〈 Episode 62 〉The East Targets the West 8

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The raid was a great success. The bandit bands, numbering more than 500, were scattered, and there were no more bandits in the Great Forest of Hammel.

"The scattered bandits will not form a band."

On the way back, the other raiding parties are now friendly, and they ask me casually.

"Why?"

"Probably because fear is the best way to rally a band of ragtag bandits, and if they're charging at the sight of fire, it means they've already got no backup."

He put a finger to his chin, thinking hard.

"Unless they see great advantage in beating us, the bandits must have been intimidated by the Deckard estate, and now that they've killed the leader of their enemies here, they can't do it anymore and will go into hiding somewhere."

"Maybe they're struggling to make ends meet and will return to banditry?"

"And if they do, they think they might see those horrible Deckard's men again?"

Fear makes you eat some. People you don't want to see again, even if they're beggars for food, and Deckard fit that description.

"Perhaps the bandits scattered when that pack of hounds came charging in."

Predictably, the bandits fled without a backward glance as the hounds charged toward Sergen. For them to return to banditry would be like inviting Deckard to take their heads.

"In other words, the raid was a great success."

I grinned at them and nodded, as if it was okay to smirk.

"Destroyed all of Deckard's rotten hermitages, wiped out the bandits..."

Joffin chirped. It was I who had made it possible, and he slipped into the seat beside me.

"We could ride horses.

I'm standing on the ground, unable to properly engage in mounted combat, but Joffin, who can ride a horse on the way back, takes the reins and stays by my side.

"So, I was thinking of having a drink to celebrate our victory, what do you think?"

Joffin asks with a hint of coyness. But the other knights and the mercenaries slowed their pace slightly, as if listening.

"Should we go.

Why? Elisa and Ceredor are nowhere to be found, which means I'll have to take credit for the entirety of this operation.

"It's going to look crazy, right?

I literally operated on the basis that if I said it, it would happen. Without Elisa and Ceredor here, the plan to use orcs to completely destroy the hounds would not have been possible.

"Some of the knights would have lost their lives.

The sight of the hounds charging, life or death, was a sight of stained madness. Their behavior still sends chills down my spine.

'Not defense, but what if...'

As was his usual strategy, if Serghen had given the order to deal with the hounds, there would have been quite a few dead and wounded in their deadly assault.

"We should go."

I finally managed a grin. If I continue to befriend Sirtus, I will lose the war against Deckard, so... I have no choice.

"And what about Million...

I wondered what his thoughts were at this point.

.

"The second...attack site has been destroyed...and there are only two Hound survivors."

At the servant's report, Million nodded slowly.

"It has failed."

"Shall we deal with the Hounds?"

Failure of the mission means death.

"No, they have come to report the failure of the mission, and there is no need to kill them."

"Yes."

The hounds knelt still on one knee behind him.

"What was he like?"

"..."

The hounds said nothing.

"You don't ask? What did his behavior look like?"

At Million's prodding, the hounds slowly opened up.

"It was like he was reading our thoughts."

"Read..."

"He..."

The male hound trails off.

"You said."

"It was like...it was like watching your strategy."

"You mean my strategy?"

"Yes. We may not have fought in the glorious wars of the past, but if we are to be hounds, we must read about them."

"I did."

Taking a deep breath, he spoke again.

"It seemed to me that he was using what you taught us back then, how to predict your opponent's moves...how to see the hand."

As his anger dissipated, and he made sense of his actions, the Hound looked at it and could only see one thing.

[This...is similar to Million's tactics].

In the past, he did not use orcs to wage war. However, the Hound recognized that in his conquest of the West, Million had exploited the weaknesses of his opponents, whether they were willing to surrender, bandits, or mercenaries.

"Report back."

Slowly pulling up a comfortable chair, Millian listens to the report.

"Orcs...they can be quite a handful, if you know how to use them well."

Orcs are not the kind of creatures that can be used for human purposes. A horde of monsters with a tendency to run off at a moment's notice is not a suitable target, in his opinion.

"And yet, you say the orcs attacked you?"

"Yes...from what I could see, the orcs seemed to have been drawn in by a man named G'tir."

"You say you were the bait...was he dressed like the rest of you?"

"No. He wore a brown suit and shoes."

"I've heard that orcs have the intelligence to distinguish between such attire, and yet...they ambush the hounds while chasing Tyr..."

Million pondered, not understanding.

"That's unusual."

He looks at the female hound.

"What do you think?"

"I think we should take out that Tyr guy first."

"Ohhh."

In a hound's mouth, there is never prioritization. Just, target, target, target. That was the moment the Hound's standards were broken.

"Can you take it out?"

"If it's for Deckard's honor, somehow."

Million's mouth curved into a wide grin.

"Yes, Deckard's glory..."

A flag with Deckard's blue starburst. Millian stares at it longingly.

"And..."

"You tell me."

"I may be mistaken, but..."

The female hound fled, and as she did, she saw Tyr's sword.

"The blue starlight..."

"You mean Deckard's sword?"

Million's smile faded.

"Yes. That's what I saw."

"So you're saying that Deckard's sword is connected by blood?"

"Yes."

"And you can take responsibility for that?"

"....Yes."

Millian pulls the dagger from his own arm.

"Tight!

He grabs the male hound by the head, lifts it up, and slits its throat.

"Hair!

The hound turns into a cold corpse, gurgling and spitting out blood.

"And now, you will pay for it with your life."

This action of Million's was his way of saying that he was cleaning up the hounds. All the hounds were to be purged, and if Tyr's identity-or life-was not taken here...

"The hounds are done for that day.

With those words, she took on the responsibility of all the Hounds.

"Do not do anything that will be tainted with regret."

A call to action. Then, she disappears.

"Is it true?"

The servant asks.

"Tir, it may be that he is playing tricks on you. But if it is true..."

Deckard has been defiled. The blood of the abomination, the foulest of the foul, would be tainted by Deckard's blue starlight sword. It would be unthinkable.

"You've gotten used to provoking me."

Tyr acts as if he's trying to provoke Million somehow.

"Servant."

"Yes."

"Declare war."

"Are you sure?"

"The conditions for a war of exploration have not disappeared, have they? Call on all the nobles of the East to volunteer, and make sure they have a good cause."

"Yes, sir."

Send the knights out. Not ragtag bandits, not useless hounds that would be trodden down by orcs, but trained knights stained with the blood and sweat of the East's war history, trained by Millian's life as a butler.

"Haha, they're useless if left to their own devices."

This is what happens when hounds are left to their own devices. The knights, too, will be driven by those who know the glory of victory in war, not the honor of knighthood.

.

"Voila!

"Then a drink to the glory and dawn of Sirtus!"

Those who squeezed loudly. They gathered in threes and fours, filling the tables, and their drinking became crooked to the point of intoxication.

"You know," says one, "when you're in a marauding battalion, you have to drink even harder."

says one of the mercenaries.

"Why?"

"Well, to honor those who have fallen in battle."

A Slayer explains the traditions of Sirtus.

"We have a tradition of never missing a drinking party."

"Indeed, and on the occasion of such a great victory, we should have even more fun!"

One person stands up and raises a large glass, and everyone raises their glasses to match. It's a raucous occasion. It's the same bar where Sergen and Arwell had their argument last time, and Sergen cheerfully borrows every table in the tavern to congratulate them.

"What is it you can't do?"

One of the slayers asks.

"Can't do what?"

"No, how do you know orcs' periods, and what did you call those bandits and their hermits..."

"Didn't they call them hounds?"

"Ah, hounds. Why did you know they would come charging?"

"It's all improvised. It was all because you were there."

"Oh, I don't need your corny humility."

"It's true. Because this is where I first learned that when you hit an ignition stone with an ignition stone, you get a big puff of smoke."

"I told you, hahaha!!!"

One of the Slayers exclaims, raising his glass high.

"That's right, and knowing orc physiology is only possible because you've helped us fight orcs before."

"We fight orcs to death, and it never occurred to me to use them to our advantage."

I couldn't help but smile sheepishly. It's as if he's offering a compliment to put a chip on his shoulder somehow, but his intentions are too obvious.

"Cheaters.

The most talkative and boisterous of the marauders were at the table.

"Are you drinking well?"

Sergen came to the table with a goblet.

"Ouch, Sergen!"

As if to say something important, several of the slayers left, and soon the two were alone at the table.

"So, what was it like to be a Slayer?"

"Well, if this is how it usually goes... I'll never be a Slayer, will I?"

"You're kidding, I don't think you'll ever be a slayer, and I haven't had to deal with bandits in over a decade."

Rumor has it that quite a few bandits have disappeared in the wake of this event, and that spring may be coming to Sirtus once again. Outside, stories and songs are sung in praise of Sergen, and the taverns are packed with customers today.

"So, have you thought about it?"

"...."

I slowly set my glass down, figuring it was coming.

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