The Opening Hunt
The freezing night air of the north seemed cold enough to freeze even the breath of the main force.
A faint reek of blood rode the wind that swept down upon them.
At first the sounds rolling over the mountain ridge had seemed like nothing more than the ordinary roar of battle, yet to the officers standing with the main body they were anything but ordinary.
“Hmm……”
“It appears to have begun.”
Ruokal, standing beside Velkain, spoke in a low voice. Both men’s eyes were fixed on the mountains ahead; Ruokal bit down hard on his lip, trying to hide the tension that gripped him.
In one sense it was merely a skirmish that could arise during reconnaissance. Better to avoid such fights if possible—but if they could not be avoided……
We must win.
Ruokal glanced sideways at Velkain. The commander would know it as well.
This was no simple scouting clash.
It is a stepping-stone for the full-scale war that is coming.
That was why every man in the main force felt the weight of the moment. Ruokal spoke carefully.
“It seems a battle has broken out. Would it not be wise to commit additional troops even now?”
Because this was a fight they could not afford to lose, the thought of reinforcing was natural. Velkain, however, shook his head with quiet finality.
“No. There will be no additional forces. Throwing men into unfamiliar ground in darkness like this would only create larger variables.”
Ruokal swallowed hard. Then, as lights appeared beyond the ridge, the officers of the main force cried out.
“What? What’s with those torches in the rear?”
“Those bastards……! Did they send reinforcements?”
“Or maybe another force was hidden there from the start!”
The atmosphere among the main force seethed. The enemy’s numbers were far beyond anything they had anticipated. Colonel Brant, commander of the 2nd Regiment, hurried to Velkain’s side.
“Commander. The situation has changed completely from what we expected. Shouldn’t we send more men even now? The enemy force looks far too large.”
The officers who had followed him could not hide their anxiety either. Amid the restless stir, Velkain spoke in a low, even voice.
“I foresaw a situation like this. That is why I sent him.”
“……”
The Silent Spear unit led by Arteon. Their numbers were only a thousand, yet the moment Arteon took command, sheer numbers ceased to matter. And every man of the Silent Spear possessed the strength of four or five ordinary soldiers.
Velkain continued quietly.
“I know full well what this battle means. But…… for now we can only trust them and wait.”
Perhaps at this very moment, the one whose heart trembled most was the supreme commander himself. He alone understood how many soldiers might die here, and how the outcome would shape everything that followed. Yet if haste led him into a wrong decision, the damage could become irreversible.
For now, all he could do was……
Velkain clenched his fist tightly and stared in silence at the blood-red ridge where the fighting raged.
A chill seeped into the tent, yet the air inside was already frozen solid with tension.
“Taman…… why are you looking after that bastard?”
Durokam, seated across from Barg, could no longer hold back the words he had been nursing. Under ordinary circumstances he would never have dared speak them, but the matter concerned Krelmuk, and he could not keep silent.
“……You mean Krelmuk?”
“Yes.”
Barg lifted a small jar beside him as if rolling it into his palm, then tilted his head in silence.
The soft sound of liquid filling a cup was the only thing that stirred inside the tent.
“Durokam. What do you think of Krelmuk?”
The question made Durokam hesitate for a heartbeat. Then he twisted the corner of his mouth and answered.
“An arrogant dog whose pride scrapes the heavens. Just because he has a little skill he does whatever he pleases…… and he even dares to act insolent toward a Taman.”
Barg emptied his cup with an expressionless face. Hot liquor slid down his throat; he set the cup down and asked again.
“The Imperial bastard Krelmuk is supposed to face.”
The cup clicked softly against the floor.
“Do you have any idea of that man’s level?”
“That is……”
Durokam seemed to weigh his words, then licked his lips once.
“The warriors on the field say he dropped Kortzan with a single blow.”
Kortzan was an elite warrior who, like Durokam himself, bore five feather tattoos. To fell such a man in one stroke meant the enemy was no ordinary opponent—a true monster.
Barg nodded at Durokam’s report.
“Even that prideful Krelmuk was being unusually cautious. That alone tells us how formidable the opponent is.”
Barg refilled his cup and narrowed his eyes. Krelmuk might wear only six feather tattoos, yet after that incident he had spent two full years under Instructor Bargentoh. No one knew his exact strength, but if one had to guess his current realm……
“Among every six-feather warrior in the entire Kar Tribe, Krelmuk may well be the strongest.”
“……!”
Durokam’s face twisted slightly. With a forced smile and uneasy eyes he answered,
“H-he’s not someone who deserves that high an evaluation, is he?”
“I am simply judging the matter coldly. No matter how gifted a warrior may be, lasting two years under Bargentoh is no ordinary feat.”
Barg’s voice was quiet, yet firm.
“He may even be beyond that.”
“……”
Durokam swallowed as though choking on a dry cough. In all the time he had known Barg, the man had never once spoken of anyone in such terms. Carefully, Durokam asked,
“……Is this Bargentoh truly that formidable?”
“He is.”
Barg’s answer was brief.
“There is no need to explain what that means. Only those who have endured him firsthand know.”
A smile—something almost feral—touched Barg’s lips. Durokam pressed on more carefully still.
“Then…… are you saying he might even rise beyond a six-feather warrior and stand against a Taman?”
Barg lifted the cup and drained it in one swallow. The sound of liquor sliding down his throat echoed softly in the tent.
“Who knows.”
He set the cup down with a dull clack.
“We’ll only know once our axes cross.”
A brief silence settled. Then Barg turned his gaze toward the mountains ahead and spoke in a low voice.
“But that is not the important thing.”
“Sir?”
“Our first priority is to eliminate that Imperial variable before he becomes a true problem.”
Barg continued, eyes fixed on the distant peaks.
“And for that hunt, no one is more suited than Krelmuk.”
Understanding finally lit Durokam’s face.
“Ah…… so for now……”
“Yes.”
Barg refilled his cup once more.
“Until the prey is caught, you stroke a hunting dog gently.”
At that moment—
“Uwaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Crimson light tore through the darkness of the mountains. Warriors’ war cries erupted like the roar of beasts, and Barg set down his cup, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
“It begins.”
Grantuak might wear only five feather tattoos, yet he was a man well-accustomed to fighting in the dark.
“And on this freezing ground unfamiliar to the Imperials…… he should at least be able to leave a few wounds on the prey.”
When those small wounds piled up, one after another—
“That is when we unleash the hunting dog to tear out the throat.”
At those words, Durokam’s smile stretched long and sharp.
Swish!
“……Huh?”
Grantuak let out an involuntary gasp at what unfolded before his eyes. Something had flashed past him, yet his body simply failed to follow.
Then he saw it floating in front of him—his own familiar axe, still clutched in a severed hand. The sight felt utterly unreal.
“Guh…… ah…… aaaaaaargh!”
Grantuak screamed like a wounded animal and staggered backward. The entire lower half of his arm had been sheared clean off and now lay on the frozen ground with a dull thud.
While Grantuak reeled away, a golden radiance flared beside him.
Boom!
An Imperial soldier with eyes that mirrored that same gold came charging in. Arteon’s golden aura surged upward like a bolt of lightning, leaving afterimages that sliced through the night.
In that same instant—
“Gyaaaaaaah!”
Crimson blood soaked into the frozen earth.
“Guh…… guhhhhh……!”
Grantuak staggered back, clutching the stump of his arm. Yet more terrifying than the pain of the lost limb was the expression of the Imperial before him.
A monster……!
Not a flicker of emotion showed on the young man’s face. Even the most battle-hardened warrior usually revealed something—rage, exhilaration, fear—when lives hung in the balance. But this one……
He doesn’t even look that old……
How could the gap be this vast? More than that, how could anyone remain so calm?
“Impossible……! H-how…… howwwww!”
Grantuak shrieked and snatched up the fallen axe with his left hand. The moment he straightened and tried to swing—
Swish!
Crunch!
The spear tip punched through his side; the following twist shattered his ribs and sent fragments flying. Grantuak’s body twisted helplessly in midair.
“G-ghk……!”
What he had thought would be his final strike merely carved empty air and wobbled away. Arteon’s golden aura never cooled.
Thok.
The instant the spear tip touched the nape of Grantuak’s neck, even the wind seemed to stop. Arteon’s voice was low and cold.
“Sorry. I’m short on time.”
“Kh…… you bastard……!”
Grantuak’s eyes bulged as he tried to shout, but the spear had already driven through his throat before the cry could finish.
Thud.
With a dull sound his body toppled backward, lifeless. A brief silence followed—then broke almost at once.
Looking down at the fallen Grantuak, Arteon murmured,
“……Someone’s using underhanded tricks.”
“Sir? What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
The reply was short and absolute. Whoever had sent this man out—
It wasn’t Krelmuk.
Krelmuk would have come himself. This kind of childish gambit meant……
There’s someone else behind him.
Yet Arteon wiped the thought away. He was more than willing to dance to their tune. In the end, the ones who would bleed were them.
“Uwaaaaaaaaaah!”
A fresh roar erupted not far away. Arteon turned his gaze at once.
For now……
“We move to support our forces.”
“Yes, sir!”
At Arteon’s command the Silent Spear unit surged forward, racing along the mountain path.