Chapter 44 - The Blue-Eyed Savior

The Fairy Company Commander moved her ears. At once, everything happening around her took shape in her mind as clearly as if she could see it. Keen senses were an innate Fairy gift.

Relying on her hearing, she took two steps to the right. WHOOSH! That put her in front of an enemy soldier thrusting a long spear. She stood at the head of her own troops.

She struck the enemy's spear shaft upward. In the same motion, the sword in her hand flowed forward like a blade of grass riding the wind, pierced his throat, and returned. THUNK! POP! Blood spurted from the hole in his throat. She flicked her sword toward the ground, spattering its blood across the earth.

She kept moving. Staying still would only make her a target for quarrels. As she ran, she swung her leaf-shaped sword. TING-TING! Two quarrels struck the blade and ricocheted away.

The sword she held was called a Nidle. Shorter and more pointed than an ordinary sword, it was a distinctively Fairy weapon shaped like a streamlined leaf. With the hilt removed, its distinctive blade would bring to mind a small ferryboat or a leaf. Fairy swordsmanship combined three forms: Flowing Sword, Righteous Sword, and Swift Sword. The Nidle was tailored to that style, and the Company Commander had just demonstrated it.

No soldier could withstand those thrusts, swift as rays of light, that followed the parrying and deflection of their long spears. 'This doesn't look good.'

Even as she slaughtered her opponents, the Fairy Company Commander felt a sense of gloom.

Were spells always this dangerous? She had once fought a warrior bearing something called a berserker's spell. Charging heedless of his wounds, the berserker had been dangerous and violent, but the effect was temporary, nothing capable of encompassing an entire battlefield.

That was the full extent of her experience with spells. Naturally, she had been shocked when the fog appeared.

This was a spell? Fortunately, she had been prepared and responded properly.

When the fog first appeared, she tightened her troops into a circular formation. The cries of "Get down!" and "Shields!" came just then, and she followed them to the letter. At her shout, several Platoon Commanders frantically parroted the same orders, keeping their men holding on. They had suddenly lost their sight. It was more than enough to induce panic. Of course the battle looked grim.

Even so, she did her part. She broke formation to slash and stab at the enemy vanguard alone. Without even that effort, her troops would soon be wiped out.

First Company might at least hold on, though. 'That potato-sprout bastard.'

The Fairy Company Commander silently cursed the Battalion Commander.

Potato sprouts were poisonous. Fairies had a fondness for plant-based expressions. When a potato sprouted, you had to cut the sprouts away before eating it. Otherwise, poison would accumulate in your body.

Their current Battalion Commander was exactly that sort of potato-sprout bastard. In a situation this dire, command should have been coming up with a response, but the Battalion Commander had given no orders. No whistle, no shouts, no instructions at all.

He had been so lax in leading his troops, trusting in nothing but his powerful backers. She had warned him countless times to prepare for a spell, but he had shown no sign of actually listening.

This kingdom, too, was like a mold-covered peach. Rotten, in other words. How could they send a piece of trash like that to command a battalion on the front lines? 'Even with luck on our side...'

Would ten out of a hundred survive?

The fog blinded her allies. That was fatal.

As she forecast that bleak future, the fog before her suddenly vanished. "Hm?"

The Fairy Company Commander stopped, Nidle in hand. She was bewildered. The fog had disappeared as quickly as it had formed.

But the enemy was more bewildered still. "Huh?"

The enemy soldier holding a long spear right before her froze, not even thinking to thrust.

Her confusion was brief. She had fought well enough even in the fog. She simply swung her Nidle. Tracing a semicircle through the air, it sliced precisely through his Adam's apple. "Ghk!"

Another enemy fell.

The Company Commander judged this the moment that would decide the battle. There was no time to wonder why the fog had cleared. "Everyone, turn around! Counterattack!"

Her shout drew responses from every direction. "Charge! Charge! Chaaaarge!"

"Kill them! Kiiiill them!"

"You sons of bitches!"

"I'll kill every last one of you!" As their spirit changed, so did the tide of battle. The Fairy Company Commander drew back her Nidle and held her ground. Soon her company rushed past her. "Commander!" the First Platoon Commander shouted.

"Grind them all down," she answered.

He replied with a battle cry.

"Raaaaah!" The air of the battlefield grew heated. The gloom that had settled over her allies vanished in an instant.

Only then did she begin to wonder why the fog had suddenly disappeared. 'Could it be?'

That Squad Leader?

She had no reason to think so, but she felt he was responsible. Pure instinct. A Fairy's instincts were as sharp as ever.

* * *

The captain of the Gray Hounds, an Independent Company of the Kingdom of Aspen, had circled around to block the enemy's retreat. He stood right where the fog ended.

All they had to do was kill every enemy who emerged. Their enemies would be fleeing in panic. It could not have been easier.

Then the fog suddenly cleared. "What the hell? Why is the fog clearing?"

"Captain, the enemy is turning around."

There were no hills to obstruct their view across the Green Pearl plains. They could see the Kingdom of Naurilia's troops turning. The Company Commander grasped the situation instantly.

Whether the shaman had fucked up or the spell itself was shit, something had gone wrong. At this rate, their entire strategy would collapse. "Hit their rear! Don't break through—cut along their flank! Follow me!"

He broke into a run. They struck the Naurilian army from behind, intending to help their allies at the front retreat. "Which fucking..."

Whoever had cleared this fog, the Gray Hounds' Company Commander vowed to make them pay.

* * *

Encrid realized that his calculations had been badly off.

The quarrel lodged in his back, behind his right shoulder, kept him from swinging his sword properly with his right hand. His opponent was a little more skilled than Mitch Hurrier, too.

Whenever he tried to use Concentrate on a Single Point, someone would suddenly thrust a spear at him from behind. No, he would have counted himself lucky if spearmen attacking his back were all he had to worry about. Five crossbowmen followed him, keeping him in their sights.

Thanks to them, he now had a quarrel lodged in his thigh as well. 'No running on this leg.'

At some point, his cracked sword had snapped in half. His opponent practiced Heavy Sword techniques that delivered powerful blows. The blood from his thigh and back mingled with that of his enemies, drenching him.

Watching him hold out in that state with half a sword, the mustached man felt a private admiration. An enemy, an infuriating smart-mouth, the man who had ruined their spell—but wasn't his spirit remarkable?

Even now, he showed no sign of giving up. "What are you counting on?" the mustached man asked.

Encrid steadied his breathing and answered, keeping the crossbowmen positioned behind him in sight.

"What?"

"I'm asking why you still haven't given up." Encrid answered as though he didn't need to think about it.

"Whew. I'm a Squad Leader, you see."

"And?"

"I've got two fellows named Rem and Ragna in my squad."

"Hmm?"

"They're such good fighters, I don't know why they're only squad members."

"You're saying those two will come save you?"

"That was one possibility I had in mind." Since he had made it this far, he'd thought they would be nearby.

But no. Neither was in sight. He had thought it was about time they appeared.

If they hadn't come by now, he had to assume they weren't coming.

And he was right. At that very moment, Rem was passing through the tall-grass fields after nearly annihilating an enemy unit and breaking through it.

Ragna had gone no farther because of the fog, fighting only the enemies who came at him. Once it cleared, he rejoined the allied troops.

Neither knew where their Squad Leader was. The mustached man stepped forward, sword in hand. Encrid retreated, dragging his injured right foot.

Even so, wasn't there far too much life in those eyes?

Encrid's eyes were still searching for something. With that leg? Where did he think he could run? Looking at the mustached man, Encrid thought the bastard really did leave no openings.

But that didn't mean he was giving up on this "today."

He could just die and repeat it. He knew that. All too well. But he didn't think he had suffered a fatal wound yet. Above all, if he had wasted all those todays, he could never have become the Encrid he was now.

Until the moment he died, he would resist. He would do everything he could to survive today.

He was someone who struggled to the very end, never giving up. "A pity you're an enemy."

The mustached man took another step as he spoke. Encrid could retreat no farther. Behind him, an enemy spearman watched him with murder in his eyes.

He glanced behind him, then faced forward again. The mustached man raised his sword, both hands on the grip. Longer than an ordinary sword, the bastard sword's blade reflected the sunlight now streaming through the cleared fog. 'Right? Left?'

Which way should he dodge?

Whichever way he went, he couldn't avoid a fatal wound. Even so, he didn't want to die meekly. 'If I can't dodge...'

Encrid tightened his grip on his broken sword. If he couldn't go left, right, or back, the only way was forward.

He would rush in the instant the sword fell. Just as he made that decision— TWANG! With the snap of a bowstring, a quarrel flew into his left shoulder. One of the soldiers had fired his crossbow while Encrid's attention was on the sword.

He gave a short groan, pushed through the pain, and spoke.

"Mm. That's dirty."

"Thanks for the compliment." The mustached man spoke with his sword still raised. There was no amusement in his voice.

Even if he killed the enemy soldier before him, defeat would only loom closer in this war.

One soldier's life, or the outcome of a battle. Even a passing eight-year-old could tell which mattered more.

Still, letting him go alive made even less sense. WHOOSH! He brought his sword down. A powerful Heavy Sword strike.

Encrid didn't close his eyes. He watched the descending blade to the very end. The heart of the beast gave him boldness.

Without so much as blinking, he thought:

'How would I block that if I weren't wounded?'

Even at the very end, his focus remained on wielding a sword. And just before the sword struck his forehead—

"Aaargh!"

A soldier screamed behind him. At that same instant, a black blur struck the mustached man's sword. CLANG! Encrid hadn't even seen the blur clearly. He only knew it wasn't a sword or an arrow.

Neither a sword nor an arrow would twist around in midair after a collision and land on the ground. "... Huh?"

He made out what the blur was.

Blue eyes. Fur like black silk.

A black panther. A distant memory surfaced. It should have been recent, but so many repetitions of today had pushed it far away.

A memory he might well have forgotten.

Yet one he hadn't forgotten.

The sight of black fur and blue eyes brought it readily to mind.

It was the beast he had met in the tall-grass fields. "You?"

GRRR.

The black panther had grown a little bigger since then. It stared at the mustached man, then let out a savage cry.

RAAAAAWR! "What is this now?"

The mustached man's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Then anger surfaced again. At that, two crossbowmen aimed at the panther and fired. "Oh, hey!" Encrid cried in alarm.

The panther twisted its body fluidly where it stood, then bounded off the ground several times, dodging every quarrel. It kicked off the earth and shot forward. The mustached man reflexively chopped downward. But the panther went nowhere near him.

It looked like black silk drawn into a long streak. That was how fast it moved. Its destination was a crossbowman. "Ghk!"

The panther's claws were so sharp that a swipe of its paw sliced through the Achilles tendon behind the crossbowman's ankle, sending blood flying. Leather boots were nowhere near enough to stop them. SHING! As the panther attacked, a soldier drew his shortsword.

Then it did something even more astonishing. Instead of going for the soldier, it kicked his crossbow.

It sprang off its forepaws and severed the bowstring with its hind claws. Planting its hind feet on the crossbow, it kicked off again and flew toward another.

There, it did the same thing, swiping a forepaw to cut the bowstring. 'Was that deliberate?'

Once could have been a coincidence. But cutting the strings of all five remaining crossbows was hard to dismiss as chance. "You mere beast."

The mustached man's face was red now. He was truly furious. The panther ignored him. It sprang swiftly off the ground, returned to Encrid, and took the nape of his neck in its jaws. GRRR!

As though displeased with something, the panther snorted through its nose without releasing its grip, then began to run.

It was tremendously strong. Encrid's legs and body dragged along the ground, but it moved as fast as he could run. The ground dug into his back, and fresh scrapes kept appearing on his arms and legs.

As it dragged him, he felt something hot trickling down the back of his neck. He wanted to turn his head to check, but there was no time. "After them!" the mustached man shouted.

Even like this, getting out of here seemed unlikely. "Run away," Encrid said.

Naturally, the panther didn't answer.

Hot liquid kept trickling from the nape of his neck, and the mustached man kept chasing them. With the panther's jaws clamped on his neck, Encrid scraped along the ground as they fled. Still, he could see how this escape would end. The panther's limits were clear.

The mustached man showed no intention of letting them go. Determination was etched into his bloodshot eyes. "I told you to run away."

As he spoke to the panther again, a dark shadow fell over his head.

"I've come to save you."

"Huh?" Help he had never expected.

An ally drenched head to toe in blood.

A familiar Platoon Commander, one he had once spent his time teasing. "Platoon Commander Vengeance?"

"Yes. I'm here."

Sword in hand, he stepped in front of Encrid. He wasn't alone. Allied soldiers came rushing up behind him.

A platoon had pushed out ahead of the others and made it all the way here.

The time Encrid—no, the panther—had bought hadn't been in vain.