Chapter 60: The Spiritual Tide (2)
Chapter 60: The Spiritual Tide (2)
Marbas tapped the golden key with his finger.
"That castle drifts between this world and the Otherworld. That is why it has remained so difficult to find for such a long time."
"A summoner would naturally be intrigued."
"As someone who peers and listens into distant realms, I would be lying if I said I was not interested."
Marbas cupped his burn-scarred hand to his ear.
"Ever since I became a summoner, I have felt the castle's presence. Sometimes strongly, sometimes faintly. It was as if it were constantly sending me letters."
"Then have you not considered joining forces with the Emperor?"
The man who desired the Wandering Castle most also possessed immense power and wealth. Statistically, there was no better person to stay near if one hoped to find it.
"Those who went to the Emperor with such intentions became half-enslaved. And I am not inclined to leave the side of my rough but loyal Black Hand friends."
"Indeed, once you befriend them, they are truly reliable and good friends."
The two shared the same warmth in their eyes as they spoke of the dark elves.
"Do you truly believe we can find the Wandering Castle?"
"I cannot be certain of that, but I am certain the time is now right. Let us speak of something else for a moment."
Marbas seemed delighted to have found someone with whom he could properly discuss a subject that interested him.
"Along shallow coasts, the sea repeatedly advances far inland and then recedes. We call that high and low tide, and the principle is, hm..."
Marbas seemed to ponder how to explain it in a way a knight would easily grasp.
"It is due to the mutual influence the sun and moon exert upon each other."
Eugene answered simply, omitting details like tidal forces. Yet that alone made Marbas appear deeply astonished.
"Were you learned in astronomy? Even most mages know little of this."
"I read it in a book once."
Books were the most convenient excuse whenever Eugene needed to explain knowledge no one else possessed.
"That simplifies matters. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, this world and the Otherworld also repeatedly draw near and grow distant. Summoners call the period of closeness the spiritual tide."
"Even hearing the rough outline, it sounds thoroughly bad for the world."
For ordinary farmers, warm sunlight was sufficient. Some unknown force surging into the world was nothing but a disaster.
"Exactly. During a spiritual tide, incidents beyond human understanding become more common. Great mages are also most often born during such periods."
"Judging by the flow of conversation, I take it now is such a time?"
Marbas nodded.
"The Wandering Castle drifts between this world and the Otherworld. Wouldn't a spiritual tide, when the two draw close, be the best time to find it? This one has come after nearly twenty years. The cycle before that was more than a century ago."
Hearing that, it was no wonder the Emperor was beside himself. If he missed this chance, it might never come again during his reign.
"Then must this key not be all the more coveted?"
"A grand mystery cannot be possessed simply because one desires it. Its master shall be chosen by fate. I have already learned well enough the price of coveting what is beyond one's measure."
"Hypothetically speaking, should the time come, it would be good to receive your aid, Marbas-nim."
"That is exactly what I want. As a seeker of knowledge, how could I pass up such an opportunity? It is why I wanted to speak with you today."
Marbas picked up the key and placed it in Eugene's hand.
"Only the gods know what it means that this key came into your hands. I pray that whatever lies at the end of that road brings you peace."
Thus their conversation concluded.
The next day, after a comfortable night, the dark elves finished collecting their tolls and prepared to depart.
"You have already earned great merit and been granted a domain."
Helga, having learned of Eugene's destination, was full of admiration.
He had barely begun making a name for himself as a free knight, yet he had already risen to become a lord. North Fork was also a fine village that even Helga had heard of.
"What are your plans?"
"We intend to return to the tribe immediately. Thanks to you, Sir Knight, our labors were lightened."
The Black Hand Mercenary Company disliked staying in one region for too long. Work was harder to find that way, and lingering also made it easier to become entangled in grudges and obligations.
Eugene shared a firm handshake with Helga and they parted ways.
The farther north they traveled, the thicker the river ice became. North Fork was not far now.
"Come to think of it, does that mean we're effectively his lordship's direct subordinates?"
"Once I get a little older, maybe I should ask him to put me in the domain guard."
For a mercenary living an unstable life, few things were better than knowing there was a last refuge available.
"Drink some cold water and come to your senses, lad."
"A mercenary like you needs to know your place."
Of course, far more of the others mocked such sweet dreams.
In any case, resting in their employer's domain was about the greatest luxury mercenaries could ask for. It was a trading village, so there should be plenty of food and entertainment. Everyone went to sleep full of anticipation.
And then they were dragged awake before dawn.
Fweeeet—!
Homi's sharp whistle hammered against everyone's eardrums. Her senses, keener than any hunting hound's, had caught something.
"Take up weapons and shields!"
The mercenaries sprang up, arming themselves and kindling the torches they had prepared in advance.
All merely strove to shake off sleep with furrowed brows; not a single one doubted Homi's senses or judgment.
"While Squads 1 and 3 hold the front, Squads 2 and 4 will don their armor. Rotate once they are fully equipped!"
Haind, donning his breastplate with the help of the mercenaries, issued detailed orders.
Thanks to this, Eugene could concentrate on the darkness ahead. Something was approaching, but he sensed neither killing intent nor anything resembling military discipline.
"I am Knight Eugene Meyer, en route to take possession of a domain granted by Count Morad. Identify yourselves!"
Thanks to the torches scattered about, the shapes of the approaching foes could now be discerned. They were distinctly human in form, not monsters.
"Come any closer and we will fire!"
Despite Eugene's warning, the intruders did not halt. The mercenaries pressed their index fingers tight against the crossbow triggers.
"Those bastards are bearing weapons!"
"Open fire!"
The outlines of weapons in their hands were enough for Eugene to give the order to attack.
THUD-THUD-THUD!
Though several bolts flew and struck true, few of the figures collapsed. Not even a small cry was heard.
"What the hell?"
"They definitely felt like hits on flesh."
The panicked mercenaries learned the reason as the enemies drew near the torchlight.
Revealed by the firelight were corpses twisted with hatred for the living. Shouts erupted from all around at the ghastly sight.
"Wights!"
They were wights, the lowest class of undead monster.
"The war's barely broken out, and already there's undead?"
Death did not work the same way in this world. Those killed by another person rather than by age or disease left intense resentment behind in the earth.
When enough of that resentment accumulated and festered, miasma formed and the undead rose. But the war had begun less than half a year ago. This was far too soon.
"Aim for the head! Anywhere else is useless!"
"Don't even risk getting scratched! Better not to kill them than to take any hits!"
Some wights, little more than skeletons, clattered and rattled as they approached. Bolts lodged in eye sockets or between ribs wobbled loose and dropped away one by one.
SHUFFLE... SHUFFLE...
CLATTER. RATTLE.
As the shambling horrors neared the defensive line.
The mercenaries felt a powerful rush of air pass over their heads. Even though they knew it would not hurt them, the pressure raised goosebumps every time.
CRRRAACK!
CRUNCH!
KRAK!
With a tremendous series of cracks, three wights collapsed with their skulls and necks broken.
"Maintain the defensive line just as you are now."
"Leave it to us!"
Eugene stood behind the mercenaries with his flail, issuing commands. Few things could be more reassuring than having a knight at your back instead of at the front.
Unlike specters, wights did not require magical power to harm; nor did they possess robust bodies like ghouls.
Given their sluggish movements and nearly nonexistent intelligence, they could be considered far weaker than orcs or gnolls of similar size.
But numbers were strength in themselves. Worse, the creatures spread disease through corpse poison and rusted weapons. Neglect a scratch and, with enough bad luck, you could end up losing an arm or a leg.
"Large shields forward! Do not overextend to attack."
The shield-bearers focused on maintaining the line, shoving the wights back.
Behind them, mercenaries wielding two-handed blunt weapons smashed the wights' skulls. The tools used to construct campsites also proved highly effective.
Eugene likewise focused less on killing individual enemies than on smashing open places where the wights began to bunch up.
As a commander now, he had to distinguish between the times he could charge in like a one-man army to butcher the enemy and the times he had to maintain his troops' battle line.
The flail was an ideal mounted weapon for someone who needed to command from the rear and still unleash crushing attacks.
"Back at the knightly house, all the stories I heard about you were about swords and spears."
Haind stared blankly as he finally saw what kind of knight he had chosen to serve.
CRRRAACK!
SNAP!
Watching Eugene fight was like seeing a black storm descend in the shape of a knight.
'He was holding back enormously when we sparred at the knightly house.'
Haind marveled at the awe-inspiring might of the knight he served, though part of him still felt disappointed.
The reason was that the Etherje sword he had so eagerly anticipated had yet to see any use. Every swordsman in the world would have wanted to swing such a blade even at the cost of his life.
It remained sheathed at Eugene's waist, showing no inclination to emerge.
"Hungry life of the wilds, I promise you food. For more seeds and greater flourishing, bind the feet of our enemies!"
As Varda's incantation ended, the wights clamoring before the mercenaries' front line staggered in unison.
Beneath their feet, weeds and vines surged with ferocious vigor, coiling around their ankles and legs.
"Wh-what's this?"
"Hold your ground! Our mage has bound the fiends!"
The mercenaries regained their composure at Haind's shout.
With intelligence so limited, the wights seemed to treat even the plants binding their legs as enemies.
SCREEEEEECH-!
SCREECH-!
Bent on attacking the underbrush clinging to them, they doubled over before the mercenaries.
"Now!"
Everyone brought weapons and shields down with all their strength, and wights fell everywhere with shattered skulls.
"Magnificent! Lady Mage!"
The mercenaries praised Varda.
Magic itself was something ordinary mercenaries rarely saw, and this spell helped them in such an immediate, obvious way that they felt as if the gods themselves were protecting them.
Some of the fallen wights were further engulfed by the growing vines, unable even to rise.
Just as a mercenary carrying a tent hammer in both hands approached to finish one off—
"Donovan! Stand back!"
At the mercenary captain's shout, he immediately scrambled backward.
WHOOOSH!
A huge hand swept through the spot where the mercenary had stood only an instant earlier. A muscular creature had burst from the nearby brush and swung at him.
"Even a ghoul, here..."
The mercenary captain groaned at the identity of the new foe.
A ghoul was a creature born from a tangled heap of corpses that served as its womb: a wicked thing half undead and half living.
It stood much taller than an average mercenary, and its fused fingers and nails resembled ten daggers.
But the truly troublesome part was their roar.
GROOOOOAR-!
The ghoul's voice carried a faint curse. It was not strong enough to physically harm anyone, but it could inspire overwhelming fear.
Because the effect was mystical, even a knight hardened by a hundred battles would feel fear without some means of magical resistance.
"Urghaaa."
The veteran mercenaries' shields began to tremble and slowly sink.
"Get a grip! Keep those shields up!"
Haind brandished his weapon and shouted encouragement, but goosebumps covered his own arms and the back of his neck.
"...!"
At that moment, the fine white fur on Homi's body stood on end as she smashed wights with her war hammer. Her cute eyes turned fierce, and her pupils narrowed into vertical slits.
The heat of battle. Her comrades in danger. Together they awakened something buried deep in Homi's instincts, and she threw back her head.
"Awoooooo-!"
Unlike the ghoul's ominous cry, Homi's clear, dignified howl rang out across the battlefield.
The mercenaries felt the terror that had been squeezing their hearts wash cleanly away.
GRAAAAAH-!
The enraged ghoul roared again, but it had no effect now.
As though Homi's war cry had coated the mercenaries' minds in armor, the corrupt aura could no longer shake them.
"I can feel the squire's breath flowing through my heart."
One mercenary murmured with a trembling voice.