Chapter 852: Intolerable

“Centaurs.”

Half-man, half-horse—lower body like that of a horse, upper body resembling a human.

“Because they’re monsters, their eyeballs are black, and their skin texture, if not quite ironclad, is fairly hard.”

He’d fought them before. Had they taken the plain before the southern forest of the Border Guard?

His memory was hazy. Hadn’t all sorts of things happened in the meantime? No matter how good your memory is, some things are forgettable. That didn’t mean he’d forgotten everything. Enkrid searched his memory.

“A general-type colony.”

He recalled the motions of the one that swung a glaive. At the same time, he remembered it leading the pack and employing tactics.

It was ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) what they called the three-wave formation.

Draw the eye with the first wave, strike with the second, and break with the third.

Simple, but if you had a clear advantage in strength, it was a good tactic to use.

“He also overcame the killing intent the monster gave off back then.”

He blocked the monster’s killing will—so like a knight’s pressure—with refusal.

As he gathered the scattered bits, memories surfaced one by one. Some were clear, some were vague.

For instance, he might have forgotten the names of the people he’d seen then, but he hadn’t forgotten the battle situation or what he’d learned and practiced at the time.

“This is different from before.”

Enkrid spoke.

There was no killing intent and no ferocity in them. If the general-type colony he’d faced before was a chariot that came on stolidly, this opponent was like nimble light infantry with a touch of craft.

“Every time I see those bastards, they make my skin crawl.”

Dunbakel muttered as well. Back when they fought the general-type colony, hadn’t Dunbakel played the decoy for the centaur pack and fled into the forest?

“Time to pay them back for that. Oh Guardian of the Stale Stink.”

Rem teased Dunbakel.

They came charging and loosed bone arrows, but no one panicked. There was no one here important enough to be done in by an attack like that.

Ragna climbed back into the saddle with half-lidded eyes.

“Annoying.”

That was the end of it. Chasing them would be a headache. In truth, they’d already turned into dots and fled so far even a knight’s eyes couldn’t track them.

A few mounts snorted nervously and pawed the ground, but when Odd-Eye whinnied Heeeing a few times, they all quieted down.

“Shall we pursue?”

Rophod asked. It would be hard on his mount to chase, but if he could narrow the distance a bit, he could leap down and close on two feet.

Of course, he spoke knowing they wouldn’t really send him. Call it what it was—words born of Rophod’s position in the Order. He always took on the grubby jobs.

“Not feasible.”

Enkrid spoke as he gauged the centaur pack’s speed.

A knight’s strength overwhelms a horse in a short sprint, but even with that in mind, the monsters he’d just seen were fast. Could the horses they were riding now chase them? Not a chance.

“That’s true.”

Rophod nodded, agreeing. He’d said it knowing it wouldn’t work. He’d said it to make sure everyone had it in mind. Hence, grubby work.

“This bastard always has something useless to say. Everyone knows without your mouth flapping, you softy.”

Pell sneered.

“How many times have I told you conversations like this are necessary to keep a group’s judgment from fragmenting? Too many to count. That’s why no soldiers gather under you. Your busted face is only the second reason.”

Click.

Pell released his sword catch. Was it time to carve a few lines in that bastard’s face?

Rophod’s eyes narrowed as well. Would the southern front really suffer if they were short one guy who picked fights at all hours?

At this point, taking a slice off somewhere and dropping him from the column wouldn’t be so bad.

“Brats, we’re busy. If you’re going to fight, go fight there.”

Rem broke them up. Different method than Enkrid’s, but either way the two stayed their hands.

When a big, ignorant barbarian glares like he’s about to split your skull with an axe, the will to brawl drains away.

The party started moving again. They went forward. The centaur pack hit and ran, and they judged that was all.

Only Enkrid and a few others wondered if it was all right to leave them be, but he agreed with what Lua Gharne said at his side.

“Packs like that are easiest to take by numbers. You send out a portion of the standing army and chase them as if encircling.”

They were a pain to chase with a small elite. If they really set their minds to it, they could still take them on, but it would waste time.

From the arrows the monsters had loosed, Enkrid glimpsed an intent.

Poison, distance, arrows.

Put those three factors together, and he could vaguely guess their aim—but as they finished preparations and moved on, the centaur pack appeared again.

“Would you look at that?”

Rem’s lip curled. The situation was irritating.

“Hoho, looks like the Lord wishes to play at war.”

If they sent the centaur unit up to the heavens, the Lord would split them in two and toy with them with amusement.

Whether a god truly wished that, Audin did not know—but by nature he believed all things were within the Lord’s will.

To him, those were the Lord’s toys.

“Sister Teresa, let’s prepare.”

“Yes.”

The bear-beastman siblings took their reins and halted. Everyone did the same.

They stopped and waited for the monster pack’s assault. If they closed the distance this time, they would crush them at once.

The madmen’s Order was of one mind.

Shshshshshk.

Bone arrows came flying. Arrows shot from afar. If they came a touch closer than this, they’d chase. So thought Enkrid.

The centaur pack accelerated as if to sneer, loosing arrows as they ran, then wheeled and bolted away.

They were up against mounts that already had speed. This was, no matter what, hard to pursue.

“Can’t chase.”

Fast. Three or four times faster than a warhorse running flat out—a mount you’d call a fine steed.

If only the distance would close, more than half the knights would meet the monsters within their weapon’s reach.

“They’re not going to give us the distance.”

That was how Enkrid saw it.

Thus it went for three days. Rem said they were simply waiting for the party to wear down, and Lua Gharne rolled her eyes as she sank into thought.

They loosed arrows like clockwork morning, noon, and evening, then ran. The party’s traveling speed turned pitifully slow.

“To monsters that survived within demon-lands, singularities come.”

He’d already learned this in Thousand Brick—now renamed the city of Oara. The ghoul Jericks was a monster that observed and learned human techniques.

“Humans learned pressure by watching monsters’ killing intent.”

The start of pressure was an imitation of a monster’s killing will, and the start of Will came from watching a monster’s massive body exert absurd force.

He’d gotten that knowledge in his talk with the Imperial knight Valphir. Valphir also said this:

“Just as humans steal and learn monsters’ techniques, I think it’s time monsters learned human systems. Each learned what they could.”

Then had those monsters loosing arrows from afar learned strategy and tactics shown by sapient beings?

“That’s correct.”

He spoke to Lua Gharne, and she nodded.

“If we leave this be, not only will the southern fighting all be over, we won’t arrive for twenty-five years. I’ll go handle it.”

Rem was a born hunter. He pursued the centaur pack. He left at night and returned in the morning. No results.

“These bastards post sentries from way out.”

In many ways, the conditions were poor. If this were a forest, closing in would be easy. But here it was an open plain. With dozens of monsters watching left and right, stealthy approach was impossible.

“Should’ve brought that wildcat brat?”

For Rem to say something like that—

“In my stead, you have Dunbakel.”

In the East, hunting is a way of life. Especially tag with monsters happens all the more often.

“I’ll go.”

No one stopped her. Dunbakel returned in less than half a day.

“They loose before I get close and bolt.”

“Chief, how is it he seems even dumber after coming back from the East?”

Rem shook his head.

Dunbakel’s nose was superb—extraordinary even among beastmen. Only, on an open field where everyone could see everyone, there was no use for her nose. It was good for chasing something hiding or fleeing, but stealthy approach was not her specialty.

The enemy wasn’t hiding; they kept their legs moving, kept distance, and shot. Of course, Dunbakel had thoughts of her own.

“If I go beast-form and charge?”

Her beast-form had developed and changed in the East. If she ran in the second of those changes—

“I can catch them.”

Only, the bastards never offered even that sort of distance. And then they came back and fired again.

Shshshshk. Tat-tat-tat.

Rem tied cords to his throwing axes and whirled them. They became a roof over the whole party’s heads, batting away the incoming arrows.

A few slipped through the gaps, but Lua Gharne lashed them aside with her whip.

Threat? Not at all. Only, their feet were tied. There was no one who would take a stray arrow by mistake, but the arrows were poisoned.

If one so much as grazed a horse, it became a burden. The gear slung on the saddles would have to be taken up by men, and their speed would drop. The South was far. It wasn’t that they couldn’t go on two feet, but a late arrival would be a foregone conclusion.

Should they leave all the camp gear behind?

Enkrid pondered briefly.

“In your place, I’d split the party.”

Lua Gharne offered a realistic suggestion.

What to call it—this was a pack they’d strangle and have all their throats opened the moment they closed and grappled, yet there was nothing to be done?

Just as Lua Gharne said, if they deliberately split, chased, and got off the plain, they could catch them.

“Feels like we’ll need three.”

Should they? What the enemy wanted was plain to see. If monsters had learned strategy and what they wanted was to tie their feet, wouldn’t that be playing right into their hands?

“What about ignoring them and moving?”

If they abandoned the horses and moved on, it was possible.

Heeeing.

While he debated, Odd-Eye pushed Enkrid’s back with his head. When he looked back, the light in Odd-Eye’s eyes was savage.

Call it killing will and pressure.

While Enkrid had been repeating today and cutting down Balrog, what had this wild horse been doing?

Heeeing.

He didn’t know. But this horse hadn’t been idly cropping grass either. That was the sort of friend Odd-Eye was.

“All right, Indomitable. You have something to say?”

For the first time in a while, Enkrid called him by the name he’d given him. Though a horse, Odd-Eye frowned. His expressions were as alive as a human’s. His face said, What sudden nonsense is that? Enkrid pretended not to notice and asked again. This kind of brazen front he’d learned long ago in his mercenary-band days.

What was the mercenary captain who’d taught him this called? Tom? Something like that. Maybe longer.

Too long ago—blurred memory.

“All right, what?”

Hing.

Enkrid and Odd-Eye could communicate. But holding fine-grained discussions and talking strategy was impossible.

No matter how nimble Odd-Eye was, he didn’t use language.

But here was a race that read the minds of humans, giants, fairies, witches, and beasts alike. For the Dragonkin, language was an accessory.

“He’s telling you to get on his back.”

“Hm?”

“He says he’ll catch them.”

The Dragonkin had, just now, taken an interest in the wild horse that followed Enkrid. Will and zeal surged from that horse like madness. What filled that interior?

The Dragonkin read Odd-Eye’s mind in detail.

Faster than me?

A wild horse that ran the rough plains and ranges, stony paths, bogs, and crags would not tolerate anything faster than itself.

Prrrrk.

Odd-Eye snorted. The will within was vivid. Enkrid at least accurately grasped that much.

There was no baggage on Odd-Eye’s back. He hadn’t intended it in the first place, but Odd-Eye would not allow anyone to dare load burden on his back.

Instead, Enkrid slung on his own pack and left the rest of the gear to the party. He unshouldered the pack and tossed it to Pell.

“Hold this.”

Then he mounted Odd-Eye. Heat welled up the moment he was in the saddle. The dark red bruises on Odd-Eye’s back had grown deeper, and heat filled his whole frame.

“You’re saying there isn’t a horse faster than you?”

Enkrid asked. Odd-Eye reared, lifting his forelegs high in answer.

Hiiiiing!

“That’s correct.”

The Dragonkin added an explanation. Just then, from afar, the centaur pack sent arrows flying.

Poisoned bone arrows—a monster pack that had learned human systems and tactics. At them, a wild horse who had overcome the blood of monsters, with mismatched eyes, set the Balrog Slayer on his back and ran.