Zig kept a close eye on his opponent while he caught his breath. Battling a witch was an unexpected challenge, but he was putting up a better fight than he’d expected.
The fact that she wasn’t very adept at close-range combat was a big factor, though not surprising. Her long-distance attacks were so powerful that it made sense she didn’t have much experience fighting in melee. Her magic was potent, but their skirmish was like a person struggling to crush a winged insect. Although she could handle many attackers at once, duels didn’t seem to be her forte.
And then there was that.
“Whoa.”
He dodged to one side and again distanced himself as he caught a whiff of the pungent odor. He didn’t understand why, but there was always that particular smell before she released her magic.
Offensive spells gave off that stench, defensive ones smelled a bit like iron.
Thinking back, he remembered the same irritating scent wafting around them right before the witch’s initial attack. It had been much stronger then. Perhaps the strength of the odor changed depending on the scale at which she was casting magic.
However, the witch didn’t seem to be aware of that tell. Each time he detected and avoided an attack, she looked utterly perplexed. He was grateful she hadn’t figured it out yet—all he had for protection was a breastplate, thick greaves for his legs, and gauntlets on his arms. They were enough to ward off sword attacks, but he wouldn’t last long if he took a direct hit from the witch.
Fortunately, she seemed to feel threatened by his assault as well. It would be impossible to destroy all her shields, but if he could somehow slip through and land a blow, he had a chance. He braced himself, not wanting to miss even the smallest chance of an opening.
The witch started to move. Which was it going to be this time? Offense or defense?
Zig readied himself but was immediately hit with such a suffocating odor that it made him grimace. She was attacking…and it was going to be stronger than anything she’d cast so far.
He fell back to shake off the chills that were running down his spine.
Spikes once again erupted from the ground, though they didn’t seem to be focused on him. One after another, their positions appeared random, scattering all over the battlefield. The barrage didn’t seem to discriminate between the regular soldiers and the clay figure that were still locked in combat.
Being skewered meant instant death. Even if one of the troops managed to evade a spike, losing their footing would also seal their fate. Zig desperately tried to dodge them. Though he was getting sliced and diced as they grazed him, he didn’t have time to worry about his injuries.
The onslaught continued even when the witch lost sight of him, only ceasing when the ground was so littered with spikes that they were the only things she could see.
Her breathing was labored as she scanned the vicinity.
The clay figure was destroyed beyond recognition. Rivers of blood gushed out from countless impaled soldiers, mixing with the dirt and turning it into sludge.
There were no signs of movement anywhere.
Confirming that she was successful in exterminating the invaders, the witch heaved a sigh of relief, her body weary after casting so many spells in succession. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so worried for her life.
She had just turned and started walking away to rest when a loud roar echoed out. Whirling back around, she saw something leaping through the wall of spikes.
Zig appeared once more, cutting his way through the dusty clouds. The witch’s eyes widened in astonishment. He was covered with wounds and his protective gear was in tatters, but his fighting spirit was very much intact.
“Gwaaaaah!” He brandished his twinblade and let out a piercing battle cry.
She immediately tried to create some protective shields, but her movements were sluggish. The strain of pushing herself so hard earlier was likely taking its toll.
He instantly cut through two of the shields while she was still forming them, but she was somehow able to protect herself with the remaining one. However, it was unable to stop his momentum and the blow knocked the shield away. The witch tumbled to the ground, and the shield—which she’d lost control of—turned back into a lump of dirt.
Getting back on her feet, she was met with a blade thrust right in front of her face. She stared at Zig, who was panting heavily. After a long pause she finally said, “I didn’t think anyone would be able to avoid all that.”
It was the first time he heard her speak and he wasn’t expecting her voice to sound that way. She seemed composed despite the circumstances, and yet…her tone was no different from any other young woman.
But…she was a witch.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He slightly grazed the witch’s throat with his blade, leaving her question unanswered. “Why are you killing people?”
The witch smiled. “What a meaningless thing to ask. Must I have a reason to kill?”
“Answer the question.” He pushed the blade slightly further into her throat.
“I kill them because they’re trying to kill me,” she said. “That’s all there is to it. I don’t really care whether humans live or die. There, are you satisfied?”
“I guess.”
The witch shrugged. “You could spare a little sympathy for me, you know. Relatively speaking, I’m the victim here. Although…I did kill a lot of them.”
“I’m a mercenary. You could be a pleasure-seeking killer or a benevolent member of the clergy, but once I’ve agreed to and accepted a request, all I can do is kill you.”
The witch looked utterly crestfallen at his response. “Seriously? In that case, there was no point in asking that question.”
“That’s not true.”
“How do you figure? Whatever. Please just get it over with.” The witch squeezed her eyes shut and stuck out her neck.
It was so easy to just end it. Zig silently stared at her throat. Just how many people have I killed up till now? He had no right to condemn her—he’d sent so many souls to their graves himself. It was only thanks to making a living from snuffing out countless lives that he survived this long.
She was no different from him.
He just wanted to live—that was the only reason he killed. It was for that reason Zig silently sheathed his blade, turned, and began to walk away.
The witch, growing impatient waiting for the end to come, opened her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Zig sat down on a nearby earthen spike that had broken apart and started to tend to his wounds.
“Can’t you tell?” he said. “I’m trying to do some first aid.”
“I can see that much. But…umm…do I have to wait until you’re done…?”
“Is there something you need? It’s fine, just spit it out.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, this is perfect. Come help me out.”
“Excuse me?” the witch said in bewilderment. Still, she approached to help.
Zig was carefully cleaning out his injuries and wrapping them with bandages. She crouched before him and gently touched his wounded hand.
A vaguely sweet scent filled the air as a faint glow covered her fingertips. Moving her hand so the light brushed against the gash, Zig watched the skin begin to slowly knit back together.
“That sure is a handy trick,” he commented.
“Uh, thanks,” she said. “So…are you at least going to tell me why? Why you haven’t killed me, that is. I doubt you’re a bleeding-heart kind of guy.”
“Look.”
Her eyes followed where he was pointing. On the edge of an area that had a cluster of spikes like the top of a pincushion, she could make out the remains of some regal-looking armor. The set was so mangled that it was impossible to discern who was wearing it, but it seemed to be more decorative than practical. It was likely the corpse of someone of high status.
“What am I looking at?”
“The man who hired me. He’s the son of the lord of these lands.”
“Oh, my condolences, I guess.” Her tone was laced with uncertainty. What was he getting at? “Even though I’m the one who killed him.”
“I’m not getting paid if my client is dead, right? I don’t work for free.”
“Come on, that can’t be true! Won’t his father reward you handsomely if you come back with a witch’s head as your trophy?”
Zig sighed in dismay, realizing that a witch would be unfamiliar with how human politics worked.
“Picture this,” he said. “Your precious son gathered a bunch of troops and went off to subjugate a witch, but the only one who made it home alive is some random mercenary. Just this guy…and your son and the rest of his squadron are all dead. There’s no proof. No one saw anything, but somehow, he has the witch’s head. If he comes back saying, ‘I was the only survivor, but I killed the witch, so can I get my money now?’ what do you think is going to happen?”
She looked thoughtful. “In the best-case scenario, he’d be hanged. If he’s not so lucky, he’d be tortured, and his body would be put on display at the prison gate after being dragged around the town.”
“Exactly.” Zig took on work that required him to kill in order to live. If it wasn’t possible for him to get paid, then there was no longer a job to do. Killing the witch would only be for his personal satisfaction.
Thus, he wasn’t going to.
“…So that’s how it is?” The witch dropped her gaze to the ground, brow furrowed, like she was considering his words. Zig, oblivious to her ruminating, finished tending his wounds and began to examine his equipment.
His armor was tattered and falling apart. The cost of the repairs alone meant that this entire endeavor had been a complete waste of time. He almost wanted to cry as he crunched the numbers in his head, trying to see if his income could cover his various expenses.
To add insult to injury, he knew he needed to avoid taking any jobs in this region for some time. He doubted anyone would remember the face of a random mercenary who’d joined the eradication force, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
“And you’re okay with all this?”
Zig completed his preparations and was still considering what his next move should be when the witch’s voice brought him back to reality.