The Tracker
"Damn it... am I too late?"
Aslan spat a curse at the smoke rising in the distance. He drove his exhausted, panting horse onward, and when he arrived, the sight of a blood-soaked mire stacked with corpses made his brow furrow.
He dismounted and examined the bodies, recognizing the sword wounds Abigail had left behind. He'd been on the receiving end of those cuts more times than he could count during their spars, and he'd seen the marks she carved into others just as often. Her technique had grown more vicious since then, but not so much that he couldn't tell it was hers.
Looking at a corpse split clean in two from the crown of the head down through the crotch, Aslan let out an awkward laugh.
"If I ever went at her for real, I'd probably end up looking like this..."
Among those who trained under Rai, only Abigail and Philia had any real combat experience to speak of. Aslan had been raised in a military family, but in this prolonged Era of Peace, all he'd ever done was train. Actual battle experience was scarce. He'd picked up a little through his time as an adventurer, but most of that had been against monsters — a drop in the bucket compared to Abigail and Philia.
They were the strange ones. This was normal. Abigail had been living as a mercenary since she was a child, fighting people constantly. Philia had spent her life fending off kidnappers and assassins targeting her family. Both of them had lived far outside the bounds of an ordinary life. It wasn't that Diana or Aslan were lacking.
That gap in experience would decide their fates when it mattered most.
Having felt firsthand just how strong Abigail was in a real fight, Aslan turned his gaze toward the warehouse. Unlike the bodies cut down by a sword, there was a corpse that had burned without any visible wounds. It retained a vaguely human shape, but it was little more than a blackened chunk of charcoal.
"This must be Julio."
The stench of burning flesh made Aslan cover his nose as he looked around. She'd said this was a target of her revenge, so she wouldn't have given him a clean death. He examined the footprints in front of the door, piecing together what had happened. Large male footprints trying to come out of the warehouse, and drag marks from being kicked back in.
The scene that formed in Aslan's mind made him grimace. What the hell had made Abigail this cruel? She'd always been rough, always used vicious techniques — but that had been a tactic, a way to make her opponent hesitate so she could exploit the opening. It wasn't cruelty for its own sake.
Her venom still seemed to linger thick in the air. He sighed and started to stand, then stopped. Taking in the footprints, the warehouse, the burned corpse — Aslan shot to his feet and climbed back onto his horse, which had barely caught its breath.
"Sorry. Just a little further."
Aslan spurred the horse into a gallop. The animal, trained hard at the Scape family estate, drove its exhausted legs forward at its master's command.
It hasn't been long. I might still catch her.
Fortunately, the snow that had been falling since last night had stopped that morning. Aslan had been staring at the ground, searching for any trace Abigail had left, when he yanked the reins and veered the horse sharply to the side.
Found it!
The trace was so faint he'd nearly missed it. It was less a footprint than a slight depression in the snow, like a natural dip in the terrain. Having trained under Rai alongside her, that faint mark was familiar to Aslan's eyes. Rai had claimed it was a technique for reaching a higher level, but the real reason he'd taught it was so they wouldn't wreck the lawn.
If it had been scattered footprints all over the place, he would have missed it. He'd gotten lucky. She'd probably been watching for pursuers, slipping away when her footprints overlapped with others in the snow.
Driving his horse into the forest, Aslan spotted a flash of red hair among the white snow and shouted.
"Abigail!!"
His booming voice rang out. Abigail, who'd been checking her saddle, startled — her eyes went wide as they met Aslan's. Aslan leapt from his exhausted, slowing horse and closed the distance in a single rush. Abigail scanned the surroundings, checking if anyone else was with him.
"You idiot, what the hell are you—"
A crimson crescent of sword-light flew from Abigail's swing, and Aslan cut himself off mid-sentence, throwing himself sideways to dodge.
"Pwah—!!"
Buried in the snow, Aslan exhaled hard, sprang to his feet, and drew his greatsword.
"What's got you so scared you gotta jump me like that?"
"Don't get in my way. Get lost."
"Yeah, about that — sorry. Interfering is exactly why I came."
At Aslan's words, Abigail scanned the area again, then looked back at him.
"You alone?"
"Yeah. Just me."
"Then you know you can't stop me."
A sneer crossed Abigail's face. Aslan clicked his tongue and strode toward her.
"Won't know till we try."
"We've already gone at it plenty of times, you amateur piece of shit."
Abigail came flying across the snow. Aslan drew his sword back and swung with everything he had. The wind pressure from his greatsword sent the packed snow exploding outward into a blizzard. Abigail punched through it, thrusting her blade. Her sword, flashing in the sunlight, split the white storm. Aslan scrambled backward, turning his greatsword to use it like a shield.
Abigail's blade struck the broad spine of the greatsword and slithered up it like a snake climbing a tree. Her sword went for the hands gripping the weapon. Aslan dropped his stance, tilted the greatsword, and heaved it upward with a violent sweep. Snow surged up along the blade in a half-circle, but Abigail twisted her body just enough to slip past and came at him again.
"Ghk!"
Abigail's relentless blade gave him no time to set his stance. Aslan fell back, barely keeping up his defense. She bounded across the snow, her sword slipping through his guard to leave cuts across his body — but Aslan avoided anything fatal, holding the line to the end.
When Abigail finally pulled back from her barrage, Aslan let out a deep breath and slung his greatsword over his shoulder, pretending to be at ease.
"Tired already?"
"You think I'm a joke?"
Abigail glared at him, killing intent in her eyes.
"A bastard who can't even block properly, and you're focusing on defense? I look that easy to you? You think you can beat me fighting like that?"
"I'm not trying to win."
Even facing her venomous expression, Aslan spoke calmly.
"I came here to stop you. Not to beat you."
"Ha! With that spineless crap? The only thing getting stopped is your damn life."
"I'll do what I can."
Aslan's words clearly didn't sit well with her. Abigail clenched her teeth and attacked. The strikes she'd thrown so far had been nothing. This was vicious — wounds piled up across Aslan's body, but he kept his focus entirely on defense. She'd decided to actually kill him. Her blade, loaded with murderous intent, sliced his shoulder. She kicked him again and again. Aslan endured it all in silence.
When his greatsword pinned her blade with a heavy thud, Abigail quickly switched her grip and drove a fist into Aslan's jaw. His head snapped to the side. He turned it back as if nothing had happened and grinned.
"That all you got?"
She kicked him in the gut with a brutal wham, but Aslan straightened his back with a shout of effort, and the force shoved Abigail backward. The rapid exchange had her starting to lose her breath, but Aslan — a stamina monster — looked no different than usual despite everything he'd taken.
"Green-head. Hit me for real. Unless you wanna die."
"No. I don't attack my friends."
"I'm not your friend."
"I think of you as one."
"Well I don't."
"I still think of you as a friend."
Aslan's thick-headed persistence. If she kept talking, she was just going to get angrier. Abigail drew a deep breath. Sharp killing intent and mana erupted from her body, pushing the snow covering the ground outward in all directions.
"Let's see if you still think that after you're dead."
"I'm not gonna die, and I'm not changing my mind."
Aslan lifted his greatsword, pointing the tip at Abigail. It wasn't a sword built for thrusting — too heavy — but the sheer length and thickness of it made just raising it in front of her a considerable deterrent. Against a mediocre opponent, maybe. Against Abigail, it was no threat at all.
Aslan was the type who tanked defense with his own body to begin with. A fighter who needed to overwhelm his opponent with raw offensive power, giving up the initiative and focusing on defense — he wasn't even showing half of what he could do.
Abigail locked eyes with him for a moment, then moved. The snow she stepped on left no prints. Her silent movement left afterimages as she closed on Aslan in a flash. She slipped low beneath the raised greatsword. When Aslan didn't move at all, she grew wary and swung her blade.
As she brought her sword up from below, still watching the greatsword, she saw Aslan let go of his weapon — and her eyes went wide.
Got me.
Watching Aslan's fist coming at her face, Abigail clenched her teeth and thrust her forehead forward. He'd said he wouldn't attack, then waited until the last second to strike. Falling for a cheap trick like this — rage surged through her. The anger wasn't directed at Aslan. It was directed at herself.
She'd naively believed he actually wouldn't attack. Why? She couldn't believe it, but apparently she'd trusted him. Training under Rai might have improved her skills, but it had also loosened her heart. She'd let someone in. This was all that bastard's fault.
Bracing for impact, Abigail tensed her neck and poured every ounce of strength into the hand gripping her sword. Even if she took the counter, she was going to drive her blade into his body no matter what.
But contrary to her expectations, Aslan's hand passed right by her face. His hand dropped and seized the wrist of the arm swinging her sword.
The blade punched through his armor and into his side with a wet sound.
"Ah, shit... thought I was a goner."
Aslan grimaced at the pain. His blood ran down Abigail's sword and dripped onto the snow. While she was still stunned, Aslan grabbed her other wrist as well.
"Got you."
The hands locking her wrists were as solid as an old tree. Aslan himself was as heavy as a mountain. He looked down at her with a bright, easy smile.
"You're not getting away now. Ugh!"
Abigail, who'd been staring up at him in a daze, scowled, kicked his jaw upward, spun, and drove a back kick into his gut. He staggered back a little, but her wrists were still caught. She twisted them free and kicked him in the stomach again and again. Aslan was driven backward and tumbled down the mountainside.
Abigail used her Divine Power to fix both arms, which had been bent at unnatural angles, and looked down. Blood spotted the snow he'd gouged out as he fell.
This stupid bastard really hadn't attacked her.
Abigail didn't even know what she was angry about anymore. She clenched her teeth, her face full of irritation, and turned away. She picked up the sword that had fallen to the ground, mounted her horse, and before leaving, glanced once more at the slope where Aslan had fallen — then vanished.
Once she was gone, only the traces of their fight remained. The forest fell silent.
A moment later, Aslan crawled back up in a wretched state, looked at the empty forest, and sighed.
"Ah... damn it."
Crouching down, rubbing his throbbing jaw, he was about to light a cigarette when he spotted a potion sitting on the snow. Abigail had clearly left it behind.
"See? She's a good kid after all."
The horse that had fled when the fighting started had returned, just as it had been trained to do once things went quiet. But a horse that exhausted would never catch Abigail, no matter how hard it ran. Aslan uncorked the potion, drank a few swallows, poured the rest on his side, then sat down in the snow and lit his cigarette.
"Jack was next, wasn't it?"
He unfolded a map, checked it, and considered. Jack wasn't a target of her revenge anyway. Chasing Abigail's trail would be hard. It might be better to get ahead of her — go to wherever her next revenge target was likely to be.
"Alright. I'll go after this one."
He didn't know who she'd go after first, so he just picked one at random. Aslan snuffed out the cigarette he'd barely smoked and stood.
"Sorry for saying the same thing every time, but just a little further."
He patted his horse, climbed on, ignored the traces still left in the snow, and headed somewhere else.