Fifth Report A Full Account of the Golem Valley Survey A cold wind blows through the valley. Fragments of boulder resonate faintly along the rocky earth. The wind is fierce, and even if a scent lingers, such as the fur of a werebeast, any trace of it is soon erased. Behind me, a looming wall of shadow is surveying our surroundings. It’s Wurtz, who we made a big deal of having dispatched to assist us. His long mage’s robe is bulky from the weatherworn armor he’s donned underneath. His pointed gaze pierces through sky far, far away. From that alone, I can surmise that despite his long hiatus, he hasn’t lost his touch. Wurtz’s nose twitches, and he grunts as he screws up his face in thought. “Hmph… Indeed—it seems that the monsters have declined in number. I haven’t been here for quite some time, however…” “Right? They’ve practically been obliterated. I can’t come up with any other explanation for why their numbers have tanked.” “…It has been confirmed that there are multiple mother golems. It’s highly unlikely that they’ve all gone extinct. If they did, we would see a much greater shift in their behavior.” The extinction of the mother golems would spell the ruin of Golem Valley itself. I confirm my previous suspicions as Wurtz speaks. Amelia, who is staring far into the horizon, draws a short breath before adding, “If it’s werebeasts we’re dealing with, then they can’t wield magic. They’re likely using a physical implement to track the golems.” For our own tracking purposes, the data we’ve gathered so far isn’t our only resource. Werebeasts have incredibly high physical capacities, but conversely, they possess less magical capacity than humans. Their options are limited. “Golems do not have a strong scent, but— Hmph. That means…” Half giants and werebeasts have a number of commonalities. Wurtz squints and looks up at the cliffs jutting above. “The sky…” “Right.” I follow suit. The sky is so serenely blue without a cloud in sight, it could practically swallow me whole. “If we’re going to search for enemies in this area, we should start with the sky. If I were the Demon Lord, I would send out those capable of flight.” “The ability to fly… That’s rare, even among werebeasts.” Only a slim handful of werebeasts are capable of flight. They have exceptionally high mobility and are perfectly adept as scouts, but they lack any significant battle prowess. I’ve heard they’re easily singled out and their numbers have steadily dwindled from war and conflict. “We’ll do as they do and scour the valley from above with a fine-tooth comb. If we see any werebeasts, we’ll apprehend them, and if we find the mother golems, we’ll observe them.” Maneuvering from above the cliffs will give us a wide vantage, and there won’t be any risk of being ambushed. Wurtz silently nods, but Amelia shows some doubt. “…Wait a minute. How are we going to get above the cliffs?” “…We’ll climb them, obviously.” The cliffs are steep, but they’re only ten or so meters high. Piece of cake. From atop the cliff, we can see the entire valley in all its grandeur. Amelia climbs down from my back and furrows her brow at the breathtaking scenery. “…This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.” “Werebeasts in the sky, mother golems on the ground. Locating them will be up to your detection magic, Amelia.” “…I can hardly wait,” she replies, although she doesn’t exactly look it. The valley is expansive, but it’s not infinite. At the very least, we’ll find some traces. Amelia continues with a pointed observation. “Also, what if the absence of the mother golems in the White Plains, their usual domain, means they’ve all been destroyed?” As we walk forward, I answer her with exactly what is on my mind. “…To be honest, this was a contingency plan from the get-go. All we know right now is that we found werebeast tracks, the number of golems is declining, and the mother golems have vanished from the White Plains.” Even if nothing is certain, we have no choice but to make a move. “Imagine that I’m the Demon Lord. Let’s say I’ve dispatched my minions, the werebeasts, to gain complete control of Golem Valley. Suppose my goal is to annihilate the mother golems. Their territory is extremely well-known and can be easily investigated from the outside.” Demons are cunning. They often forgo detailed planning due to their arrogance, but they are more intelligent than humans. “In that case, they’ll definitely attack the White Plains first. Even the demon army is low on numbers, so they’ll want as short a battle campaign as possible.” From the data we’ve gathered, the golems’ decline in numbers has occurred so steadily that no one has noticed. Yet, thinking about it rationally, that doesn’t make any sense. If they want to drive the golems to extinction, all they have to do is annihilate the mother golems. There isn’t a mage left in existence who could possibly recreate them. Yet, that isn’t what’s happening here. In that case, we can assume there was one thing the demons didn’t think of, and that’s just how incredibly capable the mother golems are. “Currently, there are still some existing golems left. In other words…the mother golems are…trying to escape. Is that correct?” “Until now, people thought the mother golems would never leave the White Plains. However, the mother golems are the masterpieces of a famed mage known as the Doll Master. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some sort of unfathomable mechanism contained within these creatures… If there are several mothers with the ability to self-replicate, and they all scattered, it’d be a real slog to eliminate them entirely, don’t you think?” “I see…” In this game of hide-and-seek, we have the upper hand—the mothers haven’t been defeated yet. The rest is a race against time. Somehow, we have to put an end to things as soon as possible. As we continue surveying the land, I see that the path on the cliff below is a different color. If it weren’t for my current bird’s-eye view, I likely wouldn’t have noticed the subtle contrast. “Amelia, I’m going down to investigate.” I let Amelia down off my back and descend to the cliff below, and suddenly, she cries out softly. “Ares, take a look at this!” She points at three small holes in the ground. They’re clearly not of natural origin. “That could be the remains of where a mother generated new golems. I’ve heard they can cast magic by inserting one of their feelers into the earth.” “Can you tell how long they’ve been there?” “I’m not a specialist, so I can’t be entirely sure… But I’d say these aren’t that old.” For once, Amelia doesn’t look very confident. If we can somehow determine these remains aren’t very old, that will be a huge push in the right direction. If the mother golems are generating new golems on the move, finding any other similar holes in the ground and connecting the dots will allow us to estimate their course. Stey remains our burden…she’s strictly limited to observation, while Amelia, Wurtz, and I continue to survey the valley. We’ve established a good system, but we need to make the survey as quick as possible. At all costs, we need to avoid the awkward situation of Toudou and his party leaving the valley while we dillydally, trying to find the mother golems. I’m completely on edge as we search—it’s been three days. Yet, these are the times when fate strikes. Amelia is casting detection magic as per usual when she opens her eyes wide and calls out to me. “Ares, I see something— It’s a beast.” She was looking beyond the cliffs. I focus my senses, but I don’t feel anything. It’s doubtful we’ll be able to catch it, but once Amelia senses a beast’s presence, she’ll be able to lock on to its location again with detection magic. As the thoughts run through my mind, Amelia provides more concise information. “It’s about one and a half kilometers out. It’s taking the upper path— Wait… What…?” Just as she starts up, Amelia lets out a cry of shock. She shuts her eyes tightly, starting the incantation again. I keep an eye on her while casting a buff on Wurtz and myself. My limbs swell with power, my senses ring clear. Finally, Amelia looks up again, her cheeks stiff. Her voice trembles as she reports to me. “It’s…gone.” Despite Amelia’s tone, I’m not shaken. We’ve finally got something on them. That’s an achievement. Magic is not omnipotent. Detection magic itself is quite useful, but even among its users, there are still professional trackers. “Did it fall out of range?” “…No. I suddenly lost sight of it.” This must be a first for Amelia—she’s unable to hide her confusion. Yet, for all of detection magic’s uses, a number of countermeasures have been developed. For starters, a particularly prescient target is able to sense that they are being tracked. If they themselves are a user of displacement magic, they can escape outside the original caster’s range, and casting a prism can potentially block the detection magic altogether. Some magical tools can even allow the wearer to slip through undetected, although these are rarer. If the beast Amelia was tracking really did disappear suddenly, it definitely employed some technique to deceive her. Amelia is staggering on her feet, perhaps from the shock, and I put my left arm around her while giving an order to Wurtz. “Let’s go after it. Wurtz, follow me. Amelia, I’m counting on you to navigate.” Information is paramount at this stage. Even if we can’t directly detect its presence, there will be traces left behind. I kick off the ground and rush up the cliff in one leap, looking toward the direction Amelia’s indicated. The expanse of Golem Valley stretches before me, and Wurtz climbs up a few seconds later. “Let’s go!” “…Right.” On Wurtz’s reply, I take off across the craggy, uneven cliffs. Following Amelia’s navigation, we then race down a gradual slope. I can hear Wurtz’s pounding footsteps behind me. Amelia said it was a beast. Lucky for me; I don’t have a shred of interest in the mother golems. I’m only interested in our enemies. The Demon Lord Kranos is formidable. Hats off to him for being vigilant enough to have predicted the Holy Warrior’s arrival and then sent out a demon to the Great Forest to meet him. However—the Demon Lord’s minions are not like him. Zarpahn Drago Fahni, who I battled in the Great Forest of the Vale, was foolish enough to fall for a simple provocation—and this is the standard all demon foes succumb to. They are a proud group of intelligent creatures with unparalleled strength. They boast of valor yet quickly fall into sheer sadism. If the Demon Lord Kranos can quell their true nature, then the calamity brought down by him will eclipse anything our world has seen so far. But that’s not going to happen. Not on my watch. The demons’ true nature, ingrained into their very beings for years upon years, will not fade so easily. Just as humanity cannot gather as one, even in the face of the Demon Lord’s arrival. Just as Wurtz, who now embraces the priesthood, still relishes a fight. Humankind and demon kind alike are not so quick to change. “! Ares! The path— It’s gone!” “It is?” The path we’re headed for is no longer. There’s now a cliff face roughly one hundred meters away. Amelia’s eyes go wide and she yelps—but her detection magic is leading us in that direction. “!!!!” Amelia latches on to me tightly, and I take one big leap, not letting up on my speed. The blue sky draws near. Something wraps around my arm. The wind envelops me, and I hold my breath. My field of vision is enhanced; I can see as far as the horizon allows. The ground is quickly approaching. I subdue any potential impact and land on the ground flawlessly. Ignoring the cloud of sand erupting around me, I quickly turn around. Wurtz is soaring through the air. From my vantage point, the intimidating man I know looks more like an insect against the expansive sky. He didn’t slow down before leaping, but it’s quite clear he won’t make the gap. Given his body weight and level, I doubt he’ll be able to clear it. I steady my ragged breath, deftly grasp the wire wrapped around my arm with all my might, and pull hard. Wurtz has grabbed on to the other end of it. As he falls through the sky in a massive arc, Wurtz is drawn toward me at top speed before landing right at my side. His weight and velocity send a massive roar through the valley, practically kicking up a dust storm. I wait for the dust to subside and remove the wire from my arm as I speak to Wurtz. “You’re reckless. What did you plan to do if the wire didn’t attach?” “You’re wrong. The wire didn’t attach—I attached it. Not to mention, how can you say that when you’re the one who leaped blindly off a cliff?” “Makes no difference either way, if you ask me,” Amelia chimes in, releasing my arm and standing up shakily. She has tears in her eyes—now that’s a real rarity. Looking around, it’s now clear that although we managed to cross one river, nothing has changed in our stark and severe surroundings. However, the leap was worth the effort. Wurtz’s right cheek twitches, and an animalistic grin creeps across his face. “I can still smell it… It’s close, Ares. Really close. It’s the scent of a beast.” “Ugh, I can’t take this anymore… I wanna go home with Ares. Wurtz, you go and find the beast yourself.” “Hey, Ares—” “This is just another one of Amelia’s jokes. Pay it no mind—I certainly don’t.” “Huuuuuh?!” Amelia begrudgingly recites another detection magic spell and shakes her head. Wurtz is right. There’s still a lingering scent—the subtle scent of a beast. There’s a high possibility that it’s very close by. Yet, there are also caves and multiple obstructions here. If it wants to hide, it has all the options it needs. As an unfortunate aside, it’s nearly dusk. Okay… Where should we begin our search? I cross my arms and sink deep into thought. Behind me, Amelia is staring down the cliff face when she suddenly claps her hands together. “Ares, Ares, I have a good idea.” “…” I don’t have any fond recollections of Amelia’s sudden ideas. I furrow my brow and look at her, but she has a poker face, as usual—she’s a tough cookie, through and through. Didn’t she just say she wanted to go home, though? “You wanna go home?” “Quit pulling my leg. Yes, I want to finish this as soon as possible, go home, and take a shower. With you, Ares.” Oh boy. Now I really am sorry. Before I know it, I’ve fully committed to Amelia’s “good idea.” “You spineless coward, running away with your tail between your legs just because you’ve been followed!! And here I thought werebeasts were superior warriors—you’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a creature! Now I know what to expect of the Demon Lord’s army!” Wurtz’s thick voice rolls down from the cliff tops like thunder booming across the entire valley. Taking a direct hit from someone with the lung capacity of a half giant is truly intense. Now I understand why a giant’s Howl is so renowned. We’ve concealed ourselves in a blind spot below the cliffs. The progenitor of this idea plugs her ears and looks up at me. “Seriously, Amelia, there’s no way they’ll fall for a two-bit provocation like this.” “Ares, don’t think that everyone else is as dispassionate as you are. There are hot-blooded fools in the mix, too.” “I’m not sure if you’re praising me or talking shit. Make up your mind.” Nonetheless, I myself thought this idea might just work. Zarpahn fell for my trick and ended up self-destructing. The demons I’ve seen thus far are truly hard to wrap my head around. Wurtz’s invectives linger in the air for some time, but nothing really comes of it. As we wait a few minutes longer, Amelia gently puts her lips by my ear and whispers, “…I’m sorry, Ares. I didn’t consider the fact that our opponent could be just as dispassionate as you.” …Amelia, you and Stey really are cut from the same cloth. When I go to tell her so, a sudden vibration rips through the air. I instinctively grab Amelia tight and bring us into a huddle. Soon, another powerful Howl shoots through my entire being. “—AAAH—AAAAHH—AHHH—” It’s just barely audible to human ears. This is a faint but vengeful and murderous Howl. As I shield Amelia, she moves only her lips and speaks to me, barely audible. “There aren’t many people out there as dispassionate as you are, Ares.” “…Oh really?” Does she hate me? The trivial doubt crosses my mind before Amelia speaks again, this time sounding confident, triumphant: “Now then, let’s get down to business, shall we?” “Oof… So…tired…” Toudou moans, clearly beat. Limis and Aria aren’t far off, with soulless expressions on their faces. Yet, the task at hand is going extremely well. Stephenne smiles and clasps both hands in front of herself, bowing cordially. “Great work today, guys!” Stephenne followed Toudou and the others through the rugged valley terrain all day and watched them fight many battles. She cast Heal a few times, but in reality, she doesn’t feel tired at all. She feels entirely fulfilled. Stephenne has belonged to the Church for a number of years, but this is the first time an assignment has gone so well for her. Usually, her boss or her associates stop her in her tracks, but today, she’s successfully carrying out a top secret mission. “Okay—see you again tomorrow morning! Be sure to rest up!” “…Hey, Stey… I think you’ve seen enough, don’t you?” It’s Limis, signaling the end of Stephenne’s tenure. Stephenne immediately crosses her pointer fingers to make an X mark. “No way! You haven’t taken down any high-level golems yet. I’m still worried!” “Ugh… Having you around makes it harder to level up! We’re too busy protecting you!” Limis shouts, red in the face. Stephenne looks deeply befuddled. “? But it’s normal to protect a priest who can cast holy techniques, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Aria?” Stephenne sounds like she’s reasoning with a child, and now Limis is really incensed, like a live wire. Aria notices Limis’s face turning an even deeper shade of red and rushes out in front as if to cover her. “…W-well… Sure, I guess. Limis, calm down. It’s no use trying to convince Stey. She says she’ll leave if we take down some high-level golems. Just realize this is all temporary, and we’ll get through it.” …? I didn’t say anything of the sort, did I? Stephenne stares vacantly at Aria and Limis. She promised to accompany the party, and if there aren’t any problems, she’ll tell the Church as much and leave them be. Toudou and Stephenne haven’t come to an agreement on the exact length of her stay, and it was originally Ares’s idea for Stephenne to join the group. Toudou is not Stephenne’s superior. Thus, Stephenne intends to accompany the party until instructed otherwise by her boss—whether that takes ten, twenty, even thirty more days. She contemplates whether she should tell them as much, but Aria and Limis look awfully busy, so she holds her tongue. “Okay, then I’m heading back. See you tomorrow.” “Yeah, see you tomorrow… Oh, Stey. I’ve said it many times already, but you can’t tell anyone about…that.” “About what…?” Stephenne is puzzled by Toudou’s severe expression and hushed tone. After staring at Toudou’s uneasy expression for a few seconds, Stephenne claps her hands. “Ohhh, you mean about how you’re a gir—” “Hey! Just a… I told you not to say anything, didn’t I?!” Toudou flies at Stephenne and shuts her mouth, looking desperate. Can’t tell anyone… But why? Stephenne simply doesn’t understand what Toudou’s so worked up about. For Stephenne, it’s obvious what gender Toudou is just from looking at her. Sure, she’s a little bit boyish, but her scent gives it away, and even if she was scentless, it would still be easy. Anyone who claims they can’t tell she’s a girl must have hunks of coal for eyeballs. “I—I understand! I won’t tell anyone! I promise!” “Are you sure? Are you really, really sure?” “Yes, I’m sure! Please, don’t worry about it!” Toudou asks again and again, just to drive the point home. Stephenne puffs out her chest and replies with confidence. Stephenne has been a disciple of the God of Order since she was a young girl. There’s no way she’d ever break a promise. “Oh, Ares, you’re back! Um… Did you find it?” When Ares returns to the room at the inn, the members of the group who’ve been away for the past few days gather around the table. Ares’s scowl is more formidable that usual, but Stephenne still smiles from ear to ear and scurries toward him like a squirrel. Ares casts a sidelong glance at Stephenne and sighs inexplicably. “Well, just its voice. I didn’t actually see it. I ran out of supplies, hence we’re back here.” Stephenne realizes that things aren’t exactly going well and decides to assuage Ares’s fears by giving a positive report. “No issues on my end! Everything’s perrrrfect!” “Is that so? Well done. Anything else to report?” “Not particularly!” “…I see. You’re the same as ever, Stey… If only Cacao could talk, I’d ask her to give the reports.” “What do you mean by that? You do know that Cacao can’t speak, right?!” “Yes, I know. At any rate—keep it up.” Ares rudely shoos Stephenne away with a wave of his hand and begins to speak to the others, deliberately leaving her out of the conversation. She stands there bewildered for a moment before quickly shaking the back of Ares’s chair. “Umm—Ares? I said everything’s going perfectly!” “Oh good, that’s great. I’m busy right now, so go and play with Cacao or something.” “You’re treating me like I’m a nuisance!” “Stey, just what the hell do you want from me?” Ares sighs in exasperation and finally looks Stephenne directly in the eyes. She thinks hard for a moment, then peers down at Cacao, who seems to have taken Ares’s instructions seriously and is tapping playfully on Stephenne’s boots. “Umm… I just thought that since everything’s going perfectly with my assignment, maybe you would praise me?” “I said ‘well done.’ Now scram!” “You’re so grumpy, Ares… Would it be so awful to just give me a pat on the head?” This is a rare chance for Stey to be praised. She sticks her head toward Ares, and his cheeks begin to twitch. “How are you so damn shameless? Do you want me to smash in your head like a rotten tomato?” No, that’s not what I—! Just when Stephenne starts to object, Amelia sticks her hand out from the side. She rubs Stephenne’s head quickly, like she’s sweeping some crumbs off the floor, and motions to the door with her chin. “Go on, Stey. Hurry up and get out of here. And leave some of that shamelessness behind for me.” “You’re so mean!!” The conversation starts back up again in spite of Stephenne’s shock, as if nothing happened. Stephenne withholds what she wants to say and decides to wait silently next to Amelia. Cacao floats up gently and starts to do a twirly dance on the table in front of her. She watches it gleefully as the conversation continues. “Wurtz’s provocation definitely reached them. Amelia, your idea was spot-on.” “Yet, they didn’t appear… Even though we went so over the top…,” Amelia mumbles with her head hanging low. Wurtz, who has remained silent thus far, lifts his face. “That Howl was rife with bloodlust. It’s not so simple to quell the fire of a werebeast’s wrath.” “But—” Amelia interjects, contradicting Wurtz’s opinion, and he replies with his own rebuttal. Ares listens for a while with his arms crossed and a stern expression, finally nodding heavily as if convincing himself of something. “For the time being, I’ve come up with three options. We’ll gather some extra supplies and head out at the first sign of daybreak.” “…Huh?!” Ares turns to Stephenne with a sharp glance and continues. “This’ll be finished within a few days. Stey, you continue to provide support for Toudou. If something goes awry, don’t hesitate to use your magic.” Ares quickly changes the subject, and Stephenne blinks vapidly up at him. His eyes look different from all the other times he’s given her orders. Stephenne swallows a lump in her throat. “We’ll lead the way, so you shouldn’t be in any real danger. You’ll have Cacao with you, too.” “Y-yes! Leave it to me—we’ll do our best!” Ares drops to his haunches and continues, making sure he’s heard. “Cacao, if Toudou runs into a werebeast, or a high-level golem he can’t take on, I want you to use earth magic to stop them dead in their tracks, okay? If you can completely bring them down, then by all means, go for it. You got it?” “Yes… This is one of those huge responsibility things, right? We’re on it!” Ares sounds serious, and Stephenne answers accordingly. Cacao also nods in agreement. “Wait— You’re talking to me, not Cacao, right?” “Okay, everyone, time’s up. Wurtz, you take care of the supplies. Amelia, help me polish up this strategy of ours.” “…Understood.” “Yes, sir.” Amelia, Wurtz, and Cacao rise from their seats. Feeling like she’s not quite on the same page as her fellow team members, Stephenne cocks her head to the side yet again, confused. Hot, ragged breath fills the dim cave like a sandstorm. The mane swathed around the creature’s head is a symbol of valor and strength. Its golden fur, like velvet, covers its entire body except for its head and is supple and strong. It functions as natural armor; an unskilled blade could never pierce it. Its physique may look slender at a glance, but its musculature is of an extremely high caliber, far different from a human being. The thick, powerful tail extending from its rear is standing on end—a sign of anger. The beast’s razor-sharp claws lash into the cave wall, leaving behind gashes yet not making a sound. Sapo watches the gashes increase in number from the corner of his eye before furrowing his brow and swallowing a sigh. His companion is a kind of werebeast that boasts particularly exceptional battle prowess—the steel tiger race. Known as harbingers of death due to their brute strength, this race of beasts possesses a wild temperament that leads them to destroy anything in their path. He is a supremely capable warrior and possesses the notoriously rough disposition and pride of his kin. His body is approximately the same size as Sapo’s, but just beholding his physical form and fearsome aura sends shivers down the spine. His golden eyes burn with an unquenchable flame, sending murderous intent rollicking throughout any area he occupies. “Curses! Why must I, of all beasts, be toyed with like this by a mere human?!” His powerful claws tear into the boulder walls with ease. For a werebeast, strength is everything. For Sapo, his companion is simultaneously a source of endless admiration and difficulty. He waits for the werebeast’s rage to subside before speaking. “Felsa, calm yourself. It’s clearly a trap.” The steel tiger turns around in response to his name, resentment smoldering in his every last movement. However, despite their blatant gap in battle prowess, Felsa and Sapo are of the same status. Although Felsa is enraged at falling for a human trick, Sapo, as a member of the blackwing race, cannot fathom turning a condescending eye toward his companion. Sapo does not look like a fearless warrior on the outside. His slender frame does not contain the muscular tenacity or explosive power that Felsa’s does. However, the two glossy obsidian-colored wings sprouting from his shoulders give him the power to manipulate the air around him. The blackwings are just as rare as the steel tigers, and Sapo’s abilities as a member of that race will be crucial in order to capture Golem Valley. Felsa takes a step in front of Sapo. They’re precisely the same height, but the natural-born warrior Felsa and the highly nimble Sapo simply impart a different sense of intimidation. Felsa spits in the air and bores into Sapo with eyes that glint of hellfire. “A trap…? Then we must destroy it! Trample it to bits! Let this impertinent, useless machination be littered with the blood of those who dare minimize my presence!!” A shock wave rips through the air and slightly ruffles Sapo’s elegant plumage from being so close. Sapo, too, has pride. The blackwings are no match for the steel tigers in terms of sheer strength, but they are still leagues more powerful than an average human being. For him to say that being treated like an inferior species does not disgust him would be a lie. Yet, breathing deeply, Sapo endeavors to remain calm in his response. “Have you forgotten? The task our lord granted to us…is to remain unnoticed and unseen.” Sapo can swallow his anger, his pride, if it’s for the sake of carrying out his lord’s command. He and Felsa have been entrusted with a top secret mission. The particulars are left shrouded in mystery, but their lord specifically paired the two of them together for this mission: a steel tiger, the most formidable war machine on earth; and a blackwing, a race known for its extreme mobility and wisdom. Furthermore, they have been gifted two highly rare magical implements that allow them to evade detection. They must not fail. He will meet expectations—this is Sapo’s greatest point of pride. Even on the receiving end of Sapo’s sharp glance, Felsa still shows no sign of easing up—his fur bristles angrily. Felsa only knows how to express his fury through combat. Even using Howl failed to provide him a moment of consolation. That is for cowards. No matter the reason, simply remaining silent in the face of a provocation is an act of sheer cowardice. It is certainly not something the most fearsome warrior on earth would ever do. If Sapo hadn’t stopped him, Felsa would have ended the poor bastard who set this trap already. “Let’s kill them—along with any possible witnesses,” says Felsa in a stifled voice. Sapo detects earnest intent in his companion’s eyes and shakes his head, irritated. “No, we mustn’t. They are trying to smoke us out. If we fail to kill them, it’d plague us to our deaths.” “Hrmph… Are you saying that I, the invincible Felsa, could possibly be defeated?” Felsa bares his fangs at Sapo, ready to rip him to shreds in an instant. His teeth can pulverize a metal golem to dust—the most rugged, solid monster in all the valley. Sapo wouldn’t stand a chance. Despite the chills he feels running through his body, Sapo remains firm in his rebuttal. Their assignment has dragged on for longer than anticipated. Sapo has already endured this type of altercation countless times. Based on experience, Sapo remains careful not to provoke Felsa’s pride, and comes at him from a different angle this time. “Come now, Felsa. No human being could ever eclipse your power. Our lord knows this, and that’s why he sent you here.” “…Hrmph…” Felsa’s breath eases, if just barely. Sapo seizes the moment. “Yet, you mustn’t forget. We have not yet completed our lord’s command.” “Grrr… Worthless golems… Constantly running from their feeble status in life…” Felsa paws at the ground in irritation, as if he’s just remembered something. Sapo definitely remembers. The day they received their orders, Felsa so confidently declared that they could easily wipe out mankind’s golems through the superior power of the steel tigers. He was not altogether wrong. The golems may be formidable enemies for humans, but against Felsa’s claws, able to shred any substance on earth, and his unmatched raw power, they are more like wooden dolls. Additionally, he can avoid his race’s one weak point—the rugged terrain—to a certain extent thanks to the blackwing. With the two of them together, it wouldn’t take long at all to complete the assignment—Sapo had insisted so himself. He, Felsa, and the Demon Lord all agreed. The golems’ capacity for learning was the outlier. Even with Sapo’s ability to fly, now that the mother golems have broken into multiple factions, he is no longer able to track them across such vast distances. Nor did they expect the mothers to have the capacity of reason to escape so quickly. However, Sapo is not flustered. Their mission is taking far longer than expected, but as of now, they are still on track. “Relax. We’re nearly done. There are only a few mothers left. We’ll soon obliterate them all. Once that happens, what more will a few human beings be? Our lord will laud high praises upon our perseverance and meritorious service.” It would be quite unexpected. Of course, no one should have noticed them yet. Throughout all their years, the two of them have never even met a human. However, this trap most definitely indicates that they’ve been noticed by someone. Sapo senses a bad omen. He’s received notification from his regular communications that the Holy Warrior has appeared. Felsa is pure, unbridled warfare, but Sapo has valor and discretion in the same package. Felsa would call it cowardice, but Sapo knows this isn’t true. If Sapo is a coward, then their much-revered lord is no different. “It’s a bluff. There’s no way they’ve detected us. They’re just trying to smoke us out.” Sapo turns his head and blurts his words out quickly and with little sincerity. They’ve already made two mistakes. Sapo, who holds the magical implements that allow them to evade detection, had been separated from Felsa when the spell hit them. Secondly, Felsa instinctively roared back in response to the cheap trick that ensnared him. However, this is far from finished. Their presence has been discovered, but they have not yet actually been found. It’s unfathomable that Sapo and Felsa could be discovered here, in these vast lands, by detection magic when they have magical tools specifically designed to evade such techniques. Sapo calculates the chances in his head as he continues. “You must be starving by now. If you don’t get something in your belly, you won’t be able to function at even half strength.” “…Precisely.” Opportunities to feed in Golem Valley are limited due to the lack of living beings present. Felsa can function for some time on an empty stomach, but if he gets too hungry, his strength is severely hindered. Sapo stops Felsa precisely because he knows he is reaching the point of exhaustion. Felsa may be prone to rushing headlong into battle, but he’s not stupid by any means. He simply values violence above all else. Sapo confirms that Felsa’s anger has subsided and lets loose a sigh of relief, making sure Felsa doesn’t notice. They’ve been together for some time, but he can’t help but feel like prey in the jaws of a predator whenever he has to soothe him. Felsa’s tail, which was standing on end, relaxes slightly. “At any rate, we don’t even know if they’re still in Golem Valley. I can’t believe they managed to withstand your Howl head-on. They’ve likely already run away with their tails between their legs—” The moment the words leave Sapo’s mouth— “Did you really think I wouldn’t appear again, you diminutive pissant? You, who lack even the guts to challenge me—you are no warrior! If you mean to flee with your tail between your legs like the vermin you are, then I have no intention of giving chase! However, should you have even an ounce of pride left, then come and fight me, fair and square!” “…” —he and Felsa suddenly hear the same voice that provoked them yesterday. Even Sapo, whose hearing is not particularly good, could make it out—there’s no way Felsa’s sublimely attuned senses could have missed it. Felsa’s tail stands straight up before Sapo can even gloss over what was just said. His fur bristles, and his glowering golden eyes peer straight toward where the voice is coming from. Wurtz’s Howl rips through the valley from high in the sky, like a crazed wolf baying at the moon. We’ve tried a few methods of provocation, and the sound of Wurtz’s voice now dissipates. We wait for a while, but there is no response. It seems they can’t hear him. I open my eyes and scowl as I address Amelia, who had been plugging her ears. “They’re not hearing him. Let’s change locations.” “Is there any point to this?” “There is. If their ranks have already left Golem Valley, then it would be meaningless, but the chance of that is slim.” Werebeasts are prideful and have extremely wild tendencies. Their response to Wurtz’s first Howl is proof of this. But why hadn’t they shown themselves instead of simply howling back? There’s a chance they held back out of self-control, but—more likely, their companion stopped them from retorting. Different races of werebeasts possess different temperaments, but in general, it’s the tough types that show their feral side the most. I have already surmised that there are at least two of them, with at least one having the capacity for flight. Any werebeast that can fly will typically be a paltry warrior. He must be the one holding the other back. If that’s true, the rest is a cinch. We’ll just keep casting lines until they bite. Fishing for werebeasts is easier than catching fish. Their intellect is similar to a human’s, so I can predict their actions. I yell out to Wurtz, who’s taken position in a rather conspicuous spot on top of the cliffs. “Wurtz, it doesn’t seem like they’re here, so let’s move to the next location!” “I really don’t think it’ll be that simple…,” Amelia grumbles uneasily, even though it was her idea originally. No worries; as far as I know, werebeasts are pretty simple creatures. “We haven’t seen a single monster yet today. And yet, my detection reveals that there are still some present.” Just as Amelia says, compared to yesterday, we haven’t seen even one monster so far. “They might be on guard due to Wurtz’s Howl.” “Do golems even have the intellect required to make that decision?” I look toward Wurtz, who’s walking beside me. He catches my drift and slowly shakes his head. “And yet…there are many things about this region’s golems that remain unknown. It’s certainly a possibility.” Wurtz’s remark brings to mind the group of metal golems we encountered previously. “…Hmm… Well, at any rate, it doesn’t matter now. Nothing will come without a fight.” “…Good point.” The three of us head toward our next location with our map open. Our plan is to cover as much of the area as possible using Wurtz’s Howl. When we reach our next destination, Wurtz gargles water to clear his throat and climbs the cliff side alone. “Did you really think I wouldn’t appear again, you diminutive pissant? You, who lack even the guts to challenge me—you are no warrior! If you mean to flee with your tail between your legs like the vermin you are, then I have no intention of giving chase! However, should you have even an ounce of pride left, then come and fight me, fair and square!” His words rip through the valley. He is certainly a thespian…then again, he might be entirely serious. I remember the first time I met him. At the time, Wurtz Beld was impetuous, on par with the werebeasts themselves. As I cross my arms and ponder, a strong gust blows from the side. Looking up, another Howl resounds in response to Wurtz. “—Ergh—AAAHHAHHAAHH!” One second, two seconds, three… It’s vastly longer than yesterday’s response. It seems they’re angry. I don’t know where they are, but gauging from our current location, we’ll be able to sniff out their approximate whereabouts. The stark contrast in power between living beings gives me goose bumps. I furrow my brow just in time for another eruption from above. “OOOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Wurtz Howls again. It is meaningless, a pure intimidation tactic. The cliff wall shudders from the force of his voice. Someone of low level might actually be adversely affected, their brain rocked to the core by his Howl. Some time after it dissipates, another Howl rings out in response. Amelia has her ears completely plugged. We won’t leave to search for them immediately. We need to shake them up a bit. That’s all it takes to catch a werebeast. No matter how much intellect they possess, werebeasts are unable to control their impulses. They exchange Howls for some time, before Wurtz’s Howl ends the long call-and-response session. His encampment is in plain view. If his provocation works, they’ll likely come straight for him. We wait for a while, but no action is taken. It seems they’ve managed to keep their cool. However, their responses have gotten more and more severe. Just a bit more to break their equilibrium. Wurtz climbs down from the cliff. He must be worked up from using his voice so much—his breath is ragged. I say to him curtly, “…I’ve worked out their approximate location. We’ll provoke them again tomorrow.” Impatience is forbidden. Our provocation is working. A werebeast’s pride will not permit it to flee. I want information on our adversaries. No matter how many golems spawn, there will be high-level golems coming, to the extent we can handle them. I have no intention of losing, and I will raise our winning percentage. I turn to Wurtz and Amelia. “We’ll see if any information remains on our enemies. If we can determine their origins, we can pinpoint just what level of power we’re dealing with.” We’ll finish them off slowly, like spider’s silk slowly constricting around their necks. The party moves slowly, ever so cautiously forward. At the same time, they must remain vigilant of their surroundings. Stephenne’s senses are attuned to a level she’s never experienced before, to the extent that she’s not even bothered by Cacao running around her feet. Of course, Cacao is not playing around. Its typical goofy look is replaced by a stern expression, lips pursed tightly. It’s keeping close watch on its surroundings alongside Stephenne. Thanks to this, Stephenne has not tripped and fallen once today. Stephenne is grateful to get a chance like this once in a year, maybe. At any rate, the earth spirits have always blessed her, and she’s always had a strong affinity for them. The party has been walking around outside the town for an hour. Toudou, who’s leading them, turns around to look back. Usually, someone will run into her if she stops suddenly, so she does so slowly, cautiously. She cocks her head to the side, a dubious expression on her face. “…Hmm… Don’t you think there are surprisingly few monsters today?” “Yes, you’re right… We’ve been walking an hour already, and we’ve only had one encounter.” Aria suspiciously surveys the area. As always, the valley stretches onward serenely. Suddenly, she comes to a realization: “? Hmm? Stey, you’re oddly on point today… You haven’t caused any trouble, not even once.” “…Just what do you think of me, Aria?” Aria averts her gaze. Toudou and Limis keep silent. Then, Stephenne takes the chance to proclaim loudly, “It’s because I’m on my A game today!” “You should be on it every day…” “Okay—onward and upward! You can count on me!” This is a serious responsibility. If a werebeast or other enemy that the Holy Warrior can’t handle appears, Stephenne has been told to attack them without hesitation. In other words, that means she must protect Toudou. Stephenne knows how important a job it is to protect the Holy Warrior. She takes her assignments seriously at all times, but this is a task she can’t help feeling fired up about. Toudou’s dubious glance aside, Stephenne and Cacao both raise their fists in the air and shout Hurrah! before continuing forward. I am not a warrior. I do not have the mental disposition that comes with knighthood. If the end justifies the means, anything goes. We find the werebeasts’ tracks easily. As expected, they are within reach of Wurtz’s voice—inside a single cave. I examine the endless claw marks in the cave wall. I can’t feel their presence close by, but they were definitely here, not long ago. Amelia traces the marks, which look similar to sword slashes, and stares at the cave floor. Werebeasts are all of the same lineage, but depending on the amount of beast spawn they contain, their abilities vary wildly. The more they contain, the more they look like beasts, and their physical prowess is subsequently very high. At the same time, their feral tendencies are heightened, and as such, these types of werebeasts are rarely seen among men. The marks on the wall are in sets of four long scratches. Claws are a werebeast’s foremost weapon. Depending on their lineage, their claws can be sharper than most blades and are even used as the raw material to forge swords in some instances. Wurtz is investigating next to me. He growls gutturally. “…It’s strong.” The cave still emanates an aura of something extremely powerful having inhabited it. Beings with high life force leave a noticeable trace behind. If they are highly emotional, those traces become even more prominent. The razor-sharp claw marks indicate that this is not a werebeast of standard lineage. It is likely of highly feral and fearsome stock. Its entire body should be covered in fur, but there isn’t a single strand to be found on the cave floor. Beings of such specialized physical capacity are the natural enemies of priests. Wurtz is a half giant with elevated physical abilities, which makes it a bit better for him… Wurtz must be feeling the same as me, having gauged the werebeast’s power. He growls, a grim look on his face. “It’s feline,” I tell him. “…What do you mean?” Wurtz looks perplexed, and Amelia also seems at a loss. I trace my finger along a claw mark on the wall. “That’s the key word for our next provocation.” However, our strategy won’t change. Our foe is the outstanding threat to humanity: the Demon Lord’s army. We’ve already assumed the extreme nature of their battle prowess. “We’re up against a feline werebeast, likely of extremely high level. I don’t know if it’s a tiger or a lion, but werebeasts of this lineage absolutely hate being ridiculed as lower-level beings. This one’s already about to snap. We’ll reel them in with our next move.” “Ares… Do you really think you can take it down?” Wurtz asks. My level is 93, but I am a priest. A warrior of similar level would lose eight or nine times out of ten. However, when it comes to taking down a werebeast, possessing the greater brute strength isn’t necessary. Amelia and Wurtz are waiting on me with bated breath. I can’t let them feel anxious. My reply is emphatic. “Yes.” However—I will not be doing the fighting. I look toward Wurtz, his giant body and massive skeletal frame. He comes from a race of warriors; if he were the same level as me, he would be exponentially stronger. I stare deep into Wurtz’s eyes before continuing. “However, Wurtz— It’ll be you and Amelia facing off against it.” I am not a warrior. I do not have the mental disposition that comes with knighthood. If the end justifies the means, anything goes. This place reeks of blood. The blood rushing in my head has seeped through my skin and is wafting toward my nose, Sapo thinks. For the highly revered steel tiger, who’s never been at the whim of anyone to ridicule him, a simple provocation—a trap—is akin to pure poison. That pent-up poison has corrupted his brain, and now the fighting instincts dyed into the fabric of his very being are all that remain. Felsa’s narrowed golden irises pierce Sapo’s soul. His face twitches as Felsa crushes a rock underfoot. Under normal circumstances, the resulting sound would be barely noticeable. But now, it’s almost as if Felsa is trying to make his presence known. This isn’t simply an alternative way of letting off steam—and as far as Sapo can tell, it doesn’t contain any specific meaning. “Calm down and cool your head, Felsa. That was a trap. There’s nothing more to it.” “Hah?! Are you saying that I… That I, Felsa, do not look calm?! You son of a bitch!!” His tone indicates he will not accept any rebuttals. From Sapo’s perspective, getting Felsa to calm down after the previous provocation would be nothing short of a miracle. There’s not a soul out there who can stop a steel tiger on the warpath. Felsa’s stomach rumbles audibly. Pangs of hunger—the last thing keeping him from losing control. They should be receiving provisions before long. And when that happens, Sapo will have no recourse in stopping him. Sapo has accepted this. Their mission is top secret, but that is no reason to let those tracking them off the hook. No one in their midst should be capable of taking down a pure steel tiger. “Your hunger will soon be sated. That will mark your chance to repay them for their pitiful trap.” “Tch…” Felsa bares his fangs and wordlessly increases his pace. Sapo follows closely behind, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Destroying a golem would curb Felsa’s impulses slightly, but just their luck—there are no monsters in sight. For now, Sapo will have to continue to keep the feral feline beast at bay using only his wits. Felsa’s anger is blatant, even as Sapo tags along from behind. He’s a ticking time bomb. There’s nothing more terrifying than taking a risk with a steel tiger. That would be a foolish move on Sapo’s part. Additionally, once Felsa has eaten, Sapo will have to join in the fight against whatever enemy he discovers. Sapo is a seasoned blackwing warrior. For any opponent incapable of flight themselves, any powerful attacks launched from the sky will prove just as formidable as going head-to-head with a steel tiger. Sapo clasps his hands around the golden amulet hanging from his neck and ponders the possibilities that await him. The amulet is known as a cicada shell pendant—able to ward off detection magic, it’s a superior magical tool handed to Sapo directly from the Demon Lord himself. It is a sign of his lord’s expectations for him. It has the power to keep the short-tempered and violent Felsa at bay in these lands. The fact that his lord gave it to him means that he must genuinely trust Sapo. Without it, Sapo would have likely given up on the idea of joining forces with Felsa. As he recalls their long and arduous days, Felsa comes to an abrupt stop in front of him. Sapo addresses his companion, stopped stiff as a board. “? What’s the matter?” “…” “?!” Sapo swallows a lump in his throat, having spoken out loud instinctively. Felsa is no longer enraged. The ire that was prevalent not only on his face, but in his whole body, has completely disappeared. Instead, he appears to be…in a trance. Sapo completely loses his train of thought at this bizarre development but soon rushes to Felsa’s side and shakes his shoulder. “Hey—what’s going on?!” He hasn’t taken an attack. No to mention, no golem in this region could even pierce the hide of a steel tiger. Felsa’s ears are twitching involuntarily. He turns ever so slowly and looks at Sapo. An unknown sense of foreboding rushes through Sapo’s entire body, from his toes to the top of his head. Felsa’s pupils have expanded to the maximum, flashing brilliantly. Sapo can see his face reflected in them. The biggest difference between a standard warrior and a crusader is their experience level. Warriors and monster hunters only join in fights they know they can win. Crusaders, on the other hand, must delve into battle by order of the Church, no matter who or what they come up against. I’ve cut my teeth battling werebeasts on many occasions in the past. The most important thing is preparing the battlefield. Knocking a werebeast off a cliff will not be enough to defeat them. I choose a spacious battlefield when concocting our battle strategy—a place that will not allow any unexpected tricks, with ample vantage points. There is a massive, perfectly placed boulder ideal for Amelia to hide behind jutting out from the edge of the field. That said, I’ve already surmised that Amelia will not be harmed during this battle. Werebeasts take great pride in their strength. If you propose a one-on-one fight, they’ll likely accept. I carefully cast a bevy of buffs on Wurtz as he breathes deeply in the center of the cliff-side arena. Feline werebeasts are highly agile, so Wurtz won’t have time to cast healing magic on himself. All his healing will come from the Regen spell I’ve cast. Wurtz is level 65. Given his half-giant heritage, you could even say his own abilities are 10–15 levels higher than the average human’s. Plus, those abilities are now enhanced by the buffs I’ve cast—equal to about a 5- or 10-level increase. There’s no standard for how much one’s stats increase according to their level, so Wurtz won’t literally have the power of a level 90, but even Golem Valley’s high-level enemies shouldn’t be a problem. However, I’ve taken this into account and estimated Wurtz’s opponent’s abilities to be of maximum potential, putting him at a disadvantage. Giants are extremely powerful, but Wurtz is a half giant. Pitting him against a pure werebeast is to his detriment. Wurtz opens his eyes slightly. His brown irises smolder silently, his eyes bloodshot in the thralls of the imminent battle. Warriors do not fear death. Even if supremely outmatched, they will fight to the bitter end. As Wurtz calls my name, he shoots me a glance so steely that for a moment, I forget he’s my ally. “Ares—” “Take him down. I know you can.” That is the only thing I can say. One’s raw stats don’t directly correlate to victory or defeat. Wurtz furrows his brow, lined with wrinkles. At the very least, I can give him some advice as a parting gift. “Keep it fair and square, and go for a one-on-one fight. Wurtz, this should be your specialty. Amelia will be watching from the edge.” “Ares, is there any point to me being here? Shouldn’t I be with you?” “There’s something I need to do myself.” Wurtz’s cheek twitches at the words fair and square. This is a fight made for a giant. “Amelia, Wurtz—if you go against it two-on-one, it will immediately try to pick off the weaker of you two. More likely than not, Amelia would die.” And die in vain. Wurtz alone cannot fend off the highly agile werebeast and keep Amelia safe at the same time. “Amelia, all you have to do is watch from the side. Your support won’t be needed, which means you’ll stay safe.” “……In other words… I should be relaying the status of the battle to you? That’s it?” “Not necessary. You should just stay put.” Our enemy will be aware of Amelia’s presence just by her being there. It’ll throw them off, if by a small margin. Also, for Wurtz—if he knows his loss will also cause Amelia’s death, he’ll give this fight every ounce he has. Wurtz must understand my ploy—he scowls at me with force. Nonetheless, I will do anything I must to increase our chances of winning. Victory on the battlefield is decided by the smallest of margins. “I have other business to attend to. When I’m far away enough that you can no longer see or detect me—that’s your cue to begin the fight.” Wurtz loves to fight. The stronger the opponent, the better. The second he defeats a powerful enemy is the greatest chance to verify his own prowess. The vast majority of half giants use the blessing of their bodies to make battle their livelihood. The reason Wurtz fell outside this description and converted to the priesthood is because he found a foe more powerful than himself. By nature, Wurtz tends to believe it’s easier to act than to think. Of course, he hasn’t had many chances to fight since joining the Church, but this aspect of his disposition hasn’t changed. Wurtz has always believed himself to be a warrior. Ares is different; he only lives for the result. This makes Ares’s sudden and flaky departure all the more troubling for Wurtz. It’s already been a number of years since Wurtz was last on the battlefield. His discipline has not waned, but his battle intuition has likely dulled. And today’s foe will certainly be one that he couldn’t have been sure of defeating, even in his heyday. Ares’s buffs are extremely potent. The holy techniques of a high priest easily turn one’s abilities on their head. Even with that in mind, the scent left behind in that cave was menacing. There is no questioning the fearsome nature of Wurtz’s foe. He hasn’t said it out loud, but Wurtz gives himself a 30 percent chance of coming out on top. That percentage could easily be reversed depending on his foe’s condition, but for Ares, 30 percent is certainly a number to be concerned about. If Wurtz knows Ares as well as he thinks he does, there’s no reason he should have said “fair and square” in the first place. Wurtz’s concentration lapses for a moment, but he soon refocuses. Amelia, who Ares left behind, asks him, slightly hoarse, “Wurtz… Will you be okay?” “…Yeah.” Wurtz recalls his experience training the Holy Warrior: “—I refuse to take the chance of losing, no matter how slight.” His words to the hero were genuine. Wurtz became a priest so that he would never have to lose again—he cast aside the swordsmanship that he cultivated to acquire a new form of strength. However, the only thing burning within Wurtz in this moment is the fire of battle lust. In the years since becoming a priest, he has made efforts to regulate his instincts, but the only thought occupying his mind now is how badly he’s itching for a fight. Per Ares’s instructions, Wurtz waits for him to disappear, then looks to the heavens. There isn’t a cloud in the expansive blue sky above. This is a fine day to meet a powerful adversary. Even though his enemy is not before him yet, his entire body is replete with fulfillment. “I still have much I want to do in life, so please win this,” Amelia calmly tells Wurtz. “…Okay.” Wurtz only needs one word. Speaking any more could cause the power welling within him to dissipate, if only slightly. Amelia nods slightly, satisfied with his assent. She moves to the boulder just near the edge of the battlefield. Wurtz takes a deep breath and lines up Ares’s provocation in his head. Ares is no warrior. The reason being, he considers all potential options before acting. Ares is so impossibly hard for Wurtz to comprehend. Yet, there is just one thing that allows them to be friends and work so well together. That one thing is—strength. All warriors respect strength. Ares possesses devilish strength, and to this day, Wurtz does not understand the reason behind it—even since becoming a priest himself. Wurtz inhales deeply and unleashes a ferocious Howl, intending to reach as far and wide as possible. “This is your final notice! If you truly take pride in your skills as a warrior, come out and fight me fair and square! One-on-one! To the death! If you run with your tail between your legs, I won’t chase after you, you gutless pussycat scum!!” There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The air sizzles, and Wurtz instinctively takes a step back. Unlike last time, there is no Howl in retort to Wurtz’s provocation. However, Wurtz understands from instinct that he has been heard. He doesn’t know where his adversary is, but his presence is ever more palpable, and wholly unusual. Step on a cat’s tail, and this is what you get. Wurtz adjusts his stance, preparing to face the madness coming his way. When he casts a fleeting glimpse at the surrounding area, he sees the typically stoic Amelia withering on the spot. Wurtz may have said “fair and square,” but he still has absolutely no idea where his foe will come from. —Just then, the opponent shows itself. The soft sound of its leap sends ripples through Wurtz’s ears, and in the next moment, it appears. Despite his precautions, Wurtz’s opponent appears right in front of him. Wurtz stands tall and unflinching. A heavy scent of blood wafts on the wind. Giants have the largest physiques among all demi-humans. The werebeast before Wurtz is a whole size smaller than him. Nonetheless, Wurtz braces himself. He now understands that Ares’s assumptions were correct. This is unmistakably a top-tier warrior, even among werebeasts. Underneath the golden fur, its perfectly sinewed muscles alone are weapons of destruction. Its paws are splayed casually on the ground, and its razor-sharp claws, each like individual blades, are dripping with dark blood. Its golden eyes are quiet, yet teeming with endless rage. The thick bloodlust filling the air threatens to swallow everything whole. Wurtz raises his gauntlets and clashes them together. They haven’t even traded blows yet, but Wurtz can tell from the overwhelming power he feels that this is hands down the first or second most powerful adversary he’s ever encountered. Wurtz silently revises his perception of their difference in battle prowess and ponders the upcoming fight. He’s strong. More so than any werebeast he’s ever encountered. He’s been prepared for this since the moment he felt their presence in the cave, but beholding the enemy in front of him, he realizes he had no idea. Wurtz cannot afford to take any attacks from the beast’s claws. At the least, he must make sure they only make contact with his armor. Wurtz’s gauntlets are created from a special metal alloy. They will be able to trade blows with such claws, but his body armor and chest piece are made from metal of a lesser grade. Wurtz can’t imagine that his armor will be able to stop the werebeast’s claws. A portion of any damage received will quickly be healed by the Regen spell Ares cast on him. Wurtz’s gauntlets also provide protection from shoulder to elbow. No matter how fast his adversary, he’s confident he can fight back his blows, especially now with his heightened senses. The werebeast quickly glances toward Amelia before immediately turning its gaze back to Wurtz. “You’ve finally shown yourself, werebeast—soldier of the Demon Lord’s army.” Wurtz recites the line Ares practiced with him. There’s an imperative to collect information here also. There’s no chance of putting the werebeast into submission. When Wurtz throws out the words demon army, the werebeast doesn’t take the bait for a second and remains emotionless. He merely growls back. Perhaps he’d just eaten, because his sharp fangs smell of blood. “The steel tiger Felsa.” Each and every one of his nonchalant movements screams bloodlust. The only reason he hasn’t attacked already is to further inflate his already bloated pride. This, Wurtz understands full well. Yet, the beast continues before Wurtz has a chance to understand what they actually said. He sees nothing but a deep, unfathomable void in his opponent’s eyes. “That is the name of the one who will kill you.” They may belong to different races and factions—not to mention the differences between their entire life stories—but there is no denying the resemblance between Wurtz and Felsa. Slowly and deliberately extracting information from this creature, who seems like he’ll attack at any instant, will be impossible. Wurtz must assume a battle formation immediately or face being devoured. Though he may appear calm, the werebeast in question is anything but relaxed, and Wurtz knows it. His provocation was perhaps too effective. Yet, he doesn’t regret it. Wurtz licks his dry lips and replies, “I am Wurtz Beld, a giant warrior. That woman is simply a spectator. We may begin whenever you like.” Felsa looks toward Amelia again but loses interest immediately and stares back at Wurtz. He clearly understands that no matter what happens, Amelia will not be joining this battle. That means there won’t be any chance of Amelia getting attacked so long as Wurtz is in the fight. Taking hostages is a sign of weakness and a behavior unsuited to the werebeasts. Wurtz raises both arms in the air and readies his fists. Felsa slowly splays his claws. The battle begins. Felsa’s golden eyes flicker ominously. Wurtz and Felsa have starkly different physical constitutions. However, there isn’t a shadow of doubt in the murderous rage that lies in Felsa’s eyes as he glares up at Wurtz. It also tells of a long history of battle and conquest. Felsa’s werebeast eyes threaten to eat Wurtz alive. Cold as ice, yet burning with raging fire. Not a moment later, Felsa’s claws flash out, and droplets of the blood glistening on them flit through the air. This is clearly a preliminary strike, void of true bloodlust. Wurtz takes a step back and swings his gauntlets down. Felsa’s attack is like a single sword strike, and as Wurtz brings his gauntlets down, they collide in a shower of sparks. Paltry. But no—Wurtz quickly dashes his impression of this first attack to the wind. It’s not paltry. Werebeasts have different capabilities according to their lineage. Felsa clearly possesses superior agility, making him the antithesis of Wurtz. Looking into those feline eyes from up close, Wurtz thinks he must be thinking the same thing. The fact that he didn’t even attempt to land a blow but instead tested him is proof that he’s also on his guard. Whoever harbors the most contempt is at an advantage. Excited by this, Wurtz breaks into a Howl. “OOOOUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!” This Howl isn’t simply loud. It bears true force and tears into Felsa, who has superior auditory senses. His face warps into a grimace. Wurtz takes that moment to approach Felsa. A giant’s greatest weapon is their physical dominance. This makes them especially adept at military tactics that involve war axes, war hammers, and greatswords. Attacking with such weapons alone generally doesn’t allow their opponent to get close. Wurtz doesn’t have a weapon today—aside from his arms and legs. They will be enough. The ground shakes as Wurtz charges forward. He brings his fists down from directly above, but Felsa sidesteps to the right. Felsa saw right through Wurtz. His movements are heavy and intense, and Felsa is simply faster. Wurtz’s fist whiffs through the air. Next, his kick—which would obliterate a high-level golem—just barely misses Felsa’s chin. Wurtz is very long-limbed. Felsa’s hands and feet have long, sharp claws, but even with those in his arsenal, Wurtz’s limbs are still longer. Nonetheless, his repeated blows continue to miss their mark. Felsa moves silently, calmly watching Wurtz’s limbs as he avoids each blow in the blink of an eye. A combat technician. Birthright, aptitude, experience, and intent. Felsa has them all—a natural born soldier. The earth shakes from Wurtz’s attacks, but Felsa doesn’t falter one iota. Wurtz quickly gives up on attacking further. He can’t land a single blow on him. Doing so would result in reasonable damage, but unless luck is on his side today, there’s no chance of that happening. Felsa doesn’t even need to block—he simply evades everything. And with ample breathing room, at that. From his gaze, Wurtz surmises that Felsa might think he’s slow-witted. But that is a mistake. Wurtz is anything but dim. This is a giant’s fighting style. Wurtz is prepared to take blows. Felsa has superior speed and perception, but Wurtz is winning in terms of regenerative power—largely boosted by Ares’s Regen spells—and his pure physical dominance. Not to mention the sheer toughness that runs in his giant blood. If Wurtz can put Felsa’s body or limbs into submission, he can win. Any other method is going to prove highly difficult. Wurtz’s body rages, a fire consuming him. Ares’s buffs have given him a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy. Felsa leaps high in the air and flips over, bearing his fangs and staring into Wurtz’s eyes. Felsa’s grim expression is highlighted by his bloodred tongue, just visible at the back of his throat through his slightly open mouth. “I see now—you’re strong.” Felsa spits out the words, but they aren’t laced with vitriol. It sounds more like a statement. His legs are enveloped in sinewy, taut muscle, and his claws pound the earth flat as he tramples it. The glint in his eye pierces through Wurtz as he speaks again—a simple expression, yet full of strength. “But make no mistake—I am vastly more powerful!” Felsa’s body shimmers like a blast of hot air over flame and disappears from Wurtz’s field of vision. He brings his gauntlets down reflexively and they bash against Felsa’s claw sideswipe. The sharp sound of metal resonates and his arms shudder from the vibration. Wurtz’s arms, armored in a special metal alloy, also function as a massive shield. Felsa’s strike was lightning quick, but his physical structure isn’t anything more impressive than a human’s. Wurtz was able to predict his attack. “—Hng!!” Wurtz grits his teeth and blocks attack after attack—from above, below, the side. Each claw swipe is as sharp as a strike from a blade. His gauntlets don’t let them through, but each attack resonates sharply through his arms. Felsa’s claws are sharper than imaginable, coming at Wurtz like a storm of razor blades. The golden-furred beast becomes a flash of golden wind. There are very few gaps in Felsa’s consecutive blows, almost like a dance. Attempting an attack would leave Wurtz open to being slashed immediately. However, every sequence of strikes will eventually come to an end. During a pause in the din of attacks, Wurtz can hear Felsa’s breath. What agony. Wurtz is still stifling the bloodlust he just experienced in each of Felsa’s attacks, breathing raggedly. Yet, during their battle, his sense of awareness is being sharpened like a sword. The sounds of battle, his own breath, and surges of golden fur become Wurtz’s entire world. Suddenly, Felsa pauses. The next instant, Wurtz’s half-ton body is levitating slightly. A numbing impact belatedly rushes up his arms, and by the time he realizes it, a blade is flickering toward him. Wurtz brings his right arm crashing down on the piercing attack that slips through his arms and gauntlets. He throws it off its axis, but the tip of one of Felsa’s claws grazes his chin. A sharp pain rushes through him, and he takes a step back to realign his stance. “Tch—!!” Felsa rushes in, and Wurtz’s field of vision is filled with the talons on Felsa’s feet closing in. It’s not just his arms that are strong, though. Werebeasts are part human and part beast, and just like their human counterparts, their legs possess far more strength than their arms do. Wurtz’s solid guard is broken, but his chin is soon healed from the Regen buff. Felsa’s eyes grow wide, but his movements are undeterred. This is a poor choice for a battlefield. Nothing to hide behind, and so spacious. There’s nothing Wurtz can put to use. This will be a fight determined by true potential. And a fight determined by true potential leaves Wurtz at a disadvantage. Should he buckle down for the long haul? Or wait for an opening? As he ponders, Felsa again disappears from view. Then, Wurtz feels a shock flash through the back of his head, and he immediately spins around before smashing his fists down onto the ground. This chance maneuver of Wurtz’s manages to deflect Felsa’s attack from behind, and Wurtz notices Felsa click his tongue in exasperation. Wurtz didn’t see the attack coming; the only reason he was able to spin around and block the attack was due to his experience. Their give-and-take begins again. However, Wurtz’s mind-set has now shifted. He knows the battle won’t last long on its current course. Felsa moves like the wind. To a spectator, their movements might not look that different, but taking him head-on, Wurtz understands full well: His attacks are slowly, yet steadily, ramping up in speed. Clearly, Felsa’s not a slow starter, but he definitely hasn’t reached top speed yet. This is a clear indication of the werebeast’s superior muscular structure. It isn’t any manner of technique or skill—he’s just fast, pure and simple. Wurtz is a terrible match for Felsa, yet the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin. He understands why Ares asked him to battle Felsa. Now, he gets it. Although Ares is high level, as a more vulnerable member of the human race, and a priest, his aptitude for fighting Felsa is the absolute worst. It wasn’t even an option for Ares. That’s why he asked Wurtz. He’s still at a disadvantage, but Wurtz can now feel the blood surging within him, giving him newfound strength. His arms and legs are becoming fatigued and his breath is ragged, but his spirit is alive. He brings his foot down heavily and crushes the ground, sending gravel flying in all directions. Felsa is forced to retreat a number of steps to avoid the barrage of stone fragments. In that instant, Wurtz channels his entire being into a ferocious, red-hot Howl. “OOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Wurtz will be victorious. He is not so deeply indebted to Ares that he owes him his life. Yet, he will defeat Felsa, for that is his command. Even if he exerts every ounce of strength in his body and falls into disrepair. That is the pride of a warrior. The entire world—the sky, the earth, the air—shudders from Wurtz’s Howl. Felsa smiles fiendishly in response. Then, Wurtz begins to attack, putting all his force into the first blow without pondering the second. He crushes a boulder underfoot and raises his right arm high in the air, swinging it down on Felsa. He puts the entire force of his gigantic body weight, of all its gravity, into his single right fist. An explosion rips through the air from his fist alone. Even if it misses the target, a mere graze would flatten and pulverize anything in its way. And then— —Felsa does not evade the blow but receives Wurtz’s swooping, armored fist. He hasn’t pulverized flesh. Wurtz can feel a groaning sensation underneath his right hand. For a moment, Wurtz is completely at sea. How has this transpired? Felsa blocked his blow, his mighty fist, with his own two hands. The sound of Felsa’s claws scraping against his gauntlet falls dead on Wurtz’s ears. One fist was not enough—both of Felsa’s palms continue to groan underneath it. Felsa’s footing crumbles and his fur is matted, but he has clearly not suffered bodily harm. Wurtz’s confusion dissipates, and he continues to put all his force into his right fist, which Felsa has blocked. But it won’t budge. Wurtz’s face turns a deep scarlet as he continues to push down on his opponent. “You feckless grunt, did you possibly think you were more powerful than I?” Felsa growls in a muffled tone. Wurtz’s, and in turn Felsa’s, arms both continue to creak and groan. From the tone of his voice and the sound emanating from his arm, Wurtz knows that Felsa is overworking himself. His words were lies—he doesn’t have that much left to give. Nonetheless, he blocked Wurtz’s blow. He chose, deliberately, to block it, to show Wurtz that he can, even though he clearly had the option to evade it. This is exemplary of a werebeast’s warrior pride. This is a matter of neither prowess nor technique—Wurtz feels the intended threat. Recklessly cutting someone down is simple, but a sure sign of a hero’s mentality. Wurtz inhales deeply and musters all his strength. Felsa grits his teeth in opposition. At the start of this battle, they were struggling for supremacy. But Wurtz’s attacks have been losing momentum ever since his first blow. He raises his arms slowly, gradually. Felsa could easily evade him by taking a few steps back, but he shows no sign of any intention to sidestep. Felsa speaks to Wurtz, his voice rough. He’s not angry. He’s simply expressing his battle lust. “I will pulverize you. One-on-one, face-to-face, I will annihilate you.” Wurtz once more feels his own will to fight surging through him, red-hot. One single blow. Why would Wurtz give up the fight after having one single blow deflected? He’s the one who wished for a formidable opponent to do battle with. That one attack, which he poured his entire being into, was blocked. What’s more, his chances of prevailing may be thin, but what does that matter? Although he’s already summoned all his strength, Wurtz manages to thrust more power into his right fist. The golden werebeast licks his lips. Wurtz can fight. He still has it in him. He’s utterly exhausted, but his body can still move and will continue to do so until it falls apart entirely. The moment Wurtz furthers his resolve, the sound of something colliding pierces his auditory senses. Directly in front of him, Felsa stares up at Wurtz, his eyes bulging wide. What was that sound…? Wurtz furrows his brow, and in that instant, the force underneath his right arm vanishes. Without anything to support it, his arm plummets downward and smashes the boulder below. As the cloud of dust subsides, Wurtz can see Felsa falling back, a look of astonishment on his face. “…What?” Felsa’s ferocious growl has been reduced to a subdued whimper. Several black objects stick out from various places amid his velvety fur—in his ankles, shoulder, and elbow joint. Finally, he spots a single knife on the ground and realizes what the objects are. Knife handles. The blades piercing his body slide cleanly out—although he hasn’t touched them—and fly through the still air, along with the knife on the ground. Black blood oozes from the wounds and stains his golden fur. Wurtz is floored. He traces the path of the knives into the sky. Just in front of Amelia, staring at Felsa with extreme perturbation, stands a shadow that had concealed all traces of its presence—a veritable god of death. Ares spins a knife that’s returned to his hand and addresses Wurtz, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. “Well done, Wurtz. You put up a better fight than I anticipated. I’ll handle the rest, so…you take a breather.” Felsa grabs his ankle, his eyes boring into Ares with inexorable hatred. His ragged breath shows evident signs of anguish. But that’s not the reason he’s rendered completely speechless. Ares gets within ten meters of Felsa and draws his mace, shrugging his shoulders. Like Wurtz, Amelia must be similarly floored by this unexpected turn of events, as she stares at Ares, wide-eyed. “Gregorio’s technique was pretty good… These knives would’ve missed had I not thrown them directly, but being able to retrieve them like this is incredible. These are invaluable blades.” Amid everyone’s confusion, Ares continues on as if he’s making small talk. He says his next words coldly and without feeling. He retrieves a shady mask the color of black ink from his chest pocket and puts it over his face.
Chapter 26
67 min read