Chapter 403 - He Liked None of It

For those who wielded spells, foreboding was more than a mere word. It was a prediction born of their senses. Esther sensed something happening on this land, something connected to the spell world. An intuition followed that it could readily affect her as well. She could not simply ignore it. In short, she needed to investigate immediately. That was why she spoke.

"Protect me." Andrew, who had been about to rush into battle, turned his head.

"Are you talking to me?"

"Who else? Shall I call Enkie back from the front?" Having enlightened him with that kindly, lengthy explanation, Esther closed her eyes. She was in a hurry. Andrew hesitated and stopped before leaving. Where did he stand at present? Because he was accompanying Encrid, he had been accepted as part of their unit. His position was rather awkward for commanding a force under Baron Gardner's banner. After all, he had only five men under him. He surveyed the battlefield. They were not dominating, but events seemed to be going somewhat as their side intended. He stayed where he was. For now, he felt he should heed the mage Esther's request.

"Form up." Andrew and the five trainees formed a circle around Esther. She sat in their midst, heedless of the bare dirt. This was no time to worry about such things. Her robe touched the ground and pooled around her. Soon she entered the spell world to seek out the enemy mage's preparations. No, there was no need to search. Rather than concealing them, he laid them bare, and that very display magnified his imposing presence. That immense presence became pressure bearing down on Esther's shoulders. But she was no ordinary mage herself. A witch who wielded the fire of the black world. A witch who fought and struggled to pioneer a world. A seeker who grasped truth by burning it in flame. Reciting a spell that affirmed her own existence, she raised her head. Esther examined and unraveled what her enemy, the mage Count Molsen, had prepared. There was a saying that not every mage was mad, but every outstanding mage inevitably nurtured madness. She agreed. The bastard pulling this stunt was proving it even now. 'He mixed shamanic spells with magecraft.'

The energy of spirits ran amid the flow of mana. The power of invocation blanketed the area, revealing his determination. Darkness. Count Molsen sat in a black chair that looked darker still than the dark space around it. Draped in a cloak of soot, gripping a staff as pitch-black as his chair, he glared at her. "You intend to stop me?"

The count's determination reached her in the form of words, laced with mockery. Let her try, if she could. Esther did not react to his sneer. Instead, she examined everything, over and over.

'A magic circle.'

He had made the entire battlefield into a magic circle. And a magic circle required material with which to draw it. "You are exceptionally mad."

Esther spoke the instant she understood. Resting his chin on his free hand, the count replied.

"Do you think knowing will change anything?" He had used the horrors of war, blood, and corpses as materials for his magic circle, drawing out a spell founded on shamanic power. What would it produce? Eyes half-closed, she predicted what would happen once the spell was complete. Esther herself ranked among the foremost geniuses of her world. That was what made such a feat possible. Pitch-black darkness would engulf the entire battlefield. The world beneath it would lose its light and be consumed by a dark determination. This disgustingly mad bastard was attempting to connect his spell world to reality. That part in particular was revolting. What was a mage's spell world? It was a place of private shame and secrets, something never to be shown or exposed to others. It was taboo. Count Molsen had disregarded that taboo. 'He'll connect them and send in the wraiths.'

Using the magic circle to blot out the light and disgorge darkness ultimately meant detaching a piece of his spell world and manifesting it here. Esther's eyes also caught the black masses lingering behind the count's chair. Wraiths. Enough to fill the spell world. What would happen if that horde were unleashed on the battlefield? Wraiths could erode human minds. Some people would become puppets; others would swing their swords without distinguishing friend from foe. Still others would lose their reason and die where they stood. Most could exhibit madness. That was the reality soon to unfold if everything went as he intended. This was what the count had been after. Victory in war? Unnecessary. All he needed was blood, corpses, and death. Then he would dominate the battlefield with his wraiths. Krang would be fully justified in blazing with fury if he knew. "Will you try to stop me?" the count asked. Esther could burn their enemies with her spells right now. But she could not stop the people currently fighting. She could think of no way to do it. The best she could manage here was to extract only those she meant to protect. Should she do that? The thought had come suddenly, but she felt Encrid would not want it. What, then, should she do?

'I'll ask.'

She would tell Encrid everything. She would ask him. It was a choice that would have greatly surprised other spell wielders who knew Esther. She transformed part of her determination into an astral projection and sent it flying toward Encrid, who would be at the front. She could do this because she had spent more than a year pressed close against him, skin to skin. Sending an astral projection bearing her determination to someone required a bond that strong. Fortunately, it reached him. "I'll ask first."

At Esther's answer, the count blinked. He must have wondered what she meant to ask.

* * *

The Giant Who Made His Body a Weapon. That was Benukt's epithet. The Giant lay on the ground, the backs of his knees slashed. Encrid pulled the sword from his skull. Bracing his right foot against his opponent's shoulder, he drew it free, trailing a stream of blood. The Giant's fighting spirit had been astonishing and fearsome, but...

'Compared to Audin...'

He was weak. Benukt had landed one blow on Encrid's side and had also seized and twisted his ankle. Encrid had braced his abdomen to endure the blow to his side, deflecting its impact. When his ankle was caught, he had launched himself into the air and spun in the direction of the twist, rendering it useless. After that, he had steadily landed one strike after another, cutting and stabbing repeatedly. The gap in their skill was clear, so there was no need to rush. Using the Captivating Sword as his foundation, he had backed his opponent into a corner. Now, with Benukt dead, Encrid looked around. He saw soldiers charging him in terror, rather than retreating in astonishment at the sight of him killing a Giant. Not one or two, either. Dozens, at least. 'Why?'

It was enough to make him wonder. Their eyes were frightened and their legs trembled. He had not even used the Will of intimidation, yet their eyes were full of fear. They looked as though someone were pushing them into the attack. That was exactly right. They were sacrifices the count had sent to become blood and corpses. People sent to die. Protecting those behind him also meant becoming a demon to those before him. Encrid knew that, too. Even so...

'I don't like this.'

It bothered him fiercely. He knocked aside a fearfully wavering spearpoint with the back of his hand, seized the shaft, and wrenched it away. Its owner, who looked barely twenty, fell forward as he lost his spear. So flustered that he failed even to throw out his hands, he landed chin-first. "Aagh!"

A scream rang out. Encrid cut through the next opponent's spear shaft with his sword, then kicked the man behind that one in the chin. CRACK! Though the kick was light, the man's chin snapped up and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed. After Encrid had brought down a dozen or so like that, the others stopped attacking. Eyes full of wariness. Eyes full of terror. Darting pupils that revealed the tangled feelings born of both. Encrid liked none of it. The blood of the dying. Their flesh and bones. The death flowing over this land, staining it. His revulsion had begun in instinct and taken shape as intuition. 'Why?'

This was a battlefield, a place familiar to him by now. He knew all too well that protecting those behind him meant becoming a demon to those before him. As he watched his surroundings warily, something like blue smoke approached from behind and touched him. It was the astral projection bearing Esther's determination. She conveyed what she had seen, heard, and discovered. It was a strange experience, as though Esther's voice were whispering in his ear. What she told him, the count's vile scheme, was the source of his unease. He could not understand everything about the magic circle or precisely what the count meant to do. But thwarting a bastard with not a single redeeming quality was only natural. And of course he disliked hearing that the man had turned the battlefield into his own tool. He turned and pushed into the enemy ranks. The soldiers opened a path. They could attack only if there was some hope. No matter how hard the executioners stabbed them in the back, the impossible remained impossible. He had just killed a Giant. The man approaching had slain their commander, a creature called a red-blooded monster, a hulking horror in the eyes of ordinary soldiers. He looked like an ordinary swordsman, but the martial prowess he had displayed made him seem anything but ordinary. That was how the path opened. At its far end, Lierbart stepped forward. "Even Benukt was no match for you."

"Didn't you know that when you sent him?"

"I did."

"You should have come out sooner." Encrid rebuked Lierbart as though scolding a young student. He truly was angry, too. Such an attitude was out of place here, making it an obvious provocation. Even at a moment like this, the fact that Lierbart had once been a noble made it anger him. And to think that getting under an opponent's skin with words was supposed to be his specialty. "That tongue of yours really..."

"Shut up. I won't hear your excuses."

Encrid cut him off. "You really are a son of a bitch."

Lierbart spoke without a trace of a smile. Encrid raised his sword. Clearly, he could go no farther without overcoming this man. Still watching through her astral projection, Esther read Encrid's intention through his mind. He had not the slightest thought of retreat. His determination was a flame that burned without end. He would stop this. He would stop it no matter what. That determination reached Esther intact. Hearing it, she said,

"You mustn't lose."

If he lost and withdrew here, stopping the count would be out of the question. Encrid raised his sword. Holding Silver in both hands, he sighted along its blade as though dividing his opponent vertically in two. From the moment their previous battle ended, he had spent the entire day on Review. While chewing meat, while sleeping, upon waking, and while fighting. He had not been bored in the slightest. On the contrary, he had enjoyed it. Here was an opponent he had to surpass. That made it enjoyable. Facing him was an opportunity to advance further. Besides, he knew instinctively.

'I can win.' How many times had he ever been certain of victory? Especially against an opponent of such outstanding skill? He had never fought with the repetition of today in mind, but now he believed there would be no repetition at all. "I envy you."

With that cryptic remark, Lierbart raised his sword and shield. He lifted the shield to cover his mouth, leaving only his eyes exposed. He was ready to fight. It would be the same kind of fight as before. So thought those who had watched their previous duel. But it was not. CLICK! Encrid suddenly sheathed his sword and sprang forward. Surprised by the unexpected movement, Lierbart adopted a defensive stance, drawing his shield close and concealing even his sword hand behind it. Encrid thrust both hands out. The whistle daggers he had drawn before anyone noticed shrieked. FWEEEE! Two streaks of light flew toward the exposed eyes. CLANG! CLANG! Lierbart hastily raised his shield over his eyes.

'Blocking my sight?'

Having his eyes covered did not mean he could no longer read the enemy's movements. Even a proto knight's senses were exceptionally keen. He turned. Encrid had already circled to the side and thrown a sword. The art was called the Throwing blade technique. The gladius was flying toward Lierbart's back, spinning like a disc. With his shield? Too late. Lierbart trusted the strength of the armor covering his body. With a slight turn of his back, he demonstrated a feat of martial skill: shifting the point of impact so that the thrown sword glanced off his armor. Deflecting with the torso. It was an art akin to what Encrid had learned from Audin. CLANG! The second attack bounced away as well. Then Encrid leaped up and brought his sword down vertically. CRASH! This time, despite blocking with his shield, Lierbart felt the force reverberate all the way through his forearm. It felt as though his body were sinking into the ground. Somehow, this Encrid seemed even stronger than before. Encrid had secured an opening by throwing the daggers, restricted his opponent's movements with the gladius, and hammered him with a spinning vertical cut from the Heavy Sword Technique. Naturally, he did not stop there. The world without breath. Having seized the advantage with it once before, he had immediately dragged his opponent into the kind of battlefield most favorable to himself. It worked. Normally, Lierbart could have endured an entire day of fighting. But after dozens of sword exchanges spent concentrating on defense, his breathing faltered. His opponent's stamina was vastly superior to his own, so much so that he wondered what on earth the man had done to build a body like that. Spark slipped into the opening this created and tore into Lierbart's belly. The stab, aimed at a gap in his armor, sliced through part of his innards. Lierbart immediately swung his shield into Encrid. Encrid had overextended himself to land that stab and could not avoid it. THUD! The shield blow drove Encrid back a couple of steps.

"Cough!"

Then Lierbart spat blood. The outcome was all but decided. Encrid looked into his opponent's eyes. Black, lifeless eyes, like those of a dead fish. "Whew... I truly envy you."

Again, Lierbart uttered those cryptic words. Encrid decided they were none of his concern and was raising his sword when Lierbart asked,

"How do you think one becomes a knight?"