“I see.”

Abnaire promptly received a report of the enemy's maneuver. He was currently far to the rear, with a puppet commander serving as the public face of command. In a true all-out battle, Varnas Hurrier would have been in command, but this fight would be decided on the flank, not at the front.

'Seen that way, is this like the previous battle?'

Back then, too, a small engagement on the flank had caused them to lose ground on the main front. With every battle against Naurilia stored in his mind, Abnaire looked back over those memories. This fight had begun in a similar yet different form. Back then, the flanking engagement had been secondary. This time, the battle along the detour would decide victory or defeat.

Abnaire sipped his tea. He had just eaten his fill. A well-fed mind worked better. Wasn't that why, even now, eating and resting well had his mind whirring, letting him see through his opponent's intentions?

Granted, anyone could have figured out this much. Even the puppet acting as commander in his place up front would have grasped the enemy's intent. Which meant Abnaire needed to see beyond the intentions his opponent had chosen to display.

Then what was the overt intention, neither vague nor concealed, but plainly visible? To test the waters. To demand a look at what remained with the main army. It was a question: Was Aspen piling deception upon deception and preparing for all-out war?

'Compulsion.'

Abnaire sensed a compulsive caution in his opponent's maneuver. This was a man who would do more than tap a stone bridge before crossing. He would investigate when it was built, who had built it, and exactly how sturdy it was before setting foot on it.

'And check whether we've left any knight-level fighters here.'

While he was at it, he meant to lower their morale and secure an advantage in case an all-out battle did erupt? His intent was obvious. But obvious did not mean easy to thwart.

“Tell him to send out someone confident they can overpower the opponent. They needn't win, but at the very least, they mustn't go down easily. Oh, and add that this won't be an easy opponent.”

Abnaire sorted his thoughts in an instant and spoke. What card had the enemy played? Assume the worst.

'A proto knight?'

Probably. Then they only needed to show a card of equal value. Abnaire did not know exactly who had stepped forward. Frankly, he doubted the enemy could produce a particularly powerful card. He believed the real contest would take place in the Penn-Hanil Mountains.

He still believed this battle would end in Aspen's victory. He had no certainty, but his faith was strong. They had concealed knights—fighters who could decide the outcome of a war. Three of the four might only have just entered that realm, but a knight was a knight.

How would the enemy stop a force like that? Naurilia would have hidden forces of its own.

'Two knights at best.'

One was the man who had come all the way to Aspen's border, killed two proto knights, and left. Allow for one more unexpected addition. That made two.

'Fine. Suppose they exceed expectations and have three.'

Even then, nothing changed. The wolf Beastman general was a symbol of martial might, the equal of Cyprus of the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order. They also had a knight who guaranteed victory when it came to duels. His Will had weakened somewhat after he sold out his oath the other day, but...

'That won't be a problem.'

There were two more besides those two. That was without counting the Frog general. And the Frog general, too, was leading his troops forward in earnest.

If they fought, they would win. All they needed was to engage. Even in a battle like this, he had ordered an early advance to gain a slight psychological advantage, assuming the other side had knights as well. That slight edge could decide the outcome.

Didn't everyone who became a knight say the same thing?

[“When their skills are comparable, whoever wavers even a little is at a disadvantage.”]

That had been the answer to his question: What was the greatest factor in deciding a fight against a knight? The Beastman general had jabbed a finger at his own heart as he answered. Abnaire remembered the Frog general beside him puffing out his cheeks in displeasure at the gesture.

Abnaire finished his calculations. Meanwhile, a second messenger arrived from the commander he had installed as a puppet. He had been about to enjoy a fruit-topped pie as an afternoon snack. The sugar in it would make his mind work all the faster. His tongue would enjoy it, too.

The messenger arrived just as he raised his fork in anticipation. Without having taken a single bite, Abnaire waited for the report. Seated in a chair at the table, the messenger panted.

“Four of our men have fallen in duels at the front.”

“Four?”

“Naurilia kept demanding duels after the first.”

Abnaire knew his own army included fighters beyond the expected norm. He had hired and stationed mercenary swordsmen there, and left a proto knight from the Ruling Prince's Knight Order as well. And four had fallen?

“Did they send out the proto knight?”

“Yes.”

“And he still lost?”

Unexpected. But that was all right. As long as they hadn't gone down easily. The real battle was over there, in the Penn-Hanil Mountains...

“Morale is at rock bottom. Every fight was completely one-sided. The assault commander who was defeated second said they're a bunch of lunatics.”

Abnaire's thoughts broke off. The messenger's words got ahead of them, setting his mind to work. What the enemy had done and what they were after began linking together of their own accord.

“... That son of a bitch.”

His opponent had diverted some of his fighting strength. Hadn't they agreed not to wage an all-out battle? And now he was diverting troops? If things went wrong, he meant to win the sham battle at the front instead of the real one on the flank? What would that gain him?

'Is he trying to buy time for the Scarlet Cloak Knight Order to join the war?'

He wasn't. Border Guard simply had more people left even after Encrid and its knights were accounted for. Krais had only left them on the battlefield out of an abundance of caution.

“How many?”

The messenger caught on quickly.

“Four stepped forward.”

“Four? What's this about lunatics?”

“He said every last one of them was mad...”

The soldier had been chosen as Abnaire's messenger for his normally clear, precise speech. Now he trailed off. Something bizarre was clearly happening at the front. Abnaire pushed aside the fruit pie.

“Tell them not to fight anymore.”

Whether morale went to shit or not, they mustn't fight. That was his judgment. He concluded that all this talk of madness was part of a scheme to lower morale.

He was mistaken. Something had simply happened that neither Krais nor Abnaire could have factored into their predictions.

* * *

“Does he think being big is enough to challenge us? I'll go deal with him.”

When Audin issued his challenge, a distinguished fighter stepped forward on Aspen's side as well. The commander had just heard the message from Abnaire. The man who volunteered was himself a highly skilled combatant.

“I will not tolerate defeat.”

The volunteer belonged to Aspen's Ruling Prince's Knight Order. He wasn't among its handful of best fighters, but he was still a proto knight.

“Hey! I'll make you pay for your insolence!”

The proto knight rode out. Audin had dismounted and seemed to be quietly enjoying the sun. His face was lifted toward the sunlight, his eyes closed as he hummed.

The sight infuriated the proto knight so much that he swung his mace without even dismounting. He brought it down diagonally, adding his horse's momentum and imbuing it with Will. A heavy black line seemed to extend from horseback and descend like a reaper's scythe.

Hearing the approaching horse and his opponent's furious shout, Audin spread his feet and took his stance. Then he raised his head and fixed his gaze on the incoming black line. In an instant, he calculated everything, from the horse's speed to the moment it would reach him, and extended his hand. The crude steel gauntlet on his left hand caught the light.

CLANG! CRACK!

Two deafening reports battered the soldiers' eardrums. They came from the point where Aspen's mounted proto knight crossed paths with the martial artist on their side.

The Will in the mace was a determination to smash. Audin did not bother matching his opponent's strength. He might look as though raw power was all he had, but technique was his specialty.

He extended his hand, caught the mace on a beveled surface on the back of his gauntlet, and twisted it aside. At the same time, he straightened his free right hand and struck his opponent at the waist with its edge.

That ended the duel. Chain mail over a thick gambeson could not stop Audin's chopping hand. Flesh was gouged away, a section of the lower spine obliterated, and some of the organs housed within spilled across the ground.

His opponent had not been careless. He had swung his mace intending to trust his armor and weather the return blow. Then he would use his mounted advantage to pile up damage and bring his opponent down. It was a tactic he often used, called shaving away flesh.

This first opponent to step onto the battlefield was huge, too. The Aspen proto knight had devised his strategy precisely because he did not consider the man an easy opponent. Audin had demolished it with a single blow. The gulf between them had been immense from the outset.

Audin flicked his hand clean and spoke.

“Are there any more brothers who know how to fight?”

“Bleeuurgh.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the Aspen proto knight, still clinging to his saddle, vomited blood and pitched toward the ground. His foot caught in a stirrup, leaving his body slumped forward. The agitated horse whinnied and reared.

The man's body swayed as it was lifted with the horse. By now, he would be beside his god, asking when he'd died—or whether he really was dead.

“What the fuck is that?”

One of the soldiers at the very front of Aspen's army muttered without realizing it. Most of those watching hadn't even understood why the bastard who'd ridden out had suddenly toppled over dead. He'd charged out and croaked. That was all they'd seen.

They could barely see the scattered organs, either. All they could see was the monster standing there, bellowing for another opponent. A bear or a Giant—whatever that monster was that had killed their charging rider from the ground—it filled the soldiers' vision.

Every eye was fixed on Audin after that overwhelming display of might, yet he remained perfectly composed. That only made him more frightening. Were they supposed to fight something like that now?

The Aspen proto knight might have felt wronged, but he could hardly have drawn a worse opponent. Now that Encrid had risen to knighthood, Audin—who could contend with knights even without divine power—could truly be called the strongest at the proto-knight level.

And with Rem's recent return, perhaps a little resentment had built up in Audin without his quite realizing it. That was why he'd used a bit too much force. He did not deny those feelings; they were his own. Rather than turn away from them, he wanted to get a few more blows in while he was at it. This was absolutely not venting.

It had nothing to do with Brother Barbarian jokingly calling him “Hey, youngest,” or Brother Lost Child nodding along. Thinking of the pair made him clench his fist a little too hard, but he really wasn't venting. He had only stepped forward because Brother Big-eyes had said this fight was necessary.

“I shall make no distinction between brothers and sisters. Step forward.”

He meant that even if a woman came out, he would turn her into the same bloody lump of meat. He called out loudly, but his tone was calm. A single blow had silenced the enemy army, so his voice must have reached them clearly. Yet they remained silent.

The answer came from his own side.

“You have to show some restraint if you want anyone to come out. I wouldn't want to fight you either.”

It was Pell, approaching. His eyes were hollow and his face full of worries, but for whatever reason, he came to stand beside Audin and continued.

“Go back. With you here, even the ones willing to fight won't try. Our big-eyed friend said taking turns and winning every fight would be more effective than having you beat everyone to death on your own.”

Audin felt disappointed, but collected himself.

“I see.”

He should have shown a little more restraint. But the moment the enemy said “Hey,” his body had moved on its own. It was instinct. That “Hey” had sounded oddly like Brother Barbarian's way of speaking. Naturally, he wasn't venting.

“Well, then.”

Audin withdrew, and Pell took his place.

“Next. Come forward.”

So Pell called out.

Even if Audin had stayed, Aspen still had a few warriors willing to challenge him. Their commander had simply been holding them back. Abnaire had told them to hold out as long as possible. What was he supposed to do if they died in one blow?

Were his men weak? Was the enemy strong? He'd been told the enemy had no knights. Then that thing wasn't a knight? Was he a Giant? Even among actual Giants, surely few could fight that well?

“Let me go out.”

A man with a fierce gleam in his eyes approached the commander and spoke. He was the assault commander. He did not belong to a knight order, but he knew how to win a fight.

“If we charge like this, our men will be slaughtered. We have to bring down at least one of them.”

The assault commander was the man who ran at the very front. His instincts told him that if they fought now, they would be driven back without dealing any meaningful damage. The commander agreed, but he knew one more thing. There would be no charge without Abnaire's approval. No all-out battle.

Even so, he could not leave things as they were. He could think for himself, too. What if they did end up fighting? What if an all-out battle broke out?

“Go.”

“Gladly.”

The assault commander rushed out.

Pell waited patiently, whatever Aspen might be doing. Unaccustomed to fighting on horseback, he had come on foot as well. While waiting for Aspen, he looked up at the sky, felt the breeze brush his cheeks, and smelled the blood that stung his nose.

In truth, none of it registered—not the sky, not the wind, not even the stench of blood. He was still full of troubled thoughts.

'Maybe my talent is actually worthless.'

Once, seeing Encrid's skill improve at a tremendous pace, he had said he'd never seen a genius like him. That was at their first meeting. Even as Pell said it, he had privately rated his own talent more highly. He had seen Encrid as someone he would soon catch up to.

That hadn't changed afterward. He had felt much the same when they met again. Now, the very foundation of that belief had been shattered. What did he have left?

'I still have Idol Slayer.'

Was a single demon sword all he was? Everything that defined him?

[“Stop being so arrogant.”]

That prissy swordsman Roford had said it. Pell's skill was too evenly matched with his to simply kill him. Should he rely on the demon sword, then? No. His pride would not allow it.

What was he supposed to do? Pell had lost his way. There were no stars in that dark night sky. Only darkness. Then, in that darkness, he had felt a flicker of flame.

'I want to do something. Anything.'

He wanted to swing his sword. That was when motivation surged through him. Encrid's Will had influenced him. Beneath that urge, a question took shape.

'Is it so wrong for someone to be more talented than me?'

Absurdly enough, Encrid had become a knight. He had awakened right before Pell's eyes. And even afterward, he had not stopped training.

[“A Shepherd can be trampled to death by the sheep at any time.”]

That was what it meant to be a Shepherd. The same went for a swordsman.

[“Then why be a Shepherd at all?”]

At the question Pell had asked as a child, the elder known as the village's wisest man had smiled. He still vividly remembered the hiss of air escaping through the man's broken front teeth.

[“Shall I tell you it's because someone has to? Or shall I say it's because nothing is more enjoyable? Or would you rather hear that we must honor our pact?”]

'The answer is within me.'

He understood the elder's words now. Pell no longer looked around him. Instead, he joined what he needed to do now with what he would do next. For now, fulfill his duty as someone standing on this battlefield. And next...

'I'll try to catch up to you.'

He would run with Encrid as his goal. He resolved to acknowledge Encrid's talent and make up the difference with effort. This was the beginning.

“You look young. How old are you?”

This time, his opponent dismounted too, speaking as he did. The Shepherds of the Wastes were more accustomed to using every means at their disposal than fighting head-on. Yet it was his opponent who tried a trick first against Pell the Shepherd.

As he spoke, the man pulled out a pouch and flung it. Aspen's assault commander, whose specialty was winning fights, scattered poisoned sand. Pell anticipated his arm movement, traced its trajectory, and leaped aside to evade it.