Chapter 61: The Spiritual Tide (3)
Chapter 61: The Spiritual Tide (3)
The mercenaries, fired with battle fervor, loosed their crossbows in unison. Homi's battle cry had done more than just dispel fear.
There was not even the slightest tremor in their aim, so the bolts flew with accuracy surpassing their usual standard.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!
The ghoul swiftly used a wight as a shield. It was a tactic possible only for a creature with intelligence, unlike common undead.
But Eugene had already learned this pattern from past battles. His body moved on reflex and hurled the spear before his mind could even think.
THUNK!
The flying spear pierced straight through the wight's torso and the ghoul's face.
As the creature died on the spot without a scream, another ghoul rushed in beside it.
"Incoming! Hold the line!"
Four or five mercenaries bearing large shields locked shoulders and blocked the charge, but the ghoul seemed to mock them as it swung its claws.
CRUNCH!
With a sound of splintering wood, one mercenary was sent flying. The fact that there was no blood suggested the shield had withstood a single blow.
Even then, the remaining mercenaries did not retreat. The collapsed spot was filled by Homi, who had drawn her shield and war hammer.
Haind was also running over, but he was still at a distance and needed a little more time.
Grrrr-!
The ghoul targeted Homi first. Though tall, her build was slender, so she must have appeared an easy mark.
But Homi simply took a few steps back and firmly parried the claw attack. The hammer she immediately swung shattered two of the ghoul's fingers.
"Everyone stick together!"
"Do you intend to leave the squire to handle this alone?!"
The mercenaries were roused by the tough display from a girl who had not even undergone her coming-of-age ceremony. More of them gathered and formed a thick shield wall, and even the ghoul was taken aback by their fighting spirit.
That brief opening sealed the creature's death. The flail, tearing through the darkness, smashed into the back of its head.
THUD.
As the second ghoul collapsed, leaking brain matter, only a handful of groaning wights remained. The mercenaries let out a victory roar.
"I am sorry."
After the battle ended, while the mercenaries were busy digging the earth, Varda spoke.
"Not at all, Lady Mage. Thanks to you, not a single person was hurt."
"We would do this a hundred times over for something like this."
Even though the fighting was over, the mercenaries could neither move from that spot nor rest. It was because Varda had requested they bury the corpses there.
"I forged a temporary pact with the plants that grow wild here. In return for them binding the intruders' feet, I must provide them with nourishment."
Varda had been able to use such powerful magic so quickly because she had made a pact that demanded payment. If she failed to fulfill her obligation, she would suffer a magical backlash.
"Is it all right to bury undead so casually like this?"
Eugene considered potential side effects—ghosts emerging later, or those camping nearby suffering nightmares.
"There is no problem. On the contrary, it is also a method of purifying undead."
"Simply by burying them, you mean?"
"Ordinarily, it would not work. However, vegetation spirits are now swarming this place. I can hear the sound of them smacking their lips, elated by the payment of the pact."
Eugene focused his hearing and strained his ears, but he could hear nothing.
Just as Varda had been unable to understand the summoning magic circle in the ruins, Eugene could not perceive the forest's secrets.
"Once they hold their feast, the malevolent energy and grudges will also vanish. It is a kind of offering, so to speak."
"An offering for spirits, huh."
The mercenaries, hard at work with their shovels, listened with their ears pricked up.
Someday, when they boasted about this experience to other mercenaries, they would have that much more material to embellish the tale with. A mercenary who passed up a chance to swagger over drinks could hardly call himself a mercenary.
"Sir. Silver arrowheads were lodged in this one's back."
At Haind's report, the heads of the ghouls were set aside separately.
"That might be the one the monks were chasing. Taking it with us could prove useful."
"Thank you for the advice."
Haind had received a broad education in a knight's household, and in matters like these he supported Eugene faithfully.
"Grrrr!"
"Kah?!"
"Raaawr..."
Meanwhile, Homi was rubbing her throat and repeating a charming howl.
"What are you doing right now?"
"Ugh..."
At Eugene's question, her face flushed, as if embarrassed.
Homi was trying to reproduce the roar she had unconsciously unleashed during the earlier fight. But the feeling from that moment simply would not come alive again.
"I have seen records that among ancient warriors, there were those who dominated the battlefield with their war cries."
Varda approached with a fascinated expression.
"They fought with their voices, you say?"
"When warriors take up arms, they do more than swing them. They shout all kinds of battle cries and hurl curses, just like your men."
The mercenaries under Eugene were veterans who understood loyalty, restraint, and the virtue of knowing where to draw the line.
Yet during battle, they could never seem to stop the profanity, lewd talk, and mockery. For that was akin to the hymns of priests who fought evil foes.
"In the distant past, language was much simpler than it is today. There was a time when words like 'thank you,' 'sorry,' and 'lend' did not even exist."
"I've heard that even now, primitive tribes on extremely isolated islands are similar."
"Oh, that may well be. At any rate, it is said that because ancient warriors had such crude language, their usual unexpressed emotions built up within them."
It was a feeling akin to deep, pent-up resentment and sorrow.
"In life-or-death battle situations, such things are bound to explode. At those moments, a very small number of warriors gifted with magical aptitude are said to have imbued their war cries with miracles."
"For example?"
Varda stroked Homi's shoulder with an affectionate touch.
"In desperate circumstances, they might grant their comrades unshakable courage, or awaken senses sharper and keener than usual."
"Although Homi does know how to communicate through sign language."
"It cannot be as good as speaking aloud, can it? Things are bound to build up inside her."
Homi, who had tried again and again, grew dispirited after failing repeatedly.
"You can't expect to master it on the first try. Thanks to you, no one got hurt."
Indeed, the mercenaries looked at Homi with not only respect, but a sense of security.
Having a comrade who could resolve situations that could not be overcome with sword and spear—that brought an indescribable peace of mind.
People who feared the supernatural yearned all the more for someone capable of wielding it.
"Will everyone be all right? You didn't even get a few hours of sleep."
"No one will want to rest at a site where we fought undead and buried them, Sir Knight."
"I'm the same."
The party departed as soon as day broke.
"Could it be that there's a wicked heretic mage somewhere nearby? It's far too early for undead to be rising."
"Would heretic mages appear that commonly?"
"We've already faced them before!"
The mercenaries from Bonyard looked around uneasily even as they faced the sunlight.
Once a mercenary's career exceeded ten years, they developed the courage to laugh off mere wights. But when they could not comprehend the source, fear was inevitable.
As the party advanced along the highway, a land of death came into view. Bones and corpses lay everywhere they looked.
"So the undead came from here."
"Whoa, how many people died here? Looks like the nobles clashed in force."
The mercenaries wore expressions of disgust. Such battlefields were the sort of place they most avoided.
In large-scale battles, arrows and cavalry lances usually flew in volleys of dozens at a minimum. It was hard to collect spoils, and one misstep could mean being trampled to a meaningless death.
"Under God's protection, be freed of your lingering attachments and depart to a place of peace."
"O Lord, grant me the strength to cleanse the resentment of these dead..."
Priests were conducting purification rites everywhere. They moved about beneath the flags of various monasteries, chanting prayers and sprinkling holy water.
Among them were quite a few who were armed and wore armored monastic robes. These were battle-priests who focused on executing God's will through force.
"It seems every nearby monastery has dispatched its priests."
"We can only be grateful."
Eugene had no faith, but he respected the priests. In this cold world ruled by the law of the jungle, they were among the few who practiced selfless compassion for humanity.
He could not help but acknowledge their nobility. Now that he had risen to become a lord, he had practical reasons to respect them as well.
One knight rode forward from among the priests. Judging by his surcoat of black emblazoned with a religious symbol, he appeared to be a monastic knight of the bishopric territory.
Eugene greeted him first.
"God will be pleased with your devotion."
"Thanks be to God's grace. I am Andrew of the Relief Knight Order."
Among knightly houses, particularly powerful factions existed that were known as knight orders.
They wielded influence approaching that of minor lords, owning large private districts within cities, ruling villages, and using castles as their strongholds.
"This vicinity is dangerous. Should you be considering camping at night, I urge you to reconsider. Ghouls and wights are roaming about."
"We've already had a run-in with them while we were sleeping."
At a gesture from Eugene, the mercenaries brought forward the two ghoul heads loaded on a donkey.
"Good heavens! Those are the ones we missed. We've caused you trouble, Sir."
"Please do not say that. I am simply grateful for your noble undertaking. Besides, we suffered no casualties."
"That is remarkable."
Andrew and the priests could neutralize ghouls by singing hymns, but Eugene's party was not equipped to deal with them that way.
For warriors who relied solely on the strength of steel, ghouls were a considerably troublesome enemy.
"May I ask your name, Sir?"
"I am Eugene of House Meyer."
"I have not heard the name before. I spend most of my time at the monasteries in the bishopric, so I am rather out of touch with outside news."
It seemed Eugene's name had not yet spread widely through northern Roman.
"How did this place come to be like this?"
"There was the largest battle yet in the North between the Noble Faction and the Emperor Faction. It was so fierce that neither side could even clean up afterward; both withdrew exhausted. The result is as you see..."
The monastic knight's face grew somber. A place like this was perfect ground for undead to rampage.
"It hasn't been long since the war began—isn't this too soon? I understand that undead outbreaks normally occur only after a major war has dragged on for at least a year."
Even as he asked, Eugene was already halfway guessing the answer.
'Could the spiritual tide influence things like this too?'
For the mortal realm becoming more easily saturated with spiritual power meant that such ill effects would also arise more readily.
"The archbishop says the Year of the Evil God has come. We are the ones who serve the people, so we must redouble our efforts and travel the land."
Those who believed in God seemed to interpret the same phenomenon in a slightly different form.
"The purification of this area will soon be complete, and the group we missed has been eliminated by you, Sir. Thanks to that, this region should be safe."
"As one who has been granted a domain in the North to govern, and as a knight myself, it was a task I was duty-bound to undertake."
"I shall be sure to convey your name to my brothers."
Because they lived in pious poverty, Eugene could not reward them with money, but leaving a good impression was enough.
Monastics were those who protected the common people from evil—bandits, monsters, undead—asking nothing in return. There was absolutely no downside to staying on good terms with them.
After traveling a few more days, they at last arrived at North Fork.
The villagers were startled by the sudden appearance of cavalry, but they did not flee. They had already been notified by carrier pigeon that a new lord was coming.
"It must be the new lord they said was coming."
"S-So that is a true knight."
His massive frame, as if born of different stock, his fine armor, and the grand black cloak billowing behind him—the people of the domain were overwhelmed by the mere sight of him.
When Eugene headed toward the manor, the residents seemed certain of his identity. They dropped to one knee and bowed, greeting their young new lord from all around.
"Welcome, my lord! I have been awaiting your arrival with great anticipation!"
The steward who had managed the lord's residence during the vacancy approached and bowed. He was a slight, dark-complexioned man in his forties.
"I am Eugene Meyer, the new master of this place. Will you show me the lord's manor?"
"But of course! This is the lord's dwelling, permitted by God Himself! The manor will rejoice as well!"
The steward's manner was somewhat exaggerated, but he was not flattering Eugene. He was a commoner whose family had served the manor for five generations, and he sincerely believed every word.
The steward's entire life was bound to this riverside manor, much like the Guardians Eugene had encountered in the ruins.
As the doors of the tidy manor opened, a wide, clean corridor appeared.
"My lord?"
The steward, who had been guiding him with lively steps, was puzzled when Eugene stopped at the beginning of the corridor.
"Homi. At long last, the time has come."
At Eugene's signal, Homi hurried over carrying the wendigo trophy with its magnificent black horns.
Eugene took it from her and hung it in a prominent, visible spot in the corridor.
"W-What in the world is this monster?"
The steward looked flustered for only a moment. Soon he gazed up at the trophy with shining eyes, captivated by the enormous black horns that glittered like jewels whenever they caught the light.
Having checked another item off his bucket list, Eugene continued down the corridor.
"Summon the blacksmith Bason! We must craft a chain clamp to secure that!"
"I shall go at once!"
A servant who heard the steward's order dashed off in a flurry.
His new master truly was a great knight, just as the carrier pigeon's letter had said. He could not permit some thief or the like to steal away that honorable trophy.
Imagining future guests looking up at the trophy in admiration, the steward's shoulders unconsciously squared with pride.