Chapter 285 - The Language of the West

While Encrid struck at the Cultists' forces, Sinar made her move as well. Taking only twenty of her quickest, most deft soldiers, she circled the outskirts of the battlefield. Their role was to pick off specific targets. The twenty stayed out of the frontal fighting, moving as they watched its course and assessed the enemy's composition. The keen senses of a Fairy who had experienced hundreds of battles read the ebb and flow. Sinar separated the sounds reaching her ears, distinguished them, and found what she sought. Her first target was chosen. "We're going."

Her handpicked soldiers followed. They swept around the edge of the battlefield and drove into one flank. "Fuck! These lunatics!"

The enemy soldiers fought back fiercely. The twenty met them and held their ground. Their fighting abilities were excellent, but all were much of a level. They could be called elite, but they were not on the level of Border Guard members.

Sinar was different. While the twenty allied soldiers held the enemy's attention, she sprang up and stepped onto an enemy soldier's head. She rose from the ground as effortlessly as if someone were pulling her up from above. She might have had wings.

From atop the soldier's head, she struck his throat with her toe. THUNK! The blade fixed beneath her boot punched a hole in the throat of the soldier she had used as a stepping-stone. Then she drew Nidle.

SHING!

The leaf sword emerged, reflecting the light. She casually stabbed downward with it a few times. CLANG! THUNK! THUD! One soldier, fortunate enough to take the blow on his helmet, staggered and toppled sideways. Another, luckier still to have it glance off his helmet, immediately raised a short spear and stabbed upward. The third and last had earned the goddess of luck's hatred: he pitched forward with a split between his eyebrows, blood streaming down his face.

All of this happened before the soldier she had killed underfoot could fall. Sinar drew Nidle back and cut through the incoming short spear around its midpoint. The blade parted the shaft. Shorn of its head, the spear became a short wooden stick.

The soldier, now holding a stick instead of a spear, raised his shield. Rather than strike it, Sinar stepped on it and ran forward. She was an arrow aimed at a chosen target.

A shield, a head, a shoulder. She stepped across three more men and landed lightly on the ground. Her target stood before her.

A commander she had located by picking out his voice. More precisely, the commander of a small unit—the head controlling the troops in this area. "Stop her!"

The commander's cry rang hollow. The moment he shouted, Nidle pierced his throat.

She twisted at the waist and sent her sword shooting out, the movement snapping from shoulder to fingertips. The Stone-Skipping Stab was one of Sinar's arts. These men were one reason Viscount Tarnin's army was holding together at all: officers stationed throughout its ranks to give orders.

Sinar cut down three more such commanders in that day's battle. "That crazy Fairy bitch!"

A senior commander watching the battle shouted through gritted teeth. He had, of course, doubled his bodyguard. Simultaneous strikes. That was what Krais had intended.

Supplies on one front. Commanders on the other.

He meant to inflict the greatest possible damage on the two forces converging on them. Sinar accomplished her task with only a few scratches.

'I wonder how they're doing.'

The thought came as she wiped the blood from Nidle. How were Encrid and his soldiers faring? Had something that began as a joke actually come true?

'The battle ends, and immediately I think of his face.' She felt something within her had lost its edge, but she smiled. This, too, was part of life, part of its pleasures.

There was a curious magic about that man. Not the kind that formed spells, but one that made her watch him and root for him. No wonder he kept coming to mind. "Withdraw."

On her way back, her work done and the midday sun shining upon the earth, the Fairy thought of the human. It was not merely attraction between a man and a woman. It was closer to anticipation of what one human might accomplish.

'How far will you go?'

She asked the question silently. Naturally, no answer came.

* * *

'Relaxation.'

A body held in constant tension grew stiff. A stiff body struggled to perform at its usual level. ["The same applies to building muscle and stamina. Rest is just as important as working yourself to the bone. Only after resting do your strength and stamina increase."]

Audin had said that.

Encrid mulled over those words. The battle had given him another small clue to reflect upon. Tension and relaxation.

What about finding moments to loosen his body even during a fight?

He had sensed it watching Ragna, and watching Jaxon as well. Jaxon seemed to hold no tension in his body except when swinging his sword. Ragna seemed barely to tense his body even as he swung without pause. Audin was the same. Dunbachel and Teresa had similar habits. The springiness created by controlling tension and relaxation, even the changes in rhythm.

Rest improved stamina. Rest improved strength. Couldn't swordsmanship work much the same way? ["Rest is important."]

Audin had said it countless times, but Encrid had never fully felt its truth. Only now did that little sentence seep through his skin and settle deep inside him.

He could put the thought into practice as soon as it occurred, so he did. This battle was a place to learn. 'What if I relax more deeply?'

Observing himself and accurately understanding what he saw was important. For Encrid, it was as natural as breathing.

That self-observation had shown him where relaxation began. It was thanks to the first ability he had gained through his repeating days.

'The heart of the beast.' Boldness let him give his muscles and breathing the right amount of rest even with blades flashing around him and quarrels aimed at his skull.

It was also a way to keep fighting longer. A few facing many had to conserve their stamina.

Of course, Encrid's stamina was monstrous. His endurance was so far beyond an ordinary soldier's that comparison was meaningless. But that did not mean he never tired. Seen in that light...

'Rem will be fine.'

The thought followed naturally. Who had taught him the heart of the beast? Who was best at spouting nonsense in the middle of a fight? He could rightly be called a master of relaxation. "That doesn't make him a master of relaxation. He simply doesn't think."

Jaxon offered that response when Encrid voiced his thoughts.

"He's an idiot," Ragna added.

"His muscles seem plenty tense when he's hitting me."

Dunbachel's contribution carried a note of accusation. Teresa said nothing. Then Audin spoke.

"Are you worried about Brother Barbarian?"

Worried? About that Rem? That gray-haired monster? The man who would meet a demon, chop it up with his axes, and come back?

"Me?"

Encrid took a moment to choose his words before asking in utter seriousness. Did he look worried? Audin smiled gently.

"Resentment in your heart clouds your eyes; worry in your heart leads your thoughts toward its source. Think only of the Lord and cast out resentment. Praise and honor the Lord alone, and so find peace within your heart."

He was reciting the scriptures. Beside him, Teresa murmured his final words: "Find peace." Her mask hid her face, but she seemed to be thinking about something. Perhaps facing the Cultists again felt strange. Hadn't she originally belonged to them? From what he had heard, she had been born and raised there. She could well be unsettled.

Encrid glanced at her and reconsidered whether he truly was worried. 'Utter nonsense.'

Why worry about that lunatic Rem?

Still, something bothered him. A faint, unpleasant feeling.

'Why?' They were withdrawing to the rear. There was no sign of pursuit. None of his soldiers had taken a stray arrow. Naturally, no one was hurt.

It had all happened in an instant.

Surprise, attack, arson, withdrawal. There had been no need to move under cover of night, so they had done it in broad daylight beneath a blazing sun. They could afford to. They had moved fast enough to finish before word could arrive of the enemy scouts' deaths.

So why was unease creeping in? Accustomed to observing himself, he was equally accustomed to reviewing what had happened.

'They were too weak.'

Dozens of wolf demonic beasts would ordinarily have been a considerable threat, but...

'Would the Cultists have come knowing nothing about our strength?'

Surely not.

Then why did they seem so vulnerable? Encrid recalled when Marcus had kept him and his Company well hidden.

'Making yourself look weak means you have something hidden.'

What they had seen was not the full extent of the Cultists' strength. Which meant...

'Black Blade has something hidden too.' Reviewing a few things led naturally to that conclusion. Could Krais have missed it?

'No. He knows.'

He knew, and that was why he had devised this strategy: whittle down what they could and take what they could before the enemy revealed every hidden move.

That was the heart of this mission to burn the supplies. "He'd come back even if we prayed desperately for him to die."

Jaxon added that in response to the mention of worry. His eyes were indifferent. Encrid looked into those red eyes and nodded.

"I know."

There was no need to worry. Who were they worrying about, anyway? The man left behind was Rem, the mad barbarian.

* * *

Rem admitted he was excited.

Everything began with awareness. Only acknowledgment and awareness allowed change. A man quick to get worked up had to know that about himself before he could be calm. ["Are all beasts alike? No. But the beasts that survive all share one trait."]

He had heard those words when he first learned to hunt. Longer fangs did not ensure survival. Sharper claws were no guarantee either. Whether a lion running the plains or a tiger ruling a mountain range, a beast survived because it knew something.

And the first thing it needed to know was itself.

The length of its claws, the strength of its legs, its stamina. Awareness of those things was the beginning. 'The Captain is very unusual in that respect.'

He knew himself and his level, understood exactly what he could do, yet his body could not keep up. No, it hadn't been able to.

That was no longer true. His skills had grown enough to make him a threat. How to put it? At times, Rem even felt fortunate to have witnessed it. Understanding, change, blood brought to a boil by days of sitting idle. There were several reasons.

Exhilaration welled up, and Rem grew a little excited. He understood the situation, understood himself, and made no particular attempt to hide it. "You stupid dog-headed bastards."

The three wolf demonic beasts charging him were different from the ones before. Their speed, strength, and cunning were on another level.

Were all demonic beasts alike? Even among them, some were exceptional. These three were.

They were damned fast and damned smart. To cut them down quickly, Rem allowed a wound a finger joint deep in his side. He let the claws rake past.

In that instant, his axe whipped out and split the head of the beast pressed close to him.

Blood and brains splattered across his vision, but he did not even blink. With his other axe, he cut off the split-headed beast's neck. He knocked the head, split in two and hanging in tatters, aside with the back of his hand. The head flew like a flower in full bloom. One beast dodged aside, and Rem, who had anticipated that too, threw his axe after it. WHOOSH! WHIRR! Spinning so fast it looked like a disc, the axe sank deep into the skull of the wolf demonic beast just as it dodged. Rem's throw and the beast thrusting its head into the axe's path seemed to happen simultaneously.

He could do that because he had dictated which way it would dodge. One remained.

Rem's lips twisted. A broad grin spread across his face. "Monster!"

"That monstrous bastard!"

"Aaaah! May the Demonic Realm curse you! The lord of demonic beasts shall chew you up and swallow you himself!"

The Cultists guarding the flanks kept running their mouths. "What the hell are you on about, you crazy fanatics? Just come at me."

Grumbling, Rem shifted the axe in his left hand to his right.

"Hey, mongrel. You coming or not?" The remaining beast crouched low. Its eyes glared upward, its killing intent fully exposed. Meanwhile, one of the Cultists threw a dagger.

Without taking his eyes off the wolf demonic beast, Rem avoided it with a slight tilt of his head. The beast seized that opening to attack. There was not even a sound as it pushed off the ground. The rush of air reached his nose first.

It hurtled at him, swift and fierce despite its bulk. Crouching its enormous body low, it brought its snout close to Rem.

Watching it charge, Rem swung his axe twice as fast as he had been swinging it moments before. WHOOSH! Few of those watching could properly follow his movement. Even without blinking, they lost sight of his right arm and axe as they swept from the upper right to the lower left.

He had deliberately been swinging slowly enough to seem manageable, letting the bastards grow accustomed to that speed. Only now did he put his full force into a blow. The beast could not react. Still charging, it had its neck cut halfway through, blood gushing out. Its momentum carried it straight into Rem nonetheless.

Following through with his axe, he stepped aside and shoved the wolf's body away. THUD!

The demonic beast's corpse hit the ground, shutting the Cultists' mouths.

Still smiling, Rem addressed them.

"See you again." An ordinary farewell, but to the Cultists it sounded murderous.

They had to see that again? That monster?

Rem withdrew, retrieving his thrown axe as he ran. 'Let's see.'

A bit gouged out of his side, and perhaps a cracked rib?

He calmly assessed his condition. Nothing serious. Not bad for cutting down three monstrous demonic beasts that would have been regarded as demons wherever they appeared. Some of the Cultists pursued, but only for show.

"Want another taste of my axe?"

Hadn't those words, tossed back over his shoulder, sounded positively murderous? Rem intended to catch up with Encrid shortly and tell him how he had sliced apart three demonic beasts that could pass for demons.

'Will he be so impressed he asks me to teach him something again?' In the midst of that idle thought, his body moved sideways. He stamped his right foot into the ground, drove his weight through his big toe, arrested his forward momentum, and turned aside. With inhuman leg strength and balance, he performed an impossible maneuver.

He had abruptly moved at a right angle to his run. THUNK! A forearm-length javelin buried itself where he had been running. Sunk halfway up its shaft, it quivered. Ordinary strength would not even suffice to pull it out.

Rem saw its shape. Familiar—or rather, no longer familiar, but once so.

It was the kind of javelin favored by the western tribes. "Fancy meeting one of my own people here."

A voice followed.

Not in the imperial tongue, but the language of the West.