tribe, he would let them. He would let them do whatever they wanted, so just come back and stop this fucking nonsense.

They had not listened.

He had even considered seeking aid from the other lands of the continent beyond the frontier. Of course, nothing had gone as he wished. Somehow, neither help from outside the continent nor his attempts to find the smaller tribes had worked out. Not one thing had gone his way.

The situation had worsened by the day. The curse descended, the eldest shaman collapsed, and Geomnarae, their foremost warrior, fell ill.

'What a fucking disaster.'

The chieftain knew fleeing was an answer. That, too, was an option. But how could they do it?

The West was the land where they were born and raised, where they would be buried when they died, the land they must protect all their lives. Low clouds, high clouds, sunshade clouds, Great Lake, Sandbreak Canyon, Dragon Rise. He loved it all, too.

If this was the end, he would bear it. Despair had come in an instant and gnawed him hollow. He had begun to wonder whether, now that only a shell remained, all he could do was wait for death.

When Rem returned, when the curse was stopped, when the two Giants died, he had seen hope in each of those moments. But never as much as now.

He felt calm as he watched Rem kick a Giant's ankle.

Rem was not even half its size. Normally, a kick like that should not have budged the creature. But that was not what happened.

A single kick knocked it off balance. Its ankle bones crunched beneath its skin, and as it tilted and collapsed sideways, an axe blade met its neck.

THWACK!

Purple blood spurted with the crisp impact. Rem grinned, drenched in blood after striking the Giant's neck.

"Hey, there's not even half of you left now."

That was Rem speaking. The returned prodigal. He was different from before. He fought like that without spells. Even without the ancestral weapon given to him, he fought well. Exceptionally, astonishingly well.

The chieftain was relieved. They had won this battle. He did not think he would be pissing blood tonight.

His heart, which had lurched when the outsider named Encrid suddenly charged, now beat at its normal pace. Peace and a sense of safety brought relief.

Blood sprayed, bones broke, and screams erupted before him, but he was calm. Geomnarae had vomited blood, but from the look of him, a few days' rest would suffice.

The chieftain murmured, "We've won."

Naturally, that judgment was premature.

* * *

Despite her hatred of Cultists, Luagarne knew that the end of her fight brought her no real joy.

'Can I kill every Cultist?'

No.

'Can I uproot the evil cult?'

No.

After her second lover died, she had spent some time adrift. Back then, she cared about nothing but killing Cultists. Regardless of her desire, she might have made killing them her goal. But she had not.

'Because I took the easy way out.'

She had known that if she chose that goal, she could never achieve it. So she had redirected her desire toward pursuing and uncovering the unknown. It had been a fitting choice. Enjoyable, and convincing enough.

From the outside, a Frog's desire might seem to originate in instinct and some incomprehensible realm. But the actual experience was different.

'Where there is determination, desire follows.'

That was why true Frogs forged their own desires. They could clearly state what they wanted, and their reasons were clear. They were not dragged along by desires without reason.

'Ah.'

Realization came in an instant. The nightmare that revisited her worst moment. The faint traces of an evil cult. In the end, she would have to face the creatures who would remain her enemies for life.

It was not that she disliked being at Encrid's side. Walking toward the unknown was enjoyable, too. Someday, she wanted to set foot in the East. She would draw the map her former lover had dreamed of.

Luagarne watched Encrid swing his sword. She had observed his daily life for quite some time. And that daily life she had watched brought her a realization.

'I can explore the unknown, too.'

And slaughter Cultists. How? Whether there was an end or not, she simply had to do her utmost whenever she saw them. Even if the ending was unhappy, all she had to do was enjoy the journey.

There was a man who swung his sword with a smile. A man who never tired of swinging it. A man who rose at the same hour every day to train his body.

CROAK.

Even as she vented her fury, Luagarne smiled. Of course, the Cultists could not distinguish a Frog's smile from its anger.

"Crazy frog!"

"Crush its heart!"

"Tear its heart out with your teeth!"

The barbarian cannibals kept shouting. They wanted a reaction to the word "heart." But Luagarne's mind was firm. Even grating words went in one ear and out the other.

One of them tapped a foot sharply against the ground. Mana flowed from his boots, and his body moved to Luagarne's side. The item carried a high-speed movement spell.

She had experienced that once before. When had it been? While fighting the Knoll colony. She had been with Encrid then, too.

At the memory, a battle song burst from her unbidden.

CROAK, CRRROAK!

A Frog's battle cry. At the same time, her Loop Sword swept up to the right, cutting through the air where the cannibal mage was just appearing.

WHOOSH!

The forceful blow sent the cannibal recoiling in alarm.

"Tch!"

At that, a woman who appeared to lead the cannibals gestured. One by one, the enemies gathered around her. Meanwhile, a one-eyed Fairy attacked to buy time.

Not a difficult opponent, but not one she could subdue in an instant. If buying time was the aim, they had made the right move.

"Come forth, arm of the warrior."

One of the cannibals murmured and stretched out a hand. A black droplet formed at his fingertips and fell. That single drop spread into a black pool, and a black hand burst up from beneath it.

It was an evil cult's spell.