The Werewolves of the Plain
When facing monsters of medium size or larger, you generally avoided close combat.
Fight a monster with tenacious vitality head-on, and it was the human who dropped first. Only the most foolhardy knights truly squared off against such beasts.
Remarkable...!
That was precisely why Kaenerna could not help but marvel at Johan's monstrous strength. A werewolf was a sturdy, ferocious monster — it should have weathered a knight's blow or two. Instead, it had collapsed like a sheaf of straw.
So that's why he earned his reputation at such a young age.
In truth, Kaenerna had never properly watched Johan fight. She had witnessed the brawl in the Gullak warehouse, but that had been a chaotic free-for-all. The knights had been pushed back, true, but they hadn't been fully armored either. One could have chalked it up to their misfortune.
Now, though, it seemed obvious why the knights had lost.
Knights were said to be men mad for honor and glory, but knights were still human. They had fears, and they had sense. Those willing to hurl themselves at a ferocious werewolf without a scrap of armor numbered precious few.
"Come at me!"
The fallen werewolf never rose again. The werewolves lurking in the darkness dared not answer Johan's challenge, merely circling at the perimeter.
Kaenerna decided it was about time she proved her own worth. She chanted, her intricate gestures weaving through the gloom. The campfires around the encampment roared up violently, blazing into a brilliant light. When the radiance reached the beasts, the werewolves shrieked and fled back into the dark.
"Suetleug, my lord! Well done!"
"...I did that."
"Oh. Did you? Good work, mage. Excellent. Have the crossbowmen finished reloading? Fire the moment they're ready!"
The crossbowmen gritted their teeth.
The vast eastern frontier was a land where every manner of monster roamed. But to run into werewolves out here on an open plain — they could thank the heavens Johan was at their side; without him, they'd have soiled themselves on the spot.
"Any advice you'd care to offer?"
Johan's manner left Kaenerna feeling deeply conflicted. As a mage, her ability was being acknowledged — but there was none of the awe or fear a normal person ought to show her, and she couldn't decide whether to be angry about it or not. It was an ambiguous feeling...
"Have them build more fires around the perimeter and wall off any approach. Pull the wounded to the rear — left untreated, a werewolf's wound festers in an instant. And pair the men off, two by two."
"Good thinking. Understood."
Johan called for Gerdolf.
"Gerdolf. Protect Suetleug, my lord. Sir Marco — take the knights and move with Stephan. Guard the house of Zarpen."
Stephan and the Zarpen household, regardless of their combat strength, were the ones who had to be protected first and foremost.
Having issued his orders, Johan realized he had overlooked one thing.
"No — Gerdolf. Protect Lady Kaenerna instead."
"W-wait a moment."
Kaenerna spoke with urgent haste. The others she could tolerate, but Gerdolf was a madman who might swing a blade at her at any moment.
"Might I ask Sir Marco to escort me instead?"
"That's, ah... my apologies, my lady. It might invite unwanted suspicion."
Marco demurred. As it was, the imperial faction risked scrutiny just for clustering together as they did.
"Then stay by my side. You'd best keep your guard up, though — I've no talent for fighting while protecting someone."
"...I shall bear that in mind."
As the campfires blazed brighter still, the werewolves seemed to realize their ambush had failed. The beasts prowled the shadows, circling in search of a gap to slip through.
Each time the light swept outward, their shapes were thrown into view.
The sight of two-legged beasts, each a head or two taller than a man, made the mercenaries' blood run cold. Their claws were thick and sharp enough to split a shield in a single blow.
One of them finally lost patience and lunged. A crossbow bolt flew and punched into its torso.
But the werewolf howled through it and kept coming, driven by a raw hunger to repay its pain in blood and flesh.
If the formation broke now, a few mercenaries would die for certain, even if the werewolves fell later. Johan called upon the demon's name and hurled his spear.
"Balkalmur!"
Johan saw it clearly — the spear writhing, bending its flight path in time with the werewolf's twisting dodge.
Then it punched clean through the beast's chest. Dense hide and iron-hard muscle meant nothing against a thrown spear carrying Johan's full strength behind it.
"Out of my way!"
Johan closed the distance and took the werewolf's head in a single stroke. As blood fountained outward, the morale of the werewolves beyond the camp cratered further.
They began to flee, wailing like beasts.
The mercenaries' jeers flew after them. Drunk on the thrill of battle and Johan's valor, they showered the retreating monsters with mockery and curses.
Kaenerna, still reeling, suddenly remembered something.
"Did you not say you never used the demon's power in combat?"
"In emergencies, exceptions happen. What of it?"
"......"
His answer left her speechless.
Just what manner of man was this knight?
Not a single mercenary slept until dawn broke. Attacked by werewolves on an open plain — only a madman would close his eyes.
Only after first light did they finally find rest.
"The East is dangerous, I knew that much, but werewolves on a flat plain? That's pushing it."
The people of House Zarpen could barely conceal their shock — and no wonder.
"Sir Johan. If we head further toward the river, there's a village ahead. Even if it means a detour, resting there would be wise."
"Sir Knight. They say someone's approaching from the east."
"?"
Johan, who had been picking over the werewolf corpses with Suetleug and Kaenerna, stepped outside at the mercenaries' call.
A band of horsemen was riding toward them.
"Bandits, it doesn't look like..."
"That's the banner of House Brudhe, my lord. Warriors under the Duke's command, it would seem."
Unlike the West or the South, the Empire's eastern reaches were dotted with nomadic tribes wandering the vast empty lands. Those who embraced the Empire's culture and faith became its most loyal warriors; those who refused became its most dangerous enemies.
The riders now approaching bore the banner of House Brudhe alongside another unfamiliar sigil. There was no doubt they were warriors sworn to the Duke of Brudhe.
"Centaurs...!"
"They are indeed a rare sight in the Empire."
Born to run on four legs and fight with two, centaurs boasted peerless combat power by nature. While other races bred and trained warhorses, they served as their own cavalry.
Johan watched the centaur warriors with open fascination. Kaenerna asked:
"Does that not trouble you?"
"Up close, it's a bit unsettling, but given Suetleug's words, I'm making an effort not to let it. Pay it no mind."
"...?"
Kaenerna wondered what he meant — and then the meaning landed.
He had been talking about her!
"...I meant the centaur warriors."
"Ah. My apologies. Think nothing of it."
"......"
When she fell silent, Johan seemed faintly sorry for it and sought to placate her.
"I'm simply inclined to distrust mages by nature, that's all. I'd ask for your understanding."
"You spoke with Suetleug easily enough, did you not? And the magic I demonstrated yesterday should be reason enough for respect. I demand the same courtesy you would show the Sage of the Ipael River."
When hinting got her nowhere, Kaenerna said it plainly — and Johan answered in kind.
"Fair enough, that excuse wouldn't hold. It troubles me that you are the Emperor's counselor. Is that clear enough?"
Kaenerna neither raged nor flustered. A mage who lost her composure at such a reaction had no business being one. She probed at Johan, trying to shake him and win him over.
"...As a mage, I pledge loyalty to no single man. So you may put such worries out of your head."
"If you pledge loyalty to no one, that applies to me as well, no? I'll extend the customary hospitality due a court mage and a guest, but I'd rather ask for nothing beyond it. If you want my respect, you'll need virtues worthy of it."
Johan said it flatly, without a sliver of ambiguity.
Suetleug had told him that, since Kaenerna would be traveling with them, some buttering-up was in order.
Johan wasn't one of those thick-headed knights, after all — he could flatter till the cows came home if he wished. Courting Kaenerna's favor was well within his power. She was a formidable mage besides; what harm could come from earning her goodwill?
But Johan thought otherwise.
Mages traded influence like that all the time; Johan did not. With nothing at stake, why contort himself in acrobatics beside someone he could barely trust?
Kaenerna understood what he meant. Pushing closer to a knight who drew his lines that firmly would only backfire. She decided to withdraw.
"Did you two talk? How was it — are you friendly now?"
At Suetleug's question, Johan answered with a slightly embarrassed voice.
"Our wants differ, so I proposed we simply honor what was agreed."
"...W-well. If that's how it is, so be it."
Some people were simply oil and water. Forcing them together achieved nothing.
Looking at Kaenerna, she seemed to have given up on Johan too. He was the sort whose hide no tooth could pierce, so she had evidently decided she'd be better off persuading others instead.
"You have come — from House Zarpen?"
The centaurs spoke in rough-hewn Imperial. The Zarpen household, holding their banner aloft, nodded.
"We will escort — accompany you. This area is dangerous — take care."
"We did indeed meet werewolves last night."
At that, the centaurs wore looks of astonishment. For a party that had met werewolves, the group was far too intact.
There should have been at least a few bodies.
More astonishing still was that the werewolves' corpses were sitting right there in the camp.
"Who slew them?"
"I took two."
"No — three, sir knight. There was one more dead outside the perimeter."
When dawn broke, a werewolf lay fallen where it had failed to flee, an arrow driven through some vital point. A centaur studied Johan and asked:
"You there, sir knight. Are you Johan of House Eitz?"
"I am."
"As expected. Our master has been waiting — awaiting you quite eagerly, sir knight."
Whether his Imperial was clumsy or his concepts simply ran differently, the centaur called the Duke his master — and he was no slave.
"Collect the carcasses! We must present them to our master!"
At the centaur warrior's command, his men hoisted up the corpses. Presenting worthy trophies upon returning from a hunt was their custom.
Three werewolves would more than grace the name of this knight called Johan.
"You said he's been waiting. May I ask what that means?"
A man who had cut down three werewolves had earned the right to be answered.
"There are warriors — knights awaiting their dubbing ceremony. They are among the finest young warriors of the East, and they wish to prove their valor before our master, so they bide their time."
"...I see. So that's where we're headed."
A dubbing ceremony was no mere affair of a sword laid upon a shoulder and a title conferred.
It was a grand festival, a display of the presiding lord's honor and authority — guests feasted from every direction, and the knights were granted their chance to prove their mettle.
And such chances invariably ended in steel and blood everywhere.
With the East's finest young warriors all gathered in one place, Johan could hardly help but steel himself.
A tournament? Or perhaps something else entirely.
"If you are a warrior — a knight, that is more than enough. Three werewolves. That is no easy feat."
"It was only possible with the soldiers' help."
"No one hunts alone. Everyone receives help. With your skill, sir knight, it must have been remarkable. I would like to see it."
Glory-hunger and expectation glittered in the centaur warriors' eyes. Johan nodded.
"If the chance arises on the road, I'll show you."
The centaurs broke into grins and cheered. The knight from the West, it turned out, had a rather generous spirit about him.