Why must people wage war?

It would be a lie to say the question had never occurred to him.

Why must they kill? Why must they die?

["If you've decided to live by the sword, shouldn't you be prepared to die? A bastard who thinks everyone but him should die has no conscience."]

So said a mercenary who valued loyalty.

["If they wish to go to God, I merely send them on their way."]

So said a priest of the God of War.

Everyone would have their reasons. Of course, some simply swung their blades without a thought, while others fought because those were their orders.

["Swinging a sword is all I know."]

There could even be a monstrously talented fighter who said that.

Others, meanwhile, formed a coin with their thumb and forefinger and said,

["To earn these. What else?"]

["To prove myself through slaughter. I need no other reason!"]

He had seen a Giant shouting that on a battlefield.

["There is a heat that rises in the heart of war. Only that heat proves I am alive."]

Who had said that? Right, a Frog. Frogs were a race that chased something between a desire and a goal, so it was just the sort of thing one might say.

["I fight because they attack me."]

There had also been a Beastman who took a passive approach to fighting.

Encrid had met so many people. He had fought beside them, nearly been killed by them, and, thanks to the curse of a repeating today, actually died at their hands. In turn, he had killed and beaten others to arrive where he was now.

So why did people wage war?

He didn't know.

From the perspective of those in power, the purpose might be clear. To expand their territory, for instance. To possess more.

On a continent driven to urbanize by the existence of monsters and demonic beasts, population growth brought a vexing problem: people ran out of room to feed and clothe themselves and live their lives. Those in power had to supply what was lacking. They needed land with water, land fit for farming. Land where people could make a good living.

But when they tried to set foot on that land, their neighbor would say,

"Hey, that's my land."

Which left the ruler who needed it no choice but to ask,

"Since when?"

"Since my father's father's father's day."

"Never heard that before."

"Well, not my problem. It's mine."

"Hmm. So, do you want a beating before you back off, or will you go quietly?"

"You want a fight?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, you fuuucking bastard."

Even if they hadn't actually traded curses, wasn't that roughly how the conversation would have gone?

Then, when war broke out, were the ones who died the men who had cursed and lost their tempers and demanded a fight? The kings and nobles who held the power?

'No.'

The ones who actually died were soldiers. Those under the powerful. Did that mean they should resent the people who started the war? He didn't know that either.

The only truth Encrid knew and understood was that anyone who took up steel had to be prepared to die by it.

If they didn't like that, they should have shaved their heads clean with a blade and become monks, spending their days off fondling women out of sight and secretly filling their bellies with wine behind the temple.

If that didn't appeal either, they should have quietly accepted being exploited.

'But isn't it natural to want to fight when you're being exploited?'

Perhaps that was only natural too. Well, no one could know the reasons behind everything that happened in the world.

And so Encrid took up his sword.

Unable to understand the reasons, he could only plunge in himself.

When words went unheeded, he could only use his hands.

'The knight who would end the war.'

The moment the Bard's song struck his ears and settled in his heart, it had become his dream. Now part of that dream had come true.

Then what did he want to do after achieving his dream?

He had no desire to drive soldiers onto the battlefield and cheer them on while they all died.

How, then, should he fight?

Encrid considered ways to reduce the sacrifices. War and fighting might be unavoidable, but he didn't want to be dragged along by them.

He wasn't saying he would turn away from death. Nor that he would hesitate to kill. But even if he couldn't yet swing a blade that ended every battle, shouldn't he at least move toward something like it?

He still didn't know whether this path was right or wrong. Even after walking it for a long time and looking back, judging that would be difficult. That was simply life. Looking back on the road traveled, even on a past already behind you, didn't mean you could tell right from wrong in everything.

But there was no opportunity to walk another path, so once you chose, all you could do was move forward. Encrid had to do the same. And he wanted to.

["Aspen won't advance readily."]

Before they left, Krais had explained everything he had arranged, one piece at a time. It was trickery in the name of strategy, though Krais himself called it nothing more than a trick to deceive the enemy.

["How?"] Encrid asked.

An oil lamp sent up acrid smoke. It was evening, in an office he rarely used.

["What would you do if you were walking across open ground and a wall suddenly appeared in your path?"]

["Jump over it, break it, or go around."]

Krais was briefly speechless. Right. That was the sort of man his Captain was. A crazy bastard who would find a way no matter what.

["Most people stop. And if they know the wall in their path is thick and solid, and that a fist will shoot out of it and punch them if they come close..."]

["If they know?"]

["They'll stop in their tracks. Then they'll stand there glaring or thinking. They might even think while pretending to glare."]

Did he really have to explain something so obvious?

Krais entertained no such thought. Encrid wasn't pretending not to understand out of cluelessness. These were, essentially, prompts to keep him talking. Krais knew that too, so he continued unperturbed.

["If they stop, we gain time."]

["Then?"]

["Our main fighting force takes a roundabout route."]

A map lay spread across the office desk. It marked the Penn-Hanil Mountains along with several major cities and strategic positions. Krais placed a finger on it and traced a line. The lamplight stretched his finger's shadow long across the map.

["You want us to circle around and hit their rear?"]

That was probably what most people would have assumed. But no. Krais knew there was a cunning devil beyond Green Pearl.

The intelligence he had gathered, Aspen's reactions, and the current situation. Krais put it all into his head, kneaded it, and baked it into bread. The freshly baked white loaf said this:

["Someone in Aspen uses exactly the same kind of strategy. I'm certain. We haven't agreed to buy time, but what we've tacitly decided to observe has become a rule."]

Encrid stared at Krais. He had asked whether they were attacking the rear. What was this nonsense?

In the lamplight, those large eyes held anxiety.

Krais had always been that way. Even relief didn't easily put him at ease. Anxiety was like his fingers or toes, a part of his body that was always attached.

He was afraid. Frightened. The worst possible moment played automatically in his head. This time was no different.

As always, Krais agonized.

What if he was wrong? What if the enemy didn't move as intended? What if everything went awry? No, what if everything went to plan and they still lost? What then? Could he simply run away?

He had prepared ways to escape, but...

["Do you think it's low of me?"]

While digging multiple burrows for himself like a rabbit, he had asked Nurat that one night a few days earlier. He had been ready to accept her criticism.

["Not at all."]

Nurat shook her head.

["Why?"]

["Because when it really matters, you aren't someone who'll run away."]

["I will, though."]

["Sure. Make your preparations. That's what puts you at ease."]

He really was going to run.

Nurat hadn't listened to a word of it.

Krais brushed aside that brief memory and spoke again.

["It's an interception."]

["An interception?"]

["This is the unspoken rule. We both talk about fighting, but we avoid an all-out battle. Instead, we pit our main fighting forces against each other, the ones we both know about. Whoever wins there wins the war."]

His eyes wavered with anxiety, yet a strange heat radiated from him as he spoke. Beneath that mask of anxiety lay a kind of faith, born from doing everything he could to reduce the variables. Win or lose, this was his prediction of how events would unfold.

Well, he could be wrong, but Encrid generally trusted Krais's predictions, or prophecies. So he asked,

["We just need to win, then?"]

Interception meant meeting an approaching enemy and fighting them.

["Yes. But if, if, if, if you think you're at too much of a disadvantage, or feel you're in danger, run deeper into the mountains."]

["Who knows what monsters are lurking in the Penn-Hanil Mountains?"]

The route Krais had traced on the map circled through the Penn-Hanil Mountains. It was treacherous terrain an ordinary commander would never enter, a route of the utmost danger. At least the path he had indicated skirted the outskirts, but he was telling them to go deeper if things went wrong.

["Pin has led the ranger unit in securing several safe routes. Of course, that doesn't guarantee absolute safety, but..."]

["But?"]

["Even if the worst happens, you have to get out alive."]

That was the sort of friend Krais had always been. He had a compulsion to assume and prepare for the worst, whatever the situation.

["Yeah, all right."]

There was no gravity in Encrid's response. He sounded perfectly ordinary, no different from when he had said the marmalade he'd eaten the other day was delicious.

That calm manner worried Krais, but it also brought him a little relief. Someone who wouldn't flee when it mattered? He knew perfectly well that was the man before him, not himself.

Encrid wasn't the sort to run away or avoid something because it was dangerous. Frankly, Krais thought it a wonder he had survived this long. But that was why he had risked his life to stand in front of Krais and protect him, even when his skills had been little better than Krais's own.

Without realizing it, Krais had been moved by that. And without realizing it, he was beginning to act the same way. Nurat had noticed because she was close to him, but it was something few others knew.

["Was their strategist's name Abnaire? I think he's back."]

Krais had felt the limits of what he could accomplish merely thinking in the safety of his desk. So he had gone into the Penn-Hanil Mountains himself.

["Sinar, I need a favor!"]

He enlisted the Fairy Company Commander, who held overall command of the ranger unit, and sent the troops out with Pin at their head.

["Do you know which smithy the Captain usually visits? Or what he's most interested in these days?"]

Swordsmanship and training always came first for the man, but even within those, there were bound to be more specific interests.

["Interesting."]

Sinar readily nodded. And so Krais landed the big fish named Sinar with Encrid as bait. With his safety assured, he personally surveyed the terrain and scouted routes through the Penn-Hanil Mountains, said to be a playground for demonic beasts.

After that, he went out to Green Pearl and inspected the site of the new fortress city. He had envisioned three cities, but the plan had shifted slightly: a single great city called Green Pearl, containing three fortresses.

In time, it might become known as Green Pearl, guarded by three swords. That would tie in with Naurilia's national symbolism, giving it not only practical strength but a firm place in people's minds.

Three swords that guarded the royal house.

Three cities that guarded Green Pearl.

Didn't they have something of the same feel?

When he told Esther he wanted protective spells inscribed on the three fortresses, she had said something. People's perceptions mattered in magic and spells, too. That one remark had sparked the transformation of the city's layout.

Of course, all of that lay in the future. Stopping Aspen's attack came first.

["Kill the enemy fighters if at all possible. They'll probably be knight-level."]

Krais's eyes were still anxious as he spoke.

There was no need to try to dispel that anxiety with words, nor could words do it. His compulsion wasn't something that could be erased so easily. That was how Encrid saw it.

["Understood."]

He thought he understood why they had to kill the knights and why Krais wanted an interception.

They would threaten an all-out battle, then avoid it and send a small force around to fight instead. It would probably be a battle with no witnesses, one no Bard would sing of.

Did that make it dishonorable?

Putting his conversation with Krais aside, Encrid gave the order to advance. He now stood at the entrance to the Penn-Hanil Mountains. Gazing at the mountains, he considered the path he would walk.

'What is honor?'

Something determined by one's own heart.

If this reduced needless sacrifice, that alone would be honor enough.

Above all, he quite liked Krais's chosen strategy, this means of reducing the sacrifices.

* * *

Krais had steered his opponent's thoughts in a particular direction. To do that, he had quietly leaked information into enemy territory.

'Look. I've seen through your plan. Come at me.'

Krais had spoken of manipulating information, and naturally, Abnaire had noticed it.

Should he add another twist and seek a different route?

Out of the question. This was a route through the Penn-Hanil Mountains. The enemy had cleared its monsters and demonic beasts, making it easy for them to pass. What was he to do, then?

He had originally intended to see through the enemy's intentions and get past them.

But what if his strategy had been read? Sitting here fuming wouldn't change anything. He would have to act to suit the changed circumstances.

"It seems the enemy will come out to meet us."

Abnaire addressed the Beastman general quietly, then added,

"Please win."

Words carry power. Words hold magic. Such sayings existed. Something dwelled in Abnaire's words now, too.

Faith and trust. The opposite of the anxiety Krais had shown.

Anxiety on one side, faith on the other.

Which of them was right?

Naturally, whoever won would be right.

"Yes, this is how it should be."

The Beastman general smiled instead.

He had wanted to meet this Demon Killer or crazed murderer. If he had to choose between the two, he was more eager to meet the crazed murderous bastard who had dared cross the border, kill two proto knights, and leave.

He was curious to see just what the bastard looked like.