A Crown of Ears and Teeth
"You're back. Lycaon."
At Theo's words, Lycaon turned his head.
"And the orcs?"
"Swept them all up. Easier than I expected."
"It couldn't have been simple."
Hunting orcs—beasts with night-sharp eyes—in the pitch black of darkness was a task most men would have called impossible.
But if the man assigned to it was Theo Baranthios, that alone was enough for Lycaon to believe it.
"It was passable. So, what have you been up to?"
"Interrogating."
An orc lay at Lycaon's feet, its tongue lolling out and dripping—it was already dead.
"You look pleased with yourself. Managed to pull something useful out of it, did you?"
Since Lycaon made no move to deny it, his intuition had evidently been right.
"I did. Turns out he was one of the Orc King's trusted men. A key figure, unexpectedly enough."
"The Orc King? Ah, that head honcho."
Karakh. So this one had been a confidant of that black-furred orc. What luck. They'd hooked something real, Lycaon thought.
"And yet for all that, his tongue was awfully loose."
Rising from his seat, Lycaon clapped a hand on Theo's shoulder.
"I'll need to step away for a while. I have to confirm whether what I heard was the truth."
"If you're leaving, does that make Orion the head?"
Head, here, didn't mean the leader. It meant literally the head—the one who planned and coordinated the operation.
Until now, that role had belonged to Lycaon.
"I won't be long. Meanwhile, entertain yourself with an orc or two."
"Not exactly a tempting offer."
His expression was flatly unimpressed. Even the orcs, a race born for war, had failed to satisfy Theo.
Well, it figures. Those creatures are closer to mounted hunters than true warriors. Hardly the sort to get a gladiator's blood up.
And for a gladiator of Theo's caliber, that went doubly so. But there was nothing to be done about it. Finding an opponent who could satisfy him was difficult no matter where one went.
"Would've been nice if that woman had been an orc."
"That woman?"
"You know, Tamugai. Something like that, I think her name was."
He was unmistakably talking about Tamugai Ushun. So he was still coveting the Wilderness King's head of bodyguard, was he?
"In a place like this, where nobody has any eye for quality, I could fight her without worrying about excuses or political entanglements. Don't you think?"
Frankly, it was not a good idea.
Foolish. Utterly foolish, Theo.
Behind that woman stood Ashtien, the King of the Wilderness.
If Tamugai Ushun were to be killed at someone's hand, Ashtien would hardly stand idly by. She would muster every means at her disposal to find the culprit.
If I were still a soldier, I would have stopped you.
Had Theo been a soldier under Lycaon's command, he would have moved heaven and earth to prevent it.
But that was no longer the case. He could no longer call himself a soldier.
Lycaon did not fight for his nation, nor for honor. He commanded an army, but he himself was not a soldier.
The same held true for Theo and for Orthos.
We have gathered here in search of new battles. We are, by nature, beasts who fight alone, banding together only for duels worth staking our lives upon. And if such contests may be called duels—then we do not stand in the way of each other's duels.
That was the covenant between them.
Gladiators like Theo owed Lycaon no loyalty. They merely cooperated with him for the sake of their own long-cherished desire—for their duels.
That is the shape of our lives. And what of you, little one?
Don't you, too, have a duel of your own waiting on the horizon?
Via and Vesta were cutting their way through the dark hours before dawn.
"Is that really true?"
Via asked, her eyes going wide. She had clearly been stunned by Vesta's explanation.
"That the orcs had a plan like that."
Vesta had told her about the orcs' scheme.
"That's outrageous. It sounds like something out of a nightmare."
Her flustered reaction was understandable. This was a matter bound up with the fate of her entire people. It was only natural that she found it hard to believe.
"It does sound like a dream, I'll admit."
Vesta himself was certain of it, but he had no confidence he could convince anyone else. There was no evidence to back it up.
So even if Via refused to believe him, he was prepared to accept that.
"It really does sound like something out of a dream, though."
"Can you trust me?"
"I have to."
Even with that confused look on her face, her answer never wavered. Honestly, it surprised him. Ashtien he might have expected it from—but for Via, a centaur, to believe him so readily?
To believe me, she first has to accept that her own people stand on the brink of annihilation. That's no easy thing.
People, more than they feared facing a crisis itself, preferred to doubt the reality of it and look away.
Via was different.
"If it's you saying it—then I can believe it."
Why did she answer that way? And how could she answer like that at all?
"...Why?"
"Because I know you."
It was a short, simple answer. But the meaning packed inside it was neither simple nor light. All the bonds the two of them had built, layer upon layer, were folded into those few words.
Vesta scratched his head.
"...That's embarrassing."
"Not much of a reaction. Didn't it sound cool?"
"No comment."
"Aw, you're blushing."
A jab that went straight into his ribs.
"Have you always been like this?"
When we first met, I thought you were this incredibly reserved, stern person.
Looking back now, all of that had been an act. Frankly, she was no different from Arin. No wonder they were sworn sisters—they even shared the same taste for teasing people.
"...Let's just talk about the mission."
His face flushing hot, Vesta waved his hands in dismissal. Watching him, Via chuckled.
"It's a strange thing."
"What is?"
"That even on the eve of a disaster like this, we can still laugh like this."
"Via."
Oh—weren't we supposed to switch to business from here on?
In that case.
"Draw your sword, Baatar."
Via drew her enormous blade. Seeing her do so, Vesta drew his own as well.
[Where are you off to in such a hurry?]
Orc tongue.
"That voice—"
It was not Narinhoon Ibaatar's voice.
[I asked where you're off to in such a hurry.]
At length, a man revealed himself.
"Karakh."
The man who had styled himself the king of the orcs. It was Karakh.
[You speak a king's name freely. And without a shred of hesitation, no less. Is that because I am not your king?]
His body was soaked with rain, but the light in his eyes burned so fiercely that he looked anything but pitiable—he looked outright sinister.
Take away the eyes, and the body is almost invisible.
Karakh was an orc of black fur. With the dark dawn at his back, he seemed less like a man standing in the shadows and more like the dawn-darkness itself, wearing it as strips of hide draped over his frame.
"Step aside, please."
[Answer my question first. A warrior gleaming like gold at your side—where are the two of you bound?]
Vesta had no interest in a prolonged conversation. Karakh, too, was likely an accomplice of Narinhoon's.
"Move."
[Why? Off to see Narinhoon Ibaatar?]
"You—"
Karakh was speaking with utter conviction. That fact puzzled Vesta, and he frowned.
"If you're a king, then go lead your wolves. Do you have any idea what's happening on the plateau right now—"
Vesta had intended to bring up the chaos between the orcs and the satyrs.
[How strange.]
He would have said it, that is, if Karakh hadn't cut him off mid-sentence.
[That man. And you. Both of you carry on as though you sit above my head.]
Karakh's eyes were anything but ordinary. Vesta tightened his grip on his weapon.
[And I find that utterly—intolerable. Bestiarius.]
"Stand down."
Via stepped forward, placing herself in front of Vesta.
"If you intend us harm, I'd advise you to put that thought away. Even if the one standing before me were not an orc king, but the Emperor of the Empire himself."
A fierce presence radiated from her—a presence like brilliant light.
"Because I will cut you down without a moment's hesitation."
Via's resolve was iron-hard, retreating not so much as a single step.
"If you truly wish to be a king, as your Baatar says—then do not throw your life away on a quarrel of wounded pride. Devote yourself to your pack instead. A king's life does not belong to the king alone."
She spoke as a retainer who served a king, and as a vassal offering counsel.
[My wolves are mine to lead. I'll manage them well enough myself.]
"So you would die for nothing?"
Karakh was a superb warrior.
Orcs formed packs much like wolves did. They obeyed not authority, but hierarchy—and a hierarchy could be overturned at any moment.
Leadership was a seat that had to be won against every challenge and every scheme, and only one who surpassed all others in every respect could hold it.
And Karakh was the leader of hundreds of orcs. He was an undeniable strongman of this steppe.
But the enemies standing before Karakh were 'Gold' and 'Flame.' Together, they were a force nothing short of overwhelming. For all Karakh's skill as a warrior, he could not withstand the two of them at once.
Ting—!
"An arrow?"
It would have, if Karakh had been alone.
Via's blade sheared the arrow in two. It had been dyed black. To any but the sharpest eyes, arrow and night would have been indistinguishable.
Ping—
The whistle of another incoming shaft. Via moved once more.
Ting—!
"Who's there?"
Whoever it was showed no sign of themselves, as if intending to stay hidden in the dark.
Via narrowed her eyes, sharpening her vigilance.
"Stay alert to your surroundings. It won't just be arrows—they may have laid traps as well."
A trap only becomes whole when it meets darkness.
"This is a rocky mountain, sparse in trees. There will be no wooden snares to speak of, so watching our footing should suffice."
Guided by her bristling senses, Via intercepted arrow after arrow.
Ting—!
The arrows that came flickering in kept shifting direction.
"...Trying to keep us from pinpointing his position."
Whoever it was, they were a hunter of great experience.
[Is that one of yours?]
Karakh muttered under his breath in the orc tongue.
"Did you call in reinforcements?"
[Hmm. I've no memory of doing so. But they're useful, all the same. Now the two of us can speak alone.]
"Why are you blocking me? To protect Narinhoon Ibaatar? Do you think I mean to kill him?"
Karakh's displeasure was palpable.
[That man must die at an orc's hand. That is the only death befitting a traitor to his people.]
An internal feud, then.
[I did not come to protect Narinhoon Ibaatar's life, boy—I came to defend his death!]
Before that—
[I will take your ears and the teeth of the traitor to your race, wind them about my neck, crown myself with them, and pass them down to my children's children for all generations.]
Vesta could not understand Karakh's rage. Even so—
"If you can manage it."
That was all the answer he gave him.