Chapter 191 - White Lion

Audin was quite literally toying with the Manticore. The slaps he kept dealing it made that plain. Under the beating, the Manticore tucked its tail and edged backward. GRRR. Its sharp teeth, shed fur, and blue-black blood lay scattered across the ground. As it tucked its tail, Audin beckoned with one hand, his smile as benevolent as ever. "It is time to go, Brother Monster." His tone had not changed, but his meaning had. It was a death sentence of sorts. The Manticore drew one foot back. Anyone could see it was frightened. It looked ready to turn tail and flee. Most of the watching soldiers thought so, but Audin did not. The Manticore was a high-tier monster, and a very cunning one. As it retreated, it suddenly lunged forward. The surprise attack came without a sound or the slightest warning. It thrust with extended claws, its tail plunging viciously from above. Audin had expected it. He knocked the forepaw aside, then caught the tail and used the beast's own momentum to slam it into the ground as though executing a shoulder throw. BOOM!

With the explosive crash came a groan of pain from the Manticore.

GRRROAN! It was a high-tier monster capable of taking on an entire company alone, but it could hardly have found a worse opponent. Stone fragments flew in every direction as it struck the ground. The startled soldiers had now turned into a cheering section. "Well done!"

"Oh!"

"Lunatic!" Why did they have to throw "lunatic" in there? Audin approached the Manticore and slapped it several more times. After repeatedly throwing the monster to the ground, he abruptly climbed onto its back, seized its neck, and wrenched it backward with a crack. The Manticore's snakelike tongue shot out. Its eyes rolled back. It collapsed with one last faint breath, its forehead striking the ground with a thud. The high-tier monster that had been slapped so mercilessly was now an expensive carcass. Everything from its teeth to its hide and innards was worth a considerable sum. "What the hell are you?" The question came from one side, laden with disbelief. It was opposite the gathered soldiers. They stood to Audin's right; the voice came from his left. "I did not think a monster like this would come alone. Where do you hail from, brother?" With the moonlight at his back, Audin stood up on the Manticore. He addressed a cultist who had climbed onto the gallery at the end of the wall. He had expected this. How could he not? High-tier monsters were clever and shrewd. A Manticore would not be foolish enough to attack a human fortress on sight. And to keep attacking after taking such a beating? That was especially unlike it. Perhaps if it were desperately hungry. No, even then, it had kept attacking to the bitter end despite the openings he had deliberately left for it to slip away. That meant someone was controlling it. Audin had been waiting for that person to appear. That was why he had prolonged the fight, and why he had killed the Manticore the instant he sensed its controller. It had served its purpose. "How dare you!" A bluish light glimmered in the shouting man's eyes. Audin recognized it: the mark of an evil cult. He was, after all, a servant of God. "So you are a brother who serves an evil cult." The words were a quiet murmur. His days as an Inquisitor had included this sort of work too. Days spent hunting down cultists. The blue-eyed cultist raised a hand. While that motion was still unfolding, while the soldiers were too startled to speak, there was an opening. BOOM! Audin vanished. Or so it seemed. Kicking off the ground, he closed the distance faster than the Manticore. BANG! A second thunderous report followed the sound of his launch. All the soldiers saw was a lump hurtling sideways into the wall. Its fingers twitched in the air as it convulsed, already a corpse. "For God watches over us." Audin's voice echoed faintly as he recited his prayer alone. The soldiers looked toward a bear-sized monster frozen with his right fist extended. Audin of the Lunatic Platoon. A member of the unit now widely rumored to be becoming an Independent Company. The soldiers had not even properly seen his strike. It had simply happened, leaving only the result. Audin drew back his extended fist and clasped his hands, returning to his usual self. The soldiers examined the lump he had sent flying. Its body lay shattered against the gallery wall. Something was missing from the half-crumpled body. There was nothing above its neck. "Where did his head go?" Who knew? The only certainty was that the crazy religious nut had erased a man from the face of the earth with a single punch. The fan of blood sprayed across one side of the gallery was proof. "... I actually pissed myself." The smell of urine began to rise from between one soldier's legs. Not having seen it properly made it all the more terrifying. How could a human like that even exist? A dead Manticore and a dead cultist. Most of the soldiers still had no real grasp of what had happened. A platoon commander who arrived on the gallery belatedly began bringing the situation under control. "An attack, uh, you've dealt with it? Judging by the commotion outside, there must be more of them. Everyone, get down there and reinforce..." "There is no need, brother." Audin spoke. Having finished his prayer, he had been gazing idly down from the wall. "Huh?"

"It is nearly over." Audin could see his company commander fighting. He knew his skill from their sparring, but watching him in a real battle was another matter. 'You have improved yet again, brother.' There were things in the way he moved and wielded his sword that had not been there before. Confidence, conviction, things of that nature. Anyone who had known him at the beginning would call it truly remarkable progress. It delighted Audin beyond measure. What could he do? He had come to wish for nothing but the man's success. 'Your servant asks: Is this Your will? Was it You who guided him?' His Lord still gave no answer. But now, he did not necessarily need one. Audin, too, had gained a small enlightenment here. It had begun with Encrid. 'To need an answer is proof of my weakness. I shall move forward without seeking proof, without doubt.' There stood a man who lived that way. A man who, as the scriptures taught, yielded to nothing and persevered through hardship. How could watching such a man fail to bring him joy? Audin had wished blessings upon Encrid as he burned through his life. Yet Encrid went forth and won those blessings for himself. So, while Audin would still pray for him, he need no longer beg anything of God. "Good." What was good? The platoon commander blinked at the great bear of a man. But was it really all right not to go down? Unable to ignore the commotion outside, he went anyway. Below, he found a soldier with a hole in his belly and another bleeding profusely from the thigh. "That one's a spy." The soldier clutching his belly spoke. He was pressing his own clothing firmly against it, presumably to stop the bleeding. The platoon commander addressed a soldier who had followed him. "Hold him." Having collected the spy Encrid had left behind, the platoon commander looked through the open postern. He had not been able to see the fight properly from the wall. Out there, a lone man was cutting and stabbing his way through a black-clad group, killing them. It was a familiar face. The most famous fellow in Border Guard these days: the Lunatic Platoon Commander himself.

* * *

The Black Blade Bandits were beside themselves. Dunbachel in particular had, well, never experienced anything like this. "A knight? No, a Knight of an order?" Dunbachel spoke with her hand resting on her scimitar. Had they picked an opponent far too strong for them? Or had they come here ignorant of something? Five of those who had come with her were corpses. Two had each lost a leg. Even if a high priest arrived this instant and poured divine power into them, they would never walk properly again. Of course, no such priest would come, and even if one did, they would hardly lavish divine power on these men. They would be crippled. And that was if they were lucky. Judging by the blood loss, they would be dead before long. The man responsible for all this was turning his sword over to inspect both sides, nodding faintly. He did not even acknowledge her words. He seemed utterly at ease. "Seriously, what the hell are you?" Dunbachel asked in disbelief, and Encrid shrugged again. Unless he intended to explain at length to someone bent on killing him that he dreamed of becoming a knight but was not one yet, naturally there was nothing to say. Instead, he examined his sword. Its edge, to be precise. 'This cuts incredibly well.' He had swung intending to cut at a thigh, and the blade had sliced clean through the thick leather trousers. Its cutting power was exceptional. Was that thanks to the blacksmith's sharpening, or the quality of the sword itself? He decided it was both. The pommel gave it excellent balance, and the leather wrapping sat snugly in his hand. Along with its cutting power, he was very pleased with the strength of the sword itself. He could tell how sturdy it was just by looking. It did not seem to be Valeri steel, but it was a high-quality sword all the same. The first truly fine weapon he had ever owned, perhaps. He had certainly never had a sword this good. "Aren't you coming?" There was hope in Encrid's voice. He wanted to use the sword some more. The techniques he had now grown accustomed to, as well. He had dismissed Rem as frustrated from lack of action. 'Am I the same?' To think he was actually itching for more fighting. Dunbachel frowned at his words. 'Where did someone like this come from?' Even his scent was different. A Beastman's sensitive nose could sometimes gauge an opponent's strength. More precisely, that belonged to the realm of the instinct to stay alive. Dunbachel was beginning to get the picture. 'Looks like this is where I'll be buried.' So, should she run? She did not want to. Well, hadn't she spent her life half trying to die anyway? Closing the book of her life here would not be so bad. She was here because she wanted to die fighting. She steeled herself. Above all, the man before her made a fine final opponent. Someone whose looks and skill both pleased her. 'More than good enough.' At that thought, she gave an involuntary chuckle, utterly out of keeping with the situation. The sole remaining Black Blade bandit shot her a look at the sound. He gave off the distinctive scent of a frightened man. A smell much like piss. "Do you want to live, by any chance?" Dunbachel asked her remaining companion. A bandit whose name she did not even know. "What?" Was he asking what the crazy bitch was talking about now? "Never mind." The instant she finished speaking, her muscles bulged and her fist tore through the air into his face. BOOM!

A heavy impact rang out. "Grrk!" His feet left the ground as he gave a short, peculiar death cry. The punch drove his right eye inward with a crunch before it popped back out. Blood sprayed, and shattered facial bones jutted from the side of his face. No, some of those bones broke apart and scattered in every direction. He had been tensely watching Encrid alone. With one side of his face caved in, he died, of course. "A fine place for a grave." Dunbachel spoke with her fist still extended. She did not explain her actions. Instead, she revealed her true self. "Hey. Let's have a proper fight." As she spoke, her eyes changed. Her pupils stretched into vertical slits like those of a beast. GRRRRR. What distinguished Beastmen from creatures like wolf-men? For one thing, their appearance. Normally, Beastmen were human in form with a few animal traits. They did not undergo transformations like this. Even when something wild took hold and caused minor changes, they did not grow wolf heads. Their fangs might lengthen, their eyes change, and their fur grow a little longer, but they never strayed far from the human form. Ordinary Beastmen, at least. Dunbachel was different. As beast blood raced through her entire body, she began to change, though something human remained. Long white fur sprouted thickly all over her body. With a grinding crunch, her facial bones reshaped themselves into those of a lion. Encrid had met a few Beastmen in his life, but he had never seen this before. Why was she transforming? It took far longer to describe than to happen. The transformation was over in an instant. "A monster?" Encrid asked. Could that thing even speak? Didn't its form resemble a Lycanthrope's? Granted, his opponent looked like a lion, one with flowing white fur, and the air she gave off was vastly different. Honestly, rather than a monster, she looked like a guardian of a celestial temple from some legend or myth. That, at least, was how Encrid felt. Still, the first word that had come to mind was "monster." "Grrr. I've heard that plenty of times." Dunbachel spoke through a growl. It was a verbal habit she developed whenever she transformed. Something about her bearing, attitude, and tone gave Encrid an odd feeling. It seemed that when she spoke of a grave, she had not meant his. Rather, she wanted to die herself. Well, that hardly mattered. "Are you coming?"

"Of course! Grr!" The instant the words left her mouth, the white lion kicked off the ground with a bang and charged. Claws extended from her left hand as she made a sweeping slash. In her other hand, she swung the scimitar she had already drawn. Claws and blade crossed, aiming for Encrid's chest and waist. Watching every movement without missing a thing, Encrid brought his sword upright and flicked it forward in two downward blows. Both were snapping strikes, each packed with impact. He activated the Heart of the Superhuman for an instant. It was a defensive technique that left no chance for a bind: knocking the attacks aside with brute force. CLANG!

CLANG! He knocked aside the claws, then the scimitar. Yet the Beastman did not draw away. It was an unyielding charge, a rush made with death already accepted. Encrid could well have been caught off guard. They were that close, and as though she had fully expected him to block her attacks, the white lion drew back her head and thrust her forehead at him. 'The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique?' A charge followed by a Headbutt. It was a familiar attack.