Struggle for Survival 3
Struggle for Survival 3
"Ah, all right. I get it."
Denver hastily stepped back.
'Pointy-eared folk and their cursed tempers, honestly.'
Denver knew well the fearsome reputation of the Black Hand Mercenary Company. Though why they had suddenly descended upon Samur was a mystery.
Besides, now that he thought about it, this was a stroke of luck. Once the heat of the moment cooled, it occurred to him that with their commanding knight absent, they ought to clear out.
"We have wounded to tend to, so we'll take our leave now. Truly, thank you for saving our li—"
Just as Denver was about to withdraw with a convenient excuse, he spotted the heavy cavalry blocking his retreat. The tribal warriors had already deployed themselves so as to surround the Mongoose Mercenary Company.
"No one leaves before the knight gives his leave."
Rex spoke with an expression of utter scorn.
At a glance it looked like they were merely securing the perimeter, but the intent was clear: they were ready to unleash a volley of encirclement fire at the slightest wrong move.
"What in the world is the meaning of this?"
Denver immediately challenged him. He had become a captain almost by accident, and his control and standing with his own men were shaky. It was a problem if they kept seeing him get disrespected like this. Even if he was scared, this was the moment to push back hard.
"You think I didn't know you'd try to bolt with the plunder?"
"..."
The amount of goods the small-folk had plundered from their victims was considerable.
They had devoured all the food that had been loaded on the wagons, people and livestock included. But the precious metals and various marketable goods remained untouched.
The Mongoose Mercenary Company, even while being surrounded and pummeled by the small-folk, had somehow managed to secure those things for themselves.
His men had shrewdly concealed expensive items all over their bodies, but it was impossible to escape the sharp eyes of the tribal warriors.
"I'd like to take eighty percent of the plunder as the price of your lives, but I'm not the one who sets the price. So wait until the knight comes out."
"This is Samur! We're employed by the city too. Do you really think outsiders can pull something like this and get away with it?"
Unable to overcome the difference in raw strength, he tried bluffing with connections, but Rex did not so much as blink.
"Then try us."
"..."
"Do you imagine we hear such words once or twice? Our clan has roamed the world as outsiders our entire lives. We sell our strength, and we always collect what is owed."
Denver had no recourse, even as his standing evaporated in front of his men. If a fight happened to break out, these people would turn them into pincushions as if they had been waiting for just that.
It was a perfect chance to seize everything in the name of self-defense. Weren't these the very sort who'd skewer even a noble if they weren't paid?
To be honest, if their positions were reversed, he would have done far worse.
"Fine. I will speak to your captain directly."
Denver stared toward the tent, feeling like he was grasping at a straw. Surely a knight would show more generous mercy than a mercenary who would stab a man over a single silver coin.
* * *
An attitude that prized tradition was a universal virtue across all ages and lands. This was even more pronounced in this era, where a family's history directly constituted its prestige.
The Black Hand Clan, meanwhile, held tradition precious for reasons beyond their immense pride.
These were skills and knowledge developed over dozens of generations while making their living as mercenaries and assassins.
It was because they could only be preserved one hundred percent intact within the vessel known as tradition, not on ink or paper.
Physical training methods, disguise arts, skeletal transformation techniques, scouting, shamanic arts, prophecy, herbology, astronomy, medicine, alchemy, curses, purification rites, beast breeding, trapcraft, and more.
The members diligently honed these arts day and night, in order to wholly embody within their own flesh the knowledge perfected through the sacrifices of their ancestors.
"Things like herbology are widely useful and relatively easy to learn. Most of the tribe members receive education in it."
"That I know well."
At Cassandra's words, Eugene recalled the scene he saw daily at the Wandering Castle.
Whenever the castle anchored and the safety of the surrounding area was secured, the women of the tribe would take the children out foraging.
Since the places where the Wandering Castle descended were far from human settlements, precious medicinal herbs, spices, and ingredients remained in abundance.
Mother to daughter, aunt to nephew, elder sister to younger brother.
Watching them teach the children how to identify and gather useful plants was one of Eugene's favorite little pleasures. Whenever he drank tea on the Castle Lord's balcony, the sight warmed both his eyes and his heart.
They, for their part, were content in the feeling of being protected beneath their lord's gaze.
A little distance away, the adolescents trained themselves voluntarily, swinging wooden swords or shooting bows.
Now and then, the adults would teach them how to properly dress the beasts they had hunted down.
-Never touch the bladder. If it bursts, the meat will be ruined. And the intestines from here to here can be eaten. Below this part they taste foul, so throw them to the wolves or dogs as feed if you've brought any along.
Whenever he touched his dagger to various points of a fresh carcass with muscles still faintly twitching, they would all watch with sparkling, luminous eyes.
Eugene's wandering thoughts were brought to a halt by Cassandra's continuing explanation.
"In contrast to the skills everyone learns, there are also arts that only the chosen few are permitted to attempt. They are difficult to learn, demand a specific aptitude, and require a great deal of expense."
"Even if they're demanding, the hardship is worth bearing. They're precious legacies developed through our ancestors' blood and sweat."
"Yes. They must never be allowed to die out."
There was a deep meaning in the inheritance of the clan's unique arts. At Eugene's response, which showed his respect for that meaning, Cassandra smiled as well.
"This is Ophelia, heir to one of the secret arts famed as especially difficult."
"She's not a dark elf?"
The one who had been waiting inside the tent was an elf, just like Varda.
"Please forgive the rudeness of concealing myself until now. I formally greet you now that I can look upon the Castle Lord's face."
Ophelia, who appeared to be just barely past her coming-of-age, bowed deeply.
"It's all right. For a precious art's sake, formalities are no better than wrapping paper."
"Thank you for saying so. And please, look without reserve. Though you must have already heard from Lady Cassandra."
Was she naturally cold? Ophelia's expression did not change in the slightest even while exposing her intimate parts to an unfamiliar man.
'She's a soldier before she's a shaman, I see.'
The sight of a young-faced lady holding a posture akin to parade rest while fully nude. The dizzying spectacle provoked as much awkwardness as it did eroticism.
"You seem to have been puzzled by Ophelia's body."
In the Black Hand Clan, it was standard for not only retired warriors but also those learning non-combat crafts—cooking, processing, shamanic arts—to rigorously condition their bodies.
Yet Ophelia's body remained soft, without a single bulging or knotted muscle.
"Due to the nature of her ability, she must not develop her muscles."
"Hypnosis... of some variety, it seems."
"You are quick to perceive indeed."
Distinctive tattoos covered Ophelia's pure-white naked body. They were not excessive like irezumi; instead, they looked dreamlike, as though someone had painted a dream across her skin.
"The tattoos on her body, a simple incantation, scented candles, and the suggestions conveyed through her gaze and dance. Those four elements combine into a powerful shamanic art that controls the target's mind."
Cassandra gazed at Ophelia with trust and pride. She seemed to cherish this subordinate deeply.
"It must have been very painful."
Piercing the skin and injecting special alchemical substances was an agonizing process.
He recalled the tribal children from not long ago, shedding tears as they did the splits for flexibility training. Ophelia's ordeal must have been on an entirely different level.
"It is the price of carrying my clan's treasure in my own body. Pain is something I can accept with a smile. Nor am I the only one. There are others in the House who undergo even harsher ordeals."
"She's a really remarkable child, isn't she?"
Observing Eugene's still-somewhat-bitter expression, Cassandra guessed what he was thinking.
"Are you perhaps thinking that she might suffer for all these tattoos covering her body when the day comes that she meets someone she loves?"
"Was it that obvious?"
"Compassion is an emotion that easily reveals itself on the face. But there is no need to worry."
Cassandra moved behind Ophelia and warmly cupped her shoulders.
"Ophelia's tattoos make her more alluring than any makeup in the world could."
That surely meant the power of the tattoos themselves was that potent.
"Even people with iron wills turn into lust-maddened mercenaries before this child. A noble knight abandons his loyalty, a devout priest worships her as a new god, and even a berserker drunk on violence finds his boiling blood calmed."
"Incredible. If it can even work on monsters, then that's already a power that surpasses the bounds of simple hypnosis."
A rare field of magic known as monster taming did exist. It probably wasn't on par with a mage who had fully specialized in that direction, but it was a tremendous ability in terms of its sheer versatility.
The small-folk who would soon become the target of that ability lay tied up and beaten unconscious by the tribal warriors.
'Seen up close, they really are nauseatingly ugly.'
As hideously twisted as any goblin, their skin was shriveled and their teeth were like those of piranhas.
"If there is anything you are curious about, please ask freely. I have heard the Castle Lord is both a knight and a mage. Surely you must be curious about the mysteries."
"Then I won't hold back. The reason you brought in a separate elf to pass down such a powerful secret art—it's because of the tattoos, isn't it?"
It was unusual to bring in an outsider rather than someone born into the House and teach them such a valuable art.
"Yes. As you can see, it is a sorcery where the visual effect of the tattoos is crucial. Our existing family members, you understand..."
Ophelia trailed off, glancing at Cassandra. Dark elves, who possessed dark skin, found it difficult to properly utilize the visual effects of tattoos.
Yet dark elves were a race whose pride pierced the heavens even more than elves. Admitting they had to rely on outsiders due to physical limitations must have been a prickly thing to say.
"It's all right. It's all right."
Cassandra, however, seemed entirely unbothered.
"But if pale skin is so important, you'd have plenty of options without needing an elf specifically."
This was what Eugene was truly curious about. It was easy to forget because of Varda, but fundamentally, elves and dark elves were sworn enemies.
"If pale skin were the only requirement, finding someone would not be difficult. But hypnosis is a delicate art whose effect can be diminished by the smallest thing. Discoloration of the skin, of course, but even unnecessary body hair can interfere with the spell."
"Ah!"
"Would the Castle Lord prefer 99% or 100%?"
"100%, obviously."
Apart from the hair on their heads, eyebrows, and eyelashes, the two sister races of elves and dark elves grew no hair on their bodies.
-Sir Knight, how about trying to grow a beard sometime?
-Why?
-I thought it might suit you well. Whatever else may be, we do have a bit of a romantic notion about beards. We envy you.
When they bathed together after combat training, looking around, the tribal warriors were all smooth. So Eugene often felt like the lone primitive among them.
Body hair accounted for a large share of the many reasons dark elves held humans in contempt.
"Look. Isn't it beautiful? A cleanliness that humans could never hope to match."
"...Lady Cassandra."
Cassandra lifted Ophelia's arm, exposing her armpit.
For the first time, a ripple crossed her marble-like expression. Her cheeks warmed faintly, and the tips of her ears flushed quite noticeably.
"You don't need to show me that."
"I thought you might be curious."
Eugene looked thoroughly nonplussed, Cassandra was shamelessly smooth, and Ophelia's eyelashes fluttered.
She had been utterly composed when she showed them the raspberries of the upper valley or the figs of the lower valley, yet apparently her armpits embarrassed her.
"Karrrrk-!"
At that moment, the small-folk that had regained consciousness began to snarl.
"Shall we begin the interrogation now?"
Seizing the moment, Ophelia sought permission, and Eugene nodded.
"I'll quiet it down first."
Ophelia thrust her long, slender leg before the small-folk's face.
"Wait, that's dangerous!"
Eugene cried out in alarm. Though the small-folk's body was bound, its teeth had not been muzzled.
"Grrrr-!"
The small-folk, which had been lunging forward as if to tear into the beautiful foot, stopped dead. Its bulging eyes were fixed upon the patterns that began on the instep of her foot.
"Kee...iii..."
It struggled desperately to avert its gaze from the tattoo, but its neck and eyes were forcibly locked onto Ophelia's instep.
Jingle.
Ophelia shook her foot lightly, and the bell bound to her anklet chimed. With that, the small-folk's resistance crumbled entirely. It became docile, its face blank and entranced as if its soul had fled.
Withdrawing her foot, Ophelia lit an antique-looking pipe and drew deeply.
The lips that sucked in the smoke and the motion itself were intensely provocative. Her demure mouth, too, had curled up before she knew it, gazing down at the small-folk with a taunting smile.
Before Eugene's eyes, she seemed in an instant to have become another woman. As though a single, pure white lily bud had suddenly bloomed into a crimson rose.
It was like the way a gentle swordsman could become a different person the moment he gripped a blade, or a quiet mage the moment they began chanting a spell.
"Hoooh."
White smoke streamed from Ophelia's lips. Whether through special training or not, her lung capacity was extraordinary.
There was no acrid tobacco stench whatsoever in that breath. A sweet, yet somehow cloying fragrance filled the tent.
"Will you tell me what I wish to know?"
A single phrase.
Ophelia's voice became a spiritual tether that subdued the small-folk captive's psyche.
"Kee...iik-!"
Another one, which had just awakened, bit its lip and resisted, but it was only the beginning.
Ophelia wrapped her slender arms around herself and tilted her head to one side.
Beside the cascade of her hair, the slight twist of her shoulders and hips formed a beautiful asymmetry.
Eugene felt the red tattoos that traced from her deeply indrawn waist past her shoulder blades writhe.
"Ophelia's sorcery affects even those nearby."
"You're saying we'll be caught up in it?"
"Yes. But it is fine. Only the target she aims for will suffer harm. Rather, those observing nearby..."
Cassandra paused briefly and smiled a subtle, suggestive smile.
"...are each granted a different, pleasurable experience."
No sooner had Cassandra finished speaking than a transformation began. A great lily bloomed from Ophelia's back.
Flutter!
Petals filling the cramped tent drifted toward Eugene's face.
The pistils within them swayed coquettishly, creating the illusion of women's hands lovingly caressing his face.
'Is this an illusion? Or is it real?'
Eugene's powerful soul held fast to his sense of self like a dam built of diamond. Even so, he could no longer tell whether the flower before him was real.
All he knew was that the petals and pistils constantly tickling his neck and face felt pleasant, as did the deep fragrance filling his lungs—whether it was real or illusion.
"Hmm-hmm~."
Cassandra, her arm linked with Eugene's, had her eyes gently shut. What illusion was she witnessing?
While Eugene and Cassandra were being caressed by gentleness, the small-folk was crumbling.
"Keee..."
Torn between dreadful terror and intense pleasure, the small-folk drooled tears and saliva in the torrent of those two opposing emotions.
"Yield up what I desire. Your family. Your comrades. Even your dreams. Offer them all to me."
Ophelia had dyed this space into her own domain. Her voice was steeped in profound mystery.
'Similar to me, yet different.'
It was not as powerful as the Eucharist Eugene used, but it carried a similar quality.
"■■■ ■■■ ■■■■."
"What else?"
"■■■■■."
Ophelia could understand the exhaustive stream of words. The hypnosis included Ophelia herself among its targets, linking her to the subdued mind.
Since she was spiritually and psychically linked to the small-folk whose psyche had been subdued, she could comprehend their imagery beyond language.
This alone was a skill impossible even for the handful of mages capable of commanding monsters. They could give orders, but could not understand the minds of monsters.
It was a secret art truly worth its weight in gold.
"Honestly, using it on souls as feeble as small-folk isn't much fun. Do look forward to the day I use it on a human. It's truly a sight to behold, I assure you."
Wearing a beautiful yet cruel smile, Cassandra chuckled.
* * *
Leaving the small-folk captive behind, deranged and covered in tears, snot, and urine, Eugene and the others stepped outside.
"The next destination has been decided."
At Eugene's words, everyone who had been waiting outside listened intently.
"Thanks to Ophelia, we've learned where the small-folk are holed up and the location of the Raksha settlement they were raiding. Apparently, a considerable amount of wealth is there."
"In their hands, it could only rot."
"It is only right that we collect it."
The mercenaries and tribal warriors raised cheers and shouts of approval.
"But why are those fellows still here? Is it too dangerous to return alone?"
Eugene looked at the Mongoose mercenaries standing at rigid attention.
"We haven't collected the price for saving their lives yet."
"Ah, I thought it might be something else. Rex, you could have determined that yourself."
"That would have been overstepping my authority. Besides, this man wished to negotiate directly with you, Sir Knight."
"Hmm."
Eugene thought for a moment, then finished his calculation and nodded.
"I grant permission for you to collect the gear of your fallen comrades."
"..."
In short, it meant they were to leave all the spoils taken from the small-folk behind. Even Rex looked at Eugene with an expression of admiration.
"What's the matter?"
"Ah, no—are you telling us to return empty-handed?"
"If you wish, you may take some small-folk ears or noses back with you. You can present them to the city as proof of your cooperation in the subjugation. They'll likely give you an extra allowance."
A large, well-trained frame, splendid armor, a majestic black cloak. His appearance was the very model of an honorable knight, yet his actions were those of a merchant.
At a split even harsher than the one Rex had proposed, Denver and his men nearly wept.