Omen 4
Omen 4
Dead or dying lamias and orcs lay scattered across the battlefield.
"Guuuh..."
An orc whose legs had been severed at the thighs crawled desperately along the ground. A mercenary with a spear followed behind.
The orc knew death was approaching as the footsteps drew nearer from behind, but it made no plea for its life.
It was not particularly brave. The very concepts of surrender and mercy were profoundly foreign to it.
This orc had once split open a living human's belly, buried its face inside, and eaten the entrails. It had raised its head only when the heartbeat pulsing against its forehead began to weaken.
-Cough... G-God...
The human had despaired at the sight of his own entrails being chewed inside that hideous maw. The orc had treated the expression and screams like seasoning, savoring the rich taste and chewy texture.
Could a being like this even conceive of begging an enemy for surrender or mercy?
In a different sense from death knights, orcs neither surrendered nor accepted surrender. Whether escape was possible or not, they simply kept running until they were stabbed in the back.
"Die cleanly."
With a short shout, the mercenary thrust his spear through the orc's back.
The mercenary, having retrieved his weapon from the corpse, spotted a lamia a short distance away.
"Wait. We were ordered to finish lamias in pairs, no exceptions."
A nearby comrade approached, shield raised.
The serpentine body, too badly wounded to move, lay stretched out long. The lamia had barely managed to prop up her upper body with both arms.
A forked tongue flicked threateningly through blood-smeared lips. A beautiful woman's face glared at the warriors who had come to take her life.
It had a human woman's upper body, but little intelligence and no speech. Its snake-like hissing was drowned out by the louder sounds around it.
Rattle-rattle-rattle!
The honey-colored rattle at the tip of the lamia's tail vibrated noisily. Given its size, it was much louder than a rattlesnake.
Rattle-rattle... Thunk!
The moment the spear pierced its throat, the rattling ceased.
"Think we could get some coin selling those tails?"
"Dunno. First lamia for me too... The slick-skins would know, wouldn't they?"
Slick-skins was the nickname Eugene's human mercenaries used for the dark elves.
-Slick-skins? Surely you're not referring to us?
-Unlike ugly bastards like us, your skin's so clean. Not a single pimple, not a single blemish.
-Hmph!
They'd passed it off as praise for the dark elves' fine skin, but the dark elves knew perfectly well that the nickname carried another meaning.
Normally it might have ended in drawn blades, but now they let it pass with a snort. A sense of comradeship had taken root between them—an astonishing change.
"Hey there, human. It's not over yet."
A tribal warrior halted the mercenaries as they passed the dead lamia.
"What are you talking about? We definitely killed it."
The dark elf, who had been looking at them with a face full of exasperation, dismounted.
"Don't be fooled by appearances. It may have a human woman's upper body, but a snake is still a snake. It's an egg-laying monster."
"It lays eggs, so what? Ah!"
The dark elf, passing by the mercenary who had just had a sudden realization, placed the tip of his blade against the serpentine body.
"One, two, three, four, five..."
Drag, drag.
Counting the repeating pattern, he moved the blade along until he reached a particular spot.
Stab!
He drove the blade in and cut away a chunk of flesh. White eggs larger than a man's fist spilled out.
"Good heavens!"
"W-Will all of these hatch?"
To the mercenaries who stared with shocked faces, the tribal warrior shook his head.
"Not all of them. Even among fertilized eggs, maybe thirty or forty percent. Healthy eggs keep growing inside a dead mother until they hatch. Then the young tear into the mother's corpse and feed on it."
CRUNCH!
The tribal warrior stomped on the eggs, crushing them. Great globs of yolk and white mixed together and oozed out.
"Tuscany."
At the tribal warrior's call, his horse trotted over eagerly and lapped up the mess. Each greedy sweep of its tongue sent another mouthful of raw egg down its throat.
"Think you could show me the trick again?"
"Tch! Can't understand it after one look? This is why humans... Watch closely. Follow this pattern and you'll find two triangular markings side by side."
Though he clicked his tongue irritably, the tribal warrior carefully taught them where the eggs lay and how to cut open the hide.
Eugene, who had been watching the scene with quiet satisfaction, approached the surviving desert orcs. They were all bound by the tribal warriors, bearing wounds large and small.
It was not the crude method of simply coiling rope around the arms and torso. It was a sophisticated binding technique that separated and secured each hand and foot individually.
The way they were bound made torture easier—a small detail that showed both the infamy and competence of the Black Hand Mercenary Company.
As Eugene drew near, the tribal warriors waiting behind the orcs drew their daggers.
"You'd better answer promptly when you're asked."
"Forget about being difficult. Try it and I'll peel twenty layers of skin off the soles of your feet."
Before becoming assassins and mercenaries, the dark elves had inherited the blood of nomadic peoples. Cutting flesh into thin sheets was one of their specialties.
The smaller orcs of the Gut-ripping Tribe recoiled in terror at the vicious threat.
"Grrr-!"
"ROAR!"
In contrast, the desert orcs answered with a roar similar to a lion's.
"I do not listen to the words of the weak."
Scone, the leader of the desert orcs, spoke.
"That's a strange thing to say while you're tied up, kneeling, and looking up at me."
"Greater numbers and better steel cannot mask weakness."
Even in the face of Eugene's mockery, Scone spoke with dignity, utterly devoid of shame.
"What exactly about us is weak?"
"The word itself is too trivial to bother saying."
Rex shrugged at Eugene, who seemed intrigued by the sudden cryptic exchange.
"He means things like conscience and mercy. I know because I've captured and tortured a few of them before."
"Ah, so that's what it was."
Spit!
Listening in, Scone spat at Eugene's face, but it was blocked by Homi's gloved hand.
"You fucking bastard!"
Thud! Thud!
Immediately, the tribal warriors slammed Scone's face into the ground and delivered a merciless beating.
"I'll leave the interrogation to the experts. Tear out anything that might help us catch the Lamia Queen."
"Leave it to us."
Eugene had begun using the title of queen instead of champion. The perception that it was a mighty monster under the evil god's favor could cause unease among his subordinates.
There was a reason city leaders and nobles preferred substitute labels such as "alpha" or "variant."
"Guaaargh!"
Screams began to ring out behind Eugene's back as he turned away.
* * *
"Nnnngh..."
"Don't strain yourself trying to get up."
Varda lay in the cleanest spot on the battlefield. The strain had come from using powerful magic in haste.
Elves were hardy enough to beat dwarves at drinking contests. For an elf, therefore, anything resembling a hangover was almost exclusively the province of those who walked the path of magic.
While leading the battle and maintaining the encirclement, Eugene had seen Varda fall from her horse.
"I thought my heart would stop when you fell from the saddle."
"You exaggerate."
Not displeased by the sentiment, Varda managed a faint smile even through her headache.
'She's more aggressive than I thought.'
She was usually dignified and gentle, but watching her cast magic in battle revealed a remarkably aggressive side.
-It is fortunate indeed that forest magic chose her. If she wielded destructive disciplines such as lightning or fire, you would spend every moment with your heart in your throat.
-Perhaps the Emerald Forest would have burned to the ground by now.
Eugene could not help but agree with what Marbas had once said.
Forest magic was the school with the least recoil upon the caster. Perhaps that was why she had developed the habit of pushing herself beyond her limits.
-Still, that would have been cool in its own way. Varda-nim wielding lightning or flames.
-Good grief. I should have kept my mouth shut.
At the sight of the young man utterly and completely smitten, Marbas could only sigh.
Eugene took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat beaded on Varda's forehead. With her eyes gently closed, she savored the delicate touch, a hand refined by gathering herbs.
Twitch, twitch.
Her long elven ears twitched slightly at the sounds of the orcs being interrogated behind them.
Eugene covered her ears with his gauntlet-free hand.
"There's no need to go this far."
"Your ears are so sharp. You should only have to hear pleasant things."
It was Eugene who had taken every chance to playfully touch her ears before.
'Wrap around the auricle that gathers sound, then gently cover the opening with an index finger.'
He knew very well how to block an elf's ears properly.
"You're quite skilled at this."
Varda spoke demurely. It was because she recalled how Eugene would always slyly try to touch her ears at every opportunity.
-An elf's ears are not to be touched carelessly by others!
-Am I counted among those others?
-Ahh...
No matter how many times Varda warned him, Eugene always answered with shameless charm. His tongue was far too smooth for a knight.
"Don't tense your ears and rest comfortably."
"Ngh!"
Eugene whispered as he massaged the muscles around Varda's outer ear.
As the name suggested, these muscles raised and pulled the ears. They were well developed in rabbits and elephants but had largely atrophied in humans, who no longer needed them.
Elves, however, had developed them to control their long ears.
Knead, knead.
Massage, massage.
He stimulated the muscles around her ears while massaging her scalp. Gradually Varda's expression relaxed despite the headache caused by magical backlash.
Soft breathing.
By the time the elf maiden's breathing had settled into the calm rhythm of a sleeping princess...
"I-I'll talk!"
"Please stooop!"
Even the steadfast souls of the orcs broke.
Just as even the sturdiest fortress wall is worn down by the waves of time, no indomitable soul could endure the ceaseless onslaught of pain.
The smaller orcs were the first to spill information readily, but it took quite some time to loosen the tongues of the desert orcs.
"Thirteen rounds. I'll give you this much—you've got grit."
The tribal warriors spoke to Scone, the new record holder, with genuine respect rather than mockery.
"Castle Lord?"
Nod.
Once Eugene gave permission, dull thuds sounded from all around as the orcs were beheaded.
* * *
The Lamia Queen was currently the center of the storm overturning Samur.
"Monsters and sain are running wild in every direction right now, but this chaos will soon settle down."
"That doesn't mean settled in a good way, does it?"
"Of course not. It means the wilds will be unified under the will of one monster. Once there are no other peoples left to devour or enslave, she'll inevitably turn on human civilization."
The reason the Lamia Queen wasn't attacking cities right now was because of their high walls and garrisons.
With races living as scattered individuals or tribes littering the wilderness, there was no need to deliberately target difficult prey.
But how long would that last? That was why, apart from the damage to trade, the cities were desperately trying to subjugate her.
Snort!
The warhorses, Might among them, blew out powerful breaths. Despite having been on the move since leaving the city, with only brief rests between stretches, they remained full of energy.
"Was it that delicious?"
They had been fed rich, highly nutritious food. After slurping down four lamia eggs, Might's coat shone.
When Eugene stroked his neck, Might whinnied happily and leaned into his master's touch. The warhorse had accompanied Eugene ever since leaving Kingdom's End and was one of his treasures.
Because Eugene wielded the unusually large flail, controlling distance mattered even more to him than to most knights. After many battles together, Might had learned to maintain the ideal range on his own.
-Right side!
-Prrr!
Might constantly judged the iron shaft extending over his head and the cluster of mace heads attached to its end.
Might maintained the exact range from which Eugene could strike while the enemy's weapon couldn't reach. It was a level of intelligence and coordination other horses couldn't match, born from long experience together.
Eugene would be formidable on any horse, but only on Might's back could he bring out his full fighting strength.
"It is said that there aren't many troops at the Lamia Queen's current lair."
Rex reported what they had learned through interrogation. The orcs had been separated and tortured individually, and their accounts compared, leaving little room for coordinated lies.
"She's been aggressively expanding her territory throughout the summer to maximize her forces."
"The queen herself is exceptional, but the ordinary lamias beneath her are different. They need to make their gains while their bodies are still active."
While some monsters rampaged year-round like goblins or orcs, many were severely affected by temperature.
Adaptability to the environment was one of the reasons humanity could compete in a world filled with powerful monsters and sain.
"Moreover, according to Scone, who fought the Lamia Queen directly, she seems to be carrying eggs right now."
"The lamias we dispatched earlier were mostly the same. It's almost their spawning season, isn't it?"
"Snakes normally lay their eggs in summer. In any case, she should be sluggish."
"That explains why Scone is still alive after fighting the queen."
Desert orcs were so formidable that comparing them with ordinary orcs or gnolls was insulting. Scone, their leader, was strong enough to give even a capable knight trouble.
Even so, he was no match for a lamia whose natural baseline was already stronger—especially a champion blessed by an evil god.
If the Lamia Queen had been light and unburdened enough to fight at full strength, Scone would already be dead.
"Did you say it's been more than a week since Scone fled?"
Eugene watched a messenger galloping to report to the city of Tripol.
"Yes. By the time we fight, the eggs inside her will be even larger."
"On the other hand, it also means it wouldn't be strange for her to lay them at any moment."
She had few subordinates around her, and her own body was heavy. There would be no better time to fight her.
That was the reason Eugene decided to strike the lair immediately without waiting for additional reinforcements.
* * *
The two villages along the route of advance lay in ruins. Not a single resident remained, whether they had fled or been eaten.
There were no ordinary wild animals or monsters either. It looked as though a storm that swept away only living things had passed through.
Tracks marked the sand and soft earth. Only long, dragging trails remained, suggesting something ominous.
"It's over there."
The third village coming into view was the Lamia Queen's new lair, just as the orcs had said.
Once a hub of Samur's trade network, the village had teemed with foreign merchants and mercenaries. From afar, their colorful clothes had looked like moving flowers.
Now only two colors writhed there: long brown bodies topped with pale human flesh.
"It's fortunate their numbers are small. It would be horrifying to imagine if they were many."
The subordinates grimaced.
"Come next year, it really will be like that. Large and small snake bodies will be crawling everywhere. We must burn and crush them all today."
"..."
At Eugene's words, the subordinates nodded and gripped their weapons.
Two lamias on the outermost perimeter noticed the intruders' presence.
The pair had been embracing with their long bodies twisted together like a rope. At the sight of the intruders, they disentangled themselves.
Hissss!
Sssst!
Their clawed hands remained interlocked. Identical faces and lips, like those of twin sisters, hissed a warning in unison.
At that, all the lamias wandering or lying about turned their heads in this direction in unison.
Doors opened throughout the village and more lamias slithered out. It was a revolting sight, like venomous snakes emerging from several dens at once.
Clatter.
As their long serpentine bodies passed, human skulls and ribs lying in their path were pushed aside.
RATTLE-RATTLE-RATTLE!
At last, the lamias shook the rattles on their tails all at once.
The great rattles were not shaking at random. Each struck with a different force and rhythm, combining into a single harmony.
It was a rough piece made entirely of percussion, but it was anything but crude.
A war song and marching cadence refined over thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of years. Its resonance carried a declaration of war against Eugene's army.
It was no different in essence from a human army beating drums before battle, only differing in form.
Then, behind the lamias, an even larger figure revealed itself.
Here and now, a war between two armies for the fate of the Samur wilds was about to begin.