Unleashing the Monster
As darkness fell, the cries of beasts and the snap of banners in the wind tangled together into a strange, restless noise.
The tension peculiar to a battlefield, sharpened by the cold dread of a first defeat, settled over the entire Kar encampment like the stillness before a storm.
Then—
"Taman!"
Durokam shoved aside the heavy hide flap and strode quickly into Barg's tent.
He had hurried for one reason only.
Moments earlier, he had caught sight of Krelmuk leaving this place.
As Durokam entered, Barg lifted his gaze in silence and looked at him.
A heavy atmosphere hung oddly thick inside the tent.
Whatever conversation had just taken place, Barg sat with his arms folded, regarding Durokam without a word.
"What is it?"
"Ah… it is nothing else, only—"
Durokam's lips moved carefully, his expression cautious as he asked,
"Did Krelmuk… by any chance, offer you some insult, Taman?"
"Not at all."
Barg shook his head.
No—if anything, a curious interest touched his face as he went on.
"He said that in the next battle, he will take the vanguard without fail."
"…All of a sudden?"
Durokam's brow twitched by instinct.
From the beginning, Krelmuk had been an alien presence on the Preldior front.
He had joined the line under the command of Brakzor, the Grand Taman who ruled the Kar tribe as a whole—yet the entire way here he had kept deliberate distance from the other tribes, moving alone.
They knew he was an outstanding warrior who bore six feather tattoos.
But his arrogance, and that of those who followed him, had been no better, so for all practical purposes they had left him alone—treated him as a force that simply did not exist.
And now that same Krelmuk was volunteering for the vanguard.
Durokam shook his head.
"I cannot understand why he would suddenly insist on taking the lead…"
Wariness edged his voice.
To stand at the front was an honor—but it was also the most dangerous place of all.
Was it not the vanguard that spilled the most blood?
No man claimed that position without some design.
Yet at Durokam's words, Barg drew a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Well… I think I may have some idea."
His gaze drifted into the darkness of the tent, toward something unseen.
Belikezel.
Barg already knew, from the reports, what had become of Krelmuk on that battlefield.
I heard he barely survived.
After a defeat of that magnitude, an ordinary warrior would have withdrawn from the field—or at the very least hidden his name for a time. That would have been natural.
But Krelmuk had been different.
Barely risen from the brink of death, he had gone without the slightest hesitation under the most infamous figure in the Kar tribe.
Under Bargentoh.
"Two years… two years."
Barg murmured low.
Among Kar warriors, there was not one who failed to understand what that span of time meant.
Bargentoh's training was not training at all. It was a trial of survival.
Warriors who walked in whole returned as corpses before half a year had passed.
To have endured two years in that hell was proof enough that the man had become a monster.
A six-feather warrior… trained for two years under Bargentoh.
Barg's eyes narrowed slowly.
The Krelmuk of today…
Perhaps…
He might have reached a level where he would not yield even if he faced Barg himself head-on.
Barg's mouth curled, slow and sharp.
Then his shoulders began to shake as if he could no longer hold it back, and a low, rough laugh filled the tent.
"Khahahahahahahaha."
Durokam froze for an instant.
"…Taman."
Within that laughter pleasure mixed with something close to a thrill of anticipation.
Durokam could feel, by instinct alone, what it meant.
Barg stopped laughing and looked at him.
"The next battle… is going to be quite interesting."
Krelmuk on the vanguard.
That carried a meaning far beyond a simple arrangement of troops.
It means unleashing a monster onto this battlefield.
Barg gazed silently beyond the tent.
In the darkness outside, countless warriors were already preparing for battle.
But at their head—
a pack of beasts twisted with rage would be baring their teeth.
That thought alone set Barg's heart beating strangely hard.
The northern night was sharper than the day.
Wind that rode down the ridges cut like a blade, and the mingled scent of frozen earth and wet blood lay settled over every corner of the camp.
In the last of the campfires, red embers still drew a faint breath; each time a flame leapt, the shadows of flapping banners wavered and danced.
From the battlefield beyond the mountains came screams and the clash of arms.
The dense darkness swallowed even those sounds, yet their afterecho refused to die, spreading through the air.
Krelmuk met that northern dawn with his eyes open.
It was not that he had failed to sleep. He could not close them.
The noise did not matter.
Neither the screams, nor the ring of steel, nor the smell of burning wood could scatter his focus.
Only one thing.
Every nerve he possessed was fixed on the faint thread of that man's presence, drifting in on the wind.
How could he forget?
Three years ago—the man who had trampled his tribe, cut short the breaths of his comrades, and made even him a defeated foe.
All night long, Krelmuk strained his senses along the grain of the wind.
Each time the air cooled a degree.
Each time the mountains exhaled the slightest breath.
He measured only whether that presence might be mixed among them.
Then the eastern sky split pale, the darkness thinned, and the contours of the mountains emerged.
"Taman. We are ready."
From behind Krelmuk, who still faced the direction of the Imperial camp, Kortzan approached and bowed his head.
He looked much changed from before.
Thick scars ran from his shoulders down through his thighs and along his arms.
And his eyes.
They held nothing now but killing intent, without a shred of hesitation.
Behind him stood the warriors who had finished their preparations for battle.
Once, his tribe alone had numbered more than three thousand.
But three years ago at Belikezel, more than half of them had died, and the survivors had scattered.
Yet when Krelmuk returned, they had become one again.
They no longer even reached eight hundred—but every last man among them was elite.
Krelmuk stepped forward before his warriors.
"…On this battlefield."
His voice was low and heavy, yet perfectly clear.
"They are here. The ones from back then."
In that instant, the eyes of every warrior trembled as one.
Rage, bloodlust, and vengeance flared up together like a single fire.
Krelmuk was not alone in failing to forget that day.
The names of the comrades who had died then still would not sleep in these men's chests.
Krelmuk's gaze pierced each warrior in turn.
"In this fight, I will… tear every last one of them apart and kill them."
At that moment—
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Hundreds of feet struck the earth as one.
The hard-packed ground shuddered, and the air itself shook. The vibration was like the beat of a single vast heart.
"Uoooooh!"
Someone's roar began it, and soon the warriors' breathing fused and burst out like the cry of a savage beast.
At the sudden tremor underfoot, other Kar warriors watched from a distance.
Killing intent so condensed it chilled the spine.
For these men, in this moment, there was only one purpose.
Revenge. Revenge. Revenge…
Krelmuk turned once more to face the Imperial lines.
Beyond the pale mist, nothing could be seen.
But they knew the Imperials they had to kill were there.
"Right now, over there…"
A low laugh underlay his voice.
"are the ones we have wanted so badly."
Then, slowly, he spoke the last words.
"Leave not a single one. Swallow them all."
The moment the words fell, Krelmuk took the first step.
Eight hundred warriors moved as one behind him.
Their advance was quiet, yet keen.
Like a pack of starving predators, they began to flow toward the mountain ground.
"Move out!"
"All units, advance to the next point! Quickly!"
Hauling bodies still heavy from the night's fighting, the Imperial soldiers began to push forward once more.
The northern cold had sunk into their bones—but if there was one mercy, it was that the corpses froze hard enough that the stench was less.
They fended off the chill as best they could behind thick winter gear.
Without proper tents that can actually break the wind, this will be hard to endure.
The officers let out quiet sighs as they eyed the narrow mountain path.
Still, once they reached the basin, space would be tight—but they would be able to pitch their tents close together.
If they failed to restore the men's condition there, it could become a serious liability.
"Keep moving and generate heat! Stick close to the man ahead and advance at speed!"
As the main force began to move, the advance units also quickened their climb into the mountains.
The force under Tairen was among them.
"We have to scout ahead of the main force as well. Pick up the pace from here."
"Yes, sir."
At Tairen's order, the company commanders rapidly passed the word and drove their men on.
Just then, his adjutant, Sergeant Vengen, came up beside him.
"By the way—Major Arteon. Truly something else, isn't he?"
"…He is."
Thanks to following that man's plan earlier, they had all but annihilated the enemy with almost no losses of their own.
It was a plan that could not have been formed without knowing in advance that the enemy lay ahead.
No…
He had even calculated their own strength with perfect precision. That was how the operation had been possible.
Which was why Tairen no longer wanted merely to lean on him. He wanted to be of help.
"This time we move faster and watch the enemy's movements ourselves. We can't just keep taking help, can we?"
"Understood."
Vengen nodded, issued the orders, and hurried after Tairen.
Rock and steep grade defined the mountain ground.
Even so, Tairen and his soldiers climbed with practiced ease, pulling ahead of the main force toward the front.
But then—
"…?"
Sensing an odd movement ahead, Tairen flattened himself to the ground.
He had expected the Kar to be lying in ambush again, or waiting for them somewhere.
They're moving first…?
If the enemy main force was advancing with them, his own men could be in danger while on the march.
What he needed now was a clear read on the movement behind those troops…
"Vengen. Have we located the Silent Spear unit on the opposite ridge?"
"Not yet, sir. They're probably still behind us."
Tairen's advance force had pushed far faster than usual out of a desire to be useful.
Because of that, they had spotted the enemy early—but it also forced them into a difficult choice.
Do we simply wait here for our allies… or do we buy time?
His heart hammered hard.
One wrong step and not only his unit but the main force could be put at risk.
Tairen analyzed the situation with cold clarity.
The one mercy was that the force that looked like the enemy vanguard was not large.
Three to five hundred at most?
He had not confirmed the numbers exactly, but even allowing for more men farther back, he judged the total at around six hundred.
In numbers, his side held the advantage.
Tairen called Vengen over.
"…Send the fastest runners to the main force at once and report the situation. And…"
His eyes flashed as if the decision had settled.
"We hold them here—and we confirm the movement of their main force as well."
At that same hour—
"…Imperials, is it."
Having confirmed the Empire's movement from the opposite side, Krelmuk veiled his presence and looked toward them.
Unfortunately, it was not that man.
"If we kill them all, he'll show himself soon enough."
Krelmuk moved with his warriors toward the Imperials who had halted ahead.