Drifting Death

"Damn it all. Has every last one of them lost their minds?"

"You're telling me, Brother Durek. Just this afternoon they were at each other's throats, ready to kill — and now they're laughing and knocking back drinks?"

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick. For crying out loud! Me — Den the drunk — and I can't even drink!"

For a man claiming he couldn't drink, Den's face was already flushed; he'd clearly had a cup or two. Nobody pointed it out. While the rest of the camp poured and drank without a care, Durek and the mercenaries clustered around him were busy airing a mountain of grievances.

"Hey, Den! You remember, don't you? You're the most senior man here. When talk of merging with the Noas Mercenaries first came up, I was dead against it!"

"Oh, absolutely. You opposed it, no question."

"I remember too. Brother Durek was the first one to speak out against it. You said Noas had some filthy scheme going."

"That's right! Well said, Amon. Even so, I voted for the merger in the end, out of respect for the captain. And then she went even further. For the sake of those Noas Mercenary bastards' standing — what? She hands the vice-captain's seat to Noas?"

"That's right! Brother Durek opposed that too."

Bolstered by Amon and Den, the two veteran mercenaries, Durek's fury reached a rolling boil. The men listening around him, watching the two veterans nod along and Durek's voice climb, found themselves thinking, Is that really how it went?

"It's a joke! The man who's given the most years of his life to this Red Fox Mercenary Group gets tossed aside, and some stray who rolled in off the street is made vice-captain? What was she thinking? See? We got played! And what happened? We're the ones dying out in the field!"

Durek downed his drink in a single swallow and hurled the empty cup to the ground.

"Think about it! Is this how things ought to be? Is this right? And now they want to put our lives in the hands of a noble who was trying to kill us just this afternoon, and some filthy other-race of unknown origin? Does that make any damn sense?!"

The force of it was enough to make the rookies swallow hard. One of them finally found his voice.

"B-but... it's not like we have a choice, is it? If we turn back, that noble isn't the type to just let us walk away. At least we're not being treated as meat shields anymore, right? Right now we're at least being treated as allies..."

"Puhaha! Allies! Nice word. From where I'm sitting, they're just tossing out feed to shut up a bunch of pigs. You actually think you've become an ally?"

A ripple of snickers passed through the mercenaries at Durek's sneer.

"Th-the situation's bad, that's true. But we've found a way through, so we should be thinking about sticking together and getting through this first..."

"You little shit! What are you, huh? The captain's kept man or something?"

Den the drunk surged to his feet and cracked the rookie across the face, sending him sprawling. The kicks that followed — several mercenaries closing in and laying into him — knocked him unconscious despite his attempts to curl up and cover himself.

"Anyone else think like that coward?"

At Durek's words, the rookies and the younger mercenaries all shook their heads.

"Brother Durek, so what's the plan going forward?"

"Amon. You gonna keep living in a house that's leaking rain?"

"Hell no."

"Right. You either fix the house or you move. But I've got too much stake in this house to just walk away — and I can't even repair it unless the landlord changes."

"Then... we change the landlord."

"Heh. You coming with me?"

"This Amon's always been on your line, hasn't he, Brother?"

"Brother Durek — Den's in too!"

On top of that, the mercenaries who had either been swept along or come around to Durek's argument numbered more than twenty.

"Good! Then let's make today the founding day of the Durek Mercenary Corps. What are you standing around for, Den! A happy day like this needs more booze. Go get some, now!"

"Yes, Brother!"

For a man who had just been calling the knights' liquor pig feed, it was a remarkably quick change of tune. Still, as Messi had said, drink lifted the mood and closed the gaps between people. And with the liquor and the food being free besides, it made for a reasonably successful founding ceremony for a brand-new mercenary group.

The impact of the drinking feast Messi had secured was considerable. Under the pretext of regrouping, the mercenaries were even granted rest until midday the following day. The knights who had returned to the village the previous evening to replenish the provisions the sudden feast had consumed came back as well.

With their return, the tents came down quickly and the entire force made ready. The formation was the same as before: knights in front, mercenaries behind. The mood among the mercenaries ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trailing at the rear, however, was distinctly unsettled.

The gap in quality between knight and mercenary was stark. Knights trusted the training they had received without a shred of doubt, and with confidence in their skill came an absence of fear. Discipline, fair treatment, and a foundation of blind loyalty — all of it combined to forge the men called knights. They were, in every sense, the treasured swords of the nobility.

The forest path stretched between enormous trees, a trail the woodcutters of old had carved and then left to the wild. After about an hour of marching at a brisk pace, Messi looked up at the distant sky.

"Looks like rain..."

Bad news. Rain interfered with vigilance; it dulled the senses. Dark clouds were already visible in the distance, and there was a faint smell of rain on the air. A dampness crept into their armor.

"Hah... We're walking into the Forest of Resentment of our own free will — and now it's going to rain on top of that. Lady Gaia is truly heartless."

To invoke a god at a time like this. The Village Chief's words were draining. Leto didn't contradict him. The Forest of Resentment was a place no one in their right mind would go.

Messi said nothing. Offering comfort to people being dragged along by a leash around their own necks wouldn't help anyone.

Rain began to fall almost at once. Everyone pulled out oilskin cloaks and wrapped them around themselves. The sky darkened, and in the distance lightning flashed among the clouds. They were already on edge, and the landscape was fanning the flames. The horses, perhaps sensing their riders' unease, had been snorting restlessly for some time.

The mercenaries' mood, in particular, was even worse.

"Brother Den, if we keep following like this, aren't we completely fucked?"

"If we run, we become meat on the spot. Meat or fucked. That is the question."

"Amon, Den. Quit the useless talk and keep up. For now... we just have to follow. I've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got a good idea. You two keep the kids as calm as you can. Tell them if they run now, they die."

The words coming from the rain-cloaked figure of Durek, seen from behind, sounded reliable. Den and Amon decided to simply trust him and follow.

A halt.

Messi, whose eyesight was the sharpest in the group, stopped first. When he stopped, the entire column stopped. That was how great his influence over the formation had become; he was no different from a navigator at sea. He had ceased walking, but he said nothing. Ereb, tired of waiting, spoke up.

"What's going on?"

"There's a monster ahead."

"What?"

Ereb and Ramang couldn't believe it. He could see something they couldn't with their own eyes?

Just what is this other-race? He hasn't received any training, but there are parts of him that are abnormally outstanding...

They concentrated mana into their eyes.

They saw it too.

A muscular monster with deep purple skin stood looking up at the sky, taking the rain. Its bulk easily exceeded three meters. The creature's head was unusually large. In one hand it held an enormous greatsword — a mass of countless blades crushed and fused together into the shape of a slab-cleaver.

That's a terrifying-looking thing...

Ereb did not even register that this was the first time in his life he had looked at a monster and judged it terrifying.

"So what? It's just one. We take it down immediately."

"You can't."

"...?"

The urgent voice trying to stop him was unlike Messi's usual manner.

"Why not?"

"Because that thing... originally lives in the Forest of Resentment."

"Don't we have until evening before we even reach the Forest of Resentment? Why is it here?"

"That's just how that one is. Think of it as an exception."

"Even so, it's only one. Aren't you being a little too frightened?"

Ramang frowned. Stopping the knights' column over a single creature? Was this a joke? He thought the other-race was simply a coward. He was about to spur his horse forward when Messi blocked his path.

"How dare you! What is that thing that you'd go this far?!"

"Its name is Enzo Muerte. In other words... of the forty-eight monster species that inhabit the Forest of Resentment, it's the one that adapted to the forest with the fewest individuals. A mutated troll. We call them the Decapitation Tribe."

More precisely, it was the name his master used. Enzo Muerte — in the Fairy Language, Drifting Death. The more one learned about the creature, the more fitting the name became.

Ramang recalled the Sky Castle's records. Aside from its appearance, it was the only creature for which there was no information whatsoever.

"The fewest individuals? Then isn't that even better? Fewer of them to take revenge for killing their kin."

"Too few is the problem. Only three individuals settled in the Forest of Resentment."

"...?"

"You don't understand? It means a mere three of them earned the recognition of the other forty-seven species."

"That means that thing is..."

"A monster beyond anything we can imagine. What's more, it has no territory of its own. It just wanders at random through the territories of the other forty-seven species. And even so, the other monsters don't touch that one. They avoid it. If we run into it while wandering around, we die. Just... bad luck. Yes — you'd have to call it an accident."

It was, quite literally, Drifting Death itself.

Ramang thought he understood why even the Sky Castle's records had nothing on the creature. You would have to survive and come back to file a report for there to be any information.

And that wasn't happening.

Enzo Muerte kept making a sound like weeping as it stood in the rain. Whether it was the rain or the humidity, the crying came out even more ominous. The thought that this was the sound made by a living incarnation of death sent a chill down everyone's spine.

The column had come to a complete halt — all because of a single monster that lived in the Forest of Resentment. Only then did everyone understand why Leto and the Village Chief had been so reluctant to go there. Just hearing the cry, a strange terror crept up from within.

This is my first time seeing it too. So that's the Enzo Muerte Master spoke of...

His master's muttered words lingered in his memory with particular clarity. He had heard that even the woodcutters avoided contact with Enzo Muerte. It was fortunate that there were so few of them and that the distance they traveled in a day was short — if the conditions had been the opposite, his master had assessed, even the woodcutters would have fled.

Only after waiting a full hour and a half did Enzo Muerte slowly lumber, thudding, into the forest beside the path.

"Huhu. Heh. This is insane. Even my father wouldn't believe this. If I told him I waited over an hour because of a single monster."

"...Let's go."

"Right. Thanks to you being our guide, we're running into all sorts of things."

Following Messi's lead, the column set out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again. Unconsciously afraid of another encounter, everyone moved faster than usual. Even Ereb urged his horse on.

The rain stopped, and the sun began to set. Had they not encountered Enzo Muerte, they would have arrived at the outskirts of the Forest of Resentment without incident. Everyone thought they had been lucky, but Messi's thinking was a little different. The Forest of Resentment was so dangerous that other monsters didn't even dare approach.

Unpleasant black-hued trees. Violet leaves, and the violet earth where those leaves had fallen and piled. Roots that jutted out far more conspicuously than anywhere in the surrounding woods. It stood in stark contrast to the green forest, as if some invisible boundary had been drawn.

"It's been a while... I used to come this far now and then to see your master."

There was more fear than longing in Leto's voice.

"You did well not to go in."

"Big Brother told me never to, you know."

"I won't be going in either."

"...Then?"

"We need to find the path to the Ant Tunnels from here."

The ants might have been pitiful creatures getting their bodily fluids squeezed out of them inside the Forest of Resentment, but once they stepped out into the Outer Forest, they sat comfortably at the top of the food chain. In other words, they could play the tyrant to their hearts' content. They were not the sort of kind-hearted ants to leave a playground that good without even making a passage.

"You two, please search the area. There's probably a path they use when they go out hunting in the Outer Forest."

"And what will you be doing?"

When the Village Chief asked bluntly, Messi, guessing at his thoughts, gave a small laugh and answered.

"I need to do a preliminary check before we enter the forest. Ah! I should start with you two."

"...W-what are you going to do?"

"First, take off all your clothes."

Clutching at his collar like a bashful maiden, the Village Chief flushed a deep red.