Chapter 526: Older Brother, Younger Brother, and Older Sister
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 526: Older Brother, Younger Brother, and Older Sister
Starting with poison sand, the Azpen Assault Captain unleashed a barrage of hidden trump cards.
Poisoned darts, throwing daggers, and even caltrops were subtly scattered across the earth. The caltrops—wicked iron spikes—rolled right under Pel’s feet just as he was about to step down.
Pel avoided them with ease, shifting his weight to the tips of his toes rather than his soles.
However, dodging the sequence of poison sand, darts, daggers, and caltrops finally forced Pel to lose his balance. The moment his foot touched the ground, his body lurched, tilting sharply to the left.
Got him!
Aiming for that exact opening, the Assault Captain drew a short sword and leveled the tip at Pel.
He possessed a final trump card—a single, one-time strike capable of felling even an Associate Knight.
It was a magic sword etched with a specialized spell. As the mana contained in the pommel ignited, the forearm-length blade detached from the hilt and rocketed through the air, tearing the atmosphere apart.
Boom!
The strike was accompanied by a deafening roar.
Just as it seemed the blade would bury itself in Pel’s chest, his frame went parallel to the ground, seemingly floating in midair.
Had Sachsen been there, he would have noted that the sharp tap of Pel kicking off the ground was a fraction faster than the explosive boom of the dagger. But no one present possessed such sensitive hearing.
Riiip!
The spell-propelled blade grazed Pel’s flank. It didn't touch his flesh, but it shredded his light brown gambeson. The layers of cotton and wool stuffing spilled out onto the ground instead of his entrails.
Coincidentally, the fallen clumps of fluff covered the remains of the Azpen Associate Knight who had died in the previous duel. The dull gray wool became a makeshift blanket for the dead.
Tap.
Landing back on the ground, Pel stood upright and raised his sword before his eyes.
Had he been pretending to lose his balance from the start?
Seeing his ultimate trump card thwarted, the Assault Captain realized the truth: his opponent’s skill far surpassed his own.
How did he know?
I couldn't have dodged that.
Whether the opponent had dodged through pure reflex or calculated movement, he was performing feats the captain could never hope to replicate. Of course, in a life-or-death struggle, skill was only one factor—not the whole story.
The Assault Captain lowered his stance and gripped the axe hanging at his waist.
"Haa..."
Pel sighed, looking up at the sky.
His gaze wasn't even fixed on the Assault Captain. A glance at the sky, a glance at the ground, and a heavy sigh.
"Haa..."
The Assault Captain intended to counterattack the moment the boy lunged. But the opponent suddenly spoke, and his words were absurd.
"Do you know?"
Know what?
"That even though I understand it all now, breaking the shell of my past self isn't exactly a pleasant feeling."
As Pel spoke, his gaze drifted back to the sky.
Coming all this way, Pel had finally made up his mind about how he would live. Born in the wilderness and raised as a shepherd, why was he here? What had he stood on this battlefield for?
This was the process of finding the answers.
To move forward.
He had watched the back of a man who forged ahead with a determination that transcended simple stubbornness and bordered on sheer ignorance.
There is a saying that if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you.
Pel had looked at Encrid. Passing through frustration and despair, he had reached this point. There was a time when he thought he could catch up in an instant through talent alone.
"There are so many things in this world. And as we live our lives, we sometimes encounter things we never could have imagined."
Though there was no moonlight and the sun was blazing—far from the hour of dawn—there were times when a person simply became intoxicated by a realization.
He had found his answer, yet Pel was drunk on the sentimentality of it. He let out another heavy sigh. Now, he had to shed his past self and welcome the self of tomorrow. He had made up his mind, but he knew without thinking that the journey would be anything but easy.
"...Did you eat something rotten?" the Azpen Assault Captain muttered, subtly shifting his hips backward. He did so because, no matter how he looked at him, the boy seemed completely out of his mind.
At those words, Pel lowered his head and looked at the captain. The man’s words had struck a chord.
"I suppose so."
He agreed.
"What?"
"The air. It's because I inhaled the wrong air."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
The Assault Captain felt a surge of genuine fear. He would rather be stabbed; why was a boy who fought so well spouting such lunacy?
Pel thought about Encrid and the others, wondering what exactly was different about this place.
The atmosphere was different.
How? Around Encrid, there was a certain aura flowing through the air. What caused that aura to change? The air itself.
"Ah."
As Pel let out a soft exclamation of realization—
"Cut the bullshit! I'm not dying at the hands of a lunatic!"
The Azpen Assault Captain hurled his axe. It was a weapon he had favored for years. Pel twisted his body and caught the axe by the haft.
As he did, he thought: Maybe the air isn't different after all?
His sudden realization faded in an instant. This didn't seem right.
In any case, his opponent abandoned the fight and fled as if his pants were on fire. The captain ran toward his mount, threw whatever secondary weapons were on his saddle to lighten the load, and bolted.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The horse's hooves pounded the earth, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that obscured the view. Pel had absolutely no intention of giving chase; he didn't even draw his sword.
This sight was witnessed by every soldier present.
"Without even drawing his sword?"
Two soldiers at the front lines of the Border Guard and the Azpen army muttered the exact same words, though they were far too distant to hear one another.
As Pel returned after driving off the Assault Captain, Krais, who had rushed over from the rear, asked, "It's better that you didn't kill him, but did you do that on purpose?"
"It just turned out that way."
The hollow look in Pel's eyes had changed. Having shattered his shell and been reborn, a playful glint shone in his gaze, reminiscent of when he had first met Encrid. They were pure, piercing eyes.
The playfulness in those eyes moved Pel's tongue.
"Ropode, if you go out there and die, you have to call me 'Big Brother' for the rest of your life."
"I'd rather die on the battlefield."
As Pel spoke to his rival, the man stepped forward fully armed. He was the third of the four.
"Come at me, whoever! I am Ropode of the Red—no, the Madman Unit!"
Watching this, Krais felt a slight sense of reassurance.
What they were doing now aligned with Abnayor's predicted intentions, but it was also a desperate struggle to dispel their own anxiety. Krais had two paths before him.
One path was relatively safe, with fewer threats and variables, but it required accepting sacrifices. The other path was dangerous, fraught with immense anxiety. If things went wrong, everything would turn to ash. At least, that was how Krais saw it.
Even so, he had chosen the second path.
Captain, we'll be fine, right?
Krais asked inwardly. The choice had not truly been his to make. If it were up to him, he would have chosen a third path: surrendering the city without a fight, seeking asylum, and fleeing with only his own people, leaving the rest to their fate.
But that was just talk. Nurat had seen right through him. Krais had no room left to retreat. There were too many familiar, beloved faces. Could he abandon them all? Krais could not answer.
Before Encrid departed, Krais had presented the two paths and asked his captain:
"Can I be greedy?"
"When are you ever not?" Encrid had replied.
Smiling in a situation where he couldn't laugh, Krais had said, "That's rich coming from you, Captain. But in that case, bring everyone back alive."
Encrid had smiled warmly, his face full of mischief. "Yes, sir."
It was accompanied by a playful military salute.
Because Krais believed in his captain, he had left Audin, Teresa, Ropode, and Pel here. Otherwise, he would have chosen the first path. He would have sent them all to the path the enemy was expected to take. No, not just them—he would have poured in all the remaining Ranger Units to wear down the enemy's strength before the battle even began.
That would have been the optimal move. It was likely the tactic the enemy would have chosen.
Beyond Krais's drifting thoughts, he saw Ropode knock his opponent down.
"I'm the Big Brother!" the victorious Ropode roared.
"You crazy bastard! Just because you won doesn't mean I'm the younger brother!" Pel shouted from the lines.
Krais wondered what was wrong with these lunatics.
After Ropode, Teresa stepped forward.
"Brothers. It is my turn now."
The desire for struggle flowed through the veins of the Half-Giant. Though she kept it in check with her faith, when an opportunity like this arose, Teresa still found it hard to resist. Most of all, she was even more stimulated after watching Encrid recently.
As a female warrior as massive as Audin stepped out, a stir ran through the Azpen camp. Had they also run out of champions to send?
That was not the case. If they kept losing like this, it wouldn't just damage morale; it would look as if they had lost before the battle even began. To prevent that, an Associate Knight from Azpen stepped forward.
He was a genuine powerhouse kept in reserve for when the tide of battle shifted. He was also far more skilled than the one Audin had faced.
"A mercenary? Bound by a contract? How pitiful. You seem to have giant blood in you. Yes, it would be better for you to die here."
Within Azpen, he was known as 'Emel the Declarer'. He was famous for pronouncing his opponent’s fate—a nickname earned because he only spoke when victory was absolutely certain.
Starting with Audin, Teresa was the fourth. Among them, this fourth fight was the second shortest, right after Audin's.
Teresa tanked Emel's sword with her body while simultaneously striking him with her shield. She used the technique of deflecting blades with her torso, which she had learned from Audin, but her opponent's swordsmanship was fierce. Blood splattered from her body.
Flesh was sliced. Though the bone remained intact, it was far from a minor wound. Even so, Teresa did not stop.
Red blood sprayed into the air in droplets. In the span of three exchanges, only Teresa had bled, but because she had bled, she seized the opportunity to bash him with her shield.
Emel showed quick wits, stepping on the shield with the sole of his foot to leap backward. He intended to widen the distance. This was not his preferred range.
As Emel leaped back to escape, Teresa timed it perfectly and let go of her shield. This was only possible because she had been holding it with her hand from the start rather than strapping it to her arm. Fighting while holding such a heavy shield with only her grip was an incredible feat, making the move entirely unpredictable.
Naturally, Emel had not anticipated it.
"Ugh!"
Because the recoil of the shield he tried to use as a stepping stone vanished, the force Emel tried to kick off with fell short. He retreated only two steps. Teresa pursued him without a trace of a smile.
In midair, their bodies seemed to overlap and tangle. Then, a sickening crack rang out.
"Win! Fight!"
The sound was drowned out by the soldiers who had been cheering and shouting. The Azpen troops were rowdy. Since Emel appeared to be overwhelming Teresa, they screamed even louder. On the other hand, the elite soldiers of the Border Guard maintained discipline even in their cheering.
Flap-flap-flap!
They shouted in unison with the rhythmic movement of the flags.
"Bear Siblings!"
"Teresa!"
"Giant Goddess!"
"Teresa!"
Had Teresa heard it, she would have smiled brightly and asked which brother or sister had come up with such a slogan, but she could hardly wander back into her own lines in the middle of a fight.
With the distance closed tight, Teresa executed Spine-Pulling, a technique from Valaf-style Martial Arts. A technique that required immense innate physical strength blossomed in her hands.
It wasn't a grand technique. It simply involved grabbing the head with one hand and striking down on the shoulder with the other to wrench it out.
Emel did not go down easily. The moment his head was seized, he thrust his sword toward Teresa's neck. Teresa twisted her neck to dodge, but this time, blood gushed out.
In exchange, she obtained a dangling vertebra as a trophy.
The blood, the heat, the battlefield—everything breathed a fierce spirit into her. With that spirit, she unleashed the giant nature she usually kept hidden. She let out a roar.
"I'm the Big Sister!"
Even if the content of her shout had been influenced by Pel and Ropode.
Both armies, having watched the duels, fell into silence once more. To the eyes of Azpen, these people were all complete lunatics. Setting aside the outcomes, why did they keep spouting such nonsense?
The real question was why they had won so overwhelmingly. While the Azpen commander could not comprehend it, Krais nodded inwardly.
Think about it. Their usual sparring partners were knight-level powerhouses, including Rem and Ragna. Had the bastards from Azpen fought against knights every single day?
Not a chance.
Thus, this was a foregone conclusion. Of course, he had still been anxious, so it was only after seeing it happen that he felt relieved. Above all, this was merely a force kept in reserve.
Showing the enemy a wall through their formations, and breaking the enemy's spirit with the strength of Audin and the others—now, the enemy would never dare to wage an all-out war.
This was what Krais had aimed for.
* * *
This bastard.
Abnayor, who had suffered more than enough, naturally pictured the opposing strategist. He must be a seasoned, elderly man. Judging by his actions, it had to be so.
Of course, he was wrong. The opponent was a big-eyed man with a face so youthful he could be called baby-faced. In truth, that didn't matter. It was just a natural association.
"What a son of a bitch."
Abnayor could not hide his admiration. However, this was only the beginning. Even in victory, there were things that must not be forgotten—those who sacrificed themselves for the win.
Rather than the front lines, Abnayor focused on where the real battle was taking place. There, fallen warriors wrapped in glory would lie. Everything was for the sake of victory.
Furthermore, the strategy Abnayor had devised was proving effective. For he had arranged for them to meet the enemy at the exact timing and moment of his choosing.
Encrid set out after his allies had advanced. His pace was not fast.
On the other hand, the wolf beastman Barnas Hurier had already crossed the mountain range several times when Azpen was publicly clamoring about going to war. It was to familiarize himself with the terrain.
Then, he set out 'in advance' before his allies could form their ranks. It was to preemptively secure advantageous terrain and fight at the timing of their choosing. And if they could gift the enemy a sense of panic along the way, all the better.
To avoid detection by spies, they went to great lengths, even setting up body doubles for Barnas and those who had been exposed.
Abnayor's preparations were also woven into this. Then, a sudden thought occurred. Could preparation also be called strategy?
It certainly could. If they won, it would be.
Lose, and you are a traitor; win, and you are a hero. For that was the nature of bold strategies.