The ogre’s most striking physical features were its enormous body and its grotesquely long, thick arms. Its hands reached the ground even when it stood upright, and its fists were almost as big as its head. Calling them a pair of iron maces, one attached to each arm, would hardly have been an exaggeration.

As though eager to prove those arms were not merely for decoration, the ogre roared at the expedition looking down on the monsters from the hill, then slammed both hands into the ground. The crash reached them even from hundreds of meters away. The sight of several nearby monsters toppling from the force was downright surreal.

“Whoa...”

“What absurd strength.”

“An ogre indeed.”

Ask anyone what the most powerful monster was, and they would generally name a dragon. Ask which possessed the greatest brute strength, however, and ogres were among the most common answers. With neither exceptional regeneration nor supernatural magical abilities such as breathing fire, they ranked among the mightiest monsters through physical prowess alone.

An elderly knight, well past fifty and long overdue for retirement, clicked his tongue at the sight.

“It looks far larger and stronger than the one I saw before... Is that because it’s a horde lord?”

He had joined an ogre hunt as a teenage squire some forty years ago and was serving as an adviser.

Many were daunted to hear that it seemed much stronger than an ordinary ogre, but a few grew excited instead. Unsurprisingly, they were the knights-errant who had come to claim the honor of slaying it. Anyone timid enough to shrink from danger would never have pushed their body to the brink of death to awaken their spirit in the first place.

“Far bigger and stronger than an ordinary ogre... We might well call it the king of ogres!”

“Then surely slaying it would bring even greater honor.”

“With your permission, I shall take the lead!”

They were already inventing names for it as though the hunt were over. It was a perfect example of counting their chickens before they hatched. Standing a few paces apart from them, Shan recalled the overwhelming strength the ogre had just displayed.

‘There’s definitely no comparing it to that cockatrice.’

He had understood that ogres ranked only a little higher as monsters, yet this one radiated enough power and menace to beat several of those cockatrices to death. What was more, numerous large monsters—trolls, owlbears, and werewolves—were arrayed around it. They looked like children beside the ogre, but each was a beast capable of effortlessly tearing dozens of ordinary people to pieces. That was not even counting the hundreds of gnolls, banshees, ghouls, and other monsters spread around them.

‘Can we win with this force...?’

He had thought more than sixty knights and roughly two thousand soldiers would be enough, however many monsters had gathered. After seeing the ogre’s strength, he was no longer so sure. Of course, they would have more than enough strength to slay it if everyone followed orders to the letter, but clearly that was not the situation they were in.

While Shan was thinking this over, the monsters unexpectedly began lifting the siege and retreating first. Apparently, they disliked being caught between the city and the expedition. One of the lords glanced around to gauge the others’ reactions before asking,

“Shall we pursue them?”

“Hmm. The weather is rather poor for that.”

The reply came from Count Kram, who had brought the largest force of any noble in the expedition: six household knights and no fewer than a hundred and fifty household soldiers and mercenaries. He was tacitly treated as something of a commander. Though he had no official authority to command them, everyone respected his opinion.

As Count Kram had pointed out, a fine autumn rain was falling. Cold wind sweeping over their sodden bodies would quickly rob them of warmth, likely draining their stamina in short order. Clothing or no clothing, human bodies were far more vulnerable to changes in the environment than monsters. Having spent years in Pendia, a land of monsters, they knew this from experience.

In the end, while the expedition dithered, unable to reach a prompt decision, the monsters withdrew far from the city. Watching them go, Shan murmured almost to himself,

“This won’t be easy...”

“What won’t? The ogre?” Roden asked quietly beside him.

“Right. It’s strong, but more than that, I think it’s clever. Like that troll we killed.”

The man-eating troll of Ovilos had been remarkably intelligent, giving its hunters incomparably more trouble than an ordinary troll would have. If this ogre, even to a lesser degree, made decisions through careful thought rather than mere instinct, hunting it would be no easy task. All the more so when they had no real chain of command.

* * *

By the time the monster army had retreated entirely out of sight of the walls, the expedition entered Shedil at a leisurely pace. From atop the walls, the citizens cheered their enthusiastic welcome for the expedition that had driven off the monsters—without ever fighting them. The rain had lowered the temperature, and white breath streamed from their mouths.

On the way in, Shan noticed deep cracks running through the city walls. The large, rounded marks left here and there seemed to be the work of the ogre’s fists. Perhaps that explained why the magic stones reinforcing the walls and gates looked duller than usual, as though drained of strength.

The people cheering the expedition looked little better. There was scarcely a trace of the city he had seen on his previous visit, bustling with the fervor of Demonlands explorers who had come chasing their dreams. There were even quite a few bodies in the streets, people who appeared to have starved to death.

As they followed the main road toward the inner castle, they found the old bear, Count Shedil, waiting with his soldiers. The arrogance he had once shown Shan and Roden was nowhere to be seen as he greeted the nobles with a broad smile.

“Oh, welcome, welcome! You must be weary from your long journey!”

“It has been some time, Count Shedil.”

“Indeed it has. Though I can hardly say I’m pleased to meet under these circumstances. Let us go inside first. You’ll catch cold in this autumn rain.”

The banquet and council of war held after they entered the inner castle laid bare just how dire Shedil’s situation was. The bread smelled strongly musty, perhaps from being baked with old flour, while the dishes made with salted meat tasted sour. The vegetables, needless to say, were all shriveled, and even moldy.

Several nobles who had eaten only fine food all their lives grimaced and refused to touch it. Concerned for his health, Shan likewise set aside the worst-spoiled food without eating it. Looking at the nobles and knights, Count Shedil spoke with an embarrassed expression.

“My apologies for the poor fare. The entire city is short of food.”

Cities relied on food produced in the surrounding villages. Shedil’s domain had less farmland than most, since monsters frequently roamed the land bordering the Demonlands. With those monsters laying waste to the neighboring villages and then besieging the city, this outcome was only natural. If this was the meal the count served his guests, it was a wonder riots had not already broken out.

“We can hardly sustain a long campaign like this.”

“Is there nowhere nearby we can get food?”

“I heard Count Pales was coming to our aid.”

“Food wagons are due from the capital soon as well.”

“So we must fend for ourselves until help comes from somewhere. That won’t be easy.”

An army of two thousand, without particularly generous provisions of its own, had joined a city of thirty thousand already on the verge of starvation. In short, they needed to settle this quickly.

“First, how much fighting strength does the city have left?”

“Excluding those needed to maintain order, three knights and fifty soldiers, including the guards. We can also use about fifty explorers. We might add a few hundred more by conscripting young men, though they would hardly amount to a meaningful fighting force.”

“That is far too few for a city this size.”

“Many died or fled in the earlier fighting. And we cannot very well use untrained citizens as soldiers.”

Count Shedil answered the baron’s complaint in a dispirited voice.

Shedil had borne the full brunt of the monster invasion, suffering heavy casualties in the initial battles. The explorers, who owed the city no loyalty, had all seized their chance to flee. Come to think of it, Shan had not seen Sir Gowell, his senior fellow pupil who had likewise become a knight under Sir Darkal’s tutelage. He hoped the man was merely too injured to attend.

As that thought crossed his mind, Count Shedil turned his gaze toward him.

“Speaking of which, I haven’t even congratulated you on your knighthood. Congratulations, Sir Shan! Your help has played a tremendous part in keeping this city intact.”

“My help...?”

Shan could think of nothing he had done and looked puzzled, prompting a chuckle from Count Shedil.

“The magic stone from the cockatrice you slew did a great deal to reinforce our walls. Without it, they would probably have fallen long ago.”

“Oh...”

At Count Shedil’s words, the expedition’s nobles and knights looked at Shan with renewed interest. They seemed to have remembered something they had forgotten: this boy had slain a cockatrice.

“Was it here in Shedil that Sir Shan slew the cockatrice?”

“In the Demonlands, to be precise, I am told. Though I do not know exactly where.”

Apparently uncomfortable with Shan becoming the center of attention, one Old Faith lord cleared his throat.

“Where do the monsters get their food, though? Judging by their size and numbers, they must need an enormous amount.”

“People, of course. What else?”

The smile had vanished from Count Shedil’s face. Several people shuddered at his almost sinister expression.

“You may consider nearly every village around here wiped out. They are deliberately operating foraging units. They do not even kill everyone outright. They bring people back alive and slaughter them fresh to eat.”

“Good heavens...”

“That makes them cleverer than most human bandits.”

It went without saying what such behavior had done to the morale of those holding out in Shedil.

After a little more discussion, they settled on a simple plan. They would rest in the castle today, then march out together as soon as the rain stopped tomorrow to engage the monster army head-on. There was far too little food left to devise elaborate strategies. Even within the expedition, plenty had run out of provisions and borrowed from others or requisitioned supplies from villages along the way.

The trouble arose when they began deciding the battle formation.

“I shall take the center!”

“No, I shall! Do you even know who killed the man-eating tiger of Mount Bekam?”

“Boasting over one measly tiger that wasn’t even a monster!”

The knights shouted over one another, each demanding to take the lead, pressing their foreheads together and snarling. The servants nearby trembled at their murderous demeanor, as though swords might be drawn at any moment. Shan stood quietly a step back, watching their disgraceful display.

Beside him, Sir Lug bent low at the waist and whispered,

“Um, Sir Shan... Are you sure this is all right? At this rate, we’ll be pushed off into a corner.”

In truth, whether at war or hunting monsters, this was what usually happened without an authoritative leader. The center was plainly where one stood the best chance of bringing down the greatest prey. No one wanted to be relegated to the edges, hunting leftover monsters.

Perhaps Lug’s actions had drawn his attention, for an Old Faith lord turned a repulsive smile on Shan.

“Ah, yes. Sir Shan! Might you lead the left wing?”

“Quite right. Your honor has already soared to the heavens after slaying that cockatrice. It would be virtuous to yield to others now.”

Other Old Faith lords and knights voiced their agreement, trying to keep Shan in check. Throughout the march, they had refused even to speak to him, calling him Altoan vermin. Now their hypocrisy was truly nauseating.

In fact, Shan himself was largely responsible for their attitude. Whatever fame he had amassed, a cockatrice was ultimately something a scrawny Altoan whelp could kill. Surely a group of well-trained Western knights could take down an ogre that was only a little stronger—or so their vague optimism told them. If anything, they were anxious that Shan might snap up the ogre before they could.

“Hmm? No, surely that’s...”

“We can hardly place someone like Sir Shan on the flank rather than in the center.”

“Our most skilled knight ought to stand where the danger is greatest.”

Naturally, there were objections as well. They came from knights friendly with Shan and lords who viewed the situation more objectively. A knight strong enough to slay a cockatrice ought, of course, to be placed before the ogre. Unless someone of sufficient ability faced a monster that large, the casualties it inflicted would grow exponentially.

Others simply opposed the suggestion out of spite because someone they disliked was on the other side. The council soon descended into chaos. The sight of men spraying spittle and grabbing one another by the collar over the petty question of putting Shan in the center or on a flank was absurdly ugly.

After considering it briefly, Shan tapped the wall with spirit to draw their attention.

BANG!

A small hole appeared in the stone wall.

“Uh...”

He had drawn their attention as intended, but he had not meant to break the wall. For a moment, he looked flustered. Quickly schooling his expression, he spoke.

“There’s no need to argue. I’ll take the left wing, as suggested earlier.”

“A wise decision, Sir Shan!”

“Unlike those greedy sorts, you truly understand the greater good...”

Shan accepted the Old Faith lords’ sickening praise with a few perfunctory nods.

The knights who knew him voiced their disappointment.

“Why did you do that? Do you realize how much strength we lose with you out of the center?”

“Is there a reason you won’t take the lead?”

Some even reproached him with disappointed looks, as though he were a coward.

Shan calmly explained why he had backed down.

“We’ve come a long way. We should rest quickly and recover our strength for the battle. I don’t want to watch everyone argue for days over something as trivial as where I stand.”

“Hmm...”

With the others still clamoring to lead the center, it was difficult to laugh off his talk of arguing for days as an exaggeration. Even after Shan’s sacrifice, it took a good while longer to finalize the formation. Since Lug had already been lumped together with his traveling companion, he was assigned to the left flank as well.

“You’ve ended up here because of me, Sir Lug.”

“Not at all. I thought you must have something in mind... Besides, I doubt I could have secured a place in the center however much I insisted.”

After all the debate, most of those assigned to the center were Old Faith lords from the west and their knights. Since Hasra lay in western Pendia, many of those answering the summons were from that region, giving them the loudest voices and the greatest influence.

“Honestly, can this possibly end well...?”

Watching them, the elderly knight let out a futile sigh.

* * *

As they left the council, Count Shedil called Shan over. Up close, his face, which had always looked old for his age, seemed to have aged still further from exhaustion and frustration. His hair had gone completely white; one could easily have believed him to be seventy.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. Walk with me a little. That tall knight there must be Sir Lug?”

“You know me?”

“How could I not? I hear you were runner-up in the Hasra joust. Word of your magnificent match with Sir Shan has spread even here. Are you two acquainted?”

At the count’s question, Shan glanced at Lug’s hopeful face and nodded.

“Yes. There’s a bit of an age difference, but we’re friends.”

“Friends? I’m learning a great deal from Sir Shan! He’s finer than any warrior I’ve ever seen!”

Startled at being called his friend, Lug waved his hands in protest. Count Shedil laughed heartily and nodded.

“Indeed, a warrior strong enough to bring down a cockatrice alone. I once told Sir Shan that an Altoan could never become a knight. Little did I imagine he would achieve it in less than a year... Though it was rather a whim on the princess’s part.”

“I don’t think the advice you gave me then was wrong.”

Shan had become a knight only because of exceptional circumstances. The fact that Sherin had lost the lords’ support after investing him showed that Count Shedil had not exaggerated at all. Come to think of it, she had said things in the capital were tense before he left. Was she all right? The thought made him look west, and the count spoke.

“Sir Gowell passed away recently. He gave his life to slay a wyvern attacking over the walls. It was a knight’s death.”

“I see.”

Shan felt something bitter slip down his throat at the news. A familiar face, someone he had crossed swords with and shared memories of training under the same master, was dead. They could hardly have been called close, but the death of someone he knew was deeply unpleasant all the same.

“May his soul reach the Goddess safely.”

“I am certain it will.”

They all traced the Goddess’s symbol with their hands in mourning for Sir Gowell.

A moment later, the count raised his head and gestured with his chin toward the other lords and knights walking away in the distance.

“What do you think?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you think they can slay the ogre?”

Shan considered the question briefly, then shook his head.

“So you think so too. Damn it, I don’t know what the royal court is thinking. They won’t even send a lord with proper authority to command... I naturally assumed Marquis Abel would come as commander. With his ability and standing, his presence alone would have silenced them all.”

In truth, the disorder at the royal court was largely responsible for the expedition’s disarray. The king could not leave his bed, and neither prince possessed enough authority to cow the other nobles and take charge. Relatively slow to receive news from court, the count apparently did not realize how far the situation in the capital had deteriorated.

“Indeed.”

Rather than explain all of that, Shan offered a brief reply. His own knowledge came only from Roden, so he doubted he could explain it coherently, nor did he see any particular reason to do so for the count.

“At any rate, if you and I are right, we will need a champion to salvage the situation and slay the ogre after those fools collapse.”

Having spoken quietly, the count asked an unexpected question.

“Do you happen to have a decent magic sword?”

“Yes. I have one that serves well enough.”

“Let me see it.”

Shan immediately drew the longsword at his waist halfway from its scabbard.

There had not been time for Sherin to make him another magical device, but this was still a masterwork steel sword purchased at great expense from a smithy in the capital and imbued with the finest enchantments. Even this was far better than the weapon he had used against the cockatrice.

Yet it apparently fell well short of the count’s expectations. The old bear clicked his tongue, then abruptly unfastened the sword at his own waist and tossed it to Shan.

“Draw it.”

In fact, Shan already knew what it was without drawing it. Ever since seeing it before, he had kept the shape of its hilt, guard, and scabbard etched in his memory. The only difference was the faint trace of blood on the grip that had not been fully wiped away.

The blade slid softly halfway free, revealing ancient Altoan characters engraved along its center, glowing faintly. It was the powerful magic sword that Count Shedil’s family had treasured for generations—the same one Sir Gowell had used in their sparring match.

“Sir Gowell never let go of that sword, even as he drew his last breaths, driving it into the wyvern’s heart. I would like you to carry on his will with it.”

That did not mean he wanted Shan to die fighting, the count added in a deliberately flippant tone, as though trying to lighten the mood.