* * *

There were an awful lot of frogs around here. They croaked their heads off every night. Sometimes the noise was irritating; sometimes it felt companionable.

But now their croaking had fallen silent. It could still be heard in the distance, but perhaps because of the people gathered here, the local chorus seemed to be taking the night off.

A few people stood near the reeds holding torches. And, for some reason, someone else sat tied to a chair.

The man in the chair sobbed and pleaded like a baby. One ear had been sliced off, one eye was so swollen he could barely open it, all his fingernails had been pulled out, and several fingers were missing joints.

"Please... Please... I really told you everything... It's true..."

His face was a mess of tears, blood, snot, and drool.

Rayleigh watched him without the slightest expression. He looked neither menacing nor cold, nor did he seem to enjoy it. He was excessively businesslike. Nothing could have been more terrifying.

Roy approached with a waterskin and gave the seated man a drink. They needed to keep him hydrated if they wanted to torture him longer.

Unfortunately for the victim, they had barely even begun. The real work started with slicing off skin and sprinkling salt over the wounds. Gouging out the eyes was the highlight.

When Rayleigh picked up the sharpened pincers again, the man truly began wailing like a baby. He thrashed, rocking the chair, but its legs were sunk in the mud and it barely moved. In a way, he looked like a child throwing a tantrum.

Just as Rayleigh was about to snip off another finger joint, someone seated a short distance away rose.

"Enough. Stop."

Rayleigh put away the pincers and stepped back, wiping his hands on a bloodstained handkerchief.

The tortured man had no idea who had spoken, but those words made him feel he had been saved. Torture broke not only the body but the mind as well. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he burst into great, heaving sobs.

He kept repeating his thanks until someone approached and pressed an index finger to his lips. Shut up.

The torchlight revealed Valeri.

"Our bricklayer is dead, and yet you're still alive."

"What!? B-but! I was only following orders! It wasn't personal! I swear!"

"It isn't personal for me, either."

"What!?"

Valeri drew his sword, Wound.

The man's eyes widened in terror. Yet even then, why did the blade reflecting the blazing torchlight look so beautiful? He had never seen such a flawless blade in his life.

At that very moment, caught between utter terror and an appreciation of its beauty, he lost his head.

Valeri felt no resistance through his hand, not even the sensation of cutting. It was almost disconcerting. Not a drop of blood remained on the blade.

The sharpness and durability of Dwarven steel were magical in themselves, even without an enchantment.

He sheathed the sword at his hip.

"Send it to the peat guild master. He may have intended nothing more than a warning, but what we're sending is a declaration of war."

The man behind the bricklayer's murder was the head of the peat guild.

The jewelers' guild and the peat guild were currently the two greatest powers in Gringen, and it was the peat guild that had ordered Valeri's bricklayer killed.

They had sent Valeri this warning for one simple reason: he was gathering people and digging peat. He had taken away the people they were supposed to exploit, leaving them short of labor, and his peat digging clearly threatened their monopoly. That was what had provoked their response.

Simply put, it was a clash of interests.

There was no good or evil here. Only the strong devouring the weak, as they always had. The question was who was strong—and who would become meat.

The peat guild master was a man named Makkonen, the second generation of his family to run the peat-digging business. He was effectively a local magnate, with a standing in Gringen little different from that of a noble.

His work consisted of gathering the heads of the guild's businesses for weekly meetings and punishing anyone or any group that threatened them.

Lately, the chief topic at those meetings had been the Frog Company. A bunch of nobodies they had never heard of—no, that wasn't quite right. The Salt Prince was fairly famous, so they were hardly unheard of.

A meeting was in progress even now, and they were discussing that very subject.

"When in the world is the duke going to finish mustering his men? How has it come to this, all because he couldn't keep his own son in line? Stupid..."

"If the duke mobilizes his army, we'll be threatened too. I don't think calling in an outside power is particularly wise."

"Then what do you propose? Are we really going to war with those Frog bastards? Even if we win, someone else will reap all the benefits."

"Any word from the jewelers' guild?"

"Those people care only about themselves. They don't understand they'll be the next targets after us."

"Or perhaps they're planning to expand while both sides are weakened from fighting each other."

Everyone had an opinion, but the discussion was going nowhere. Giving it direction was the guild master's job.

"Ahem. Hem."

Makkonen's throat-clearing quieted the increasingly heated meeting.

"We've sent a clear warning, so they'll respond. And don't worry. I've hired a knight-errant."

"You mean Sir Ingolf, 'Iron Head'?"

"Indeed. He's a pure-blooded Nord knight who killed a nobleman and then single-handedly killed the twenty men sent after him. His skill is beyond question. He's far stronger than even that dreaded Ballsack Opener. Not even the Salt Prince can threaten our safety."

"Then why not have him eliminate the Salt Prince now?"

"Wouldn't that still leave the third young lord? If they retaliate, we'll suffer losses too. The best outcome is for them to submit. I'll handle negotiations. For now, war is our last resort."

Unfortunately, while they were holding their meeting, Valeri had already begun the war.

Just then, the meeting-room door opened and a guild employee entered, carrying a heavy box.

"This is from the Frog Company."

"Already? It's only been a day. Don't these people hold meetings? Open it."

He found it puzzling, but when the employee placed the box on the table and lifted the lid, everyone recoiled.

Inside lay a severed head, its mouth hanging stupidly open and its tongue lolling out. One ear had been sliced off. Pulled fingernails and severed finger joints lay arranged around it, almost like decorations.

"Gah!"

"Ahem!"

"Tch!"

Everyone in the room reacted according to their temperament. Some were badly startled, some merely disgusted, and some felt their minds turn cold.

The guild master, Makkonen, belonged to the last group.

"A warning, or a declaration of war..."

"This looks serious. Let's summon all our employees first."

They called them employees, but these workers were also fighting men. They knew how to handle weapons.

These were not merely peat-digging businesses. They had armed strength of their own, and that was how they had maintained their dominant position in Gringen for so long.

"We still have work to finish."

"Given the circumstances, I don't think this is the time to worry about losses."

"Let's get this thing out of here first. Damn it."

At that last remark, Makkonen waved a hand, urging the employee to hurry. The man closed the lid and carried the box out.

"Summon your employees. Open the armories, and remain vigilant for the time being. Go home for today. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning."

Makkonen sent away the peat operators who made up the guild. He needed to make his final decision: war, or one last attempt at negotiation.

He could not sleep all night. When he convened the meeting the following morning, two men were missing. There were only three people in the room, himself included.

"None of us can have slept well. Why don't we reconvene a little later, Guild Master?"

"Hmm. Yes, perhaps we should."

Makkonen returned to his bedroom, caught a little sleep, ate, and called another meeting around noon. This time, however, he was alone.

He summoned an employee and ordered him to find out what was going on, but the only answer was that no one knew where the others were. They were already searching hard for them.

Only then did Makkonen sense that something was terribly wrong.

"Ingolf. Summon Sir Ingolf."

"Yes, sir."

The employee went to fetch him, and soon a massively built man entered the meeting room. Strangely enough, his forehead was made of iron plate. How that had been accomplished was anyone's guess.

"I suspect they've been up to something. From now on, I want you to guard me."

"Understood, Guild Master."

It happened just then. A commotion outside sent them hurrying out. Someone was pounding on the main gate, and employees were running across the broad courtyard, hastily arming themselves and preparing for battle.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

It was not simply someone knocking. Someone outside had pushed something like a chisel through a gap in the gate and was hammering it against the bar.

Before long, the iron bar split in two.

CLANG! CLATTER!

The gate creaked open, and a man entered. Valeri. Skard followed with the men he had trained—five men in all.

Makkonen's side had far more men, roughly twenty. Valeri showed no sign of intimidation, however, and tossed what he was carrying into the courtyard.

Four heads. They belonged to the heads of the peat guild's businesses. During the night and the morning, he had sent Knut to assassinate every one of them, taking advantage of their inadequate security.

Valeri walked into the courtyard and looked up at Makkonen on the balcony.

"I'll give you one last chance. Surrender and hand all your rights over to me."

It was a simple statement, but an impossible demand.

Makkonen's heart pounded, but he forced himself to speak calmly.

"Utter nonsense. A bastard with a little talent, running wild because he doesn't know enough to be afraid. Can't you even count? What are you doing!? Kill them already! Why is my courtyard still so cluttered!?"

Makkonen shouted at his employees. His words were hardly inspiring, but they did remind them that they outnumbered the intruders.

Valeri spoke to Skard and his men, then strode forward alone.

"Wait here."

His enemies were bewildered. Surely he didn't intend to fight them alone? Yet there was something formidable about his bearing.

Then one man found his courage, shouted, and charged with a spear. Others followed with swords, axes, and the like. This was no large-scale battle, and they had formed no collective battle line.

"Aaaaaah!"

Valeri easily evaded the first man's spear point. Drawing his sword, he cut from left to right through the man's head as he passed.

He immediately sliced the next man across the waist from right to left while stepping sideways. Continuing the motion, he lifted his sword and brought it down on the next attacker, splitting him from shoulder to belly.

By then, the fourth man's sword had nearly reached him. Valeri twisted and blocked with his blade.

CRASH!

The enemy's sword broke against the Dwarven steel. Valeri slipped toward the man with the broken weapon, and the next attacker stabbed his own comrade in the back.

"Urgh!"

While they were still reeling in confusion, Valeri's Wound, flashing like a blade of light in the noon sun, took both their heads at once.

This time, men attacked from both sides. Valeri slipped inside the attack from his right and slammed his shoulder into the attacker.

At point-blank range, he instantly drew his dagger, plunged it into the man's belly, and ripped it across. Then he stabbed the man on his left, whose attack had missed, in the belly and cut upward. Hot entrails spilled out in a rush.

He immediately hurled the dagger with all his strength at another charging enemy. It whistled through the air, pierced the man's ribs, and buried itself in his heart.

THUNK!

"Ghk!"

Eight men. Eight men were dead. How many seconds had it taken? By now, the remaining enemies could no longer bring themselves to attack. They faltered and backed away.

"Wow..."

The men who had come with Skard stared, spellbound. Wonder struck them before fear did. How was this possible?

Bodies lay strewn everywhere. Those whose entrails had spilled out were still alive, groaning as they died.

"Uuugh..."

Standing among them, Valeri calmly looked up at the balcony. Not at Makkonen, to be precise, but at Ingolf, Iron Head, standing beside him.

Perhaps reading the challenge in his eyes, Ingolf headed downstairs without hesitation.

"W-wait! Sir! Where are you going!?"

Reaching the ground floor, Ingolf drew his sword without hesitation. It looked like an elongated, oversized kitchen knife.

He trudged toward Valeri, staring with vaguely vacant eyes whose irises were surrounded by white. Then, in an instant, he charged like a storm and swung.

Valeri swung in turn, and, as ever, the Dwarven steel split his opponent's sword.

CRASH!

But Ingolf's real weapon was something else: the iron plate attached to his forehead. He closed in even further and launched a headbutt.

Valeri instantly turned his head and stepped back with his right foot, avoiding the blow. Ingolf's thick hand clamped down on his left arm, preventing him from pulling away.

His grip was so powerful it felt as if Valeri's arm might snap. A longsword was of little use at this range, and he had already thrown away his dagger. If Ingolf caught his right arm too, he would land that headbutt squarely.

Then, suddenly, Ingolf froze. Valeri had switched to a reverse grip and cut upward between his legs.

The stroke lacked the force to cut deeply, but Valeri simply tightened his grip and began forcing the blade farther upward, trusting the sharpness and durability of Dwarven steel.

Ingolf began to tremble. The blade split his lower belly, parted his ribs, and reached his heart. The instant Valeri could put his full strength behind it, it sliced through his neck, his jaw, and even the iron plate on his forehead.

The sword emerged above him, having split a man from bottom to top.

SPLASH!

An indescribable mass of blood and bodily contents poured out. Valeri immediately stepped away, and the bisected body collapsed.

Stunned by the sight, everyone fell silent. Not even a swallow could be heard.

Valeri flicked his sword through the air, shaking off the blood and everything else clinging to it. Then he looked up at the balcony again. Horrified, Makkonen collapsed where he stood.

Valeri entered the building alone, and now no one could stop him.

Instead, they moved aside. He took a dagger from one man's person as casually as if it were his own. The man offered no resistance. He simply froze.

Makkonen scrambled away, hurriedly crawling toward his bedroom. But Valeri, already upstairs, walked faster than he could crawl.

Makkonen looked around the room for somewhere to hide. Of course, there was nowhere.

Valeri entered with his sword sheathed at his hip, calmly sat down at the table, and set the dagger on it with a tap.

"Come and sit down."

Was he going to spare him? Trembling, Makkonen clung to that final hope. No—he wanted to believe it. He did as he was told and sat opposite Valeri.

Valeri spoke.

"From what I've seen in life, thugs, businessmen, and monarchs are much alike, yet there are differences. A thug doesn't think about the consequences. A businessman doesn't think about those beneath him. A monarch doesn't think about himself."

What was he trying to say? Makkonen could only tremble. No words came out.

"Killing the bricklayer showed no thought for the consequences. Does that make you a thug, Guild Master?"

Valeri's gaze was chilling as he asked the question. That handsome face looked like the most frightening thing in the world.

"... I-I, I... What, what would you have me do?"

Apparently that was not the answer he wanted. Valeri gave a small sigh.

"I wondered if there might be something different about you, but you're ordinary. Utterly, sickeningly ordinary."

Valeri rose and approached him. As Makkonen looked up in terror, he seized him by the hair, picked up the dagger from the table, and drove it into his throat.

"Ghk! Ghurk! Grrrk!"

Then he carelessly tossed the dagger onto the table and left without looking back.

He went downstairs again, and once more no one dared stand in his way. Walking toward the gate, Valeri addressed Skard and the men who had accompanied him.

"Let's go."