Encrid immediately turned toward the black warrior. The Giants were writhing as they awakened, but...

'They should be all right.'

Rem was there, and so was Dunbachel. Above all, the female Rem could fight. So this came first. His intuition told him as much.

"He's coming!"

One of the cannibals spotted Encrid and shouted, his voice full of terror. How could it not be? The man who had led them lay fallen, his head parted from his neck.

Encrid caught sight of the cannibal's black teeth but left him alone. The state of the battle, the situation—everything sank into his mind, making his priorities clear.

He set his priorities within the realm of the senses. This was the battlefield awareness he had awakened while fighting Aspen. Beyond strategy and tactics, he knew what needed doing by feel alone.

Terror mounted in the cannibals' eyes as Encrid rushed toward them. Their pupils trembled; some had hands that shook uncontrollably. How were they supposed to survive against a monster like that?

In truth, they needn't have worried. Once they were dead, even such worries would be a luxury.

Several scratches marked Luagarne's heart guard, but none were deep. She did, however, have a long piece of metal lodged in her belly. A cannibal's javelin had broken off, leaving its head and a handspan of shaft embedded in her.

The black warrior opposite her, in turn, was missing a foot. It had burned down to a stump, presumably thanks to the flaming whip. Their fight had been evenly matched, but behind the black warrior stood cannibals who had embraced the evil cult, while westerners stood behind Luagarne.

Was the situation precarious? It had been. Not anymore.

A blurred shadow appeared behind the black warrior. Encrid, of course. He swung his sword in time with his movement. The silver blade severed the dead warrior's neck.

SWISH.

Soot scattered, but its neck immediately rejoined. It had the sort of body that nothing short of magic could harm.

That didn't matter. Aker was a magic sword. It could hurt the black warrior, though it wasn't powerful enough to kill it in a single stroke. Or perhaps it was something he had noticed lately: the sword seemed to be gradually losing its strength.

Even so, it still didn't matter. The sword remained serviceable.

That first stroke had thinned its soot, but it hadn't died.

'It won't die.'

Was cutting off its head pointless? What should he do, then? The soot seemed to be thinning, so why not keep cutting?

The thought was brief; the action was swift. Encrid swung Aker like a twig. The rapidly moving blade sliced through its body again and again.

The black warrior thrust its spear in resistance, to no avail. Encrid shifted his footing, letting the spear stab empty air as he cut three more times.

After nineteen cuts in all, the death warrior's mass of soot began to disperse. Ordinarily, it would have required a magical implement or spells to deal with. Geomnarae had been about to summon his wolf again, even at the cost of overexerting himself.

Now there was no need. Watching the summon disperse beneath the high-speed slashes, Geomnarae wondered once again.

'Do we really have to spar?'

The death warrior drifted apart in the air like tobacco smoke exhaled by Hira. It vanished like black smoke scattering through the sunlight. The enemy that had put Luagarne in such peril faded away without even putting up a proper fight. The difference in their strength was plain.

"Run!"

"O sand ghost!"

At the sight, the cannibals scattered in all directions, casting spells and taking to their heels. Luagarne broke into a run after them, shouting.

"Not one of you will escape."

Encrid left them to her rather than joining the pursuit. The cannibals pulled out all manner of strange talismans and weapons as they fled, but they didn't seem likely to be a match for Luagarne.

A talisman thrown by a cannibal sent sand erupting into a vaguely human shape. The moment Luagarne's flaming whip coiled around it, it burned black and collapsed.

She wasn't the only one taking action. More than five western warriors were launching obsidian javelins from spear-throwers or firing slings at the fugitives. Geomnarae hurled a hand axe outright.

WHOOOOSH!

The flying axe struck a fleeing cannibal in the back. He fell forward with a thud, and the Frog's foot came down on his head.

CRUNCH.

His skull broke. An eyeball popped free and rolled across the ground. Death. Luagarne continued after the others.

Spells were a wildcard, but after that sand ghost or whatever it was, Geomnarae blocked them. He was using a technique that prevented the spells from activating at all, though Encrid naturally couldn't know that much. He simply had a good feeling about it.

The threat was gone. They would scarcely have amounted to much had they stood and fought, and now they were busy running away. Naturally, he felt no threat from them.

"Enkie, not here."

Geomnarae spoke as he looked at Encrid. Encrid nodded and turned away. They had to deal with the apostle's final desperate act before the battle would be over.

"You want to die twice? Sure. Fine. Die."

Rem's shout reached him just then. It didn't matter that the dead had risen, or that there were over a dozen dangerously powerful Giants.

Encrid watched Rem rampage. His left axe battered a Giant's club aside while his right cut through its wrist. Tremendous force sent the Giant's club-holding hand flying into the air.

After the wrist came the neck. Stepping onto the Giant's foot, Rem sent his axe sweeping upward beneath its jaw, through the cartilage. A new mouth gaped in its throat, and blood gushed out.

The sleeve guards around Rem's forearms grew sodden with blood. Droplets flew everywhere, and Ayul fought beside him amid the spray.

"I'll kill you all!" she shouted, swinging her axe.

Encrid had a rough idea of what she'd done. It was a technique the twins had demonstrated. A blue energy of sorts shimmered over her entire body, making her axe strokes incomparably faster and more economical than when he'd last seen them.

Regardless of sex, she had a formidable build, and her slashes made full use of her heavy axe's weight. Those two elements worked in harmony as she struck a Giant's shin with a thud. Black blood, rather than purple, streamed from the split shin.

The single blow broke the bone and cut halfway through. Unable to support its own weight, the Giant staggered and fell. When another Giant beside it swung a fist, Ayul caught it with one hand.

THUD!

She hadn't deflected it. She had caught it head-on. Such tremendous strength. The sort that would make her a fitting opponent for Audin in an arm-wrestling match, perhaps.

"The bear spirit is with me."

Murmuring, Ayul knocked the fist she held aside and swung her axe. The heavy battle-axe, its blade twice the size of an ordinary axe's, fell vertically onto the Giant's foot.

THUNK.

Bone broke and blood spattered. Black blood splashed across her face, and the corners of her lips rose. A smile. She was smiling. She even looked as though she were enjoying herself.

Definitely a female Rem. At any rate, husband and wife made quite the fighting pair. Beside them, Dunbachel was rampaging too.

"Why the fuck do you keep coming back to life?"

She bought time with hit-and-run attacks while westerners threw javelins from behind her. She seemed more than capable of getting herself out of danger somehow, but there were still quite a few Giants.

Then something unexpected happened here, too.

PFFT-PFFT-PFFT.

Off to one side, several people who were small even for westerners fired blowguns and swung what looked like hooks. The Giants they struck squealed, blood running from their eyes and noses. Even if they didn't fall immediately, their fighting strength was being halved.

It was spell-made poison, the work of the small tribe Rem had called in. Encrid could tell from their behavior that they were on his side, so he kept clear of them as he joined the fight.

GROOAR!

A Giant suddenly came at him, windmilling its arms and legs. Encrid knocked aside its club and foot with Aker, then punched a hole in its skull with a high stab. A stream of blood followed as he pulled the blade free.

He watched the dead Giant briefly. It merely twitched, without rising again. So they wouldn't come back to life a second time?

Many westerners had been startled when the Giants suddenly pulled that awakening shit, but they weren't startled anymore. Nor did they need to be.

Fighting them himself, Encrid found a clear gap between these Giants and the two he'd faced before. Ordinarily, the apostle and necromancer would have summoned wraith armor, bone swords, and the like to equip them, completing his corps of death Giant warriors. But the necromancer was dead. That left them half-finished.

Watching the battle, the chieftain wept openly. For a moment, he'd feared something had gone wrong. It hadn't.

Most of those who had joined Great Wing in the advance party had been prepared to die. They had come here accepting that possibility. Even so, they would fight. For what? For the West, for freedom, for survival.

Yet none of them had died. Even the apostle's final act of madness fell to the blades of Encrid, Rem, and the Beastman. Spell-made poison had seeped into the Giants, pinning them in place.

The tribespeople who had been throwing javelins from afar lowered their hands. All the Giants were dead. There was nothing left to stab.

The small tribe vanished even faster than it had joined the battle. They withdrew to the side of the canyon, showed their palms, and promptly left. They considered even exchanging words a problem. Most westerners respected their culture and let them go.

The battle had begun at sunrise and ended before noon, yet no one felt empty. Nor did anyone mistake its ending more easily than expected for its having been an easy task.

They simply felt that they could live their lives again. They understood that the threat was gone. It hadn't fully sunk in yet, but one thing was certain: they had won.

Beneath the gentle sunlight, Encrid felt the cool breeze of the West. Purple blood ran like a river. It stank. Bodies lay strewn about.

But the chieftain and the other westerners saw none of it. They saw only the two men who had started and ended this fight, exchanging words. Who were those two? The returned prodigal and the outsider he had brought.

Rem approached as Encrid enjoyed the breeze with Aker hanging at his side. Taking Rem's feelings into consideration, Encrid spoke first.

"You don't have to bow your head and thank me."

"... Did I say anything?" Rem tilted his head.

Fortunately, the onlookers were too far away to hear their conversation, so the emotion welling up inside them didn't crumble to dust.

Only Ayul came close enough to regard Encrid with a look that asked whether the man was a little mad. Still, he was their benefactor, so she kept her mouth shut. Challenging him now would make her an ungrateful idiot. She would have no grounds to complain if they treated her like an alley cat.

"Right. If you're grateful, just do better from now on," Encrid added.

"You all right? Sounds like you're hearing voices. I think you need treatment," Rem replied at once.

To Ayul, it was one absurd remark after another, but it wasn't an unpleasant sight. She felt she could see how these two usually spent their days. What had her husband been doing after leaving her?

Encrid and Rem offered her a glimpse of the time in Rem's life she hadn't seen. Watching them simply made her feel good. They had fought, won, and were enjoying silly jokes.

"Well, anyway. Let's have a drink of the best liquor in the West."

Rem expressed his gratitude in his own way. Encrid nodded casually. It was nothing. Considering everything Rem had given him, it truly was nothing.

The battle was over. So was the crisis in the West.

* * *

They gathered the bodies, buried them, and cleared the battlefield. A look around the sacred grounds would have to wait. Something about it being difficult while the eldest shaman remained unconscious. Encrid took their word for it.

Various things happened in the meantime.

"We will carve your name into the cliff."

People began offering him praise of that sort. Had that one said he belonged to the Maru tribe?

They spent little time honoring the dead. Death was not the end to them. Such was their culture. All sorts of people approached him amid the cleanup.

"Have a drink."

An old man offered him liquor.

"Sigh. Mother won't let me go to the continent. I need somewhere to hide until you leave, husband."

Jiba was still dreaming.

Ever since the battle, Dunbachel had been staring into space or dozing, lost in some thought or other. Luagarne got along well with the westerners, too. It seemed to happen naturally as she asked them all sorts of questions and immersed herself in the West's ecology and culture.

"I cannot call you a true Hero. In our land, that word means something rather different. But I would call you an honorary Hero."

Firelight, a bonfire, westerners gathered around. Those who had been chattering loudly fell silent. The chieftain had spoken with an enormous bonfire at his back.

His words drew every gaze. Encrid simply stood there, composed. It was the night after the battle. The excitement and emotion had yet to fade.

"Outsider, I speak on behalf of all westerners. From this day forth, you are our friend."

With that, the chieftain bowed until his forehead touched the ground. Rem had told Encrid what that posture meant. Hadn't he said that if you told them to come to your room stark naked tonight, they would do it without a word of complaint?

That old man? The very thought was horrifying.

"It was nothing."

So he politely declined. Behind the chieftain, everyone, Ayul included, lowered their foreheads to the ground in the same posture.

Something that was nothing compared with what Rem had done for him. Yet to these people, it was more precious than anything. It had allowed them to go on living. It had protected the spirit of the West and let their lives continue.

"They're thanking you."

Rem spoke with a snicker, as though he had read Encrid's mind. He was sitting off to one side. Encrid spoke once more.

"It really was nothing."

He meant it. Compared with what Rem had done for him, he truly thought it was nothing. It had begun with the heart of the beast. Without it, he wouldn't be who he was now.

Was all of this luck, then? A gift born of coincidence? Merely a whim of the goddess of luck? Of course not. Luck came to those who were prepared.

Encrid wasn't denying his own efforts. He was simply grateful for what deserved gratitude. That was why this was nothing. To him, at least. But he understood perfectly well that it was not nothing to them.

The chieftain rose and spoke without even brushing the dirt from his knees.

"Eat and drink."

With his permission, everyone did just that. Something like a festival began.

"To the spirit of the West."

"To the bear and the thunder."

"Smile, O Grime. My thanks for granting my wish!"

"O dawn bird, raise the sun."

With all manner of cries, they raised their cups and tore into meat. They celebrated for two days, and Encrid joined them.

He drank plenty of liquor made from goat's milk, sheep's milk, and cow's milk, yet he didn't get drunk. After drinking like that, he worked up a heavy sweat exercising the next morning, and every trace of the previous night's liquor seemed to vanish.

It was a clear, pleasantly dry morning. And the man they called the eldest shaman woke up. What had Rem said? This was the shaman he needed to recover his spells.