The Boars Charge at Dusk
Stephan held the nominal command of the punitive force, but anyone with eyes could see that the real commander was Johan. It wasn't just the two of them who knew it — every mercenary captain knew it as well.
Stephan simply lacked the reputation and the competence to lead an expedition like this in the first place.
When Inno jabbed him in the ribs, Gerdolf recited the words he had memorized at his father's command.
"I will go and die. I am loyal."
"No. Darkness is about to fall. There seems to be no need to take unnecessary risks."
"Since darkness is about to fall, there seems to be no need to take unnecessary risks."
Stephan parroted the words back verbatim, and Gerdolf twisted his brutish face in bewilderment.
"Repeating after me?"
"...You little—"
"Enough. Stephan, let's not complicate things for no reason. A commander hardly needs to issue orders like this one by one anyway."
"Is... is that so?"
Watching Johan toy with Stephan, Inno spoke up carefully.
"Sir knight. Might I have a word with you in private?"
"What is it?"
"I hope my behavior at our last meeting did not displease you."
"It didn't particularly displease me. A knight may act according to his honor."
"As expected, you understand, my lord. I knew you would. The thing is, here—"
Inno produced a jingling pouch and tried to press it into Johan's hand. Johan frowned.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Could you grant my son the honor of the first charge?"
"I told you. There's no need to go in under cover of darkness."
"That is no concern for Gerdolf."
"It is my concern. If something goes wrong for no good reason, the other soldiers will have to be committed as well. So he waits."
As Inno's face fell, Johan added,
"If it comes to a charge, I will yield the honor of the first one to Ser Gerdolf regardless of the situation. Don't worry."
"...Thank you, my lord! Here, the—"
"No. Keep the pouch. I'm entrusting this to Gerdolf out of faith in his ability."
Even as he said it, Johan felt a pang of regret.
Was that the sound of silver coins in the pouch? Surely it couldn't have been gold?
Now I see why this knight never got anywhere.
If you were going to hand out a bribe, you did it before departure — not at a camp like this, where however you went about it, it was bound to reach someone's eyes and ears. He couldn't have accepted it even if he'd wanted to.
Still, even granting that he lost to me last time, offering a bribe on top of it... is his position in trouble?
The Imperial tongue that Inno and Gerdolf spoke carried none of the peculiar inflection of the nobility. People betrayed their class through accent and bearing, and these two were clearly not born aristocrats like Johan or the other lords he'd met — far more likely self-made, or scions of a family with a short history.
That made their anxious fidgeting easy to understand.
No skin off my nose to indulge them a little.
There were certainly knights obsessed with the first charge — the elf knights he'd met in the cities came to mind — but Johan couldn't have cared less. Bragging about where he'd landed the first charge would earn him nothing; saying "I cut off a troll's head" went much further.
"Sir knight! There seems to be fighting breaking out in the village!"
"?"
At the sudden report, Johan's face hardened.
"Who in their right mind would come to a village like this to fight?"
"Perhaps runaway serfs pooled their money and hired mercenaries."
"No. Serfs wouldn't do that. They've failed how many times now? Unless they're fools..."
"Could bandits have drifted into the village? The war's over — plenty of mercenaries have been released."
"It's the priests."
"?"
Suetelg cut through the captains' noisy speculation.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I can hear hymns coming from over there. Anyone who sings hymns while fighting can only be people out of a monastic order."
"Ahh...!"
It wasn't only mercenaries who roamed the land like stray dogs. Monks and priests of the Orders wandered every road as well.
The difference? A mercenary lusted after gold, while an Order dispensed the will of God — more or less.
Where there were monsters, they went to slay them. Where drought or flood stirred unrest among the people, they went to help. Where war had left villages looted and burning, they went to protect them...
"If they're from an Order, then it's entirely believable they'd set foot in a backwater hamlet like this."
"Have the soldiers who can ride bring up the front. We're going to support them."
The mercenary captains answered Johan's order in unison.
"Yes, sir."
"Ser Gerdolf. Show me what you can do."
"Thank you, thir. I will not dithappointh you."
Gerdolf stammered through the words, and Inno stared in astonishment. Normally, Gerdolf could barely follow an order even from a count unless Inno repeated it for him — yet he had understood Johan in a single pass.
What is this?
"I will prepare as well!"
"......"
Stephan's outburst froze the atmosphere for an instant. Johan answered with perfect calm.
"If the commander is absent from the main camp, the mercenaries may waver. Hold the camp with appropriate gravity."
"R-right, of course."
"Lord Suetelg. (Keep that fool from doing anything unnecessary.) I leave him in your care."
"(Keep that fool from doing anything unnecessary.) I shall do my utmost."
Gerdolf, at the very front, let out a savage howl — a sound closer to a monster's roar than anything human. It rang out so fierce and raw that it seemed to tear the darkness blanketing the surroundings clean away.
Wielding a greatsword from horseback demanded not just raw strength but long, hard practice. Gerdolf's social graces were abysmal, but he proved in that moment exactly why he carried the title of the Butcher.
Wham!
The sudden cavalry charge sent the goblins rampaging through the village tumbling like skittles. Smaller than grown men, the goblins recoiled in shock at the ambush from mounted warriors.
"■■■! ■!"
"■■! ■■■!"
The goblins howled as they realized reinforcements had arrived at their backs. But few armies in the thick of battle could respond to a surprise strike like this one.
"Kill them! Leave no goblin breathing!"
The mercenaries roared and rained bolts from their crossbows. Most goblin armor amounted to little more than raw hide draped over the body — hardly enough to stop a heavy cavalry bolt.
"Ser Gerdolf! Watch your front!"
Johan skewered three goblins on his lance in a single pass, then barked the warning. Gerdolf was rampaging like a berserker, eyes fixed on nothing but his own slaughter.
Gerdolf paid him no heed and kept swinging. There was something feral in him — a will to kill the enemy before he himself got hurt.
Once several dozen heavily armed men went on the rampage, the goblins' haphazard formation collapsed in the blink of an eye. Johan raised his riding crop and laid it across Gerdolf's back.
"?!"
"Match my pace, Gerdolf."
"Y-yes, thir!"
Gerdolf nodded as if waking from a trance, then drew his blood-slicked mount up alongside Johan's.
Were they lying in wait inside the village?
As the savvier mercenaries hurled torches to push back the darkness, the state of the battle came into view. The things in the village's cellars must have burst out the moment they heard approaching footsteps.
But at this level of opposition, they could have repelled a surprise attack even without warning.
Unless the priests were careless... then who let them in?
"Sir knight! The goblins in the back are rather well equipped!"
"!"
Astonishingly, the goblins deeper in the village were wearing metal armor. It was crude enough to laugh at — scrap iron melted down and riveted into plates — but the mere fact they'd forged it was impressive. It meant they had a forge of some kind, at the very least.
Beyond them, figures who looked like monks were holding formation and repelling the assault. Goblins ambushing them out of near-total darkness, and yet they held without a tremor — that composure was unmistakably that of a monastic order.
"It doesn't matter what armor they wear. Trample them!"
"Yes, sir!"
Johan gave the order without a flicker of hesitation. He was the kind of knight who inspired courage simply by fighting at the very front. At the sight of goblins impaled on his lance and hurled through the air, the mercenaries raised a war cry.
"Help the priests!"
—Grrrr.
Karamaph, fighting at his side, rumbled a growl — a deep bass cry erupting out of that darkness. Boars that looked to weigh several hundred kilograms came charging in with their tusks lowered, murderous and fast.
"M-m-madness...!"
"What the hell are the goblins keeping?!"
Metal weapons were one thing, but fielding beasts like these pushed the mercenaries into open panic. Johan decided he had no choice but to step in himself.
"Karamaph! Drive them together! Gerdolf, follow me. I'll give you the chance to hunt that one!"
"Thank you, thir!"
Johan wheeled his horse sharply to the side. Karamaph moved in much the same fashion. A boar that charged headlong always had its flanks wide open.
"Loose! Cover the knight!"
The mercenaries abandoned the goblins and turned on the boars first. A full-grown boar — a monstrous one at that — was as dangerous as any great predator. Get bowled over, or gored by those tusks, and death could be instantaneous.
Bolts flew and struck home, but it wasn't enough to stop the boars. It only made them madder.
Thud!
One boar went down. Johan's thrown spear had punched through its thick hide and pierced its heart.
"In-incredible!"
"Strike, Gerdolf!"
Gerdolf leapt down from his horse and leveled his greatsword at the boar like a lance. The beast slammed into the blade at full running speed.
"Grraaaagh!"
He leapt sideways to bleed off the impact — a brainless technique, and it showed. Gerdolf's grip tore open along the sword's hilt, and blood ran down his wrists.
Another boar wheeled toward him. Johan rode hard around its flank.
Having already thrown his spear, he closed in with his mace and hammered the beast's ribs in a frenzy. A drumming thud-thud-thud split the night air. The boar staggered, then toppled sideways with a mournful shriek.
The mercenaries who watched the two knights' senseless — no, magnificent — way of fighting clicked their tongues. Even knights who fought brilliantly didn't fight like that.
Is that strength even human??
For the mercenaries it was awe, since these were allies. For the goblins, it was something else entirely.
Warriors appearing out of nowhere to beat monsters to death looked, to them, like beasts crawled up from the darkness itself.
"■■! ■■!"
"■■■!"
Wailing, the goblins began to scatter in every direction. With the night now fully black, their small frames melted into the dark with ease.
"What are they screeching about?"
"Sounds like they're saying 'demon.'"
"What? You understand goblin speech?"
"No. Just guessing."
"Then shut it! Ready the pursuit!"
—HALT! Do not pursue!
The mercenaries, already surging forward, pulled up short at Johan's command. They turned to look at him, puzzled.
"We're not going after them?"
"Chasing monsters into unfamiliar ground at night means only one side bleeds — ours. No sense manufacturing wounded men for nothing."
Even half-lost in the darkness, the mercenaries' faces showed they were moved. Knights who looked after their soldiers like that were a rare breed.
To most knights, soldiers were expendables.
Expendables for the sake of a knight's honor and glory!
Sending men out to scout at night, volunteering for the first charge — all of it was only possible because they treated soldiers as the coin that bought those things. Some knights even fed mercenaries into deliberate deathtraps to save on their wages.
In that light, Johan was the kind of knight men couldn't help following the longer they rode with him. Not for pay or plunder — there was simply a charisma about him that drew men in.
"Could it be — are you the Troll-Slayer of Marcel, Sir Knight?!"
"...I don't know how you learned of it, but yes!"
At the question that rang out from among the monks, Johan answered at once. Both sides were still eyeing each other warily — and if the other party already knew who he was, the quickest move was to put them at ease.