Conquistador (4)
Conquistador (4)
The jungle was currently in a state of chaos. It was akin to waves surging in succession due to an earthquake occurring beneath the sea.
The old powers that had occupied the existing ecosystem were pushed back one after another by the rakshas, and their territories became entangled with one another.
Even the jaguars, who had reigned as the apex predators of the jungle, were subduing their tempers and retreating into hiding.
"Graaagh!"
Two orcs, bleeding profusely, were fleeing. A pack of small-folk pursued them.
One-on-one, the orcs could have trampled them at will, but the small-folk knew that and always moved in groups.
"Yiyolyolyolyol—!"
It was infuriating to see them chasing so gleefully, shrieking bizarrely, but there was nothing to be done.
The small-folk's reckless belligerence, agility, jungle-adapted bodies, and skill with weapons combined to make them a formidable force in the region.
"Groor! Damn it!"
Among the fleeing orcs, the one wounded in the leg gradually fell behind. It would be caught sooner or later at this rate.
"Let us fight!"
"As long as it is not me."
He had asked his comrade to stand together, but the only reply was a sneer. When chased by a predator, one only needed to be faster than the one beside him.
"Damned bastard!"
"You're fucked, bastard. Hahaha."
He was even taunting him while fleeing alone toward the river.
The orc with the wounded leg nearly hurled his axe into the back of the one who had been his comrade moments before, but stopped himself. If he did, he would have to face the small-folk bare-handed.
The small-folk closed the distance in an instant and surrounded the orc.
"■■■■!"
"■■!"
The sight of them chattering, their eyes rolling cunningly, made the orc grind his teeth. It was exactly the same situation as when he and his comrades had hunted a boar in the past.
Watching them discuss how to kill him after he had been reduced to prey made his blood boil.
"Die!"
The axe the orc swung cut through empty air. The small-folk were fleet-footed and short in stature. To land a hit, he had to break his own stance, and the others did not miss the opening.
Thunk! Thunk!
"Guaaagh!"
Four holes appeared in the wake of a single failed attack.
"Kirrrr."
"Kehehe—!"
The small-folk bared sinister grins as the sharp smell of blood filled the air.
Though they were the shortest of the intelligent races, their teeth were large and sharp. With only slight exaggeration, it was as if a bear trap had been mounted atop a child's shoulders.
Brown tongues slid out long between shark-like teeth, licking the blood from their respective weapons.
The small-folk wielded their weapons in reverse grip to compensate for their weak muscles. As a result, every wound was a deep puncture.
In the second exchange, the orc's attacks were dulled by his injuries and naturally missed.
Fwish!
"Kuaaagh!"
Attacked from behind again, the orc collapsed as his Achilles tendon was torn. What followed was a spectacle resembling a swarm of ants descending upon a worm.
Yet even as the orc was torn apart and dying, a faint smile crossed his lips.
Splash!
It was because the orc who had abandoned him and fled was ambushed by an anaconda. The sight of the wretch wrapped tight in the serpent's tree-like coils was profoundly satisfying. It was the finest parting gift for the road to the underworld.
"Urk!"
The orc constricted by the anaconda already had several ribs broken. His face turned crimson from abnormal blood flow, and blood trickled from the corners of his eyes where capillaries had burst.
"..."
"..."
The two orcs on the verge of death stared at each other in silence. Though they had quarreled and parted ways in this life, they would now be companions on the road to the afterlife.
* * *
The road into small-folk territory was strewn with countless corpses. Strictly speaking, it was more accurate to call them food scraps than corpses.
"So it is a jungle after all. They certainly picked them clean, thrifty as can be."
Compared to any monster remains Eugene had tracked before, these bones were pristine. Not a single scrap that could be called flesh remained, but the subjugation force still had to hold their noses.
"Ugh, the stench of shit."
"What kind of shit did they scatter all over the place?"
Given the scarcity of food, the predators had devoured even the large intestines without leaving a trace.
Of course they could not eat the dung, so they had thrashed the intestines around to empty them, leaving an overwhelming stench.
"The jungle appears full of life on the surface, but in truth it is no different from a desert. The creatures here are always starving. Besides the green hell, it has another nickname..."
"The green desert?"
Yakson nodded at Eugene's words.
"Be it plant or insect, everything is laced with poison and offers scant nutritional value. Though it saddens me to speak ill of one's homeland."
"There must be even less to eat now than usual. With so many extra mouths."
"Only the likes of large crocodiles or anacondas will be delighted."
The water was an inviolable domain. Careless outsiders were surely providing feasts for its inhabitants all over the place.
"Are there truly no monsters of medium size or larger? If there were even something like a troll, the chaos would be somewhat suppressed."
Medium to large monsters like trolls and ogres took fierce pride in their territories. Had such creatures been present, this degree of pandemonium would not have erupted.
"There are none. There is no prey here to sustain such large bodies. They would only fatten the parasites. Inexperienced bugbears occasionally wander in from the jungle outskirts, but they do not last long. They invariably end up eating something toxic and fleeing in a fit of diarrhea."
In the jungle environment, three things were absolutely advantageous: quadrupedal locomotion, a moderate build, and disease resistance.
Or else the ability to live in the water like anacondas or crocodiles. In the water, competition was based on growing bulk instead of poison, and fish as thick as a grown man's forearm abounded there.
"Is that a fishy stench this time?"
They could see the remains of a pirarucu that had been dragged from the river and devoured.
It was the same kind of fish Eugene's army had been served in Divide; a mere three of them were enough for the entire vanguard to eat, so massive was their size.
"They come."
Yakson and Homi, advancing at the very front, clenched their fists. The dwarves tightened their grip on spears and shields, burning with fighting spirit.
Within seconds of Yakson's warning, the underbrush rustled and a tapir burst out. Startled by the army standing in its path, the tapir fled sideways.
"Yiyolyolyolyol—!"
Dozens of small-folk burst out after it. They charged Eugene's army without showing the slightest fear.
"Are the rakshas the only ones you fear, and us you think you can take lightly?!"
The leading small-folk were skewered on the spears of the bellowing dwarf warriors.
"Fire!"
Cassandra and the female warriors, already aiming, fired their repeating crossbows. Though the weapons were relatively weak, at close range they were lethal to the small-folk's thin skin.
"Kyack-!"
"Kkyaook-."
Shrill, almost comical screams rang out as small-folk toppled one after another.
Even those who avoided vital spots did not last long due to the poison coated on the bolts. The coagulant poison that had entered their bloodstream ruined their hearts in an instant.
"Kuheek-."
One small-folk warrior, blood streaming from its nose, thrashed for a moment before going still. Clotted blood had clogged its vessels and heart like a chimney left unswept for a hundred years.
-Their hearts beat more than twice as fast as a human's. The coagulant poison will work at its best.
For thirty years, Yakson had protected the natives and exhaustively studied the foes that threatened them.
The small-folk charging from the rear failed to notice the slaughterhouse unfolding ahead. They burst out one after another, only to be pierced by spears and bolts and sent out of this world.
"All dead. Advance."
Eugene shook the blood from Last Autumn. The purification work had only just begun.
When they fell upon a small-folk encampment of about eighty, the creatures were busy skinning prisoners and cooking.
"Damn, a merciful death..."
Rampage aimed his heavy crossbow at the groaning prisoner.
"That is not a cat-person. It is a Raksha."
"Aha!"
Rampage shifted his aim slightly and blew away the small-folk warrior doing the skinning.
"■■■■!"
A small-folk warrior adorned with elaborate bone ornaments pointed Eugene's army out with the wooden ladle it had been using to stir a pot. It appeared to be the chieftain.
The small-folk, their meal interrupted, threw down their crude bowls and charged all at once.
They made no distinction between tableware and weaponry, and thus could plunge straight into battle even while dining.
As dozens of small-folk came rushing in ferociously with weapons held in reverse grip, the dwarves raised their shields first rather than counterattacking.
"Spears and shields!"
"Do not let your guard down! Tighten the ranks!"
In the gap, Eugene strode past, having drawn Blackout.
In the confines of the jungle paths, he had used a sword for lack of space, but in a wide clearing like this, it was a different matter.
'Should we not dissuade our liege from standing at the front line?'
Such a thought crossed Yakson's mind, but none of his subordinates moved to stop him. Rather, they gazed upon their lord with faces that held something beyond trust—a kind of expectation.
Just as the leading small-folk came within three meters, a black storm swept across the front of Eugene's army.
Fwoooosh—!
Small-folk swept up and cut in half scattered in a shower.
Quickly shifting his grip, Eugene used the momentum as recoil to swing the other way.
BAM—!
Once more a spray of blood dyed the jungle leaves.
With only two swings, every small-folk warrior in the first rush had been ground to pieces.
Clatter-clatter.
The ones in the rear ranks were showered in the blood, entrails, and flesh of their kin.
"..."
"..."
"...Hic!"
The languages were different, but the sound of a hiccup was exactly the same as a human's.
Their faces, which had been twisted as if afflicted with an anger management disorder, slackened as they came to an abrupt halt. It was a sight even Yakson, who had lived in the jungle for thirty years, had never witnessed.
Clatter.
The chieftain dropped the wooden ladle he had been holding.
Clack-clack.
And then his shark-like teeth began to chatter.
At the sight, Eugene's subordinates, despite facing monsters, felt a fleeting moment of pity. Enough, perhaps, to pull their crossbow triggers a tenth of a second later than usual.
* * *
When Eugene, having swept through the camp, approached the cooking table, he found two rakshas whose breath had already ceased.
Humans went straight into the pot or onto the fire after a little preparation, but fur-covered races like the Raksha were skinned first.
There was no such thing as granting them a merciful death. The sadistic small-folk savored the screams of those they cooked like an appetizer.
"Unlike goblins, the small-folk do not dig burrows."
"Places to use as campsites in this jungle are limited, so this will be simple."
Following Yakson's guidance, Eugene destroyed the small-folk camps one after another.
His subordinates were elite, and Eugene's own appearance, conducting a slaughter every time they entered a camp, was that of a war god incarnate.
If he could perform this well even in such a backwater, where all manner of conditions reduced combat effectiveness, he would have no equal within civilization.
'A king will soon appear in Britannia.'
Such was Yakson's assessment after watching the battle. No further qualifiers were needed.
Typically, at the head of an army marched a standard-bearer carrying a great banner. It was meant to bolster the morale of one's own forces while overawing the enemy.
Now, Eugene was fulfilling that role. When he raised a bloody wind at the vanguard, swinging his massive axe, even the fiercest monsters of the jungle tucked their tails and trembled.
"Your Excellency, your willingness to lead from the front is admirable, but perhaps you should consider preserving your august person..."
"It's fine. If I exert myself a few times at the front, the battle turns into a pursuit."
Some of his subordinates began to suggest that Eugene should fall back, but he would not accept it.
"There's no sign of anyone shooting blowguns, either."
Above all, there was almost a complete absence of ranged weapons that could aim for the gaps in his armor. In a purely melee engagement, there was no chance of Eugene getting hurt.
"The small-folk, being small of stature, do not have great lung capacity. The only prey that exposes bare skin soft enough to be pierced by a blowgun would be something on the order of a human."
"But those are already extinct."
Eugene responded coldly to Yakson's words.
The small-folk's fighting method, developed to compensate for weak muscles, was to charge quickly and put their body weight behind a thrust. Their reckless aggression had evolved to suit that style of combat.
That lowered each individual's chance of survival, but the infamy they accumulated made others fear small-folk groups as a whole, raising the group's overall survival rate.
It was a way of life commonly adopted by sain that built civilizations in the wild, such as the small-folk and Raksha.
Therefore, the moment they showed their backs, their combat power was drastically weakened.
"The bastards are fleeing!"
"Break off pursuit! They're headed for the thickets!"
Instead of risking a battle in the treacherous undergrowth, the dark elf warriors released the dogs.
"Woof, woof-!"
"Yap, yap, yap-!"
The small-folk were fast, but there was no outrunning a quadruped while moving on two legs.
Spittle flying, the war dogs chased them down and each pounced on a chosen victim. A body smaller than a goblin's could not withstand the bite force of a fierce hound.
Crunch!
Crack!
Snap!
The raucous noise that rang out was not the sound of flesh being chewed, but of bones being crunched.
"Grrrrrr-!"
One small-folk warrior was seized by the neck and thigh by two war dogs pulling in opposite directions. Unable to withstand the force, its abdomen tore open and intestines spilled out like rope.
It was a gruesome sight, but no one frowned. They had discovered several remnants of captured cat-people while subduing the camps.
-This is horrifying.
Traces of sadistic torture remained, perhaps meant to relieve the stress of being driven from their homeland.
A few small-folk screamed and swung their weapons, but it was useless. Their crude Stone Age weapons and weak muscles, unable to put their body weight behind a strike, were not enough to pierce the war dogs' stab-resistant armor.
"Fweet!"
At Homi's whistle, the war dogs' excitement subsided, and they returned in orderly unison.
"Huff, huff, huff..."
Panting with tongues lolling from blood-soaked lips, the dogs sat in formation and held their posture.
It was a level of control that could not be achieved through mere training or a dog whistle. It lay firmly within the domain of magic.
"Lady Homi has already entered the path of the druid. To awaken to it on her own, without anyone's teaching—that is no ordinary aptitude. I am curious about that bloodline."
Yakson looked at her with interest. Even for him, a druid, such a degree of beast control was impossible.
Her monstrous strength, second only to Eugene's, and her abnormally sharp senses were also far beyond those of ordinary beastkin.
"That's something I'd really like to know myself."
But Homi, too, had no memory of what happened before she met Eugene. And in the first place, she herself had no interest in her own past.
-It's a matter of finding your bloodline, isn't it?
-I'm satisfied with my life as it is.
-Don't worry about the money. What do you think I rose to the rank of count for?
-Shh...
Perhaps wanting to imitate Varda, Homi shook her head and covered Eugene's lips with her soft tail. With that plush tail in place of a finger, he had no desire to resist.
"Anyway, the fact that she has aptitude is good news, is it not? Then will finding her voice also be quick?"
"Of course. It is a beast's blood that stole her voice, and the power she now uses to command the war dogs also stems from a beast's blood."
Blowing the whistle for the first time was difficult, but once one could produce a sound, altering the tone was a simple matter.
* * *
Eugene's subjugation force was not always too late.
"They're refugees!"
Dozens of cat-people, bearing clear signs of hardship, were perched in a tree, resisting desperately.
But the hail of stones thrown from below left them with more and more wounds.
"Good heavens!"
"The fiendish bastards, they're plenty clever."
Like ants, the small-folk formed a living ladder from their own bodies and attacked the refugees in the tree.
"Kyaaaah—!"
One unlucky young cat-woman was caught by the ankle. She frantically tried to shake them off, but to no avail. The small-folk forming the ladder simply let themselves hang from her, dragging her down with their weight.
"Daughter!"
"No!"
A middle-aged man who appeared to be the young woman's father was dragged down along with her as they fell.
"I apologize, but I shall go on ahead."
Unable to endure the sight, Yakson broke ranks and charged forward. The final syllable of his sentence was thickly laced with a growling timbre.
His trapezius muscles swelled rapidly, and the veins on his limbs bulged, turning black. At the same time, dark fur began to sprout and cover him.
The gentle eyes that had held tolerance were infused with a dark yellow light, flashing savagely.
"My body is nothing more than God's mace."
But what emerged from the snout that jutted out like a wolf's was a prayer.
Because of his transformed mouth, the words sounded almost like a monster's mumbling, but he had practiced them so many times that they were perfectly intelligible.
The fingers of the werewolf, tipped with black claws, caressed the cross hanging from his neck.
"Yakson!"
"Yakson's here!"
He was well-known in the region, and the faces of the cat-people screaming in the tree became tinged with hope.
"Survivors, for the first time in a while! Rescue them all!"
At Eugene's command, the dwarves and dark elf female warriors advanced together.
Except for one. There was one person who did not obey the order and stood there blankly.
"Homi?"
Although Eugene was startled by Homi disobeying him for the first time, he soon understood why.
"..."
It was because Homi had reached a kind of enlightenment.
-To awaken to it on her own, without anyone's teaching—that is no ordinary aptitude.
It was just as Yakson had said.
Homi had already mastered the mystery of controlling beasts with her voice. Now, it was time to advance to the next stage of her path.
And at this moment, the sight of a druid transforming before her very eyes awakened something dormant in Homi's blood.
To others, it was merely a person turning into a werewolf. But Homi could see and feel the mystery of the beast moving within Yakson's body.
And instinctively, she mimicked it.
"Your hands...?"
Homi's nails, always neatly trimmed, had grown to nearly three centimeters.
They were unlike the black claws of Yakson, who had charged ahead. They glittered with an elegant silver sheen, like her hair, revealing a razor-like sharpness.
Her frame also grew larger, becoming comparable to Eugene's.
Beautiful silver fur emerged with stately elegance from the parts of her body not covered by armor.
"Beautiful."
One dark elf warrior murmured with an entranced expression, even in the midst of battle.
Homi's form, which would make a yeti fur coat seem like a rag, now clad in dullahan's armor.
It was a sight that combined the most elegant aspects of savagery and civilization.
End
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