The Sound of a Name Being Called
The two who returned to Valk were greeted by the clamor of the emergency bell.
"Monster horde! The northern highway has burst open!"
The streets had been turned upside down. Refugee carts surged toward the city gates while the lord's messengers raced frantically between the mercenary guild and the Grey Fang. Hugo seized one of the refugees by the collar.
"Where exactly did it break? How bad is it?"
"The entire northern stretch of the highway! Beasts are pouring down from every last mountain! Horned boars in packs, shadow wolves in packs—it's madness, total madness! Every single one of them has those gray eyes!"
Kyle and Hugo exchanged a glance. The usual mischief had been wiped clean from Hugo's face.
"...It's the canyon. That thing you saw."
"Yeah."
The master of the canyon had claimed its territory. With the colossal beast making the ravine its nest, every living thing in the surrounding area had been driven out. Those displaced creatures were sick with terror, and in their frenzy the only place left to run was human land.
On the way back to the company barracks, Kyle organized his report. He drew a careful line between what he could reveal about the canyon and what he could not.
"Captain. Canyon report."
"You think that's what matters right now, with a monster wave—"
"It's the same problem. A colossal beast has taken up residence deep inside the canyon. Snake-type. Its shed scales are the size of shields. The flattened forest and crushed corpses are all its work. The monsters flooding the highway were driven from their territory by that thing."
Vargas's eyes narrowed to slits.
"...So this wave is only the beginning."
"Yes. The canyon will be impassable for the time being. Please submit a joint recommendation to the lord to close it off."
"And the beast itself? What about that colossal monster?"
"That..."
Kyle paused for half a breath.
"I'm looking into it separately."
The tavern at the barracks had already turned into an armory. Vargas spread a map of the highway across a table and jabbed at it with the haft of his axe.
"Emergency request from the lord. Pay is whatever we demand. We make our stand at the canal bridge on the northern highway. If that bridge falls, three villages get wiped off the map."
The men muttered among themselves. Forty-three mercenaries were nowhere near enough to hold back a wave of that size. Vargas knew it too. He was choosing to go anyway.
"Captain."
Kyle stepped up to the map.
"The bridge is narrow, which helps, but there's no room to fall back. The abandoned Embankment Village just before it would be better. Stone walls still standing, narrow alleys, and the road splits into three branches. Three branches mean the wave gets divided."
"And who holds those three branches?"
"Two of the alleys are narrow enough for our squads to hold. The main central road—"
"You'll take it?"
The tavern fell silent. Vargas stared at Kyle for a long moment, then slammed the axe haft down on the map right over Embankment Village.
"Fine. Embankment Village it is! Left alley—Squads One and Two. Right alley—Squads Three and Four! The center belongs to me and the rookie!"
"Captain, you should be commanding from—"
"Shut your mouth. It's tradition in this company for the captain to hold the widest path."
They reached Embankment Village and spent the next two hours reinforcing the stone walls. Kyle took five rookies and blocked the mouth of each alley with carts and furniture.
"Spears stab downward from the wall. Do not stand face-to-face and receive an attack. If you receive, you lose."
"W-what if we get bitten?"
"Don't get bitten."
"...Sir?"
"It means don't let them close enough to bite. Your spear length is your lifeline. Never allow them inside that distance."
The rookies swallowed hard and nodded. Standing atop the stone wall, Kyle found himself doing the same thing he had once done on the training grounds when handing wooden swords to apprentices. The role of teacher seemed to seek him out no matter where he went, even though the one who had taught him was no longer in this world.
The wave arrived at dusk. From atop the stone walls of Embankment Village, it did not look like a horde of beasts but a literal tide. At the far edge of the northern plains a cloud of dust rose like a dam, and the entire horizon slowly tilted toward them.
"...Hey, Kyle. How many of those things are there?" Hugo called from the neighboring wall.
"Counting is pointless. Just watch the front line. Only the front line will make it into the alleys anyway."
"Front line only. Right, front line only... That front line looks like a hundred at least?!"
"Divided by three branches, that's thirty-three each. Your alley's share is thirty-three."
"That math doesn't add up at all!"
The first wave slammed into the stone walls at the village entrance. Horned boars smashed against the barriers while shadow wolves bounded over the top. Spear walls rose in the left and right alleys, arrows rained down, and the mercenaries' curses and battle cries tangled with the monsters' howls.
Down the central road came the largest of them all.
"Kahaha! Come on then, come!"
Vargas's axe split the lead horned boar from skull to spine. The second was met by Kyle's blade. Then the third, the fourth. The main road was wide enough for two carriages abreast. Two men filled that width completely.
The sword never stopped. Cut, deflect, shove. Kyle knew the exact limit line within his core—the upper boundary of an Aura User. He wrung out every ounce of strength he could while staying beneath that line.
The gray-eyed beasts felt no pain and never retreated, so every last one of them had to be cut down.
After half an hour a dam of monster corpses had piled up along the main road. After a full hour Vargas's breathing sounded like a blacksmith's bellows.
"Captain. Fall back. You're finished."
"Shut up... How can the captain..."
"A dead captain can't uphold tradition."
At that moment a scream tore from the left alley.
"It's breached! Squad One is breaking—Deren's pinned!"
Kyle met Vargas's eyes. Before the captain could even nod, Kyle's body was already moving.
The left alley was on the verge of collapse. A section of the stone wall had crumbled, and shadow wolves were forcing their way through the gap. Veteran Deren, leg trapped beneath rubble, swung his spear desperately as three wolves leaped on him.
The wolves never reached him.
The mercenaries in that alley would talk about the moment for years to come. A single gray shadow had swept through the entire passage. No one saw how many times the sword moved, but when they regained their senses every wolf lay dead on the ground.
"Deren! Your leg!"
"Feels... broken... but I'm alive! I'm alive!"
"Pull back. Block the hole with a cart."
Kyle climbed atop the collapsed section of wall. Beyond the alley the wave on the plains was still only half spent. And in the heart of that remaining half, a shadow three heads taller than the rest rose up.
Rockfang. A frenzied troll.
The gray-eyed troll paid no attention to the broken stone wall. It headed straight for the weakest point in the village—the Embankment warehouse where those too slow to evacuate had taken shelter. A wall that could be punched through with a finger, planks hastily nailed across the door. Twenty paces away.
Kyle leaped from the wall and ran. At a normal pace he would be too late. The limit line inside his core wavered before his eyes. Beyond that line lay the warehouse, and inside the warehouse—
Through a gap in the planks he saw a familiar face. Dorte. And clinging to her skirt, Fin.
The refugee column bound for Valk had been trapped here.
The promise he had made—to teach the boy swordsmanship the next time they met—was now staring at him from inside a warehouse on the brink of collapse.
The line was crossed.
The instant the troll's club descended toward the warehouse roof, a gray presence stood between them.
There was only one sound. A short, high noise like paper tearing.
The club split in two and fell to either side. The troll's massive body began to collapse, slowly, almost gracefully, starting from the knees. From neck to chest, the path where a single line of light had passed opened belatedly.
There existed in the world a sword that could kill before the victim even realized it had been cut.
Kyle flicked the blood from his blade and turned away. Whether he had been too fast, whether anyone had seen—there was no time to worry about it.
The remaining half of the wave faltered before the troll's death. Beasts were beasts even in madness. Before a death greater than themselves, instinct overcame frenzy.
"Push them back! Now!"
At Vargas's roar the entire mercenary company poured out of the alleys. The hesitating wave split apart, shattered, and finally turned tail. The gray-eyed beasts began to flee northward.
Only after the sun had fully set did human voices return to Embankment Village. Nineteen wounded, zero dead. Forty-three men had held back the wave without losing a single life—an event unheard of in the company's history.
"Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!"
No one knew who began it. Deren waved his fist from a stretcher, Squad One joined in, a liquor barrel rolled out from somewhere, and the name became a chant.
Kyle stood awkwardly in front of the warehouse and listened to the sound.
For ten years his name had been called in only three ways. You. Hey. Escort.
His full name had been spoken only once, from the lips of the person who had received his resignation letter.
And now, all at once, from forty throats.
"Uncle!"
Fin burst from the warehouse and wrapped himself around Kyle's waist. Dorte stood behind him with her arms folded, eyes suspiciously red. She would probably insist it was only dust.
"...Two silver coins' worth of trouble, and it catches people like this."
"Look who's talking. What are you doing here, ma'am?"
"What do you think? Because of you! The canyon detour was blocked, so we turned back toward Valk and ended up like this! Take responsibility!"
Fin looked up while still clinging to Kyle's waist.
"Uncle, what was that just now? It went whoosh, then flash, and—"
"If you didn't see it, that's for the best."
"I want to learn that sword. Teach me that one!"
"That I cannot teach. I'll teach you something else."
Vargas, perched on a liquor barrel, called out to him.
"Rookie. No, it feels wrong to call you that anymore. From the lord's payment we'll count your share as three. The Embankment Village tactic was yours."
"Two shares is enough. The tactic wasn't—"
"If you start that nonsense about information value again I'll count it as your share. Shut up and take it."
Vargas took a long drink, then lowered his voice.
"And... that thing in front of the warehouse. The cut on the troll's neck."
"..."
"My axe could never make a cross-section like that in a thousand years. Well, not asking about origins is our tradition, so I won't ask. But remember one thing. Whatever you are, our company will remember you as the man who saved forty-three lives today. That balances the books."
In the middle of the uproar Hugo pushed through carrying two cups of liquor. He pressed one into Kyle's hand and clinked his own against it.
"We lived, partner."
"We did."
"But that thing you did earlier... Nah. Never mind. I won't ask. Not tonight."
Hugo truly did not ask. That was the kind of man he was.
Amid the chants and liquor and bonfires, Kyle closed his eyes for a moment. It was a strange night. His back felt warm. The man who had spent ten years standing only behind others was learning for the first time what it felt like to have people at his back.
Then someone shouted from the direction of the highway.
"Carriage! There's a carriage on the highway!"
The commotion quieted. There was no reason for a carriage to appear on the road right after a battle. All the refugees had already passed through, and no merchant—however mad—would travel this path at night.
Walter, perhaps. Kyle set down his cup, guessing as much. Since he had told them their destination was the canyon, the vice-captain must have come to check and report. A diligent man. While he was here, the route of the monsters' retreat and information about the north could be passed along—
The gray-eyed beasts had fled north. That meant the northern border now had a problem on its hands.
Even as he made those calculations, something about the carriage felt wrong. It was not a vehicle a pursuit team would use. Plainclothes knights did not ride in carriages. They were too conspicuous.
The carriage approached slowly between the torches, escorted by five mounted guards. Black lacquer. Disguised as a traveler's coach, yet everything from the wheel spokes outward reeked of money. And on the door panel was a spot where a crest had been erased—erased, yet still visible to Kyle's eyes.
A silver wolf. Wallenstein.
The carriage halted where the bonfire light reached it. The door opened.