Omen 1

Eugene's army, returning to Tripol, received the welcome of the city nobles who had come out beyond the gates.

"I never imagined you would annihilate them to the last."

"He is a knight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who chased them all the way into the Demon Forest. Did you really think the raksha could escape him? I believed in him from the start."

The city nobles beamed as they looked upon the heads newly raised above the gate. For the Raksha were an old evil that had wrought harm over an age.

Tripol, being a port city, had forest and jungle near at hand. The Raksha who ranged those places and fell upon the roads were a terror.

A sain warband that actively used spears, employed simple tactics, and reproduced quickly was more than most mercenary companies dared to face.

Yet if one raised a large army alongside knights and nobles, the creatures simply fled into their own territory.

Pursuing them meant risking getting lost, walking into traps or ambushes, and fighting without any supply base. If the force was routed after that, the city would be left only with losses and resentment.

The head of the merchant guild, who had been contentedly admiring the chieftain's head, rubbed his hands and approached Eugene.

"By any chance, did you skin any Raksha cubs?"

Calling their young "cubs" showed how the locals regarded the species.

"We disposed of them all on the spot."

"What a waste...!"

No matter how vicious a race, they had human shape, and they possessed their own language and script.

Unlike goblins and orcs, which were purely monstrous, or gnolls, which were comparable, they shared many similarities with humans. The young ones, in particular, had even been rather adorable.

-You can sell the skins of the young ones.

-Ah... I'll pass.

Despite the adventurer's advice, even the ruthless Black Hand Tribe declined to skin them.

-I mean, how could you go about wearing something like that?

-We're not so hard up as that.

It was certain that no matter the creature, being adorable counted for something. Even if they were equally hostile, a difference in treatment arose from appearance alone.

The adventurer guiding them had clicked his tongue inwardly. 'Northerners really are soft.'

"We have secured the finest mansion. Please, go in and rest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at once."

Eugene, who had made a cursory report of the expedition's outcome, followed the magistrate's guidance into the city.

By rights, they ought to have discussed in detail how many had been slain and how many had fled into the deep places. Only then could one gauge when they would return.

But since they had pushed all the way into the enemy's territory and exterminated the entire tribe, the report itself ended quickly.

* * *

Samur was composed of three parts: desert; forest and the jungle that followed; and civilized farmland.

The green belt near the coast was rich, but it was ground soaked in just as much ancestral blood. The desperate war against the native races in the early days of settlement marked the first record of Samur's history.

Being arable land, it was home to the greatest number of humans, and it remained safe to this day, thanks to fortified outposts and patrolling troops spread throughout.

The central desert was barren but had ample water sources, and trade routes suitable for the movement of large forces crisscrossed it.

It was the lifeline of Samur's economy, yet only a handful of places were held by humans. Native creatures driven deep into the desert raided the routes constantly. That was why the mercenary trade in Samur flourished whether there was war or not.

Last, there was the forest and jungle. It was uncharted territory stretching to other continents, with nothing of real use to civilization. It, too, was a dangerous region where native races that had lost the struggle against mankind lay in wait.

-Let's grab ourselves a proper fortune!

The mercenaries and knights mostly headed for the desert trade routes. Numerous caravans traveled there under threat from monsters and sain, so the wealth and fame to be won were naturally great.

Cases like Eugene's were rare—entering the forest to annihilate a specific tribe based on intelligence gathered beforehand.

-Thank you for saving us! We were nearly all killed! For monsters to attack this far out—what in the world is going on?

Naturally, not everyone pursued virtue. The mercenary companies were greedy dogs by nature, and knights, too, could turn into robber knights at any moment depending on the state of their purse.

-No need for thanks. It's not as if we came to save you.

-What? What do you mean... Argh!

If you saved survivors, you earned a little reward and favor. But if there were no survivors, you could take the full reward.

-If everyone's gathered their share, clean up.

-Leave the worrying to us, Captain. This is our specialty.

-Heh heh! It's hardly our first time.

After rescuing a caravan under attack, a mercenary company that then killed the survivors as well and arranged the scene to look like a monster's work was nothing out of the ordinary.

On the ordinary trade routes it was a villainy they would never dare, but in times like these, when the whole region was in chaos.

And so, while Eugene's army rested, the companies that had gone out to the far side of the desert began to return one by one.

"There is an unusual abundance of plunder. Does it not look suspicious?"

To Eugene, who eyed several of the mercenary companies with suspicion, the new magistrate gave a bitter smile.

"We have our suspicions too, but evidence is hard to secure. They are experts at erasing any trace that could implicate them. Besides, it would be a problem if incidents like this killed the momentum of the subjugation. The city leadership considers it an unavoidable sacrifice."

The young magistrate clearly disliked it out of his own sense of justice, but reality left him no choice but to accept it.

The city folk welcomed the returnees for the spectacle, while stranded merchants did so for reassurance.

If the forest had a higher proportion of sain, the desert had more monsters. The carts of the imposing mercenaries were laden with hideous heads.

"Desert orcs!"

"Orcs? Aren't they common monsters?"

"Spoken like a foreigner. Noticed the 'desert' in front? Any monster with 'desert' in its name is tough and fearsome."

The Samur people spoke with pride to the merchants come from abroad.

An ordinary orc was slight, about the size of a human woman, and not especially strong. A decent mercenary could reasonably expect to win one-on-one.

A desert orc, however, possessed a huge frame and strength that even a robust man would struggle to handle. Unlike impulsive, undisciplined common orcs, they had been properly tempered beneath the desert sun. Their understanding of patience and restraint made them all the more deadly as soldiers.

From the balcony of the luxurious mansion, Eugene watched the returning subjugation troops.

"I have taken orcs beyond counting, but I have never fought a desert orc."

Rex said, his skin crawling slightly.

"They will be no easy foe."

"You can tell they're strong just from how thick their necks are."

For mercenaries, encountering a species they had never fought before was nothing unusual.

When facing cold weapons—swords, clubs, axes—it was vital to gauge an opponent's strength. If you did not, the moment your weapons met, your own weapon might be flung back and kill you.

In situations like this, many warriors looked first at an opponent's neck. With fighters of similar size, the neck alone could tell you a great deal about how much of a human killing machine the other man was.

And the desert orcs being carried in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now had necks whose severed cross-sections were thicker than their heads.

"Not just the neck. I once dissected one that had been turned into kebab in a Raksha cooking area. The bones were solid, and there was almost no fat even around the abdomen, let alone the limbs."

"Picking through them one by one—your hobbies are as admirable as ever, Sir Knight."

After the battle, while the tribal warriors and mercenaries roamed about looting, Eugene had been inspecting a desert orc corpse.

-Homi. Butcher's knife.

He sliced and pried apart the fellow that had been spitted lengthwise and roasted whole, like a doner kebab.

-Homi. Bone saw.

Homi placed the appropriate tool into the hand Eugene extended behind him.

As befitted a raksha kitchen, the place was littered with brutal implements that would have no business in an ordinary cookery, which made the dissection easy.

Passing subordinates sometimes glimpsed him and recoiled, mistakenly thinking Eugene meant to take a taste.

"They're enemies we may have to fight. Better to know how they're built."

Eugene had learned interrogation techniques through his life as a soldier who operated in the shadows.

So while Rex was no physician, he knew in considerable detail how physical traits translated into movement, strength, and biomechanics.

The better you understood the human body, the easier it was to inflict pain or to kill.

Drawing on that experience, whenever Eugene encountered a humanoid monster he had never faced before, he dissected it. There was far more information to be gained than from simply crossing blades.

"The heart is positioned near the center, and the muscle in front of it is over ten centimeters thick. And extremely tough, at that."

"...Thank you for the valuable information. If it comes to a fight, I shall aim for the neck."

In the meantime, another cheer rang out.

The giant scorpion Eugene had once slain was being carried in. Every joint in its carapace was bristling with embedded spears and the whole thing was smeared with fluids, evidence of what must have been a ferocious battle.

"Mmm."

Amid the noisy voices came a cute little murmur. Homi was asleep with her head pillowed on Eugene's thigh as he lounged at an angle on the long sofa.

Though the luxurious sofa offered abundant space, she was curled into a ball as always, her tail held in her mouth.

Eugene carefully brushed aside the strands of hair that the breeze had let drift onto her face.

Munch, munch.

"Seems she's dreaming."

"There's something I've been wondering for a while. Why does your squire hold her tail in her mouth?"

Rex crouched down in front of the sleeping Homi, looking fascinated.

"I did ask her about it once."

"Tell me. I'm curious."

"She said it's to organize her senses."

Eugene brought his index finger close to the tip of Homi's pert nose.

Twitch, twitch!

Sniff, sniff!

Even though he did not touch her, her nose reacted at once. It moved as if tracking the scent of her revered lord.

"You know she's got incredibly sharp senses, don't you?"

"A blessing from the gods. Extraordinary martial prowess preserves one's own body, but keen senses save the lives of an entire unit."

Rex, who had benefited from that very fact countless times, nodded with respect.

That was why, her position as Eugene's squire aside, she was treated as something of a mascot among Eugene's forces.

"But she's so sensitive that it also causes her stress. Every kind of sensory input becomes irritating. At its worst, she says it feels like swarms of insects are buzzing at her through every sense at once—hearing, smell, touch."

"It sounds bothersome just to imagine."

During ovulation, those senses became even sharper. Even the touch of clothes against her skin could become irritating.

"She told me that biting her tail at such times lets her redirect those heightened senses. Much like closing one's eyes."

She confined the overwhelming cocktail of scents, the expanded sense of space, and the maddeningly fine tactile input to her mouth and tail.

"For Homi, biting her tail is an act of closing herself off from the world. Another version of how people close their eyes, you could say."

"So that is why she naturally bites it even in her sleep."

Twitch, twitch.

Even in slumber, her nose kept reacting. It was because of the smells exuded by all the different groups entering the city gates.

Judging by the fact that virtually no parties were returning empty-handed, the entire trade route must have grown dangerous.

Yet not all reports were of victory. Battle always took its toll.

"Urghhh."

"Captain! Hold on just a little longer! We're almost there!"

"What are you all gawking at?! Fetch a physician, now!"

Grievously wounded warriors were carried in as well—men who had fought fellow humans, or who had been hunted by monsters in turn.

All of this had been anticipated, but it became a problem when the shattered remnants of the Jackdaw Mercenary Company staggered in, groaning with pain.

In Samur, it was common for mercenary companies to take their names from animals, and naturally, the more magnificent or ferocious the animal, the stronger the company.

A weak company that styled itself after a rattlesnake would be ridiculed by stronger ones. Its name might even be stolen outright.

The jackdaw was a highly sought-after name, and accordingly, the company bearing it was a powerful force numbering four hundred strong.

Yet the survivors numbered fewer than fifty, and even they were all gravely wounded.

Rex's eyes narrowed. He could see the wounded men's injuries blackening with rot. Homi, too, was already awake, roused by the dangerous stench.

"What in the world happened? How could a company of your caliber come to this?!"

The magistrate came rushing out. Free cities always needed armed force, so a large mercenary company on friendly terms with the city was something the authorities carefully cultivated.

"The champion! The champion has appeared!"

His voice trembling, the centurion of the Jackdaw Mercenary Company—newly elevated to captain after both the captain and vice-captain died—cried out.

Champion or hero—such figures were not the sole province of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠humans. They were a blessing and a right shared by every people that lived in groups.

A being like the gnoll chieftain whom Eugene's army had struck down in the Shield Mountains had now appeared in Samur as well.

"A champion?! Are you certain of this?"

"Look at us! Do you think we would talk nonsense in this state?"

"N-no! Of course not! First, get to the infirmary, quickly!"

As he led the scribes and guards to escort the wounded, the magistrate stole a brief glance up at Eugene on the balcony.

"Looks like more work has come looking for us just when I was about to get some rest."

"If what the Jackdaw Mercenary Company says is true, this is an emergency."

A champion was powerful in its own right, but the true threat lay in its ability to unite foes who would otherwise act alone.

"Even so, it seems a bit too frequent, doesn't it?"

Even as he spoke, Eugene had an inkling.

-Like the ebb and flow of the tide, the mortal realm and the Otherworld draw near and recede in turn. Summoners call the period when they grow closer the spiritual tide.

-Even from that rough explanation, it sounds decidedly bad for the world.

-You are not wrong. During a spiritual tide, events that lie beyond human perception tend to increase.

Recalling the conversation he had once had with Marbas, Eugene looked up at the sky. In a world without pollution, it was clear regardless of the weather.

Yet for some time now, he had felt as though an unknowable veil had been drawn across the heavens.

There had even been a time when, even though the sun had risen bright, he had nearly closed his eyes again, thinking, 'Is it still night?'

Even after the light had swept away the darkness, something lingered, pressing down upon the earth from the sky. It could hardly be a good omen for the people of the world.

"I've never seen a lamia like that! Everyone just collapsed in a row, unable to put up any resistance!"

One member of the Jackdaw Mercenary Company, half out of his mind with terror, babbled incoherently. The calamity that had struck Samur this time appeared to be a female warrior with the body of a serpent.

As a mage who understood the Mysteries of the Otherworld, Eugene contemplated the changes coming over the world.

Sniff, sniff.

Homi memorized the serpent scent clinging to the survivors, preparing for the battle to come.

Rex looked toward the place where the Wandering Castle lay, and toward his compatriots who would be active in the Roman Kingdom.

'I've made every preparation I can.'

It was an ominous age indeed, but Rex was not afraid. As sub-chieftain, he had secured an ark that could preserve his clan.

All that remained was to stand proudly as a warrior beside the knight he had chosen to follow.