The Pursuit and the Return
Driving his war boars to exhaustion, Tantabroom reached Tesca's domain and immediately set about locating the man himself.
The bare skeleton of a garrison left behind at Tesca's fortress reported that contact had been lost after he marched out with every soldier under his command.
Following the trail that led away from the fortress, Tantabroom found what remained of Tesca—a corpse so thoroughly ruined that only the clothes and ornaments he had always worn made identification possible.
A lump of meat, crushed and pulped by some overwhelming force.
"Lord Tantabroom. We've found two kinds of tracks."
"Any that moved in good order?"
"Yes, sir. They continue north from here. Roughly fifty to sixty, by our estimate."
"We pursue. Gather every one of our kin along the trail."
Tantabroom threw himself into the chase for Tesca's revenge.
Tracking the enemy and swelling his ranks as he went, he finally emerged from the forest into open plains—and there he found them: nearly two hundred undead, already drawn up in formation, as if they had read his approach from the start.
Undead? So there's a necromancer.
If a necromancer was behind this, the reason for the attack became simple enough. Greenskins were stronger than humans, and turning them into undead posed no particular problem.
A necromancer powerful enough to kill Lord Tesca. We'll have to fight carefully.
"Charge!"
"Kraaaaaah!"
Tantabroom gave the order, and the greenskins surged forward. Orcs and hobgoblins howled as they slammed into the undead ranks—while he and the riders who followed him swung wide around the flank.
"Crush them all!"
"Kwoooor!"
The boar riders became the hammer, smashing into the undead formation's side.
Undead were already stubborn things to put down—and these had been greenskins, tougher than any human in life. That tenacity was doubled now. Proof enough: no matter how many times the anvil-and-hammer tactic ground them under, the zombies kept lurching back to their feet.
"Kuaaaah!"
Crack!
Tantabroom split a strangely durable human zombie clean down the middle, then scanned the field with a prickle of unease.
Where is the necromancer?
He had been ready to drive straight at the first sign of spellwork. Yet even as the undead force was being annihilated, the necromancer cast nothing at all—as if the caster had never been here to begin with.
"It can't be—!"
He ordered an urgent sweep of the surroundings. They found not a single trace.
"We've been played!"
The necromancer had clearly traveled with the undead, then slipped away at some chosen moment. The problem was that no one could say when that moment had been.
Tantabroom told the greenskins to scatter as they pleased, then led his riders back along the route the undead had taken, reverse-tracking every mark.
Moving slowly, combing for signs, the riders finally found something at the boundary between forest and plain.
"Chief! That tree over there!"
One of his men pointed. On the trunk was a small scuff, as if something had struck it—easy to miss if you weren't looking carefully.
They decided the quarry had kicked off from the tree and checked the height of the torn bark against the likely landing point. They took up the trail at once—but even the boar riders, for all their speed, could not close a gap that had already grown far too wide.
Pursue the undead army that had served as bait. Fight that stubborn undead army. Realize the trap and reverse-track the real trail. Hours had already burned away just getting that far—
"Chief. The boars are spent."
"Damn it!"
Worst of all, the war boars that had hammered the undead again and again were utterly exhausted. In the end, Tantabroom had no choice but to admit he could chase no farther. Cursing his own blunder, he abandoned the pursuit.
Night fell, and everything around Munratel sank into darkness save for the mercenaries' campfires.
"Haa…"
Sleep would not come. Frederick had stepped outside the camp to take the night air.
Lillian. Why are you this late?
He could not imagine her falling to the likes of Kenneth. Something must have gone sideways, he told himself, and he waited for her with a raw, restless hunger.
A captain's absence might have put the company in danger—but fortunately, nothing of the sort had happened. She had left for a clear reason: to kill a traitor who had betrayed the band, murdered a comrade, and taken a captive. The company had always been run by the two of them together, so the center of gravity had not vanished entirely. And by selling off the plunder they had taken and paying the men a bonus, he had stamped out any thought of desertion.
If Wolf never came back, Frederick could have stepped into the captaincy without a ripple. But a mercenary company without her meant nothing to him.
"Hm?"
Far off in the dark, two small white circles were drifting toward him.
"Who's there?"
"Frederick. It's me."
"Kaisent!"
Questions piled up in his throat—what had happened to Lillian, why they were so late—but Kaisent spoke first, before Frederick could lose his composure.
"I need Lillian's helmet, and spare armor that will cover her body."
"Lillian… She didn't ask for anything else?"
"Not really, no."
"I see. All right. Wait a moment."
The name that left Kaisent's mouth was Lillian, not Wolf. That alone was enough for Frederick to piece the rest together. He turned back into camp for the spare helmet and armor.
So you're choosing to trust Kaisent's word. If that's your decision, I'll follow it.
Had Lillian asked for anything beyond the helmet and armor, Frederick would have drawn his sword on the spot and cut Kaisent down. That was the contingency the two of them had agreed on if their secret ever came out.
Armor as well, though… Was Kenneth that hard a fight?
Frederick himself had set the watch posts, so slipping through a gap was simple enough. He collected clothes, armor, and helmet, and returned to Kaisent.
The helmet was identical to the one she always wore. The spare armor, though, was a single large piece of leather that hung to the knees—made to hide the rounded shape of a woman's thighs and hips, so different from a man's.
"It isn't metal?"
"Metal's expensive."
"Ah."
Running a mercenary company cost money in a dozen directions; keeping a costly metal suit on standby simply wasn't in the budget. A bleak little truth of its own.
"I'll be back shortly, then."
"I'll be waiting."
Kaisent vanished into the dark again. Some ten minutes later, Frederick was reunited with Lillian—returned as Wolf—carrying Kenneth's sword and armor.
"Lillian."
"Frederick."
Once she was sure no one was watching, Lillian pulled off the helmet and pulled him into an embrace. Kaisent kept a lookout, scanning for any stray eyes.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too. So much."
They held each other's faces, then sank into a deep kiss, the world narrowing to the two of them alone.
Hm?
Kissing her lover after so long, Lillian felt something off. The sharp thrill and the deep relief she always found in Frederick's mouth were… thinner than before.
I must just be exhausted.
She told herself that was all it was, ended the kiss, and prepared to become Wolf again for the camp.
"Huh? Captain!"
"The captain's back!"
"What? The captain?"
The men on watch recognized the helmet that was Wolf's trademark and raised the cry at once. Even the sleepers stirred, and the whole company woke to celebrate their captain's return.
"Didn't I tell you, you bastards? You think the captain was gonna go down to a piece of shit like that?"
"What kept you so long, Cap?"
"Had a hell of a time getting back without the greenskins spotting us."
"Oh—Kaisent! You're alive!"
"Captain, why'd that Kenneth bastard snatch Kaisent in the first place?"
"Aaah, shut it! We're wiped out too—details after we've rested! Shut up and go the hell to sleep!"
Even as Lillian she had always spoken roughly, but fully sunk into the role of Wolf, her voice became pure mercenary grit—the kind that could seize a pack of hard men by the throat and hold them.
"Aw, come on. Captain just got back. Can't just roll over and snore."
"Yeah, yeah. Crack a few casks—celebration!"
"Tsk."
Only after Wolf cracked her tongue in a threat that made the lot of them flinch did the noise finally die down.
"You sons of bitches! Go to sleep already!"
"We'll shut up on our own—you shut your damn mouth, you bastard!"
Fully immersed in Wolf, Lillian fired a roaring answer back at the curses rolling in from another company's camp. Among rough mercenaries, that much was barely a scuffle. But the men of Wolf's company felt their captain's presence settle over them again, and one by one they drifted back to their bedrolls.
"Frederick."
"Yes, Captain."
"A word. Privately."
"Understood."
"Kaisent, you come too."
"Yes."
Once the camp had quieted, the three of them stepped into the captain's tent. Back as Lillian, she activated a sound-blocking magic item and removed the helmet.
"Frederick. At first light tomorrow, we pull out. Immediately."
"What? Why—did you see something?"
The sudden order rattled him, but he quickly guessed she had witnessed something born of the Kenneth disaster.
"This orc host isn't ordinary. There are otherworld orcs among them—a different breed."
"Otherworld orcs?"
"Far more rational than ours, and sharper. The one we ran into used shamanic arts close to a druid's—and those arts nearly had us."
"You? An Expert Rank 4?"
"I don't know how many of them there are. What I do know is this: treat them like a normal orc horde and we will be wiped out."
"…"
Frederick's face went grave. If Lillian was speaking this way, the situation was anything but ordinary.
"If we warn the others… no. No one takes a lone mercenary seriously."
"And if we say 'otherworld orcs,' they'll just hear 'orcs are orcs.' Even if someone did listen, this country is in the middle of a civil war. Proper reinforcements or a real plan would be nearly impossible."
"Mm…"
In the end they agreed to move at dawn. Frederick glanced at Kaisent with a puzzled frown.
"But why is Kaisent with you? Is there something important about why Kenneth took him?"
"Kenneth kidnapped Kaisent because he's a pervert who likes boys."
"Oh… uh… well…"
Frederick had been spinning elaborate theories—that Kaisent might be a hidden scion of some rare bloodline. The truth was so blunt, and so awkward to respond to, that it left him speechless.
"That's all we're saying about that man. The more I think about him, the dirtier my brain feels. Anyway—the reason I brought Kaisent is that you need to know what this child can do."
"What he can do?"
"Kaisent."
"Yes."
Quiet until now, Kaisent began weaving spells at once, unfolding magic before Frederick's eyes—from common work like Magic Missile and Fireball to darker arts that called on bone.
"What—! Lillian! Why!?"
"As you can see, Kaisent is a necromancer. But you've watched him yourself. Can you picture this child summoning corpses and murdering innocents?"
"…No."
Everything they had seen of Kaisent pointed to a gentle, timid boy who preferred not to fight at all.
If I told him about Kaisent's talent, it would be easier to explain—but that would be crossing a line.
She could not trample the sincere care Dang Seol-yeong had shown for Kaisent's safety. Lillian left the matter of talent unsaid.
After that she explained how Kaisent had raised zombies, swollen their numbers, and used them as bait to escape.
Blink.
Mid-conversation she winked at Frederick—a signal. He understood at once that there was another reason she had taken Kaisent in.
"You both look exhausted. The rest can wait until morning. You've done well, Kaisent. Sleep in the supply wagon tonight. There should be spare blankets—use those."
"Yes. I'll go rest, then."
Following Frederick's instruction, Kaisent left the tent.
"What makes the Necromancer Kingdom terrifying is that it turns the dead into undead. An army that neither eats nor sleeps. Which means—if Kaisent raises undead to fight for us, those same advantages become ours."
"But will anyone else accept that?"
"I only need the Necromancer Kingdom brought down. Reputation after that means nothing to me."
"Lillian…"
"If it comes to it, we settle on another continent."
Her hunger for revenge against the Necromancer Kingdom was starting to look real—because of Kaisent. For Frederick, who would have preferred to set revenge aside and simply live their own lives, it was not a welcome scenario.
"Frederick."
"Hm? Mmph—!?"
With the official business finished, Lillian struck without warning—a short, fierce kiss.
"L-Lillian?"
"I have no intention of burning everything for revenge."
Lips only. Then she stripped off armor and clothes until nothing remained but a high-leg cut of magical undergarment.
"Tonight, I'll show you the proof."
"Gulp…!"
Was Lillian always this… seductive…?
Years of hard mercenary living had worn away a princess's grace. Playing a man for so long had dulled her womanliness as well. But the Lillian before him tonight was the most alluring, most dizzying she had ever been—flushed cheeks, eyes that stirred raw desire, lips that seemed to beg for another kiss, every movement steeped in a woman's heat.
Erase the traces Kaisent left in me, Frederick.
She remembered the wager Kaisent had thrown out in that half-mad state—but this had nothing to do with that. Lillian wanted Frederick to paint over the marks of pleasure Kaisent had left when he made her a woman.
Thump—♡
The mere thought of coupling with a man made her womb answer on its own. Kaisent had taught her a woman's happiness, and there was no going back.