Chapter 146 - Acceptance, Acknowledgment, Assent

Krais tucked the rolled parchment securely back inside his clothes and spoke. The going was rough. The slanting rocks and steep incline left him gasping for breath, though not so badly that he couldn't talk. "Rem... about Rem."

He let out a long breath, then wedged a foot into a crack between the rocks. This was a little dizzying. No sooner had the thought occurred than a hand appeared: Encrid's. Krais took it and hauled himself up. They were on a rocky mountain, with enormous boulders providing a natural shield behind them. Of all the routes, they had certainly chosen a rough one. Then again, that was the point. The fact that no arrows were flying at them was proof enough that it worked. "Apart from his personality, I think he's a really decent soldier."

At Krais's words, Encrid stepped onto a rock, leaned sideways against another, and turned to look at him.

"In terms of skill alone..."

He started to speak, then stopped. Judged purely on skill, Rem was far more than decent. What if he had an easygoing personality, too? Krais asked him another question.

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

His anxiety over a plan he had devised himself was surely a matter of temperament. Even in peaceful times, Krais was the sort to secretly stash his belongings near the barracks in case something happened. Encrid couldn't be certain, but he probably had things hidden all over the city, too. ["The enemy might suddenly swarm in and ambush us, you know. Though if I died after hiding this, I'd be so bitter I'd probably become a ghost."]

Even when there was no sign of such a thing, even when it was impossible, his big-eyed subordinate always said the same thing.

["I worry. That's all. I worry."] Well, fair enough. Everyone was different. Compared with Krais, Encrid was easygoing. After staring at him for a moment, he answered the question.

"He volunteered. He'll handle it." That was the kind of man Rem was. He might choose not to get involved, but once he said he would do something, he did it.

["Want to learn?"]

Hadn't he been the same when he first taught Encrid the heart of the beast? Who else would share his own techniques so readily?

["Watch closely. You're learning this next."]

It had been the same when he demonstrated the Heart of the Superhuman. He had said he would kill the Giant, and he had. Thinking about it now...

'He really is a strange one.'

So he would do what he had said. What had he said before leaving? Something about the difference between a hunter and a sharpshooter? There had been something else, too.

["I'll go stick this in that hawk bastard's head."]

He had said it while tucking the enemy's arrow into his belt. He would handle it. "Finding cover will be difficult from here."

Pin spoke from up ahead. So far, they had traveled between the rocks. Wherever they couldn't take the higher ground, she had found routes that sheltered them from projectile weapons. It was another reminder of what an excellent ranger she was. Thanks to her, they had avoided the arrows so far, but her ranger's skills could no longer serve as a shield. Encrid mentally gauged the time. Rem ought to be doing something about now. They had been skirting the rocky mountain. Descending to the left would take them back to the main army and finish their return. "We can just wait."

Pin said nothing to Encrid's suggestion. She could sense a certain closeness among them. His words revealed his trust that Rem, who had vanished alone into the brush, would take care of things. And the other members? Apart from Andrew and Mac, they were utterly unconcerned.

"Because the Lord is pleased, we have sent a believer to Your side. Let those without faith repent and remain beside You; rebuke their sins and forgive them."

Audin was praying. The fellow called Jaxon was inspecting the blade of a Stiletto. His expression was blank, yet he looked oddly intoxicated. Intoxicated by a blade? Even Pin could tell it wasn't an ordinary weapon. Still, he didn't seem the sort to cherish a single dagger so much. His face even seemed to glow with a rarely seen vitality. The layabout had sprawled out. Somehow he had squeezed himself between the rocks, then closed his eyes with two swords in his arms.

"Not enough sleep."

Hearing him mutter to himself, she could only conclude he really wasn't normal. 'Should I just leave them be?'

It would be fine, wouldn't it? In Pin's judgment, they ought to be moving. Somewhere in the distance was a master archer whose skill went beyond never missing. He was a threat. Their lives might be hanging by a thread. "I think we'll be all right."

The man who spoke beside her was Krais, the big-eyed soldier. After endlessly saying how worried he was, he had finally declared that they would be fine. What he said next was even more absurd.

"I think there are hardly any variables left now." What variables? He offered no explanation. Pin deliberately exposed herself and checked behind them, making herself a target to locate the enemy. No arrow came.

* * *

'Well, this brings back memories.'

Days when he had made the grasslands his bed and the sky his blanket. When he had run and played across the ridges as if they were his playground. What had he been like then? An excellent, accomplished hunter, and a man who had embraced someone's expectations. A time when he had discussed power amid responsibilities and duties. There had been good moments and bad. Moments he could never return to. What could he do? Some things had to be accepted if you were to go on living. The West was now a frontier for settlers. Acceptance and assent. Rem had learned them from watching Encrid. In one sense, his platoon commander was a man who would never accept things or assent to them. Yet in another, he was a man who accepted, assented, and acknowledged. 'With those skills, that talent...'

He would become a knight simply by refusing to give up? That was attempted suicide. An act that would kill both his body and his spirit. Yet he kept going. Watching his back as he advanced brought all manner of thoughts to mind. How could a person be like that? As he asked himself that question, a thought occurred.

'It starts with acknowledging that he has no talent.'

That was where Encrid had begun. Acknowledgment, acceptance, assent. After taking stock of what he had, what had he done? He had moved forward. He had acquired the heart of the beast, something Rem had thought he'd be hard-pressed to master before he fucking died. And now superhuman strength dwelled in that heart, too. He had assented, acknowledged, and accepted, then walked toward tomorrow. Unchanging, whether at dawn or sunset. As always, thinking of his platoon commander put him in a good mood. Rem smiled silently. With his spirits lifted for no particular reason...

'For the first time in a while...'

He felt like really enjoying himself with his axes. A quiet desire also stirred to return to the days when he had given himself entirely to the hunt. Finding Hawk's Claw's trail wasn't difficult. Rem was neither a pathfinder nor a ranger. But he was a hunter. What was a hunter? Those who traveled well were called pathfinders. Those who traveled and fought well were called rangers. Rangers were specialists even among scouts. Did that make them hunters? Catching a few rabbits hardly qualified someone. Then what was a hunter? 'What else would they be?'

People who caught what they set out to catch. Too many of these continentals had something wrong with them. Henri, was it? A plains hunter? They called that a hunter? In Rem's tribe, Henri wouldn't even have qualified as a guide, let alone a hunter. He wasn't even halfway there. In his tribe, hunters were those who killed and captured their prey. Those who provided the tribe's livelihood.

'Found you.'

As his thoughts came to an end, Rem caught sight of his prey. His nose twitching, he had followed their scent and circled around behind them. Covering his tracks? That was nothing. When it came to walking silently, he was as confident as that sly wildcat. By Rem's standards, some prey were easy and others difficult. These were the easiest kind. What could be easier than an idiot preoccupied with his own prey? He walked like the spotted predator that was the finest hunter in the western wilds. His breaths were long and slow; when concealing his presence, he held them. That, he had copied from the round-headed beast known as the hunter of the western lakes. His clothes rustled a little, but he ignored it. His targets were preoccupied with what lay ahead. Having caught up to the rear, Rem crept right behind the last man. Even then, the man had no idea he was there. The enemy were making for higher ground, walking uphill in a line. Rem reached out and laid a hand on the left shoulder of the man ahead. Startled, the man spun around.

'Good reaction speed.'

The instant he tapped the left shoulder, Rem moved to the right, swift as a ghost and silent as a leopard. From his target's perspective, a touch came from behind his left shoulder, but when he turned to look, there was nothing. THWACK!

After that, well, came the axe. He swung it into the turned neck as though splitting firewood. Flesh tore and blood spattered. Some of the shower of blood splashed onto his cheek. Rather than smile, Rem took in the men turning toward him with his gray eyes. Every face was horrified. Every pair of eyes startled. Those wide eyes reminded him of herbivores. Deer, perhaps. Seeing such shocked faces was one of the joys of hunting, he supposed. "... Ambush!"

"Fuck!"

"Stop him!"

Curses and frantic movement followed. Rem lowered himself as if about to charge, and the enemy reacted. Three of them, to be precise, drew shortswords.

SHING! SHING! SHING!

Again, he thought they had good reactions. Rem gave his right shoulder a twitch and moved his left hand. A simple feint. The axe in his right hand would draw their attention. Sure enough, their eyes lingered on his right shoulder. Meanwhile, a hatchet flew from his left hand with a whoosh and buried itself in the forehead of a man farther back who was holding an arrow. The impact lifted the man's feet off the ground and hurled him backward. "Scatter!"

One of them shouted. See? Good reactions. Staying together would get them killed. Had he recognized the difference in their abilities at a glance? Or was the order purely instinctive? Either way, it was timely. Despite the order to scatter, the three swordsmen charged Rem instead. A rehearsed response. The other five fled, swiftly splitting left and right to descend the rocky mountain, while one headed farther uphill. Two of the original ten were dead. Rem began swinging his axe as he thought. Naturally, they were no match for him. He lunged, split, and sliced. To his enemies, those simple movements were like Death's scythe. Amid the hacked-apart dead, the blood-drenched, gray-haired hunter twitched his nose. Human scent drifted through the reek of blood. Trained by his tribe, the hunter set off again. Rem had no intention of letting a single one escape.

* * *

'What the...'

Hawk's Claw felt keenly that he was being hunted. That was what made it so absurd. Born in a mountain village in Aspen, he had possessed a gift for archery since childhood. It was only natural that he had become the village's finest hunter at fifteen. At least, it was natural to him. Every shot hit its mark, and he could see exactly where to strike to kill. After leaving the village to become a mercenary, he had earned a reputation, which in turn had caught a nobleman's eye. Then he had joined the army. It was the beginning of a life that promised new status and wealth. ["How would you like to become one of the principality's own?"]

In fact, the nobleman he had saved was on the verge of adopting him. His adoptive father would be less than ten years older, but what did that matter? Status was all that mattered. Once he finished this mission and returned, it would happen. ["I will give you the territory I recently acquired."]

His adoptive father's words. Hawk's Claw could become that. The lord of a territory. He could rise above his station. If things went well, he might even marry his half sister. WHIZZ! THUNK!

"Gah!"

Something flew into the back of his thigh and lodged there. Hawk's Claw tumbled forward in excruciating pain, banging his head against a rock with a thud. Everything spun. Unable to see properly, he spent a long while catching his breath before his vision finally cleared. "Cough."

As his sight returned, his stomach lurched. He couldn't help coughing. He fought back the urge to vomit and looked ahead.

"You're a good runner."

He saw Death. A gray-haired Death. "How?"

Hawk's Claw asked. How had the man tracked him? Why hadn't he noticed his approach? The word held many questions. Rem did not converse with his prey. THUNK.

The arrow Hawk's Claw had fired sank into his throat. Its head pierced the soft flesh and emerged from the back of his neck. Blood bubbled with a gurgle and streamed down his neck, staining the dark gray rock red. "Hmm."

Rem admired the sculpture he had made for a moment, then shook off his hands. His first hunt in a long time, and the prey had been far too little a challenge. A great pity, but it was over now. Acknowledgment, acceptance, assent. His thoughts followed the same course. Throughout the hunt, Rem had thought of his platoon commander. What would happen if he lived that way, too? That question had been filling his mind lately.

* * *

Marcus advanced his troops toward Cross Guard. Just two days, at an ordinary marching pace. No, slower than ordinary. They took every rest they needed. 'Will this work?'

And if it didn't? What should he do then? Ask that fellow Encrid, who had proposed it? No, his adjutants weren't that stupid. ["We simply withdraw. Whether they fall for it or not, the enemy will have to take notice."]

["Actually attacking the city would be a poor move, but this... Who did you say proposed this strategy?"] A platoon member whose proposal had come through the Fairy Company Commander. Through Encrid, to be more precise. Krais, was his name? Was there no one normal in that platoon? It could certainly be called an ingenious ploy. Pretend to attack the city, then wheel the troops around. Link up with the main army's rear and block the flanking route. If the enemy committed troops to the city's defense or the flanking route? They said that would be a success. And if the enemy didn't move at all? That, too, would be a success. Wasn't that why the Lunatic Platoon had set out? Even if they couldn't club the enemy over the back of the head, they could give them a flick and return. Marcus imagined the finger delivering that flick would be quite sturdy.

'Maybe the most powerful finger flick on the continent?'

"Ha!"

The thought made him laugh. At any rate, two days according to plan, then three to four after assessing the situation. That was what he did. After advancing for more than four days, he changed direction. Back they went. Marcus didn't hurry on the return journey, either. Given the chance, he wanted to see them. That wish was fulfilled.

"Lunatic Platoon reporting back. Platoon commander and seven men returned."

Those who had gone out on the raiding mission were back.