Chapter 119: The Way of the Desert (4)
Chapter 119: The Way of the Desert (4)
Though they had been ambushed and were outnumbered, the warriors managed to hold on somehow.
"They're coming over that wagon over there!"
"Shoot!"
The Raksha climbing over the wagon clutched their faces and fell backward under the volley of bolts. Blood streamed down shattered cheekbones and pierced foreheads.
Since they had been escorting a merchant caravan, there were many baggage wagons. The barricades hurriedly constructed from them had saved the warriors' lives.
"The wagon decorated with yellow cloth! There should be oil jars in there!"
What was more, the wagons happened to contain cargo that could be used to advantage in the fight.
"Found them!"
"Brahim! Arman! Throw them!"
The most muscular warriors with the greatest strength came running at their captain's call.
Power surged into their thick arms, and the oil jars flew through the air. It was the area where the Raksha were attempting their most ferocious breakthrough.
CRASH!
SHATTER!
The jars shattered, splashing oil in all directions.
Nearby veterans were already preparing torches without waiting for an order. There was a reason they had survived more than ten years of war.
"Give those bastards a taste of fire!"
"Burn them all!"
As multiple torches fell onto the oil-soaked ground, a wall of flame surged up.
"Ghaaaaaaak—!"
Several Raksha, turned into living fireballs, thrashed about in a death dance before collapsing.
The warriors roared in triumph at the satisfying sight. The situation was still unfavorable, but they had to raise morale and turn the tide however they could.
"Matûrz! Matûrz!"
The Raksha, with their twisted fox faces, screamed. As they were a matriarchal species, it was the females who had joined the battle.
"What are those bitches saying?"
"What do sain say in battle anyway? Kill them! Advance! Things like that, right?"
Unlike human commanders, who gave full-sentence orders, sain repeatedly barked one- or two-word commands. Even without knowing their language, the meaning was usually easy to guess.
Fwoosh!
Another volley of jars sailed through the air and walls of flame erupted.
THUD!
THUMP!
Nearby rakshas howled as they burned, then collapsed one after another.
They had not burned badly enough to roast alive; the sudden surge in body temperature had knocked them unconscious. Some died from shock brought on by the pain.
When their outer fur burned away completely, their bodies were revealed to be roughly similar to humans, though scorched.
"What? It was all fur?"
"Now that the fur's burned off, they're skinnier than you'd think."
With the enemy offensive dampened by the flames, a temporary equilibrium arose, and there was even the leisure to crack a few jokes.
Rakshas had not developed ironworking. Only a handful of high-ranking individuals could own weapons or armor captured from humans. That was another reason the defenders could hold out.
The vast majority used primitive wooden weapons gathered from nature, but they were not to be taken lightly.
"There's an opening over there! We have to flee right now!"
"Idiot! Go out there and you'll die!"
One rookie mercenary tried to bolt toward a spot where the encirclement had momentarily loosened.
Shaking off the comrades who tried to stop him, he ran alone and heard the sound of something tearing rapidly through the air.
THUD!
"Cough?!"
He clutched the bamboo spear protruding through his abdomen and coughed up blood, staring at it in disbelief.
About ten meters away, a raksha lowered its arm from a throwing stance.
Dozens more fox-faced rakshas around it glared at them with bamboo spears in hand.
"Shields up!"
The instant the captain gave the order, dozens of javelins came flying.
Their sturdy shields stopped the volley with little injury, but the heavy impacts and cracking sounds still made their skin crawl.
Even without iron-smelting, processing bamboo was simple enough. Bamboo spears were the most efficient means of converting sheer numbers directly into destructive force.
Meanwhile, the female chieftain leading the attacking rakshas gave a new order.
RUMBLE—RUMBLE—RUMBLE!
They began grabbing the wagons in groups and dragging them away.
"What the hell!"
It was not impossible, but the sheer brute-force absurdity of the method left the warriors dumbfounded.
They were far too badly outnumbered for a tug-of-war, and they could not drop their shields to grab the wagons while enemies stood ready to stab them with bamboo spears.
As the barricades disappeared one by one, fox-like faces, twisted into hideous grins by their craving for human flesh, filled the surroundings.
"If I get out of this alive, I'm retiring."
The captain of the warriors gritted his teeth and muttered.
"Captain, that's the most common last line among mercenaries."
It was the kind of line mercenaries uttered when death arrived before they realized it. Everyone laughed hollowly; they could feel death closing in.
Because Eugene's force was entirely cavalry, relief arrived quickly.
"Hm?"
Something caught in the senses of a tribal warrior riding on the outskirts of the column. Trusting his instinct, he loosed an arrow toward that spot.
GRRRK—!
A faint sound of flesh tearing came with the groan.
The ears of every tribal warrior nearby twitched, and they reflexively aimed their arrows.
Two Raksha who had been lying prone scrambled to their feet and began to flee. One was slow, an arrow lodged in its shoulder.
"Scouts!"
"Kill them! Do not let them get away!"
No matter how swift the Raksha were, it was impossible to escape elite mounted archers. Soon they toppled over, hearts and lungs pierced through.
"Well done. You'll be rewarded later."
"It was nothing."
At Eugene's praise, the warrior who had first spotted them answered, pressing a fist to his chest.
"They even use scouts. The term monster warlords really does fit them."
"They're still primitives running around on foot."
Haind looked unsettled by behavior that contradicted everything he had learned about monsters in a knightly household.
Rex, on the other hand, snorted as if it were nothing. Any enemy that could not ride a horse was, by his standards, no different from a monkey.
A moment later, the battlefield where the brutal fighting raged came into view. Thanks to having cut down their scouts, the Raksha still had not noticed the newly appeared army.
Just then, a tall female chieftain in knight-grade armor, longsword in hand, shouted an order.
At that, the other Raksha moved in perfect unison and began dragging out the wagons they had formed into a wall.
"At this rate, those men will be wiped out soon."
"We'll wait a moment."
"Pardon?"
His subordinates looked puzzled that Eugene was stalling after coming to the rescue. Instead of answering, he pointed at the wagons and the bamboo spears embedded in the ground.
Shields lay discarded everywhere because the spears driven into them could not be pulled free. There was no special trick like a pilum involved—the throws were simply powerful enough to bury the shafts deep.
"Everyone, focus your attention on the Raksha with spears at the front."
Eugene had no sense of righteous justice that compelled him to save every last one of the surrounded warriors. To him, minimizing friendly casualties was what mattered.
They all quietly and obediently watched the battle in silence, even as the Samur warriors were cut down.
Only after observing the Raksha hurl their javelins several times did Eugene raise his hand.
"Did everyone see that? You should have their range now, right?"
"Confirmed."
"That's what you were waiting for."
Eugene nodded and raised his X-shaped composite bow.
"We're intervening. Keep at least fifty percent farther back than usual. Do not enter their javelin range under any circumstances."
Eugene took the lead, and behind him the mounted archers in black cloaks formed ranks.
"They have neither armor nor shields anyway."
"Even a little farther than usual, we'll punch holes through them with ease."
"We'll skin them and sell their hides in Tripol."
The tribal warriors shouted boldly.
Haind, along with a small number of tribal knights and heavy cavalry, fell back as a reserve and prepared to charge if the need arose.
"Attack! Sound the horns! It's time to make Samur remember the horn call of the Black Hand Clan!"
At Eugene's command, the horn calls echoed across the battlefield, and hoofbeats shook the earth.
When people pictured a cavalry charge, the iconic image was of knights plunging fiercely into enemy lines with lances and swords leveled.
The destructive power was part of it, but there was also a grandeur to armored knights riding shoulder to shoulder that set onlookers' hearts racing.
But Eugene, more than that, preferred a charge alongside his tribal warriors.
TWANG-TWANG-TWANG!
Countless bowstrings twanged at once.
WHOOSH!
Arrows sliced sharply through the wind.
THUD-THUD-THUD!
The dull sounds of flesh being pierced everywhere.
Dozens of enemies clutching vital spots and collapsing while their side took no losses was a magnificent sight, no matter how often Eugene saw it.
Startled by the surprise attack, the female chieftain roared, and dozens of javelins flew into the air.
But arm-thrown spears had a predictable range. Not one reached the mounted archers keeping a safe distance.
TWANG-TWANG-TWANG!
Another volley rained down, and rakshas fell bleeding on all sides.
Without shields, some raised their arms to cover their faces, only for arrows to punch through their forearms and into their cheeks.
The enraged rakshas charged recklessly, but all they saw were black cloaks streaming away; the tribal warriors had already wheeled their horses and pulled back.
Then arrows jutting out from between the streaming cloaks were loosed again.
Kyaah—!
Ghk—!
"Sir Eugene! Give the order to charge!"
"No! Wait!"
The tribal knights, Haind among them, grew restless and begged to charge, but Eugene refused.
If they had been orcs, gnolls, or goblins, a full cavalry charge could have ground them down by now. But these were sain.
Rakshas armed with bamboo spears still lurked everywhere. Even if the enemy formation had collapsed, charging in now would only produce dismounted riders and casualties.
Above all, the enemy had neither armor nor shields. There was no need to rely on the heavy cavalry's breakthrough power for a decisive blow.
"Kill the ones carrying spears or trying to pick them up first!"
Beside Eugene, who loosed arrows alongside his subordinates, Homi was demonstrating a terrifying rate of fire.
"Insane!"
"Squire, isn't that against the rules?"
While the tribal warriors twisted at the waist to shoot from horseback, Homi had simply planted both feet and crouched on the horse's back. That way, she could pour down arrows regardless of the mount's direction.
Her long tail constantly shifted, pressing against the horse's back and flank to maintain her balance perfectly.
Two quivers were set at an angle on the saddle for easy drawing.
WHOOSH!
SWISH!
Eugene couldn't help admiring the arrows flying from his right almost once every second.
Gone was the girl who had once worried about being left out of the journey because she lacked knightly training.
In her place was a great warrior whose near-supernatural archery captivated everyone on the battlefield.
The Samur warriors, who had been stuck on the defensive, seized the opening and launched a fierce counterattack into the enemy's flank.
Most of the spear-wielders were already down, and the raksha formation fell into chaos under attacks from both sides.
Sensing his moment, Eugene gave the order to charge.
"Trample them all!"
"I've been waiting for that order!"
Eugene drew his flail and charged at the front; the emboldened heavy cavalry crashed into the rakshas like a wave of sheer weight.
CRUNCH!
CRACK!
The rakshas who collapsed under the swords and arrows that flew from behind were trampled beneath the hooves where they fell.
A hoof crushing a head shattered the skull and sent eyeballs rolling. A hoof landing on a back made the victim spew blood along with scraps of viscera.
Had they decided there was no hope of winning? At the chieftain's sharp cry, the rakshas began retreating in a panic.
"Break off pursuit! Break off pursuit! Halt here!"
Eugene spurred Might and moved to block the van of the allied cavalry.
"We can still fight!"
"They're fleeing toward the forest. I don't want to follow them into their territory, especially when they're not an enemy worth much plunder."
"That is true."
The tribal knights, whose blood had been boiling, grew coolheaded at Eugene's words. They had not even signed a formal contract with the city yet, had they?
They had already achieved their objectives: experience fighting sain and securing the route to Tripol. There was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
'The Black Hand Mercenary Company's fearsome reputation really wasn't exaggerated.'
Falcao, the captain of the merchant caravan's escort, was astonished at the sight of the relief force routing hundreds of rakshas without taking losses.
With the sain's physical prowess combined with so many bamboo spears, even a knightly charge was bound to take casualties.
Yet this relief force had exploited the advantages of mobility and range to their very limits, forcing countless bleeding wounds, and at the decisive moment they had shattered the foe with a single charge.
"Thank you for saving our lives. I'm Falcao, captain of the Latel Mercenary Company."
"Eugene of House Meyer. I was on my way to Tripol when I heard about the attack and came to help."
Falcao vividly remembered the knight at the front who had swung a long polearm and harvested raksha heads.
"We'll leave as soon as the rest of our party catches up. If you need to gather the wounded or recover supplies, hurry. We should be out of here before sunset."
"I know."
Falcao forcibly roused his men, who had collapsed here and there.
They had barely escaped alive from a hellish encirclement. Everyone looked ready to collapse, but they had no time to relax.
"Captain, let's rest for a bit."
"Anyone who wants to spend the night around here can do that."
"..."
Gritting their teeth, the men glanced toward the forest into which the rakshas had vanished, and rose.
A short while later, hesitant figures began to arrive one after another along the highway from which Eugene had ridden.
They had left only a short while earlier, yet their eyes widened at a battlefield already decided and the countless raksha corpses covering it.
"Oh, we're ruined!"
The merchants who had fled wailed aloud at the sight of their shattered wagons and cargoes in utter disarray.
"By custom, the Castle Lord has the right to claim twenty percent of the cargo, but..."
At the Recruiting Officer's troubled words, Eugene shook his head.
"You can't squeeze blood from a stone. If I took anything from them now, I'd only earn resentment after saving their lives."
"A merciful judgment."
The cargoes were not high-value items to begin with, and after being broken and trampled, their worth had fallen further. Better to secure mercy, honor, and gratitude outright than to chase pennies.
"Damn. Nothing useful."
As if disappointed by the lack of plunder, Eugene's men scattered and began searching the raksha corpses.
"That one's still alive there."
THUNK!
"Ghk—!"
As they searched, they also finished off any rakshas that were not quite dead.
"Hey, look at this."
"Huh? What is it?"
When one heavy infantryman flipped over a raksha corpse with his boot, every gaze converged.
A female lay dead, her belly protruding conspicuously. By human reckoning, she appeared to be around seven months along.
"Still just a monster, no matter how you look at it."
No one felt pity. One look at the fox-like faces twisted like demons was enough to kill any sympathy.
Unlike civilized beastkin, their features were markedly bestial. Had Eugene's army lost, those sharp teeth would have been tearing eagerly into human flesh.
Bodies of those who stood roughly a mid-teens height also lay scattered everywhere. For rakshas, who mature faster than humans, their true ages would have been far younger.
"So that's why there were so many. They dragged along everything they could grab."
They might be classified separately as sain, but they were still monsters. There was barely any distinction between combatants and noncombatants among them.
"Hsssss..."
Just then, a pained groan reached everyone's ears. It was the voice of a raksha that had survived.
"Ssssss—."
When the groaning continued, nearby mercenaries looked over. One mercenary stood there with his sword in hand, staring down awkwardly.
"What are you waiting for? Finish it."
"Well, it's a bit..."
None of them were green recruits; they were veterans. The men who gathered with puzzled expressions soon understood why he had hesitated.
"HSSSK—!"
A raksha lay there with both legs broken as though trampled by cavalry and a deep slash across its abdomen.
Between the legs of the female raksha glaring at the surrounding humans with hatred lay four newborn pups.
Umbilical cords ran from three of the pups back into their mother. The fourth had crawled out through the sword wound that split her belly open, almost like a cesarean section.
"..."
"Damn."
Even the veteran mercenaries grimaced at this sight.
The raksha mother continued to make threatening sounds, baring her teeth at the intruders.
In the meantime, a fifth newborn tumbled out from between her legs.
Puk!
One mercenary finally drove his sword through the mother's heart.
The staggering reproductive capacity of the enemies they would have to fight left no room for sentimentality.
Yet even he hesitated to stab the pups, which were still blind and instinctively crawling onto their mother's chest to nurse.
Unlike the cunning, strongly bestial adults, the hairless pups had soft flesh and looked far more like human infants.
"They're just like dog-beastkin babies..."
The mercenary who said it had once been close to a dog beastkin mercenary. He remembered the babies cradled in the arms of a comrade who had retired after becoming a father.
In the end, one of the caravan guards got blood on his hands. Without a moment's hesitation, he cut down the pups with a single stroke.
"This is Samur."
He said it while flicking the blood from his blade. At the edge of the continent, desert and jungle were lands where no one survived without ruthlessness.