Struggle for Survival 1
Struggle for Survival 1
'It looks like it's been torn off in chunks here and there.'
These were not wounds that could be inflicted by humans or weapon-wielding creatures like lizardmen or rakshas.
"What caused those? Any monster come to mind?"
"Well, we're not terribly knowledgeable about the local monsters either."
Samur had the greatest biodiversity of any region on the continent. Even the experienced Rex had no answer for the unfamiliar wounds. It wasn't a region he normally worked in anyway.
"Is that kind of mouth structure even possible?"
"The cross-section is remarkably clean for something torn by teeth, isn't it?"
When putting their heads together yielded no answer, Eugene pulled out a copper coin and approached a traveler who had arrived with the wounded.
The desert trade route leading from Tripol had once been extremely safe, but now people had to travel in groups. Traveling it alone was suicide.
"Might I ask you something? Take this for your trouble."
"Ah, thank you kindly."
No traveler would ever turn down easy money.
"We rescued them from captivity among the small-folk."
"That one, you mean?"
Eugene nodded toward the small corpse impaled on a stake at the city entrance. Even though considerable time had passed, an alchemist hired by the city had sprayed preservative on it, so it had not decayed.
"That's right. They're normally creatures that live deep in the jungle and don't come out. But lately, something's gotten into them, and they've started coming down near the roads. So people who let their guard down met with disaster."
Much of the civilian damage occurring now came from people acting according to old standards. At present, the sphere of human territory in Samur had shrunk far more than one might think.
"They look like unmistakable monsters, but they take captives? Instead of just killing on the spot?"
"You can call them captives, but think of them as preserved food. As you can see, they aren't big eaters."
"Well, they are small-bodied."
"And yet their palate is so finicky they can't eat spoiled meat. Honestly, they're creatures that are hard to even classify as monsters."
Monster was the catch-all term for creatures too aberrant to fit within the category of beasts.
Civilized peoples with humanlike forms and visible animal traits were classified as beastkin.
The sain existed somewhere between monsters and beastkin.
There were also demi-human races like elves or dwarves that belonged to neither category.
These were all classification systems devised to suit human understanding. But this alone was insufficient to distinguish the countless species living in the world.
The small-folk were an indigenous people who had lived there since before the Samur people crossed over from foreign lands and seized the region.
They were as savage and fierce as monsters, but they possessed a culture of their own. Their digestive organs and immune systems were similar to humans', so they would get sick if they ate rotten meat.
"Those creatures can't just scavenge and eat anything like orcs or goblins. They also lack the ability to preserve meat with salt as we do. But they do have a certain cruelty."
"You mean they tie them up alive and carve off flesh whenever they want to eat?"
"Yes."
Indeed, their viciousness matched their appearance and exceeded all imagination.
"But wouldn't that cause death from excessive bleeding or shock?"
"They keep captives half out of their minds on hallucinogenic mushrooms, then cauterize the wounds with fire. I've heard they have other secret methods for keeping victims alive for quite a long time. Even savage monsters tend to have at least one specialized skill of their own, don't they?"
Even goblins had been known to display strange talents, such as digging tunnels that left no trace or offering up some of their own as sacrifices to form alliances with stronger monsters.
Naturally, the indigenous species of Samur, with their long history, each possessed their own unique secret arts. Moreover, they harbored a deep grudge against humanity, which had stolen their original home.
"Those people were lucky, relatively speaking. In worse cases, victims have been found with roughly half their body weight remaining."
The traveler shuddered as if the mere thought made his skin crawl.
"And still breathing, at that."
"So there was a reason they put the small-folk on stakes while mounting the others' severed heads. Thank you for the explanation."
It seemed the city had given them special treatment because they were such vicious creatures.
Afterward, whenever Eugene saw wounded being carried in from the trade route, he would offer copper coins to their traveling companions and gather information.
Since they weren't exactly comrades but had merely accompanied one another for safety, the travelers readily spilled information without any sign of discomfort.
"What a ridiculous variety of races."
Rex wore a fed-up expression.
Though the Black Hand Mercenary Company had extensive combat experience, in Samur, straying even a little from the areas they normally traveled was enough to encounter something new.
"It's fortunate that you're archers."
At times like this, fighting from a distance was absolutely the best policy.
* * *
A few more days passed, and the mercenaries and free knights who had been waiting in the city began to sortie. They had not been specifically requested by the city; they simply coveted the spoils.
This was an age without any concept of lost property. In a sense, bandits and monsters were the mercenaries' benefactors.
Aside from providing work, any goods those creatures seized from travelers and merchants immediately became ownerless plunder.
Losses among travelers had piled up considerably, so it was about time for mercenaries to start thinking, 'Maybe it's time to collect?'
As it happened, there were also many who needed to leave the city in haste, and so they began to depart one after another, forming conditional escort contracts with those whose routes overlapped.
From the city's perspective, it welcomed those who left on their own like this, as it had no need to pay them separate employment fees.
By contrast, those like Eugene's army—more interested in various concessions and their relationship with the city than in petty loot—waited for a formal request.
"Samur really doesn't seem to suit us."
"I'm dying of restlessness."
The tribal warriors grumbled as they waited. In other regions they could ride horses and enjoy the hunt, but here they were confined within the city.
Outside was either desert or jungle, so hunting as recreation was impossible. In the current chaotic circumstances, simply venturing out constituted a military operation.
And Eugene had forbidden all combat activity until there was an official deployment.
"We're quite satisfied."
"Try some of this fried food. It's genuinely delicious."
The human mercenaries, on the other hand, were perfectly content with city life, full of unfamiliar foods and diversions.
"Sir Knight! A sortie request has come in from the city."
Then the long-awaited moment arrived, and Rex came running at full speed.
"Adventurers out scouting say they've discovered a raksha settlement."
In an instant, the face of the female chieftain retreating with an indignant expression flashed through Eugene's mind.
"Is it the ones we fought?"
"Yes. And the situation has turned interesting. Word must have spread through the wilds that they were dealt a heavy blow in that last battle and are now weakened."
"You don't mean?"
Rex grinned and pointed at the various monster corpses hanging at the city entrance.
"I do mean exactly that. Word is that rival creatures saw the rakshas as easy prey and are attacking them."
It was not strange news at all. Even humans fought each other every other day over trivial interests.
Much less the wilds, where neither loyalty nor diplomacy existed. In the war of all against all, the moment one showed weakness, one merely became a meal.
"If that's the case, wouldn't it be better to let them keep tearing at each other? I don't see the need for us to intervene so early."
"Well, they say it hasn't reached all-out war yet. Small-scale raids and skirmishes are happening frequently. But if we leave it like this, the rakshas who can't hold out may simply hide even deeper."
Even if they disappeared for now, they would inevitably return once time passed.
"So the idea is to strike now, when they're at their most exhausted, and deal them a crippling blow?"
"Precisely."
Eugene mustered the troops. The mercenaries who had been scattered throughout the city enjoying their leave immediately returned to duty. It was the mark of true veterans that they recovered their military bearing at once, without a moment of slackness.
A bit of weight might have been gained from all the fried food, but that would quickly come off once they started rolling around vigorously.
"Did everyone bring what was ordered?"
"Yes."
Both the tribal warriors and the mercenaries held up their insect mesh. It was a kind of net covering the head and neck. The limitations of the craft meant it was not especially fine, but it was very sturdy instead.
"It's just a scrap of cloth, not even a chain coif, yet why is it so damned expensive."
"It's not like you bought it with your own money, anyway."
"Heh-heh. That is true."
Having to pay for everything out of one's own pocket was the life of a warrior in this era.
There were no employers like Eugene, who provided not only provisions but also expendables such as arrows, bolts, and other combat supplies free of charge.
"You must wear this once we enter the forest. Understand it's not simply to keep bugs away."
"We haven't only been playing around either. We've been going around listening to stories."
One of the mercenaries balled his fist, put it to his mouth, and mimed blowing sharply. Puff!
"A blowgun, I think they call it? I've heard about them often from mercenary friends from Samur. They say the power is weak, so they poison the darts."
"Those friends who were captured alive and being eaten, and then rescued—they'd been hit by those too."
Eugene nodded.
"They can't penetrate even a simple gambeson, so they'll aim for the face or neck. If you just use that mesh properly, you can block almost all of them. Put it on the moment the order is given."
"Understood."
Varda approached and added a word.
"I examined the affected areas of the wounded and managed to identify the poisons used to some extent."
At her side were the female warriors Cassandra had provided.
As skirmishers who fought on foot, many of them were versatile, and some were rangers professionally trained in wilderness survival.
At Eugene's instruction, they had attached cloth patches marked with a red cross to their arms. At their waists dangled pouches and bottles filled with various medicines.
"We've also prepared antidotes, though they aren't perfect. If it comes to it, seek help from them."
"..."
The mercenaries listening were momentarily struck speechless.
They had watched the local mercenaries they had befriended in the city for information exchange head out on sorties. Those men went into the danger zone in exactly their usual gear.
Now look at themselves, receiving meticulous support in all sorts of ways to prepare for danger. The contrast between their situations was stark.
'I want to keep serving like this.'
The mercenaries were not merely intoxicated by victory, plunder, or adventure.
The sensation of being protected. That sensation, which they had never even imagined feeling in a mercenary's life, filled them with piercing joy.
* * *
The city of Tripol assigned an experienced adventurer to every mercenary company above a certain size.
"You have good skill. I was puzzled when you led us off the main road, but to think there was a shortcut like this."
"The route is faster, and the water sources on this side are cleaner."
"Indeed. The city selected an excellent adventurer for us."
"It's nothing but a trifling knack. It cannot compare to those under your command, Sir Knight."
At Eugene's praise, the adventurer bowed his head deeply.
Mercenaries basically earned money through combat and escort work. It was a profession built around high risk and high return.
Adventurers specialized in odd jobs like pathfinding, foraging, delivery, and various errands.
-Brats who've never even taken a knife to the ribs, acting up.
-Watch your eyes. How dare you try to match yourself with us?
Because mercenaries took pride in risking their lives for work, they often looked down on adventurers. To outsiders, though, both groups were simply roughnecks who would do anything for money.
However, unlike in other regions, adventurers were treated as valuable in Samur.
Because of the region's nature, adventurers worked in places more dangerous than those faced by most ordinary mercenaries, risking their lives in the process.
Without the information and knowledge adventurers brought back, mercenary mortality would soar. That had fostered a relationship of mutual recognition and respect.
"We're here. From now on, consider this a danger zone."
It was a boundary where a small stream flowed and vegetation began.
"This was a campsite often used along the trade route. Originally, I would have said you'd need to go another four days in from here before it started getting dangerous..."
Broken carts and the skeletal remains of horses swayed in the wind. At the altered sight of his homeland, the adventurer's face grew troubled.
"Did everyone hear? Stay sharp from this moment on."
At Eugene's words, some of the mercenaries put on their insect mesh before the order was even given.
Just then, a sharp scream rang out from beyond the jungle.
"That's a human scream."
No sooner had Rex finished speaking than trees and underbrush quite a distance away shook violently. Panicked shouts and the noise of battle echoed forth.
Neighhh!
And a horse with an empty saddle burst out of the forest.
"Whoa, whoa!"
One of the tribal warriors hurriedly approached and calmed the horse, bringing it to a halt.
"What's this?"
Embedded in its sweat-soaked rump and flank were several finger-sized black quills, quivering.
"..."
"..."
At the sight, the other mercenaries began putting on their mesh on their own.
The quills themselves were of a size and shape that did not look terribly painful. But they were so blackly discolored that no one would ever wish to be struck by one, not even for a gold coin.