If you belong to the Sword Friends Association, you often face scenes that make you doubt your own eyes.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence to witness the leader, a man with golden hair and a towering figure twice his own size, easily subdued, or to see spider-hunters appear from a place that was supposedly deserted only moments ago.
By now, the notion of a small man defeating a large one through skill is no longer a storybook tale to them, and there are already many who can accomplish such feats themselves.
Moreover, once you’ve grown accustomed to the unpredictable nature of the spider-hunters—there are even some scouts who timidly hope for a reveal of their tricks—it becomes clear that it’s not mere whimsical convenience but rather skillful technique.
Similarly heartwarming is the couple of Siegfried, with his mix of good and bad fortune, and Kaya, the compassionate maiden. On the battlefield, they achieve feats that seem beyond belief, and today’s display was particularly spectacular.
Dancing explosions, raging heat waves, heavily armored humans scattering like broken toys—such is the scene of pure disbelief.
The horrors of fire are known to all who have touched civilization. Many have suffered burns in childhood from foolish antics, some have witnessed fires, and others have seen the devastating power of tactical magic on the battlefield.
But could a body, meant to have moisture, truly degrade to such an extent in such a short time?
Someone wondered if, should such things become commonplace on the battlefield, the very nature of war would change.
No, the truly terrifying thing was that the man with golden hair looked upon the scene with a broad smile.
This man found joy in battle. His pleasure did not stem from the thrill of danger that accompanied killing or fighting, but rather from the pure act of throwing himself into the struggle and reveling in the expression of his capabilities.
This ritual must have been what he considered the most efficient—and most enjoyable—method of combat.
“Come, let’s see to the cleanup of the leftovers.”
The term “cleanup of leftovers” aptly described the grim task of clearing out the remaining enemies.
Enemies stumbling towards them with unsteady steps, no longer under any semblance of control, their scorched flesh unresponsive, were being methodically and mercilessly impaled, processed as literal scraps of leftovers.
But their further astonishment came from something unexpected.
At first, they pitied those who, engulfed in flames, staggered forward. Surely, these were wounded souls seeking help. But soon, pity turned to confusion. Could a human, burned so thoroughly, continue walking? And then, to find such beings still wielding weapons, though only in a symbolic manner, was beyond reason.
At the golden-haired leader’s command, they finally understood enough to respond to the unrecognizable remnants of creatures that had lost all semblance of their original species. It was clear that attacking them was necessary to stop their fiery embrace.
The terror of an enemy still moving despite being burned, stabbed, and dismembered is difficult to describe.
Veterans who had faced many battles and honed their skills were nearly overcome with dread.
When the magicians pointed out that these were the famed “animated corpses,” the stuff of bedtime stories meant to scare children, all their fears solidified.
A soldier who could only be neutralized by severing all limbs was nothing short of a nightmare.
Had it not been for the intervention of this incomprehensible magic that destroyed them, how many casualties might there have been?
Once the remaining enemies were cleared, the golden-haired man surveyed the still-burning corpses, wondering aloud if reinforcements might come. They waited, weapons still drawn, but no enemy emerged from the forest again.
Upon receiving the report from a dispirited comrade, the leader gave orders to disband and prepare for night vigilance.
Behind them lay a truly horrifying spectacle. But there was one positive point to take away.
At least, this devastating technique was wielded by an ally. Thereafter, the Sword Friends Association began offering full salutes to the young woman known as “Compassion of the Grasslands” whenever they greeted her….
Animated corpses are creatures from bedtime stories, and far more people end their lives without ever encountering them than those who do.
It was a makeshift but effective burst of fire. With a bit more catalyst and some tinkering with the spell, perhaps it could extend its blast radius and incinerate enemies more efficiently?
No, explosion accidents are too risky. This much should suffice. The firepower is more than enough.
The warriors, lacking a sense of victory but feeling it necessary to finish the body disposal with a declaration, raised their voices.
Raising a war cry is an important ritual. It reinforces the sense of victory not only for ourselves but also for those we protect and reassure them of our triumph.
“Victory is ours!!”
“Ba…, Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”
In the Threefold Empire of Rain, the cry of victory is simple—a threefold shout of “Hooray!” Each shout is accompanied by a spear thrust into the sky and a stomping of feet, boosting morale. Our war cries, resonating loudly in the dusk, would inform the evacuating townsfolk of the victory, bringing relief.
So, let’s check for reinforcements now.
After staring cautiously at the forest for a while, no new foes emerged.
We were cautious. There were thoughts that a small force might probe our position and bring out more reinforcements or send flankers our way.
But the enemy had played by the rules. They followed the premise that sequential deployment was unwise and instead threw all their forces at us in one concentrated attack.
By grouping their high-powered individuals and striking in one go, they avoided inefficient skirmishes and showed us proper respect.
It works in practice as well. Gathering high HP individuals into concentrated strikes, confident that their wear and tear would exceed ours, this isn’t mere brute force—it’s an increasingly efficient saturated attack method.
Had we engaged in a straightforward slaughter, how many casualties might we have suffered? If we’d taken heavy retaliatory injuries trying to disarm them, our forces would have fallen behind in efficiency and been overwhelmed.
Phew, thank goodness we didn’t end up like the German troops on the eastern front.
While giving orders to keep vigilant, the soldiers maintained a focused stare into the forest. The absence of backup was confirmed by the fact that no reinforcements had appeared after a considerable wait, but there had been an expectation.
For around an hour, while the commander waited with mounting impatience but tried to keep his soldiers’ morale up, Margit returned.
“I’m sorry, I found nothing.”
Disappointing results came with her report, devoid of any beating about the bush.
There was a task assigned to her. She had been asked to enter the forest after dealing with the ranks of animated corpses and search for the “controller”.
Not all animated corpses, conveniently mass-produced by necromantic spells, are self-sufficient. While certain reflex actions can be pre-programmed into their systems, they don’t possess the judgment to move as actual soldiers do individually.
Thus, there are two plausible tactics for commanding an animated corpse army.
One, the controller issues orders directly.
Two, a sentient commander is appointed and given authority to command.
I had expected the former. That the necromancer himself was hiding in the forest issuing commands directly.
This would have simplified matters. With Margit pinpointing the location, a small, elite unit could infiltrate, cut off the head, and end all woes. Taking the necromancer as physical proof to the deputy, the manor’s troubles would have largely disappeared.
Unfortunately, our expectations were not met. If Margit deemed the controller absent, then either they were truly absent or, in ordinary circumstances, undiscoverable.
I have no intention of being a commander who disregards the judgment of experts. Moreover, if I couldn’t trust her skills, then there’d be nothing in this world I could trust.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your expectations. It’s frustrating.”
“Don’t say that. I trust your skills far more than anyone else’s.”
“I didn’t find any traces of a necromancer but… I did bring back a little souvenir.”
She handed over what looked like a homemade map, and upon reading it, several marks resembling tombstones with rounded arcs were noted.
Were these graves?
“Thank you. This is an invaluable present.”
“I am deeply honored.”
There were fifteen marks of these tombstones. Assuming each concealed around three to four animated corpses and were scattered widely, one could deduce that nearly all resources were deployed here.
Even if we couldn’t obtain the enemy’s head and end all problems, this still held significant worth…
…
With the tension still thick in the middle of the night, the manor hovered in a tense, uneasy slumber, with no let-up in its vigilance.
Preparations were made for any contingency in the central square, yet sleep eluded those made restless by the crisis, despite their fatigue.
It’s often said that good soldiers can sleep soundly in tense situations, highlighting the difficulty of resting under pressure.
As the moon rose high and many residents couldn’t sleep due to anxiety, within the meeting house temporarily serving as the command post, two adventurers were enveloped in a palpable tension, unrelated to the current danger.
Siegfried, the adventurer with a prominent scar crossing his cheek to his jaw, tried unsuccessfully to hide his annoyance beneath a stoic expression, unaware that his very attempt betrayed his mood.
Seated nearby, Kaya sipped medicinal broth infused with calming herbs but remained uneasy, her discomfort overshadowing the flavor.
This was not the whimsical discontent of someone playfully jealous. Siegfried had figured something out.
He had discovered the secrets that Erich and Kaya had kept from him.
Though often portrayed as the supporting player in stories, Siegfried was by no means intellectually slow or dull. In fact, he was a capable adventurer who could competently lead independently.
His intuition pieced together the earlier scenario perfectly, leaving a bitter taste in his mind.
How could anyone have prepared for something like this had they not known everything from the start?
Siegfried clearly understood the troublesome nature of animated corpses.
Despite being coarse in appearance, Siegfried’s skills in both swordsmanship and spearplay leaned toward precision rather than brute force—training with like-minded warriors of the Sword Friends Association had refined his ability to end a life with a single strike.
He hadn’t reached the madman’s skill level of severing just a thumb and forefinger, but he adhered to the principle whispered about in the association: “All it takes is the tip of the pinky for a blade to find its way into a human and end their life.”
Swinging a blade haphazardly wouldn’t work here. Cutting into the throat, wrists, and thighs to accurately damage vital vessels and tendons ensured the termination of “human” opponents, whether of the Human Race, Rat Goblin, even the formidable Ogres, or even Vampires—these Undead too could be temporarily dispatched.
But these animated corpses, moving despite everything defied logic. They were incompatible with the Sword Friends Association’s method of fighting with precision, strategy, and technique.
If the fighters had not been forewarned and had charged without knowledge of their enemy, many deaths would have been inevitable.
That these casualties were avoided was somewhat relieving, but this was no simple matter to dismiss. Rather, a conversation about whose oversight allowed for this situation would not simply be brushed aside by saying “thankfully no one died.”
Therefore, Siegfried stewed with annoyance, his frustration almost reaching the point of punching that smug, golden-haired face.
Upon reflection, he couldn’t say that he didn’t understand. Reasons like avoiding dampening their morale before the fight, or waiting until a victory was assured before revealing the truth, made logical sense.
Still, humans don’t live entirely by logic.
Many among the association, Siegfried was sure, admired the golden-haired man and marveled at his prowess. Others, though, probably harbored unease at what had been hidden from them.
Siegfried, knowing the man so well, could only conclude that this oversight was egregious.
He seemed to envy humans too much, Siegfried sighed heavily, shaking his head.
Not everyone, least of all comrades who’d trained and lived through life and death together, followed reason and duty alone.
He drained his now-cold medicinal broth in one gulp, flinging the cup aside with a loud clang as he stood. He headed toward the makeshift sleeping bags, the smell of masculinity overpowering from being used and reused by rough adventurers.
Yet even here, rest was a blessing.
“I’m going to sleep.”
“Hey, Dee-kun…”
“Go to sleep yourself.”
Without cracking even the usual playful teasing that could have lightened the mood, the adventurer turned his back on his partner and buried himself in his sleeping bag.
This was an old friend whose complexities Siegfried had always struggled to fully understand. Had it always been this way? Since the day he met her as the daughter of a notable witch doctor? Or when they became companions? Or perhaps when she started insisting on joining him on dangerous adventures?
In any case, Siegfried had never fully understood Kaya as a woman. Despite the familiarity of sharing quarters and exploring each other’s bodies, even the most intimate of caresses, he wasn’t entirely sure if he understood the nature of their bond.
If asked whether he loved her, Siegfried, in his youth, might not fully grasp the concept of love. Yet, if asked whether she meant more to him than anyone else, his answer would be an unhesitating “yes”.
A thought experiment at a drinking session of unknown origin emerged.
Should one’s mother and lover both fall ill, and there was only enough medicine for one, who would receive it? Without a moment’s hesitation, Siegfried would choose Kaya. Even if that role were played by his mother or anyone else, his choice would remain unchanged.
Even if he himself were ill and Kaya were to beg him to take the medicine, he would not.
How could he feel anything but uneasy when such a close companion, someone whose life was tied to his, kept secrets from him?
Moreover, there were concerns about the association’s affairs and that golden-haired man.
He didn’t distrust them. The golden-haired man was, in his way, overly fixated on his singular approach, perhaps tiring his partner out, and Kaya’s occasional provocations weren’t particularly malicious.
Still, it troubled him deeply that those two shared secrets he was never privy to.
Ignoring Kaya’s lingering presence near his sleeping bag, Siegfried closed his eyes. After a few hours, he’d have to take his watch turn.
Thanks to the calming herbs, sleep came quickly, yet it brought no comfort.
…
If reason alone governed everything, weapons designed for human use would never have been invented.
As the month approaches its end, the third volume is still maintaining its position at number 2 in the Overlap Kindle rankings, and I am truly grateful. Likewise, the hundred-plus reviews have been deeply appreciated.
