Tales of Leo Attiel ~Portrait of the Headless Prince~

Volume 4, Chapter 3: Wolf and Fox

Part 1

It was just as Leo had imagined.

By early evening, the area around the church had become a hunting ground for demons.

Just as the prince had advised, a market had been set up, and business had been thriving when Darren's soldiers suddenly attacked. He sent out three hundred of his troops but, in practice, only about a hundred led the attack, while the remaining men stayed on standby on the Old Highway. There was nobody at the market who would be able to put up a fight against them, so a hundred was more than enough. The assailants set fire throughout the market place for no reason at all, trampled the fleeing populace beneath their horses' hooves, struck young and old alike with bludgeons and mallets, and then sliced through their necks with blades.

Black smoke rose from all over, and as it swirled upwards, it seemed to drag with it the unending chorus of screams and cries. Some of the merchants had hired mercenaries as guards before coming, but that was only to deter thieves and bandits from attacking them on the road, and no one had ever imagined this kind of situation.

In the end, the people at the marketplace were unable to put a resistance or fight back, and they were slaughtered one-sidedly. When the excitable soldiers noticed a good-looking woman, they hoisted her onto their shoulders, cut off her feet her to stop her from moving, and had their men tie her up. If their lover or husband gave themselves over to fury, or if their children tearfully tried to oppose the soldiers, the number of victims only increased.

“This way, everyone, hurry!”

Bishop Bosc opened the doors of the church, and frantically shouted for people to come and take refuge inside, personally going out again and again to lead them in. Even though it was still in the middle of construction, the church was the only solid building in the area. People flooded into it, driven forward by terror.

The mother's expression was also deformed by fear as she hurried to the church, leading her young daughter by the hand, but a fat merchant rushing up from behind pushed her out of the way, and both mother and child tumbled to the ground.

“Hurry!”

Even so, the mother quickly struggled to her feet, and lifted up her daughter. The child was sobbing convulsively as her mother pulled her along by the hand and they started running again, but an attacker on horseback drew up behind them.

The spear in his hand was wet with blood, and his clean-shaven face had relaxed into a slovenly expression. He was drunk on the joy of massacre.

“D'you want to ran over there? Oookay, I'll let you run. But you have to have my horse follow you.” The man with the clean-shaven face deliberately avoided catching up with the mother and daughter, and laughed loudly as he stayed just behind them. “Running is useless, anyway. The building to the evil god will be burned down soon enough. You can curse Leo's name when you go to hell, since he built that thing and called death down on you all.”

Tired of playing tag, the soldier raised his spear. Its tip was aimed at the mother; he would stab it through her back then ride his horse to trample over the child where she fell.

But he never had the opportunity to carry out that plan. An arrow pierced his elbow, crushing the bone and slicing through his tendons. His blood and his screams gushed up simultaneously

A horse swiftly came up to him. For a second, he thought it was an ally. After all, there couldn't have been anyone on horseback other than his allies.

Yet the man on that horse was a stranger. No... rather than a man, he was more like a boy. And that boy swung a sword down towards him. Out of reflex, the clean-shaven soldier raised his wounded arm above his face, but the blade smoothly changed trajectory and, in a sideway sweep, sliced through clean-shaven's throat. The mother and daughter gazed up at the rain of blood coming from overhead.

“Go, hurry!” the boy yelled as his sword repelled the bludgeon that another soldier swang at him, before striking a blow in return and smashing his enemy's crude helmet.

That boy's name was Kuon.

It wasn't just him: an entire group had burst in like a sudden gust of wind onto a scene in which there had been nothing but blood and screams. They had dispersed into every direction, fiercely striking at Darren's soldiers from under the cover of their allies' arrows. They had no banner, and wore no visible insignia.

“W-Who are you!?” even though Darren's soldiers screamed in confusion, this new group had neither the duty nor the obligation to introduce themselves. Bellowing their war cries, they toppled the demons who were smeared in the blood of the people, slicing them down, and piercing them through with arrows.

Kuon halted his horse to protect the mother and daughter as they fled, and to run his eye around his surroundings for a moment, and the archer who had shot through clean-shaven's arm a moment ago rode up beside him. It was Aqua. And it was, of course, the mountain warriors who had thwarted what was supposed to be a one-sided slaughter led by Darren's men.

But they weren't alone, and, just a moment earlier, men from a different tribe had surged into the church's surroundings in response to Kuon's order.

Kuon turned back once to check that the mother and daughter had disappeared into the church at Bosc's urging, then exchanged a look with Aqua.

“Right,” they spurred their horses on to their next prey.

─ To explain how Kuon came to be there, we need to wind back time a little.

About five days after he had left the mountains with reinforcements from his clan, they ran into an unexpected ambush in the north of the Kesmai Plains.

This wasn't because of a lack of vigilance on Kuon's part. Although most of the Kesmai Plains was barren land with only the reddish-brown forms of sandstone cliffs as far as the eye could see, there was a narrow river running through it, flowing towards the mouth of the Zedora in the east, and its banks were dotted with patches of green grasslands. Since these meadows were suitable for pasture, the horse-riding tribes frequently pitched their tents in them. The violent temper of the Kesmai nomads was also well-known, so Kuon was going to keep as far away from these small steppes as he could, so as to avoid any unnecessary fights.

Yet, ahead of them, in the shadow of a rocky hill that looked like a man-made fortress, they spotted a group of about ten horsemen.

Enemies? the mountain tribe was immediately on frenzied alert, but Kuon had noticed the white flag that the group was flying. These were nomads from the Halia tribe.

Kuon gave the order to pull up behind the riders. The dry wind blew between the two groups. Since one of the other riders had dismounted and seemed to be about to approach them, Kuon also jumped down from his horse. The man from the Halia tribe looked astonished as he approached him. When Kuon had killed Bahāt, a man whose violence had been causing endless trouble for Hāles – the head of the tribe – this young man had been one of those who had gone with Hāles to help provide cover with his bow for Kuon and Sarah. Kuon recognised that scar on his cheek.

Kuon and the young man from the Halia tribe came to a halt between their two groups.

“Kuon, it really is you.”

The man lowered his voice since, even within the tribe, no one except those who had taken part in it knew that Kuon had cooperated with Hāles to kill Bahāt. He continued,

“Our people have been really worried: the tribe which has always stayed in the southern mountains suddenly started flocking in droves to these lands,” he said.

Someone had seen Kuon's group heading north, and had raced hurriedly to inform their tribe about it. Normally, the nomads were divided into a number of clans which travelled around the grasslands that were scattered throughout the plains. And although the Kesmai Plains were vast, its meadows were scarce, so there were plenty of times when groups clashed with one another over territory rights. Yet when they heard the news that: “The mountains are moving,” they all hastily got in touch with their fellow tribesmen.

There was no time for family quarrels when an unexpected threat was drawing near. If one of the many powers scattered throughout the plains had allied itself with the 'mountains' to destroy the power balance in Kesmai, then they might need to work together to crush that plan as quickly as possible. Following that, Hāles, the young head of the Halia, decided that the first thing to do was to try and approach the 'mountains'.

But although he understood the situation, Kuon could not afford to stop here. It was lucky that the one chosen as an envoy was a young man who shared Chief Hāles' secret. Kuon was easily able to explain to him both his reason for crossing the Kesmai Plains and heading towards the 'mountains', as well as why he was now once more travelling across the plains, this time with the mountain people in tow.

“We just want to go through Kesmai. Unless someone tries to stop us, we absolutely won't do anything to interfere here.”

“I'll report to the Chief. I think you already know this, but don't go near the meadows. Our clan is one thing, but there are plenty of guys with short fuses in the other ones too.”

The nomad riders left, and Kuon and his group once more started heading north. During the next few days, although the figures of other horsemen – who were probably monitoring them – could occasionally be glimpsed in the distance, the mountain people were able to advance without meeting any obstacles.

It was on a day when the wind was blowing somewhat strongly that they received an answer from the head of the Halia. A party of about thirty riders appeared, their white robes fluttering in the brownish, sand-laden wind.

The one acting as their envoy was the young man with the scarred cheek.

“Our chief, Lord Hāles, has mediated with the other tribes, and has informed all of them that this move from the 'mountains' isn't going to harm the plains,” he explained to Kuon.

Chief Hāles had also added that: “I owe a great debt to Master Kuon and Lady Sarah,” and, as such, he had sent them reinforcements: “By Faihan, the fang of the Wolf God, Roh Gas, which continued to fight even after it had been broken off, I pray that Master Kuon will make free use of the thirty that I send him.”

Naturally, Kuon was surprised.

“Hang on. You don't need to go that far. Bahāt was... er, no, I mean, when I did that, it was for my own sake, not yours.”

“Don't worry,” the young man's dark, suntanned face broke out into a smile. “The Halia tribe isn't afraid, first, to fight, and second, to die in combat. By Faihan, the fang of Roh Gas which came to life, I hope that you won't hold back when using us.”

That really wasn't what Kuon had meant, but since they couldn't afford to waste any time, he decided to swallow his surprise and add these new companions to the group.

“I'm called Zan Chiredeau,” the young man introduced himself.

And so, Kuon continued his way across the plain, while gaining some unplanned allies. Their trip was uneventful... Or would have been, if not for the fact that they were attacked by wolves one night.

It was often said that: “the wolves of the Kesmai Plains know the taste of human flesh.” There were stories about how, when they attacked the camps set up by merchant caravans from the north, they would leap to attack humans, even though these held flame torches in their hands, rather than the horses who were tied to one place.

The mountain people were all thrown into a frenzy, but Zan and the other nomads knew what to do: “There aren't many of them, so we can drive them away with jūma smoke,” they said and, from their saddlebags, they produced bundles of dried grass that they then set alight. The smoke had a unique smell that wolves hated.

The young nomads, Zan included, brandished the lit bundles of grass while chanting prayers to the wolf god. The beasts growled and snuffled almost sadly, but before long, they hung their heads and turned tail one after another.

After which, the group was fortunately able to leave the Kesmai Plains without meeting any more packs of wolves or swarms of ashinaga.

Taking the same route as when heading towards the mountain, Kuon led the way across the Pass of the Wailing Tresses and then to the highway. There, he chose about ten riders, and hurried ahead with them to Guinbar.

He was fretting that Darren's forces might start marching at any moment but, at the time, the situation was still perfectly peaceful. It was so anticlimactic that Kuon felt let down. And on top of that, when he asked Savan, he learned that Leo was away from the castle.

For a while, Kuon hesitated about what to do. He had the option of waiting at Guinbar, but this was his first time leading troops of several hundred men. He couldn't just decide at his own discretion where they would be lodged, and where they would live. If he had discussed things with Savan, he would certainly have been able to sort that out, but Leo was Kuon's direct superior, the equivalent of a unit leader in the mountains, and so it wasn't to Savan that he was going to entrust his fate..

“In that case, I'll head to Bernard's territory too,” he decided, and immediately got back on his horse. It hadn't even been an hour since he had first passed through the gates of Guinbar Castle.

What a restless child, thought Savan, but turned his mind to practical things:

“If you go straight along the highway, you'll arrive in Darren's territory. I'll send some soldiers to guide you.”

Thus, after joining up with his main force of riders again, Kuon rode fast to the east of Guinbar and arrived at the start of the Old Highway before sunset. There, he made an encounter that was completely outside of his predictions; he met with the advance unit that Darren had sent out.

Darren Actica had left Dharam with a force of two thousand, from which he had detached a unit of five hundred, and had them advance as the vanguard. Since three hundred of those were to attack the church, the remaining two hundred were moving forward along the Old Highway to attack the guard posts and take control of the relay stations. Among them, twenty riders were travelling ahead to the west, scouting out where to set up a blockade along the old road. These were the ones who ran into Kuon.

Naturally, Darren's men were startled by this group of riders that had suddenly appeared out of the blue. Judging from their appearances, they guessed that they were probably bandits who had established their base nearby.

“Who are you bastards?” they arrogantly called out to them. “Get out of the way. We've got several hundred soldiers behind us, so don't look down on our numbers,” they said. “You trot along quietly. We don't have time to deal with you lot,” they sneered from horseback and held up their weapons threateningly.

Kuon scrunched his eyes into a squint. Among the mountain tribe, his eyesight was known to be especially good, and even in the dusky light of sunset, he spotted the crest on their armour. It was the emblem that had also been on the enemy banners back when he had fought at Olt Rose – the crest of the Actica family. And in fact, the leader of the scouting party was a man with family ties to House Actica.

Kuon threw out his chest with deliberate provocation.

“Who are these 'insolent curs'?” he shouted back an expression that he had picked up somewhere. “I serve Lord Leo, and I'm on urgent business. You guys are the ones who need to give way.”

“What!”

“Did he say the prince?”

Their opponents were visibly shaken. Which was perfectly understandable: they were supposed to be leading a surprise attack, so it was unthinkable that the prince was already moving into action.

Just then, someone brought their horse up alongside Kuon's. It was Aqua. 'She' – 'he', I should say – was wearing full armour, and tossed a glare at the opposing side before asking: “Are they enemies?”

Energy was almost radiating from that helmeted profile. The message was clear: either they had enemies to be defeated, or they were just wasting their time by stopping here like this. Kuon found it kind of amusing.

At the same time, he also came to a decision: there was no point arguing back and forth here. No matter what their opponents said or did from now on, the response was already clear. Namely –

“They're enemies. Get 'em.”

Kuon kicked his horse's flanks. By the time he had pulled the sword from at his waist, Aqua's bow was already taking aim.

“R-Retreat!”

“Head back to the station. Before we're attacked by the prince's troops!”

Their opponents all simultaneously started turning their horses around. Kuon had already made his mind up about this, too. The man who was the slowest to turn back fell from his horse, his throat pierced by Aqua's arrow. Kuon's horse galloped past him in the next instant, and the rest of the group of riders also sped forward to the echo of their horses' hooves.

For a little while, it turned into a chase, but their numbers were fundamentally different. And the people of the Halia tribe could ride across the plains all day without problem. With that kind of rider, the horses were also well-trained: even though their opponents' horses were panting wildly, the nomads' steeds chased after them with complete unconcern.

Kuon had half of the twenty men killed, and the remaining half tied up and interrogated. From what they said, there were less than two hundred soldiers occupying the relay station up ahead.

So Darren Actica had already made his move, after all.

The Halia tribesmen had some experience when it came to dealing and trading with urban settlements, including those in Atall, so Kuon entrusted them with a message from him, and sent them to Guinbar Castle. After sending them off, he took the lead of the group of riders, and they boldly rode along the Old Highway.

They arrived at the relay station around midnight, where they saw torches had been lit. These were not nightlights for travellers, but fires allowing the occupying military unit to keep a watch on their surroundings. When they noticed Kuon's group approaching, the soldiers on guard came racing over. They probably thought that the scouting party had returned, but Aqua, who was next to Kuon, already had a bow drawn tight and, using the torches as signpost, pierced a soldier's windpipe with an arrow.

A second went by. Kuon was reminded of the time he had pissed on an ants' nest, back when he was very young. After a moment, countless numbers of them had come scurrying out of their den. The only difference was that this time, it was humans, not ants.

Only about half of them were armed, and the rest of them looked like they had been roused from their beds. It would have been better for them if they had taken shields, but most of them had just grabbed a single weapon. The mountain people aimed their many arrows at the 'ants'. Almost all of them had better night-vision than those raised in cities, and the men of the tribe normally spent their days shooting down birds and beasts. Darren's soldiers, who had not even been wearing armour, fell crashing to the ground.

Seeing that the time was right, Kuon carved his way through the front. Here again, it was a one-sided fight. The soldiers on Darren's side realised their complete disadvantage, and were going to double back along the Old Highway, but Kuon had sent men from the Halia tribe in that direction beforehand, and they were waiting there in ambush.

Screams, shrieks, and cries of pain rose into the night along the road, but they didn't last long. The entire fight didn't even last half an hour.

Despite achieving victory for now, Kuon and his group had no time to rest. They left only a few soldiers to guard the relay station, and immediately headed east along the Old Highway. Yet neither the mountain men nor the nomads showed any sign of fatigue. On the contrary; their eyes gleamed, hungering for blood. Aqua, who had killed humans for the first time, was in the same state.

“Is that it? Are these Atall's soldiers? They're way slower and more cowardly than the beasts in the mountains.” Kuon shook his head at those words.

“Things won't go this easy forever.”

The heads of unit among the soldiers who were following him backed him up.

“Stay focused! Heed the words of the warrior who even defeated Raga!” they shouted, and cries of agreement rose up from within the troops.

It was late afternoon of the following day when Guinbar Church came into sight. The surprise attack from Darren's soldiers had begun, and there were already many victims. Kuon realised that they were late, but not yet too late.

“Let's go,” Kuon gave his order from horseback. “Everyone, attack!”

This was no place for detailed tactics. The mountain warriors were used to acting with their households – in other words, with their units – and the nomads also knew how to hunt and how to attack. Aqua's first arrow, which pierced clean-shaven's arm, signalled the start of their assault. And Darren's side was about to be crushed for the third time in a very short span by the same group.

Part 2

Riding at the centre of his main force, Darren Actica doubted his ears when he heard the report from the unit sent to attack the church.

“That's absurd! Impossible!”

How many times had Darren used the words 'absurd' and 'impossible' since he and Leo had started opposing one another?

It was obvious that both Savan Roux and Leo Attiel had grown careless after the sovereign-prince had dispatched envoys. Leo had left Guinbar, and Savan had opened a market near the church. It was the perfect opportunity; Darren's troops were at the ready, and he made the most of the envoy who had been sent to him to fabricate an excuse, and to give them the signal to march on Guinbar.

And now, his plan to first burn down the market place and destroy the church while simultaneously advancing on Guinbar had been foiled.

They did suspect something? No, there aren't enough of them for an ambush. Leo shouldn't have any troops he can move, and even if Savan desperately scrapes up as many men as he can, we should have at least twice, or even three times their numbers. So what's the scale of this force? And its line-up? Endless worries assailed him.

The only thing that was certain, was that the unexpected had occurred. He no needed time to reorganise himself.

“It looks like when they attacked us on the day of the festival, they had also predicted how we would react. As expected of Leo and Savan, those cunning bastards.”

He deliberately avoided showing how shaken he was, and retreated for the time being to a village on the very edge of his domains.

The same report reached Leo a little bit later than it had Darren, at just about the time when Leo was thinking off going to the enemy's camp to make them stop their attack.

Since the information was based on what had leaked out from Darren's camp and from the village where they had taken up position, the identity and exact scale of the friendly reinforcements which had suddenly appeared was unknown. It was clear from the report, however, that the forces which driven had Darren back were neither from Atall, nor from any of the surrounding countries, and Leo had an immediate intuition of who it might be.

Is it Kuon?

It was as though the clouds covering the sky had parted, and the sun was shining brightly through. At with it, Leo stood up and set to work with so much energy, it was hard to believe that up until then, he had been sitting hugging his knees. He had messengers come and go incessantly until he had gathered all possible information.

It looked like it really was Kuon who had arrived with reinforcements. However, he was remaining by the church, without setting off to meet up with Leo. Darren's sphere of influence extended to the east of him. Perfect, thought Leo. At the same time as he sent a direct messenger to Kuon, he also ordered Bernard to assemble his battle flags.

“What do you intend to do?”

“You just need to collect the flags together. You don't need to do anything else afterwards, so don't get in my way at least.”

Bernard was half astonished, half exasperated by Leo's attitude and manner of speaking. When Stark had been coercing him, Leo had looked sulky then, just as his emotions seemed about to erupt, he had sat hugging his knees, as depressed as thought the world were ending. And now, here he was, as cool and calm as a military commander.

He's just like a little child, he thought. At the same, he felt a certain admiration: But right now, there's a sharpness to him that could cut anyone who touched him.

Stark Barsley had already left the castle. However, even though he was preceded by a messenger on a swift horse, it would still take some time before the sovereign-prince was informed of what was going on. Not so long ago, Leo had been impatient for that, but now, he thought the exact opposite: he needed to settle things before his father interceded.

This time... Leo's face still had lingering traces of childishness, but the expression he wore tightened.

For the next few days, he went around the villages in the western part of Bernard's territory – which meant the ones which were nearest to Dharam – gathering young men. In the past, people had said that he was 'headhunting' in the outskirts of Guinbar, but this time, Leo had no intention of taking these men as soldiers.

He travelled to the domain's border, and there set up camp in the ruins of an old temple. The building had existed before Atall had even been a country, and only hermits or recluses went anywhere near it nowadays, but Leo had provisions and men transported there.

The people he had gathered were set to work digging up the surroundings all day long. They piled up earth close to the temple, and managed to complete an improvised moat and defensive wall.

Inside the camp, Leo flew the flags that Bernard had collected for him. He also chose several men from among the warrior monks, and sent them to villages in the Dharam area. Dressed in their priestly robes, they went around all over, spreading rumours while pretending to zealously be preaching their faith.

“Bernard seems to have joined forces with Lord Leo.”

“If Lord Actica invades Guinbar, the prince will certainly attack from the rear with the forces that Bernard has lent him.”

“When that happens, the villages will definitely suffer. You need to keep a close watch on that camp, so that when the prince sets out, you can evacuate as quickly as possible.”

Those rumours spread through the villages like wildfire. Naturally, Darren, who was waiting for a chance to lead a new invasion, could not afford to ignore them.

Right after his first attempt had been blocked, he had ordered the marauders, who were lying in wait throughout Guinbar's territory, to start increasing their activities. As a result, Savan had suddenly found his hands were tied. He had sent five hundred soldiers to the Old Highway, where the fake bandits had taken up position, but it looked like that was the limit in terms of troops that he could afford to move around, and since then, there had been no obvious movement from Guinbar.

Good. With this, I still have a chance at victory. Darren licked his lips with satisfaction, but still, the information that Bernard might attack from behind was extremely problematic.

Having said that, Darren could not afford to waste too much time. Just like Leo, he felt that he needed to finish things before the sovereign-prince could intervene. Events were currently uncertain and unsettled, which was exactly why he had to force them into moving towards his goal. Because once his movements were brought to a halt, it would take a lot of time and effort to get the situation to change again.

I may have said this before but Leo and Darren were surprisingly alike in that shared belief.

“Summon Lance Mazpotter,” Darren ordered.

He had never personally met him. And as for the messenger that Lance had once sent him, the man's attitude had been so overbearingly arrogant that Darren hadn't been able to stomach him.

It's easy to tell what kind of person his leader Lance is, he had thought at the time. Darren was proud of being the most influential of all Atall's vassal-lords, and Lance was definitely not someone he wanted to meet firsthand.

Still – He's a man I can use. There was no denying that. In all honesty, with his skill, it wouldn't have been in the least bit surprising if he had been in command of a thousand, or even ten thousand, soldiers for some country somewhere. But perhaps the man called Lance found pleasure in leading a band of marauders, and when, after the battle at Olt Rose, Darren had hinted that he wouldn't mind officially hiring him, Lance had sent someone to decline the offer.

What a fool. The day I defeat Leo and take Guinbar, I'll just appoint him to something in my new territory.

Lance didn't have any aspirations. He wasn't capable of having them; at the end of the day, he was a man well-suited to living like a stray dog. Darren found him hard to understand, but at least he served his purpose.

Anyway, having heard that Lance had arrived, Darren had him allowed into his pavilion. And was instantly left feeling bewildered. The one who appeared was a tall man with an eye patch over his left eye; it was that self-same insolent messenger.

No matter how much he might dislike the other party, Darren had intended to welcome him warmly – feeding the dog a bone, so to speak – but now...

“Where's Lance?” his voice was unintentionally laced with fury. “I'm not talking to the likes of you. Go get your leader.”

“What funny things you say,” said the man with the eye patch. But he was not smiling. “By the way, I don't think I ever introduced myself, Lord Actica. I'm Lance Mazpotter. I've lived for nearly forty years, but I've never been called by any other name, and in my unit, there's no one else by the name of Lance, either.”

“What?” Darren's mouth dropped open.

The one in front of him did not seem to be either lying or joking. Then it must be the truth. This man, in light armour and with his long hair bunched up behind his head, really was Lance. Which meant that previously, when Leo's army had been in position right in front of Olt Rose Castle, the leader of the unit had snuck in alone to meet with Darren.

Lord Actica wiped the sweat that was oozing from his brow.

“I see... in that case, I apologise. I would never have imagined that you were Sir Lance in person, and...”

“Drop it,” Lance was as haughty as ever. “And? What do you want?”

Darren felt fury well up within him, but he somehow managed to swallow it back down, and talked about the encampment within the ruined temple in Bernard's territory.

“I'm not saying that it needs to fall right this second. I just want you to cause enough trouble at the camp that they won't be able to interfere when we take Guinbar.”

“I see. It's certainly the perfect mission for us,” Lance nodded, looking completely unruffled.

His forte lay in making use of horses, and he had once played Leo's forces for fools by repeatedly charging at them then withdrawing. It would be child's play to confine the enemy within a small area.

Darren didn't like the man, but he appreciated that he caught on fast. Feeling generous, he saw him off at the end with a gracious smile and a few parting words:

“They say that Leo is there. That damned whelp fancies himself a hero, so he probably resents you for having defeated him, Sir Lance. If he heads out, I won't mind even if you kill him.”

Lance nodded for appearances' sake, but, in a low voice, he murmured: ‘’I wonder.’’

Lance Mazpotter.

He was said to hail from Atall, but no details were known about where his birthplace was specifically, what his father's occupation had been, or when it was that he had left the principality.

When he was in his twenties, his fame had started to grow in the northern coastal countries as a bandit and pirate captain. After a number of feats impressive enough to be widely retold, he had suddenly started commanding a navy ship for Tallnia, one of said coastal countries. He spent about two years in the very navy which had been his natural enemy during his pirate days. His life was relatively well-established: adored by the sailors of Tallnia and with countless rumours floating around about his affairs with court ladies, Lance had achieved a certain pinnacle of success. Yet, and again very abruptly, he then fled Tallnia, leaving behind words to the effect that "I got tired of the sea".

According to one opinion, he had escaped because his life was being targeted due women-related problems.

He returned to Atall as he was nearing the end of his twenties, and became a mercenary along with several companions who had followed him since his days as a pirate. As there was, however, practically no work to be found in Atall, he got tired of touring around it as a hired soldier, and immediately started in the marauding trade.

These marauders were, so to speak, employed by rural domain lords – or, better said, they received their tacit consent to actions such as forcing merchants and travellers at the borders of the domain to employ them as escorts, or arbitrarily setting up barriers and collecting high tolls from them, since they also acted as domain guards. Their functions also included occasionally heading off to another territory or country at the request of the local ruler, and there attacking villages ad ports, snatching cattle and crops, or setting fire to houses and ships. Since nothing they did could be ascribed to any country or military, and as they could be thrown away whenever one wanted, they were very convenient for Atall and its surrounding countries.

The marauder business seemed to strangely suit Lance's nature. He who had quickly tired of both piracy and being in the navy moved all over Atall plying this trade. He would be hired one day by a domain lord to set fire to another fief's fields, then the very next day, having been employed by the farming families in that land, he would crush the domain lord's troops while the latter was still planning his next and final move. Right after being rewarded by merchants whom he had escorted to a safe destination, he would receive a request from poverty-stricken nearby villages and would then plunder the merchants' goods, and split them equally with the villagers.

It had nothing to do with beliefs. He accepted whichever requests he pleased. Nor was he particularly interested in money. Nonetheless, once Lance Mazpotter accepted a request, he would never abandon it halfway. And he always carried it through successfully. It was only ever the day after he had completed a request that he would switch over to the other side. Those were, so to speak, his 'aesthetics'.

For the past ten years or so, Lance had been fond of horses, had loved war, and had shared his bed with women and drink. However –

‘’I just kinda..’’

– He had reached the point of wondering if he was tiring of this, too. Of late, he had not come across either a battle or a woman that set his blood aflame.

Having said that, he was not thinking of officially entering any country's employ at this late hour. When Darren had made his offer, Lance had likewise turned it down. It would be wrong to say that he was now feeling pessimistic enough to be 'looking for a place to die'.

Since it was only on the level of "not all that fun," Lance accepted that there was no other choice but to put up with it.

‘’Ride, plunder, kill and set fire until the day you can no longer move and are abandoned where you fall by your companions and your horses? Well, wouldn't that be a fitting death for Lance Mazpotter?’’ half in self-derision, he had recently been contemplating that thought.

After Lance left Darren's pavilion, and without having spoken a word of those thoughts of his, he started that very day to gather up his companions, who were usually scattered all over the place, in order to faithfully carry out the request he had received.

Three days later, he had collected seven hundred men and had arrived at his destination.

Leo, on the opposing side from him, had brought all three hundred of his warrior monks to the temple ruins where, in the dead of night, they were attacked by Lance's troops. Speaking purely about the outcome, it was a perfectly obvious one: Leo suffered a crushing defeat.

Their guns fired through holes in the fences and walls, but, in the darkness, they hit nothing. The enemy, on the other hand, seemed to be laughing at their defencelessness, and easily broke through each important position, until they had even crossed over the dry moat which had been dug out with so much effort.

Just when it looked like they were converging to attack in one direction, they suddenly appeared from the side as well. There were several different moments when soldiers carrying ladders managed to scramble up and breach the walls, but Camus and the warrior monks were all battle-hardened, and they beat them back energetically. Perhaps Lance suspected that they would follow up by attacking his unit, since he quickly pulled back, waiting for the exact moment when Leo's side would be catching its breath to attack again.

They did not have enough soldiers to launch a counter-attack from their camp. Once their walls were breached, Leo and his men had no choice but to immediately pull back. They set the temple ruins on fire, and escaped to the east.

At around about the same time –

“Push forward without looking back.” – Darren and his force of two thousand once again started marching on Guinbar. It looked as though the few measures that Leo had taken were completely in vain, yet he set up camp a few kilometres east of the temple ruins, and once more raised his flag. Lance started to chase after them, but this was, after all, Bernard's territory, and Lance would not unconcernedly penetrate further into it. He sent out scouts in various directions, and took the time to check whether there weren't any soldiers poised to strike at his riders.

Leo, for his part, did not remain idle during that time. In this second camp, he handed out spears to the young men he had recruited from the villages, and had them line up in formation. From atop his horse, he once more took up position at the centre of the encampment. Then, as a provocation to Lance's side, he rode down the hill by himself, and deliberately let them catch sight of him.

A part of Lance's unit was lured out, but Camus and other warrior monks, who were concealed in the forest by the side of the hill, were waiting for them with guns in hand.

There was a volley of gunfire and men and horses fell to their side, struck down by lead bullets.

“Bastards!” the cavalry unit was about to charge into the forest, but Camus and his group swiftly retreated. Following an escape route which had been prepared beforehand, the monks released a second, then a third salvo of shots even as they increased the distance between them and the cavalry unit, which was held back by having to make its way through the trees.

“Don't chase them too far!” Lance's orders were as quick as ever.

Darren looked down on Leo as a “brat who thinks he's a hero,” but Lance did not underestimate the opponent whose soldiers he had clashed against. Quite the opposite: ‘’There aren't many in Atall who can wage war like him’’, was how he saw it.

While still on horseback, he wet his finger.

“The wind's in the right direction. Set fire to the forest.”

His order was meant to deprive Camus' ambushing troops of anywhere to hide. But by that time, Camus and his men had already crossed the forest and left by the north, where they met up with Leo and the others.

To prevent horses from breaking through, a ring of abattis had been set up at the foot of the hill where Leo had established his camp, but a number of men from Lance's unit dismounted and went running to uproot the wooden spikes. While half of the unit was occupied at that, the other half provided covering fire with bows and guns.

Of course, Leo's side aimed similar weapons back at them, but when about a third of the fence and already been pulled up, Leo came a decision:

“We're retreating.”

They fled further east at a speed which left Lance's unit dumbfounded. Here too, the conclusion was obvious –

Right from the start, Leo had never intended to face Lance Mazpotter directly.

Part 3

‘’I won't lose this time!’’ – facing an opponent who had once defeated him, it was only natural for a young man's feelings to flare up. Unfortunately, however, that was not Leo's case. Or rather, no, he did have those feelings, it was just that...

‘’At best, I only have three hundred soldiers that I can freely command’’ – he also had that other 'viewpoint'.

Even though he had gone to pieces when he had heard that Darren's forces were advancing on Guinbar, he could also observe himself with surprising detachment. And when he received the information that Lance Mazpotter was moving to attack the temple ruins, his first thought was: ‘’Good.’’

They would run.

Leo easily abandoned both the first, then the second of his encampments. Still, he used various tricks so that his intentions wouldn't be seen through too quickly; one such was when he had shown himself to lure the enemy.

Setting up camp to draw out the enemy, then escaping as soon as he saw a chance to do so... It's easy enough to talk about, but a war of retreat was, of course, always accompanied by considerable danger. At the first glimpse of an opportunity, the horse-riding unit would effortlessly crush Leo's troops, which were so few in number. Yet Leo repeated the manoeuvre.

In a situation in which bullets would fly at him as soon as he stopped, or where his head might be smashed open at any moment, he kept his gaze on what was happening in all directions and gathered detailed information from the messengers sent by each platoon, and with that, made his decisions.

The airship that Camus had brought from Mount Conscon was invaluable in this. Leo did not send this precious weapon directly out to fight, but only occasionally despatched it into the sky to have an idea of how the battle was progressing. On one occasion, Leo himself had gone up, clinging to the pilot's back and with his face hidden under a helmet. From high above them, he could see the full picture of how his allies and enemies were moving.

After they had been chased from their second camp, Leo set up yet another one.

“We're just being lured away, huh,” Lance Mazpotter said in disgust after stopping his horse.

When he had first received Darren's order to 'cause chaos in the camp in Bernard's territory,' Lance's honest opinion was that: ‘’This man is a fool’’. Although it was certainly a tactic that Lance excelled at, if they were going to use the same method anyway, then they should been the ones spurring their horses towards Guinbar Castle.

“Darren should have assembled his men and horses at Olt Rose, and continued threatening the prince from there. If he had, the prince wouldn't have been able to move, and Darren wouldn't have ended up on the battlefield for no reason. And as for us, we wouldn't have had to waste our time like this, and we could have struck a blow that would have been enough of a threat against Savan.”

Darren was not used to war after all. He loathed Savan, and what he wanted above all else was to watch his enemy's castle burn, and to take his head with his own sword, so he wasn't interested in whether his method for doing so was inefficient.

Lance marched forward, feeling nothing but exasperation towards Darren, but the situation had developed into one that made him exclaim: “So there was actually someone who's even more of a fool than Darren!”

His lieutenant, who had halted his own horse beside Lance's, looked at him.

“You don't mean me, do you?” he asked. “You can't mean me. I was just following orders. Who knew that the wind would change direction as we were halfway through setting fire to the forest? And to make things worse, my beautiful beard even got singed...”

“Yeah, you're a fool too, but in a different sense. The man I was talking about was Leo Attiel!”

He had seen through the prince's intentions: all he was doing was luring them away. That was it. Judging from Leo's battle formation, he didn't have the military strength to withstand a siege after inviting it on himself. Which meant that the prince wouldn't be getting help from Bernard either.

Yet despite that, Leo publicised the idea that Bernard had allied with him, and he deliberately set up camp in a conspicuous location. Because Lance had been wary of Bernard – who had never had the slightest intention of making a move – he had taken far too long to attack Leo's base. It really had been a complete waste of time. And on top of that, he had lost a portion of his men. Thinking about it infuriated him.

Up until then, he had thought of Leo as: ’’an opponent who is capable in warfare’’. But now, that hasty evaluation seemed absurd. Rather than being capable, Lord Leo's way of waging war was unconventional. Even now, when he had already seen through him, Lance found it hard to believe that Leo had used himself as bait to lure him in.

‘’In battle, it's checkmate once the 'king' is taken. Even if you have the upper hand, even if your formation is bound to win, it's all over once the 'leader' is taken. Having the 'leader' become a decoy is such a foolish idea.’’

Darren didn't know much about war, but the prince's behaviour was like that of a child. And Lance could feel his blood boil with anger from having been tricked by that childishness. He turned his horse around. His men hurriedly imitated him, but he drove his horse on alone, without waiting for them.

“Ha,” a feeling separate from his fury welled up inside him. “I've lost this fight, huh?”

Just like the prince, he was a man who could always see what lay ahead with calm detachment.

Another reason why Leo had set up camp in such a conspicuous location was to forcefully grab the attention of Darren's army, and so make it easier to send messengers to where Kuon had taken up position, west of the Dharam region. Since Darren was marching hurriedly, he had neither the time nor the number of soldiers to widen his surveillance net.

At first, Kuon had established his camp near the church, but following Leo's instructions, which had been brought to him by messenger, he had travelled north along the Old Highway, and had taken up position at a point where it intersected with the current highway.

By that time, they had been joined by the troop composed of the rest of the tribesmen, who had all of them – except for Sarah, their guide – travelled on foot. Adding them all together, however, they were only a little over a thousand; no more than half of Darren's forces.

When he received the report from his scouts, Darren believed that this must be the total number of troops that Savan could dispatch. Although there was the possibility that more soldiers might come to support them from behind, these would have to be taken from the castle's defence.

“What a brave bunch, to come and face us out on these plains. It looks like they've become overconfident after pushing back our advance unit,” he said to raise the morale of his troops.

For all that Lance considered him to be someone who did not understand war, Darren was still vigilant. He frequently sent out scouts while his troops advanced. Thanks to this, it was clear that no matter how you looked at it, there was nowhere where the enemy could conceal troops in ambush close to Darren’s battle formation, and there was no sign that further troops would join Savan's side.

I'm repeating myself, but time was precious for Darren; he needed to have things settled before the sovereign-prince interfered. So he increased the speed of their march.

A platoon from Savan's side came out to meet them to fight a defensive battle, but when they saw the enemy in the distance, they were forced to retreat. Darren's army advanced ever more arrogantly.

An unexpected attack was staged by night, but Darren had not been negligent. The would arrive at the enemy camp on the next day, so there was sure to be a large-scale battle, and they were increasingly at the ready.

The camp that Darren was fast approaching was, of course, Kuon's headquarters. Tactically speaking, the position there was completely useless, yet Darren was marching towards it. Which meant, of course, that he had been lured there.

On Leo's instructions, Kuon had gathered locals who were familiar with the area, and listened to their advice. He was able to infer which route the enemy would follow, and had its surroundings investigated in depth. And although Darren was not negligent, he did not notice: as he and his men steadily advanced, the enemy soldiers that they were supposed to have left behind them as they passed, or that they had driven away from their flanks, had circled around them and were now lurking in hiding.

The mountain tribe had always been good at battles that involved drawing the enemy to them. They knew how to retreat in unison, and how to kill in unison.

That night, the forest which should have been sleeping quietly was alive; villagers rushed out in a frenzy and saw clouds of dust billowing upwards from beyond the hills which should have been echoing with nothing but the cries of beasts.

Darren's various units were attacked from all sides. Seizing the opportunity, the five hundred soldiers that Savan had sent in reinforcement also made their move, lead by Kuon. It was exactly as though a pack of beasts which had been hiding in the night's shadows had opened their maws wide, and leaped out from all directions.

Leo had been the one to suggest this multi-directional attack, but he had gotten the idea from Lance Mazpotter's tactics, which made skilful use of the terrain. In fact, it was fortunate for Kuon and his group that Lance's unit was not present.

Communication between Darren's various platoons was cut off, and they were routed and forced to flee while barely understanding what had happened. The only ones that Kuon's group did not allow to escape was the central command – in other words, Darren's own unit – whose position they had inferred beforehand.

Kuon smashed into the headquarters with enough force to carve out an escape route all by himself, cutting down the spear-wielding defenders to make his way to Darren Actica. Even the commanding officers with strong ties to House Actica had already fled, and, rather than throw away their own lives, the hired mercenaries surrendered one after another.

Around the time the world was dyed in the colours of dawn, Darren had finally been chassed down to a deserted house in a village that showed no other sign of human life. He flicked the sleeves of the filthy clothes which had been abandoned in the building.

“You've got it wrong: I'm a villager from here. I don't know Darren. Go away, go somewhere else,” he screamed, but Kuon's men dragged him out.

When Kuon himself dismounted and walked towards him, Darren changed his attitude and snorted.

“I am Darren Actica. You foul messengers from hell! Tie me up with ropes, bind me with chains, do whatever you like. But don't think that you've won because of this. The gods – not that evil deity that Leo believes in, but the gods who watch from above all that humans do – see everything. Justice is on one side. And which side that is will soon be made clear in Tiwana Palace,” Darren shouted, his face covered in mud and hay.

He still had Oswell Taholin to back him, and he was sure that most of the vassal-lords would stand by him.

“When that time comes, you lowlifes will regret it. Leo is destined to end on the gallows sooner or later. And every last one of you, his followers, will burn at the stake! But it's alright, it's not too late yet. Join my side and...”

Darren continued to cry out, but Kuon drew the sword at his waist without saying a word, cut down the distance between them in an instant, and pierced Darren through the heart.

In that too, he was carrying out Lord Leo's instructions.

Darren Actica was dead.

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