Hyakuren no Haou to Seiyaku no Valkyria - Volume 9 - Chapter 6

ACT 6 

Ten days had passed since the Steel Clan army’s departure from Gimlé. 

They had finished joining with the force of three thousand at Myrkviðr, and were now camped out in the open plateau lands a bit further to the west. 

In front of them were high, sheer cliffs, through the middle of which ran a narrow pass. 

Up until now, that pass through the cliffs had been the buffer zone between the Wolf and Panther Clans. 

War was fundamentally fought with the strength of numbers. 

It was difficult to take a large army through such a narrow pass, and if the enemy were to be ready and waiting at the other side’s entrance, one would effectively be outnumbered, no matter what. 

Neither side had a way to clinch things, and so they had been in a stalemate. 

“Well, now that we’ve got those firecrackers, this is going to be a breeze!” Haugspori declared, with a carefree attitude. 

As the time to meet the enemy was drawing close, the commanders had convened a war council meeting to decide which strategic course to take. 

“Uhh...” Yuuto trailed off awkwardly. 

He did understand why Haugspori would feel that way. After all, the firecrackers had thrown seven thousand enemy troops into panic in a mere instant, leading his forces to a grand victory the likes of which had never before been seen. 

After that, anyone might think that using them was basically the same as guaranteeing a win. 

Yuuto didn’t like the idea of throwing cold water on his optimism, but it was something he had to speak up about. 

“We actually have barely any of those left anymore.” 

“Huh?” Haugspori’s jaw fell open. 

It seemed that he’d so counted on having them that, for a moment, he couldn’t understand what Yuuto had just said. 

After a beat, it finally clicked, and he shouted, “Whaaaat?! Wh-wh-why is that?!” 

“We didn’t make those things here,” Yuuto answered. “I brought them here with me from my homeland, Japan. So there was only a limited number of them, you see, and we used most of them up back at the Körmt River.” 

In order to panic seven thousand soldiers, it took an appropriately large amount of firecrackers to do the job. 

He had layered three large plastic bags together and then stuffed them full with as many as he could before returning, so there had been a fair amount. But, if he had only used them sparingly, that would have risked allowing the enemy to regain some of their composure. And so he had decided it was better to err on the side of excess in putting them to use. 

“The design for them is pretty simple, but without modern materials, we’d need bamboo, and that’s not something we can get ahold of in Steel Clan lands.” 

“Wait, then what are we going to do?!” Haugspori yelped. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something else prepared that we can use instead. Felicia.” 

“Right!” Yuuto’s beautiful adjutant responded as if she were ready and waiting for his signal, and softly placed an earthenware object on the table. 

It was round, and a little bigger than a man’s fist. 

There was one spot on the round object where it looked like there was a hole sealed over with paper mixed with clay, with a string running out of it. 

“We’re using ceramic shells instead of bamboo, but otherwise the basic process for making the things is pretty much the same as with firecrackers, and we can use them the same way, too,” Yuuto said. “My people named this weapon the tetsuhau when they first encountered it. It’s a type of weapon called a bomb.” 

It was a tetsuhau — the Japanese name for a centuries-old explosive weapon, written with the Chinese characters for “burning” and “iron.” 

The pronunciation of this name, and the Chinese characters used, both bore a strong resemblance to the Japanese name for early matchlock firearms, but their usage and designs were different. 

Japan learned of this explosive weapon during the time of the Mongol invasions in the thirteenth century. 

The Mongols and Chinese had called them zhèntiānléi, a name often translated into English as “thunder crash bomb.” 

They were a kind of pre-modern grenade, created by taking a round ceramic shell about twenty centimeters in diameter and filling it with gunpowder, along with sharp bits of iron and glass shrapnel. One then simply lit the fuse and threw it at the enemy. 

Their basic function was to use the loud noise of the explosion to create fear and shock in the enemy soldiers and their horses, and they didn’t have a huge amount of lethal force. However, they still had enough of it to be considered a dangerous weapon in that sense, too. 

The incident with the explosive noises that had created such a stir in Iárnviðr a month prior had been caused by a series of experiments with these bombs. 

“There was no shortage of raw materials, so we managed to prepare a pretty good amount of these things,” Yuuto said. 

Gunpowder required three ingredients: charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter. 

Charcoal and sulfur were relatively easy to get ahold of in the mountainous territory of the Wolf Clan. 

The biggest hurdle was saltpeter, but as it happened, the Japanese method of artificially producing the stuff (invented around the end of the Sengoku Period) was already known to the people of Yggdrasil. 

Saltpeter was already in wide use here — as a medicinal ointment. 

Traditionally, the ointment was made by mixing saltpeter with other medicinally recognized ingredients such as milk, powdered snake’s skin or turtle’s shell, cinnamon, myrtle, thyme, willow bark, figs, pears, dates, or wine. 

Apparently it was also sometimes mixed into beer and taken as an oral medicine. 

Normally, producing a batch of artificial saltpeter was a process that took about two years, but thanks to its widespread availability here, they’d been able to gather enough of it to suit their needs for this campaign. 

Seriously, that ointment really was amazing. 

Haugspori slowly, timidly picked up the bomb, still seemingly afraid it might explode unexpectedly. “Hmm... Still, won’t these be a bit too heavy?” 

He cradled it in one hand and tested its weight. 

“If you tried to get close enough to the enemy to throw this and hit them, you’d get arrows pouring down on you the whole time.” 

The firecrackers had been much smaller and lighter, and their shape made them easy to attach to arrows. 

Haugspori’s men were all masters with the bow and so, even with the added weight on the arrows, they’d been able to shoot them at the enemy from a good range. 

However, something like this couldn’t be tied to an arrow, naturally, and even if it somehow could, its weight would make the arrows fly at a far shorter range than the enemy’s. 

“I’ve already got a plan for that, too,” Yuuto said. “That’s why I made these bombs as small as they are. If I didn’t, they wouldn’t fit.” 

Haugspori looked at Yuuto quizzically. “Fit, sir? Fit on what?” 

Yuuto’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. 

“On our other new weapon.”

Once the strategy meeting ended, the Steel Clan forces resumed their westward march. 

As the army began to move through the narrow pass between the cliffs, Sigrún’s mounted special forces unit led the way, at the very head of the formation. 

Yuuto had predicted that the remaining Panther Clan forces would have less than half the number of his own, and the intel from Kristina’s reports seemed to back that up. 

However, fighting in a narrow environment would put a limit on the number of soldiers who could engage the enemy at once. 

Furthermore, the Panther Clan riders were all skilled and mighty warriors. 

That would make this narrow pass the perfect topography for their smaller force to fight the Steel Clan’s more massive army. 

“Do you think they’ll come?” Bömburr asked. 

“They’ll come,” Sigrún responded curtly to her vice-captain. 

The Panther Clan patriarch Hveðrungr was actually Felicia’s biological older brother, Loptr. As Sigrún and Felicia had been thick as thieves since childhood, Sigrún had gotten to know the man. 

He’d often come off as carefree and even a little silly at times, but he was exceptionally skilled at discerning the weaknesses of his opponents, and he would strike those weaknesses without fail. 

He wasn’t the type of person who would let the Steel Clan just waltz right through this narrow pass unhindered. 

“And that means we’ll be the ones earning the title of ‘First Spear’ for being the first in the Steel Clan to meet the enemy in this war,” she went on. “One could ask for no greater honor.” 

Sigrún’s cheeks were slightly flushed as she said this, a bit of a rarity for someone who was usually quite stone-faced. 

“Oh... I see.” Bömburr sighed, a troubled look on his face. 

Bömburr was still in his mid-thirties, but his hairline had already receded to the top of his skull, and his body lacked the lean, muscular build of some of his peers, so he looked just like any dull and unremarkable middle-aged man. That physical appearance only seemed to amplify the air of melancholy coming off of him now. 

“What, are you scared of them?” Sigrún asked. 

“Yes, I’d say I am.” Bömburr brought his horse closer to Sigrún’s and lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “I mean, they’re all better than us with the bow and with horses, aren’t they?” 

“True,” Sigrún acknowledged without hesitation. 

She and her unit had moved from the Wolf Clan to the Steel Clan, but they knew themselves to be the strongest fighters in this new clan as well, and took pride in it. 

In all likelihood, they were the only ones in the Steel Clan who could fight head-to-head with the top-notch soldiers of the Panther Clan and stand a real chance of winning. 

However, a real chance was still the most they would have. 

If, for example, one of the average Panther Clan soldiers and one of the Múspell special forces were to fight one-on-one, the chances for the special forces soldier winning were around one in five. That was how big the difference in fighting expertise was between them. 

“But that won’t be an issue,” Sigrún went on. “We have these.” 

With that, she held up a crossbow, one of the weapons which had served the Wolf Clan well through many a battle. 

There were a couple of key differences between this crossbow and the ones they had used before. 

First, it was quite a bit larger. 

Second — and this was the biggest difference — the ammunition fixed to the crossbow stock was not a standard arrowhead bolt, but a miniaturized version of the new gunpowder bomb. 

“I assume everyone’s gotten the hang of using them?” Sigrún asked. 

“Well, yes, they have,” Bömburr replied. “It wasn’t very difficult, after all.” 

He made that statement nonchalantly, despite the fact that, normally, a bow of that size should require so much strength to pull the string back that even Sigrún would struggle with it. 

“Apparently these things were really difficult to make, though,” Sigrún said. “In fact, it was these rather than the gunpowder that took the most ti—” 

Suddenly Sigrún cut herself off, readied her crossbow, and shouted, “Everyone, prepare for battle! The Panther Clan is here!” 

She had spotted the figures of a few dozen riders in the distance ahead, lined up in five columns and charging this way. 

With only that limited number, they definitely weren’t attacking with the aim of defeating Sigrún’s forces outright. 

They would use their exceptionally speedy horses to conduct a preemptive assault, then switch nimbly to a retreat before their opponents could recover and counter. They would then turn around and fire arrows backwards at any enemies who chased them. 

That was surely their intended move. As a clan of nomadic horse-riders, hit-and-run tactics were their specialty. 

Sigrún herself had practiced the same strategy against the Hoof Clan army, under the code name “Pattern B: Mongol.” 

“Hmph, so they really thought such a worn-out tactic would keep working, not only against us, but against Father?” she asked derisively. “Cranequin squad! Light fuses!” 

As Sigrún shouted the order, and she lit her own bomb’s fuse... using a modern lighter. 

The fuse burned quickly, and with a hiss, the fire transferred to the flammable paper clay on the bomb. 

“Fire!!” she shouted and pulled the trigger lever of her crossbow. The latch dropped down, and the string fired, launching the bomb with incredible force. 

She was still far outside of the arrow range of her enemies, those proven masters of the bow, the Panther Clan. And yet, her bomb easily flew the distance and reached its target. 

Bang! 

It burst into fragments with an ear-splitting concussive sound. 

There were shrill cries from the enemies’ horses, and several of them reared up on their hind legs or began jumping this way and that, thrown into a state of utter terror. 

A short second later, the volley of bombs loosed by Sigrún’s men also hit, and the chaos spread rapidly. 

In addition to the terrible sound, fragments of metal and glass packed into the bombs were driven into the horses’ flesh. It wasn’t enough to create fatal wounds, but it did cause incredible pain, so it naturally drove them even further out of control. 

The Panther Clan were the greatest in Yggdrasil when it came to handling horses, but even they couldn’t do anything to calm the animals in this state. 

“Chaaarge!” Sigrún hollered. 

And that was when her special forces, still in formation and in perfect coordination, charged forward in an assault. 

This was no longer even a real contest. 

In the blink of an eye, her fighters felled most of the enemy, except for a scant few who managed to flee for their lives. It was unquestionably a full victory. 

However, Sigrún did not even flash a smile, and instead turned to address her soldiers sternly. 

“Don’t let your guard down. This could be followed by a second and third wave of attacks. Reload your weapons!” 

As she shouted this, she placed another explosive onto her crossbow stock. 

She then reached into the tool bag fastened to the back of her horse and pulled out a flat, circular object made of iron, with jagged notches all the way around its edge. 

She affixed it to a spot on the butt of the stock, then pulled out a second flat iron object, thin and long, but with the same sort of jagged notches on its edge. She hooked one end of it onto the crossbow string, and fit the notches on its other end into the notches of the metal disc on the stock. 

With this, the setup was complete. 

Sigrún grabbed the handle attached to the disc and cranked it ’round and ’round, rotating the disc in the same fashion as one might do with a small millstone. 

As soon as the disc began rotating, the long metal plate attached to it began pulling back the crossbow string with ease. 

This was despite the fact that the string looked so heavy that even a grown man might fail to pull it back. 

This was the cranequin crossbow, which had been widely used in Europe during the thirteenth century. 

The notched disc was a gear, and it formed a set with the longer metal plate, known as a “rack and pinion.” By using them in tandem, one could take advantage of the principle of mechanical leverage, and pull back a bowstring with a very heavy draw weight while only using a small amount of force. 

In the world of Yggdrasil, where simple bows were still the norm, this technology provided an overwhelming advantage in projectile force and range. 

It even enabled the use of ammunition like these mini-bombs based on the tetsuhau, much heavier than standard arrows or bolts, and they could still be fired from outside the enemy’s range. 

These crossbows had just one disadvantage, a crippling one, which was that it took around fifty seconds to prepare and fire a shot. In that time, one of the Panther Clan archers could fire off ten arrows from his standard bow. 

However, one could also have their first crossbow shot pre-loaded and ready before a battle began. When combined with the explosive ammunition that served to panic and confuse the enemy, the two weapons covered for each other’s shortcomings, while boosting each other’s strengths. It was the perfect combination. 

This was the true form of the anti-Panther Clan secret weapon Yuuto had tasked Ingrid with preparing.

“I see, so that’s it...” Hveðrungr muttered bitterly as he looked down upon this scene from atop one of the high cliffs, where he had watched the battle from beginning to end. 

When he had first received a report about the so-called “fire snakes” crushing a force of seven thousand Panther Clan fighters, he hadn’t been able to quite picture just what they were. And so, he had decided to see for himself using a few disposable pawns: He’d picked out some soldiers known for having problems with insubordination, and had thrown them at the enemy to see what happened. 

Standing at Hveðrungr’s side, Narfi gulped. “A fearsome weapon... more so than I ever could have imagined,” he said, his voice shaking. 

He was the type who always made it a point to present himself as calm and unflappable, but his handsome face was pulled taut with visible fear. 

“It is.” Hveðrungr was forced to agree, however much he hated doing so. 

Based only on what he’d heard secondhand, the reports had sounded so absurd that he hadn’t been able to dismiss the suspicion that things had been greatly exaggerated out of fear. 

However, now that he’d seen this for himself, it really was a weapon just as terrifying as he’d been told. 

The description of a snake made of fire writhing along the ground still didn’t make sense, but likely that was because the weapon had been changed and improved even further over the past month. 

“Wh-what shall we do, sir?” Narfi stammered. “We can’t even fight with a weapon like that being used against us.” 

“Grrrhh...” A pained growl was all that escaped Hveðrungr’s lips. 

Hveðrungr was a man with great powers of observation, who could ascertain his adversary’s weakness on the spot, and yet even he could not think up a suitable counter-strategy in this situation. 

Human soldiers could be informed about the properties of the weapon, and so it should be possible to suppress its ability to cause panic in people. 

But such explanations would be lost on horses. 

They might possibly be trained to gradually become accustomed to it over time, but to do that, he’d need his own supply of the weapon, which he didn’t have. 

Even worse, it could fire ammunition from far outside the range of his own clan’s arrows. 

To put it bluntly, it was far beyond his ability to deal with. 

If there was anyone who could flip this desperate situation on its head, it was Hveðrungr’s sworn brother Steinþórr, the monster known as the Battle-Hungry Tiger, who always managed to defy common sense. 

But Steinþórr was currently occupied dealing with the Flame Clan, which had moved its soldiers to the Lightning Clan’s border. 

“That fool said he would send me reinforcements, and yet when the time comes, it turns out he’s completely useless,” Hveðrungr spat with contempt. 

He had supplied the Lightning Clan with war funds as well as processed iron, cooperating with them and helping to greatly strengthen their military, and yet their patriarch was proving to be such an ungrateful, unfaithful man. 

What should he care about the enemy to the south? Steinþórr should have ignored something unimportant like that, and come to rescue his sworn brother. Wasn’t that the entire point of the Oath of the Chalice?! 

But all of Hveðrungr’s self-centered cursing of others would do nothing to change the situation on the ground here. 

At this rate, he could do nothing except wait for his enemy to close in on him. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Losing to Yuuto without even being able to fight back was the one thing his pride couldn’t allow. There had to be something! Something that would work! 

Hveðrungr desperately racked his thoughts for an answer... 

“Ah...!” 

And like a flash of lightning through his brain, it came to him. 

It was an idea that truly was akin to the whisper of a devil. 

An unforgivable, beastly and loathsome strategy. 

However, Hveðrungr did not flinch back from it. 

The eyes behind his mask filled with a dark madness, and he gave it voice. 

“Burn them.” 

“What? B-burn what, sir?” Narfi asked, his voice trembling. 

He was unclear what his patriarch meant by that, but he sensed an uncanny feeling of danger in Hveðrungr’s voice. 

Hveðrungr’s lips curled into a cruel, sneering grin. “Burn down the villages, towns, and forts within our territory, all of them. Burn everything other than the people!”

“We finally made it through, huh?” As Yuuto exited the mountain pass, he gave a sigh of relief, but then frowned. “I’d like to say this means we can relax for the moment, but the fact that there was only one attack is actually pretty unsettling.” 

That narrow pass had been the perfect terrain for the Panther Clan to fight without worrying about their numbers disadvantage. Being allowed to pass through it so easily made Yuuto suspect that something was up. 

“Perhaps it simply shows that the bombs were just that effective?” Felicia suggested. 

“Hmm...” Yuuto continued to look troubled. 

There was the empty fortress strategy at Gimlé, the use of firecrackers at the Körmt River, the secret agreement with the powerful Flame Clan to the south, the successful formation of the Steel Clan, the coordination of this campaign against the Panther Clan, and now this relatively safe passage through the cliffs at the border. Everything seemed to be going far too well. 

Misfortune rarely arrives alone, and likewise, when things are going your way, good things tend to pile one on top of the other. That sort of momentum was part of life. 

So, perhaps after all of the pain and struggles that had come before, this was the pendulum swinging the other way. 

However, Yuuto couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had. 

Going by his past experiences, whenever things were clearly going his way, it meant that there was an unexpected pitfall waiting somewhere right in front of him. 

Such had been the case once upon a time, when he’d gotten so caught up in his own success, without concerning himself with the emotions of those around him, that he’d driven Loptr into jealousy, madness, and murder. 

*bsssh!* 

There was a burst of static noise from his handheld transceiver, followed by a familiar voice. 

“Father... this is Kristina.” 

Her voice was shaking slightly. 

“What’s wrong?!” Yuuto demanded, his face already changing color. 

Kristina was a girl who always put on airs, and never let others read her true feelings. In other words, something must have happened to shake her up enough to be openly emotional. 

“The village... where we had been planning to set up camp today... is on fire!”

“This is...!” Faced with the scene in front of him, Yuuto couldn’t find any more words. He simply stood, staring. 

Felicia was covering her mouth with both hands and shaking, large tears welling up in her eyes. “S-such cruelty... what have you done, my brother...” 

The huge, billowing flames of the blaze were swaying, giving off waves of heat that burned the skin. 

It wasn’t a mere one or two buildings; the entire village was burning. 

And that wasn’t all. Fires had been set to all of the fields and forests surrounding the village, as well. 

The wildly rampaging fires looked almost alive, like a writhing serpent made of flames. 

“It isn’t just here,” Kristina reported, scowling. “All of the villages in this region have been set on fire in the same way.” 

Yuuto could see that even she had gone pale. 

She was human, after all. There was no way witnessing such a ghastly scene firsthand wouldn’t be shocking for her. 

“I myself once burned down a village, so I know I don’t have room to talk,” Yuuto said. “But even still, this is horrible.” 

“That isn’t true, Big Brother!” Felicia exclaimed. “This is completely different from the Vánagandr. You gave the people of that village your protection and care, did you not?” 

Felicia cast a pained glance over at some of the people who had escaped from the burning village. 

One of them was completely covered in soot, while another had burns all over his body. A mother stood clutching her baby, both of them crying. 

Yuuto could hear the sounds of wailing and crying coming from all around, and it felt like it was piercing his chest. 

He didn’t think he’d be able to forget these agonizing cries anytime soon. 

This truly was like a proverbial scene out of hell. 

“Looting and destruction in enemy territory is something I could at least understand.” Skáviðr’s voice shook with fury. “But how could he do this to the people of his own nation, those whom he had a duty to protect?!” 

Skáviðr was always so cold and detached in everything he dealt with; this was the first time Yuuto had ever seen him so openly angry. 

This was the man who had become the enforcer of capital punishment, taking on a role that would make him hated, all for the sake of protecting peace and order in his nation. 

And when Hveðrungr had still been known as Loptr, Skáviðr had been his teacher in the martial arts. 

But perhaps those things made this all the more impossible for him to forgive. 

“Has he finally lost his mind?!” Skáviðr shouted, and slammed his fist into the ground, as if unable to express his indignation any other way. 

Yuuto felt just as deeply affected as the others. But more than anger, he was shot through by a feeling of cold disgust. 

“No, he’s not crazy,” Yuuto said. “In fact, I’m impressed with him... though it makes me sick. The bastard saw right through to my weakness, and hit me there perfectly.” 

“What... do you mean?” Skáviðr asked. 

Yuuto made a disgusted face, and replied, “Now these people have nowhere to live. Nothing to eat. Their fields, and even the forests, were all burned; there’s nothing they can do. The other nearby villages are all the same. That means we’re the only ones who can save them.” 

“Ah...! That was his objective...?” Skáviðr’s face had been flushed with anger, but now it quickly drained of color. 

“Yeah, most likely,” Yuuto answered. 

When setting out to fight a war, one extremely important challenge was whether and how an army could secure enough food for themselves. 

Transporting supplies from home all the way into enemy territory cost a lot of time and effort. Because Yuuto didn’t want to cause harm to the local residents, even in enemy territory, he always stockpiled a sufficient amount of food before going to war. But for most of Yggdrasil, standard practice during a war of invasion was to procure food locally from the land and people. 

If Yuuto was to save these people, he would have to do exactly the opposite: handing out the food supplies he’d brought with him. 

Yuuto groaned and bit his lower lip in frustration. “If we go around helping every refugee, then there’s no way we’ll have enough food left.” 

Back when he had heard the truth from Saya Takao, Yuuto had resolved himself to become a cold-hearted demon if necessary, with no mercy for his enemies. 

However, faced with these innocent people who’d lost their homes and had nothing to eat, he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon them to their fates, even if they weren’t his own countrymen. 

Hveðrungr had understood that about Yuuto, and thus chosen this violent course of action. 

“He’s gone too far,” Skáviðr said. “Does he not care at all about how people will view such despicable acts?” 

“But it’s also effective,” Yuuto replied flatly. 

It was the so-called “scorched earth” strategy. 

A nation defending itself against invasion could opt to burn down and destroy its own villages and towns, pastures, forests, wells, and food stores — anything that could be utilized by the enemy. In doing so, they would leave the advancing invaders with no ability to obtain food, fuel, or lodging. 

The Steel Clan army had brought their own food supplies with them on the march, but for other supplies like firewood, they’d planned to procure them from the local area. 

Without campfires, they wouldn’t be able to cook the food they’d brought. 

Water was another thing they’d expected to be able to replenish locally as they traveled, but considering this situation, Yuuto couldn’t discount the chance that the wells had all been poisoned. 

Without buildings, they’d all have to camp outside, and they’d have to do it without trees. 

Trees would have given them a minimum amount of protection against the elements, but with those gone, the soldiers would see a sharp increase in fatigue. 

And then there were the refugees. In all likelihood, the further the Steel Clan advanced, the more their enemies would destroy their own country, displacing even more people. 

That would place a heavier and heavier burden on the Steel Clan’s resources. 

There was no doubt it would slow down their advance, too. 

Exhale... inhale... exhale... Yuuto took several long, deep breaths. 

The Yuuto of several months prior would have decided to take these refugees and withdraw, preventing more destruction. 

But the Yuuto here now had a reason why he couldn’t afford to back down. 

“Okay, then, Big Brother,” Yuuto said. “Bring it on. I’ll play your game. Felicia, give these villagers some food, and tell them to head for Myrkviðr. And then send out a message by carrier pigeon to Linnea! Tell her to keep sending food this way, by the cartload!”

“Keh heh heh, you naive little child.” Hveðrungr chuckled with satisfaction at the report that the Steel Clan was distributing food to the displaced. 

That was just what he’d expected. 

One who stood above others as their lord must, at times, make cold-hearted decisions. 

Allowing one’s mind to be swayed by compassion could lead to a decision which killed five or ten times as many people as it saved. 

And likewise, there were actions which would seem barbaric and cruel to the vast majority of people, yet would lead to an outcome where the greatest number of lives were protected. 

Hveðrungr’s scorched earth strategy had come about because, after much deliberation, it was the strategy which would lead to the least number of casualties among his own soldiers, and the only one which granted him a chance at victory. 

It was also a course of action that Yuuto would surely never have been able to imitate if he were in Hveðrungr’s position. He would have remained stuck, unable to cross such a line. 

Even with all of his knowledge pulled from the land beyond the heavens, that was Yuuto’s limit as a man. 

“Yet you continue to advance,” Hveðrungr murmured. “That, at least, is a bit unexpected.” 

The Yuuto that Hveðrungr knew would have likely pulled back after realizing that advancing further would lead to more victims among the populace. 

Showing concern for even the enemy’s subjects was a ridiculous level of kindness, but that was just the kind of man he was. 

The fact that he was continuing to march forward instead meant that perhaps two years of serving as a patriarch had finally started to rub off on him a bit. 

“Well, luckily for me, that happens to work exactly in my favor.” Hveðrungr cackled. 

If Yuuto had withdrawn, the immediate threat to Hveðrungr would have passed, but he still would have been left with nothing but heavy losses to his side. 

He needed to at least deal some damage back in kind, or none of this would be worth it.

The Steel Clan continued their advance. 

And without any qualms, Hveðrungr continued his dispassionate strategy of burning all of the villages ahead of the Steel Clan’s invasion route. 

The Steel Clan, likewise, continued taking in the refugees. 

Even after distributing food to everyone, the invading army still managed to sustain itself, which showed just how thoroughly they’d prepared their supplies before launching their campaign. 

According to intel from Hveðrungr’s spies, the one in charge of logistics was the Horn Clan patriarch, Linnea, who had also become the Steel Clan second-in-command. 

Among the Wolf Clan, Jörgen was the most talented in this area, but even he must have had difficulty preparing everything himself in just one month. This girl Linnea was quite impressive for one so young. 

At last, the Steel Clan closed in to within two days’ march from Hveðrungr’s stronghold in the city of Nóatún, the former Hoof Clan capital. 

That was when a very auspicious report arrived at Hveðrungr’s desk, via his general, Narfi. 

“We have new information from one of our undercover spies, sir,” Narfi said. “Today, a very large shipment of supplies was shipped out from Myrkviðr by wagon caravan.” 

“Heh, and there it is. I knew that if they kept handing out their own food like party favors, they would reach the limit of their stock.” 

Hveðrungr clenched his fist triumphantly. 

By mixing in several of his spies among the refugees, he’d managed to get them embedded within the Steel Clan encampment. 

“You seem quite happy, sir,” Narfi commented. 

“Oh, I am. With this, I can deal a decisive blow to the Steel Clan.” 

“Er... sir? If they receive more supplies, won’t they encroach upon us even further? Do you perhaps plan to burn down Nóatún as well?” 

Narfi’s expression was stiff as he asked this. He likely hadn’t been able to come to terms with his doubts about the concept of setting fire to his own clan’s territory. 

Narfi was known as one of the sharper minds within the Panther Clan, and so Hveðrungr had come to rely on him for much, but apparently this was the limit of his thinking. Apparently he had no real understanding of strategy. 

Still, if even this man was ready to express his doubts, that meant there must already be quite a few within the Panther Clan rank and file who were coming forward with misgivings about Hveðrungr. He would need to settle this conflict sooner rather than later. 

“Your report means things have fallen into place before I ended up needing to burn the city. That’s why I’m relieved.” 

“I don’t understand, sir,” Narfi said. “Why does the Steel Clan resupplying mean that we can deal a decisive blow to them?” 

“Hmph. Why do you think I held off on fighting them for so long, dragging us backwards and pulling them so far into our lands? It was to stretch out their supply lines.” 

Indeed, everything had been in order to create this situation. 

This operation would likely lower Hveðrungr’s support within the Panther Clan. However, he didn’t care. 

With this, he could score a blow against Yuuto. 

That was the only thought in Hveðrungr’s mind right now. 

He pointed to a spot on the map spread out on his desk, and then traced a line west from that point. 

“Their supply line stretches across Panther Clan lands, with no cities or forts to serve as safe checkpoints. We have the territorial advantage, as well. Striking at their weakest point will be a trifling matter.” 

“Oh! I see now!” At last, understanding dawned in Narfi’s eyes. 

Idiot, Hveðrungr thought bitterly. 

But in truth, it would have been unfair to blame Narfi for his ignorance. 

Hveðrungr had no way of knowing this, but in recorded history, the first use of the scorched earth strategy had been by the Scythians in the sixth century B.C.E., against the invading armies of Darius I, the fourth Persian king of the Achaemenid Empire. 

Rather than Narfi being dense, Hveðrungr’s strategic vision was so great that he had employed a military strategy from nearly a thousand years ahead of his time. 

“If we seize their incoming supplies now, they’ll be left isolated in enemy territory with nothing left for their soldiers,” Hveðrungr sneered. “Their ten thousand strong army far outnumbers us, but now those great numbers will become a noose around their own necks!” 

People needed to eat in order to survive. The more people there were, the more food was needed to supply them. 

So, then, what would happen if the enemy’s stores of food hit bottom? First, there would unmistakably be small outbreaks of fighting over what little remained. 

Those would eventually grow more violent and riotous, and the chain of command would break down, stripping them of their power as a unified army. 

If the Panther Clan attacked at that moment, crushing them would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. 

Certainly, they’d have no chance at winning a head-on battle right now, thanks to the Steel Clan’s wagon wall defense and their fire-snakes weapons. 

However, there were other strategies available. 

Hveðrungr could weaken his adversary’s army without ever fighting them directly. 

“Now, let us be off, Narfi,” he said with satisfaction. “We’re about to give those fools a taste of living hell!”

“They’re here,” Hveðrungr whispered to himself under his breath. He was crouched in a thicket, holding perfectly still. 

The Steel Clan had already passed through this area, and so it was under their control. On the other hand, since any forts and other structures had been burned down beforehand, there were no guarded watch posts. It hadn’t been that difficult to infiltrate the area with a small force. 

It was another move made possible by the high mobility of the Panther Clan riders. 

At present, though, Hveðrungr was dismounted, his unit’s horses being kept out of sight a short distance away. 

He stared out from his hiding place. Far ahead of him, a bunch of armed soldiers were walking along in an orderly formation. 

Another man hidden in the thicket next to Hveðrungr spoke up. 

“Sir, I recognize the man at the very front,” he said, squinting at the distant soldiers. “He was leading the Horn Clan forces at the Körmt River. I believe his name is Haugspori.” 

At this distance, Hveðrungr couldn’t tell those men apart at all. 

The Panther Clan soldier next to him right now was just an ordinary fighter from the ranks, without any particularly remarkable achievements. But even so, like the rest of his nomad brethren, he had spent his life growing up on the wide grassland steppes, countless thousands of mornings and evenings spent watching the sun rise and set on a distant, unimpeded horizon. 

His long-range vision was something that Hveðrungr, born and raised in a city, could never hope to match. 

If this man said the enemy soldier at the front of the line was Haugspori, then it had to be so. 

“Oho, then it appears we’ve got the right target,” Hveðrungr smirked. 

He knew from previous intel that the Horn Clan patriarch was the person in charge of directing the Steel Clan’s logistics. 

There was a pretty good chance that Haugspori, the Horn Clan assistant second-in-command, had been put in charge of the soldiers guarding the wagon supply train. 

In fact, he could see from here that these Horn Clan soldiers were acting very cautious, scanning the area around them as they walked. 

“There it is, sir, the supply train of pack horses. There’s quite a lot of them!” 

“I see! Then it’s just as our intelligence said. All right, go and send a message to Narfi right away!” Hveðrungr ordered. 

“Yes, sir!” Still crouching, the Panther Clan soldier quickly but quietly moved away through the brush. 

Hveðrungr stayed crouched low, holding still and waiting. After a short while, things went into motion. 

“Enemy attack! Enemy attaaaaack!” Shouts rang out in the Horn Clan ranks, and tension rippled through them like a blast of wind. 

The soldiers readied their crossbows. Hveðrungr turned to look in the direction they were aiming, and saw a squad of several hundred riders headed their way, kicking up dust as their horses charged forward. 

Naturally, this squad was led by Narfi, who had received the message Hveðrungr sent just earlier. 

“Don’t panic, men!” Haugspori called. “The Panther Clan isn’t a threat to us anymore. Cranequin units, at the ready! Light fuses!” 

At Haugspori’s command, his soldiers produced small, handheld objects, which they seemed to press with their thumbs — producing a flame instantly. 

Hveðrungr had no idea what had just happened. 

During the previous battle, he had been so focused on watching what was happening to his own soldiers that he hadn’t noticed it happening then. 

It was common knowledge that starting a fire meant first creating an ember, which required the correct tools and a bit of time. Being able to create fire out of nothing just with a press of the thumb seemed like no less than witchcraft. 

Without a doubt, that had to be something from Yuuto. 

If only I had a tool like his, that would let me access such an unlimited store of knowledge like he does... 

Hveðrungr felt like he was going mad from jealousy. 

“Firrrrrrre!” 

One after another, the soldiers’ crossbows fired off their round, ceramic ammunition. 

The projectiles flew over a terrifyingly long distance, reaching Narfi’s riders while they were still very far away. 

Bang! Ban-ban-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang! 

They exploded in rapid succession, producing an echoing cacophony that seemed to rip the air apart. 

It was unbearably loud to Hveðrungr’s ears even from a great distance away, so he knew it had to be much worse for the people dealing with it up close. 

Indeed, it was enough to make Narfi’s charge come to a complete halt. 

The horses were throwing off their riders, or trying to break off and run in random directions. It was a shameful sight to behold. 

“The enemy’s confused!” Haugspori called. “Melee fighters, charrrrrrge!” 

“Yaaaaahhh!!” The Horn Clan foot soldiers shouted a war cry, readied their spears, and ran forward. 

At the Körmt River and in the border pass, this tactic had left the Panther Clan riders powerless to fight back, but now they knew ahead of time that the fire-snakes would make their horses unusable. They also knew that the fire-snakes weren’t powerful enough to cause lethal wounds. 

By sharing that knowledge, they’d ensured that the riders themselves no longer went into a panic. 

Narfi’s band of riders all quickly dismounted, readied their bows, and fired. The arrows whooshed sharply through the air. 

“Gwah!” 

“Gyaahh!” 

Several Horn Clan soldiers cried out as the arrows found their marks. 

However, this was still a battle with vastly uneven numbers. 

The Horn Clan supply escort had at least a thousand men. The Panther Clan squad, on the other hand, only had around two hundred, as they’d needed to keep their numbers small to avoid detection before their surprise attack. 

The Horn Clan fighters pressed forward, ignoring the arrows raining down on them, and the Panther Clan fighters hurriedly turned and began to flee. 

“Chase them! Chase them!” 

“Do it! Take them down!” 

“Kill them!!” 

The Horn Clan soldiers started shouting vigorously, goading each other on, and they began to give chase. 

When the promise of victory clouded one’s vision, the first instinct was to chase after a fleeing enemy. It was an extremely common occurrence on the battlefield. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Hveðrungr was impressed by the Panther Clan soldiers. Even without their horses, they still had an excellent knack for hit-and-run tactics. 

By all appearances, they looked like they were simply fleeing because they were overwhelmed by the strength of their enemy. It was a fine performance. 

“All right, the time has come! Everyone, follow me!” Hveðrungr shouted and stood up from his hiding place in the thicket, and ran forward. 

Running right behind him on foot were three hundred of his best hand-picked soldiers. 

If they couldn’t use their horses, they could simply fight without them. As had been demonstrated just a moment ago, the Panther Clan were fighters of masterful skill, and being on foot didn’t change that. 

The sound of Haugspori’s frantic shouts echoed from far away. “Gah! An ambush?! Everyone, come back! Get back here!” 

It was already too late. 

Once a tight formation of soldiers got moving at full momentum, it wasn’t easy to stop them. Worse, they still had enemies fleeing right in front of them. They were still driven by the urge to keep up the chase. 

Looking panicked, the soldiers who’d been left behind hurriedly readied their swords to protect the horses. 

However, almost everyone had gone chasing after Narfi’s group, and they were clearly undermanned now. 

“W-waaugh!” 

“Grh! Protect the horses and carts!” 

“Ha ha ha ha! Out of my way!” Hveðrungr guffawed. 

As he delivered those words, he cut down the defenders with one stroke of his blade apiece, and he and his attack squad made contact with the supply train. 

He quickly moved on the crossbowmen from before too, killing them and taking their fire-snakes. If he could bring these back and study them, he could reproduce the technology and make it his own. 

“All right, set the fire!” he shouted, giving the order to his attendant. 

With such a large amount of cargo, stealing it all would naturally be too difficult to manage. In particular, Haugspori would come back and catch up to them while they were attempting to transport it. 

So, in that case, the only option was to burn it up. 

Food was a precious resource in the world of Yggdrasil, and so destroying it was a sacrilegious act, but Hveðrungr was resolute. 

He sniggered loudly. “Ha ha ha ha ha! I’ve gotten you this time, Yuuto. This is my victory!” 

All that was left to do was light several fires within the cargo. With their supplies destroyed, the Steel Clan army would be stranded deep in enemy territory. Then Hveðrungr would only need to watch and wait for them to destroy themselves. 

Hveðrungr’s attendant pulled out the wooden rod and bow used for lighting an ember, wrapped the string around the rod, and got to work. 

Hveðrungr stood over the man as he labored, keeping a watchful eye on his surroundings... and suddenly, he felt a strange chill. 

It came from the sixth sense that he’d honed by surviving so many brushes with death. 

He felt someone’s killing intent, and he hurriedly turned to face the direction he sensed it from. 

There was the sound of fabric whipping against air, as the large cloth sheet covering the horse and cart flew off and into the air. 

The next two things Hveðrungr saw were bright silver hair catching the light of the sun, and the silver flash of light reflecting off of a blade as it swung down at him. 

“Nrrgh!” With a grunt, Hveðrungr moved reflexively in that split second, blocking the attack with his own nihontou blade. 

“Gwaah!” 

“Gyaah!” 

Dying screams rang out from right next to him. 

Some of his men had been struck down, unable to react in time to the other members of Sigrún’s special forces unit that leapt out of hiding along with her. 

“You predicted I would do this?!” Hveðrungr screamed. 

Locked sword-to-sword with Sigrún’s, his face close to hers, Hveðrungr shouted at her, his mouth twisting wildly in rage. 

“Of course we did,” Sigrún said coolly. “Let me tell you what Father said about you: ‘Hveðrungr immediately finds his opponent’s weakness, and he never fails to strike at it.’” 

“Grrrghh!!” 

“Now, then! It’s about time I repaid you for the shame I suffered in our last battle!”

“The Panther Clan attacked just as you predicted, Father,” Kristina reported over the transceiver. “Currently, the Múspell special forces are engaged in combat with them. I have also confirmed that a masked man is present. I believe it is the Panther Clan patriarch, Hveðrungr!” 

Yuuto clenched his fists. “I see! All right, then! We’ll hurry that way, too!” 

It seemed that Rungr had fallen for his trap. 

“With gain outheld, move them; with readied men, await them.” 

That was the line from Sun Tzu which Yuuto had applied in his battle at the Körmt River, and it described the type of strategy he was best at. 

On that day two years ago, when Loptr committed his horrible crime, Yuuto had learned in the most painful way possible how important it was to consider the feelings of others, and the consequences of not doing so. 

The experience of bitter regret in the beginning of his growth into a young man would forever remain in his heart as a force of self-discipline. 

Ever since, he had made it a habit to always try to imagine himself in other people’s positions, and to consider things from their perspectives. 

As he’d continued to practice this with diligent effort over the course of the following two years, it hadn’t just helped train his sense of balancing people’s needs and wants as an administrator and statesman. It had also made him grow in skill as a military commander, cultivating within him the power to predict the thoughts and motivations of his adversaries at an astounding level. 

If one uses the scorched earth strategy against an invading enemy and they still continue their advance, the proper next move against that enemy would be to cut off their stretched-out supply lines and starve them. That was standard military theory, gleaned from examples in history. 

In the example of Darius I invading the Scythians in Europe, this strategy had led to Darius I being forced to halt his invasion and withdraw, despite having an army tens of times more numerous than that of the Scythians’. 

Yuuto had quickly drawn the conclusion that Hveðrungr would be aiming for the same result. 

If he understood what his opponent wanted to do, and what they wished to gain, then the rest was simple. Just like in Sun Tzu’s teachings, all he had to do was lay a trap there, and wait. 

In this instance, his enemy would be going after the train of supplies, so Yuuto had ordered Sigrún and her special forces to hide among the horses and cargo. 

Of course, if you want to deceive your enemies, you have to start by deceiving your allies. 

Yuuto had leaked false information (not too widely, so that it wouldn’t be too obvious) that pointed to that train of horses as being the one with the food. He’d done this so that the false information would fall into the hands of the spies that he figured had to be mixed in with the refugees. 

He was just grateful that it seemed like they’d taken the bait. 

“Still, to think the commander-in-chief would personally participate in such a dangerous mission... I am amazed he would do that.” Kristina’s voice over the transceiver was astounded, but not impressed. 

Both her biological father and her sworn father were clan patriarchs, and both of them were men who calmly issued orders from the rear. 

As for herself, while Kristina did venture into enemy territory on her missions, if she felt she was in danger, then she pulled out immediately, and she didn’t attempt infiltrations she judged to be impossible. 

So, for her, Hveðrungr’s choice of action in this case must have seemed quite reckless. After all, he could have entrusted the attack entirely to his subordinates. 

“Being able to lead from the front lines yourself is also an important quality in a commander,” Yuuto said. “Though, well, in his case, it’s more because at the end of the day, he can’t put his trust in other people.” 

This was another area where he and Yuuto were complete contrasts to each other. 

Upon Yuuto’s original arrival in Yggdrasil, he hadn’t been able to do anything. And so he had learned to not have issues with paying respect to others who could do what he couldn’t, or with relying on them to help him. 

On the other hand, Hveðrungr was a man who could do pretty much anything. No matter what it was, he could figure out how to do it better than most other people. 

Because of that, he had gotten used to the idea that the outcome would always be more reliable if he did something himself rather than leave it to others. That way of thinking was now ingrained in him and so, the more important the task was to him, the more he felt compelled to do it himself. 

That was why, when Yuuto had been made patriarch, Loptr had flown into such a rage. 

That was why, at the Battle of Náströnd, he had personally led the small group of only a few dozen riders to breach Yuuto’s defenses. 

That was why, at the recent Battle of Körmt River, he had led the smaller force that crossed the river to attack the Horn Clan’s flank. 

That was why, when surrounding the city of Fólkvangr, he had personally led the force doing it. 

And so, this time... 

“This battle will determine the flow of the war, so I knew he’d definitely join the attack himself,” Yuuto said. “Now then, Big Brother, it’s checkmate!”

“Sei!” Sigrún shouted. 

“Khh!” Hveðrungr managed to catch her diagonal sword strike with his own blade. The impact sent a stinging sensation through his hands. 

“Haaaaah!” 

Sigrún followed up with an attack so swift, to his eyes it seemed to leave afterimages of silver light in its wake. 

“Graaagh!” 

Hveðrungr managed to defend against it, but he couldn’t conceal the distress he felt. 

She was so fast. Fast, and yet each and every attack was heavy and powerful. 

Most of all, her swordsmanship lacked hesitation. Each strike was committed and true. 

She seemed like a completely different person from when he’d last fought her. 

Hveðrungr had assisted Sigrún in her sword training plenty of times when she was younger. He had a thorough knowledge of her swordsmanship style, not to mention the quirks in her form that were particular to her. 

Yet, even despite that, he was the one being overpowered right now. 

Thinking back on it now, at Gashina, they had fought each other right after Yuuto was forcibly banished to his home world. Sigrún must have been terribly shaken. 

Perhaps he hadn’t faced her at her full strength. 

He had never imagined that the girl would grow into such a powerful fighter! 

“Hah!” Hveðrungr shifted the center of force behind his swing, attempting to make Sigrún’s own attack slip off-course. 

“Hmph!” Sigrún sensed the change, and masterfully adjusted the angle of power behind her swing, attempting to push Hveðrungr off-balance instead. 

Even when he tried to use the Willow Technique on her, she countered him. 

“Rrrgh, damn you, you stupid little girl! Don’t get cocky!” Hveðrungr screamed. 

If he remained on the defensive, she would corner him, so he risked throwing himself into full offense. 

He unleashed a furious string of four attacks. 

The first strike was Skáviðr’s. 

The second strike was from Váli, the former Panther Clan general. 

The third was Jörgen’s. 

The fourth was from Narfi, his capable general and aide. 

This was Hveðrungr’s ultimate technique, the Sword of a Thousand Illusions. With each strike, he transformed his swordsmanship into that of a different person, replicating their styles and personal quirks. This could perplex an opponent and create an opening in their guard. 

It was a spectacular feat, and one only made possible because of his ability to shamelessly steal the techniques of others, provided that he’d seen them at least once. 

He’d used this on Sigrún in their previous battle, and it had allowed him to deliver a wound to her hand. 

It was working this time, too. Even with how impressive Sigrún had become, she was having difficulty keeping up with swordsmanship that transformed itself with each attack. It was taking everything she could muster to defend against his attacks, and the momentum of their fight was reversing itself. 

However, Hveðrungr knew he couldn’t take his time on this. If he was in a trap set by his enemies, then he needed to get out of here right away. He didn’t have the luxury of time to fight to his heart’s content; he had to end things now. 

“This is it! ᛈᚻᚨᚾᛏᛟᛞ!” Hveðrungr cast the galdr spell “Glamour” as he lunged at her with a full-strength thrusting attack. 

That spell would affect Sigrún’s senses, making his sword tip appear to blur and split into two. 

In that moment, Hveðrungr’s attention was suddenly drawn to Sigrún’s eyes, which narrowed slightly. 

Instantly he felt every hair on his body stand on end. 

With just a quick tilt of her head, Sigrún easily dodged the lethal attack, completely ignoring the illusion created by Glamour, and lunged forward. 

“Khh!” Without thinking, Hveðrungr leapt backwards. 

He didn’t do it because he knew what was coming. He was just obeying the sixth sense within him, for it was sounding the alarm louder than ever. 

“Haaah!!” The silver light of Sigrún’s blade shot forward. 

It was at a speed incomparable to anything before. 

Skilled as he was, Hveðrungr could not react in time. 

“Agh...?!” Hveðrungr felt a streak of pain shoot across his chest. 

But it was only a bit of pain. Somehow, he had gotten off with just a grazing. If he had been even the slightest bit slower in jumping backwards, he would surely be in two pieces right now. 

He saw that Sigrún had already finished her sword stroke, and was bringing her hand around to unleash a second. 

“Damn it!!” With no thought for honor or shame, Hveðrungr turned on his heels and broke into a run. 

Right now, there was something abnormal about Sigrún. The air around her was as sharp as a beast’s fang — no, as sharp as the edge of a nihontou, an edge that could cut through iron. If he continued fighting her, he was going to lose. 

He was certain of that. 

“Ah! Stop!” Sigrún shouted, and chased after him. 

However, Hveðrungr was not about to stop for her just because she demanded it. In fact, right now the most important course of action for him was not killing Sigrún, but escaping from this location. 

“This is a trap! Withdraw! Withdraw!!” Rungr shouted to his men as he ran. 

The Horn Clan soldiers who appeared to block his path quickly fell to his blade, and he didn’t stop running. 

“I won’t let you escape!” Sigrún shouted, running after Hveðrungr with incredible speed. 

As expected of an Einherjar with abilities all specializing in combat, she was definitely more physically capable than he was. At this rate, she was going to catch up to him in no time. 

Hveðrungr quickly reached into the bag at his hip, and pulled out the fire-snake weapon that he’d collected earlier for research. 

He turned around and threw it at Sigrún. 

Had he been thinking rationally, he would have remembered that it needed to have fire set to it first, but perhaps the image of the things exploding had made too strong of an impression on him. 

And yet, it turned out that luck was on his side. 

Sigrún knew what was being thrown at her, and she reacted by hurriedly leaping backwards away from it. It seemed she, too, had been ingrained with a strong impression from seeing the explosions. 

The other fortunate thing for Hveðrungr was that he had not thrown it at her directly, but at the ground at her feet. He had only done so because he was in such haste, he didn’t have time to aim carefully at her. 

Bang! As it slammed against the ground, the force of the impact and the heat of friction caused the fire-snake to explode. 

Sigrún had leapt out of the way, so she was uninjured, but it stopped her temporarily. 

In the bit of time that granted him, Hveðrungr managed to make it to the spot where he’d put his horse, and thus escaped from the battlefield with his life that day.

“I see...” Yuuto said. “So Hveðrungr got away, then.” 

“F-Father, please forgive me! It is all because I was not strong enough...” Sigrún’s dismayed voice was coming through over the transceiver. 

Apparently she had been close to defeating Hveðrungr, only for him to slip through her fingers. 

It was extremely disappointing, but it was also an outcome that fell within the range of Yuuto’s predictions. 

“No, it’s okay. He’s not an easy guy to beat, after all, even for you. Don’t feel bad about it.” 

“B-but...” 

“Don’t worry. We’re definitely going to get him. If we let him make his way back to base, he might start burning more towns and villages, after all.” Yuuto’s voice grew low and cold, and the light of resolve burned in his eyes. 

The pressure coming off of him was so great that Sigrún could even feel it over the transceiver, and she gulped. 

“Rún, take the special forces and continue hunting for Hveðrungr,” Yuuto ordered. 

“Yes, Father! It shall be done!” With that lively response, Sigrún ended the communication. 

Yuuto quickly turned to his adjutant. “Felicia! You heard the situation. Seal off all of the roads leading to Nóatún. I take it the manhunt squads are already put together? We’re going to go over this whole area, searching every nook and cranny. We’re bringing this to an end right here!”

Hveðrungr could hear the angry shouts of pursuing soldiers coming from behind him. 

“It’s Hveðrungr! After him! After himmm!” 

“If we catch him, we can have anything we want as a reward!” 

“Stop right there—!” 

He had been trying to return to Nóatún with his small squad of riders when they’d encountered one of the Steel Clan patrols, and had been forced to reverse course and race back along the way they came. 

This was already the fifth time they’d run into an enemy patrol. 

The Panther Clan riders had greater mobility, and so they’d been able to outrun their enemies. But now they were all out of arrows, and as they’d continued running, their initial three hundred riders had gotten split up and scattered; Hveðrungr’s group was now only perhaps a tenth of that size. 

“That wretched man, has he been making me dance to his tune this whole time...?!” Hveðrungr spat out the words, quaking with indignant fury. 

The network of search patrols hunting for him had shown up way too quickly. It was obvious that they had been prepared ahead of time. 

That could only mean that Hveðrungr’s plans had been predicted completely. 

Yuuto only ever won against Hveðrungr because of the knowledge from his world beyond the heavens — that was what Hveðrungr had always thought. 

And yet Hveðrungr, who should be superior when it came to military strategy, had been completely outclassed. He’d been playing into Yuuto’s hands the whole time. 

And now, he was running and hiding pathetically. 

There could be no greater humiliation. 

“Ah...! I’ve found you, Hveðrungr!” A silver-haired warrior maiden appeared on horseback ahead of him. 

“Tch, damn it! It’s Sigrún!” Hveðrungr pulled his reins and turned his horse sharply to the right. 

He spurred the horse at a full-speed run, but she stayed right on his tail, refusing to fall behind. 

All of the soldiers he’d run into so far had been on foot, so it hadn’t been too difficult to get away from them, but her horse put her on equal footing with him. 

She was the most troublesome person who could have spotted him. 

“Grrgh, not yet! I have not lost yet! I’ll figure out a way to slip through this net, and turn things around!” 

As he shouted those words to encourage himself, Hveðrungr kept spurring on his horse, focused only on the single thought of escape.

Glug, glug, glug! “Phew!” Hveðrungr thrust his face into the flowing waters of the stream, drinking his fill, then sat back on the ground and wiped his mouth with an arm. 

Hveðrungr’s scorched earth strategy had backfired on him. He’d gone through quite a bit of difficulty just trying to reach a source of drinkable water. 

This place was far distant from the Steel Clan’s original invasion route, and Hveðrungr had been forced to come almost the whole way here without anything to eat or drink. 

His thirst quenched, he took out the last two slices of dried meat he’d been saving, and wolfed them down. 

“I should finally have a moment’s peace now.” Hveðrungr patted his stomach, no longer empty, and stood up. 

There was no one else around. 

No enemy pursuers, and no fellow Panther Clan. He was alone. 

A group traveling together would just stand out, and in particular, the people from the nomadic Panther Clan dressed in a unique way that made them even more recognizable. Having determined that his allies would get in the way of his escape, Hveðrungr had abandoned them. 

As for his horse, it would also make him stand out, and so he’d gotten rid of it, too. 

In the Álfheimr region, people who could ride horses were few and far between. Being seen on horseback would be leaving behind evidence that made it easier to track him down. 

He’d removed his iron mask, given a spare mask to one of his subordinates, and sent that man in a different direction to serve as a decoy. 

He’d finally broken completely free of his pursuers, and he’d done it by discarding everything that made him the patriarch of the Panther Clan. It was quite ironic. 

“Now then, time to be off.” Hveðrungr began walking northeast. 

The routes to the west, back towards the Panther Clan stronghold in Nóatún, were all closed off. If he were to stay in the area nearby, watching for an opening to slip through the net of patrols, they would close in on him over time, and he’d just end up captured. 

But they shouldn’t yet have been able to completely surround the area that lay in the opposite direction. That was what drove Hveðrungr’s decision to head east. 

As it happened, he’d seen no pursuers since yesterday. 

It would be a very long, indirect route, but he should be able to keep going until he could reach the Himinbjörg Mountains, then cross over the mountains north into the Panther Clan homeland. 

Trying to cross through the mountains in the rough country, away from any roads, was a difficult and arduous task, but he’d already been through that once before, when fleeing the Wolf Clan after killing its previous patriarch, Fárbauti. It wasn’t going to be anything to worry about. 

“Heh! Heh heh heh! It looks like you weren’t able to predict this! That’s right, yes, in the end, what happened before was just a...” 

Before Hveðrungr could say any more, he spotted a figure ahead of him, and trailed off. 

It was a man who, if you were to describe his appearance in a word, would be best suited by the word “ominous.” 

He was tall, but bony and thin, with sunken cheeks and a face that looked pale and unwell. And yet the man’s eyes gave off a sharp light, his piercing stare like a hawk’s. 

He gave off a dangerous and sinister air, as if the grim reaper had put on some clothes to take a stroll in the world of the living. 

Hveðrungr knew this man. 

Indeed, he knew him all too well. 

This was the very man who had once taught Hveðrungr the very fundamentals of combat. 

He was someone whose strength Hveðrungr had once admired, and strived for. 

“Skáviðr...” he whispered. 

It was the man once hailed as the strongest warrior in all of the Wolf Clan, the former holder of the title Mánagarmr. 

“How... did you know I was here?” Hveðrungr rasped. 

As he asked this, he pulled out his iron mask and placed it back on his face. 

He wasn’t doing this to hide his identity, of course. Indeed, doing this was the same as revealing it. 

However, this mask was important to Hveðrungr, as a symbol of who he was now. It was proof that he was not the same man as the gullible fool who had once trusted Yuuto, and been utterly deceived. 

As Hveðrungr, he had thrown away the name Loptr, and the face that went with it. He was not about to wear Loptr’s face in front of someone from the Wolf Clan, of all people. 

“I knew that this was the most likely path you would take in order to try to return to the Panther Clan,” Skáviðr said. 

Hveðrungr clicked his tongue bitterly. “Tch. I see. I guess I should expect no less from my old teacher.” 

As Skáviðr’s sworn younger brother, and as his student, Hveðrungr had shared a roof and meals with him for three whole years. After that, when he had started to distinguish himself and move up the ranks, they had fought together as friends and comrades, entrusting their backs to each other in battle as they fought for the sake of the Wolf Clan. 

They knew each other well enough to understand how the other might think and act. 

“Heh, as always, your sense of righteousness doesn’t match those looks of yours,” Hveðrungr said. “I take it the reason you didn’t bring any men and came here alone is because you want to be the one to ‘take care of’ your disappointing student, with your own two hands?” 

“That’s right.” Skáviðr slid his sword out of the scabbard at his waist. “It’s my responsibility as your former teacher. I’m here to give you a proper lesson.” 

Hveðrungr scoffed. “Hmph. But can you do it? I think I’ll beat you down the same way I did at Náströnd.” 

Grinning, he unsheathed and readied his own blade. 

Immediately, their surroundings were filled with the tension of their fighting spirit, the air having grown thick and heavy with it. 

Perhaps because they sensed that tension, the birds in the surrounding trees all suddenly took flight at once. 

And, as if that were the signal to begin... 

Kiiiin! Two flashes of silver light flickered as the two metal blades came together. 

In the space between the two men, their swords flew this way and that, clashing and dancing several times in the blink of an eye. 

But after ten exchanges, the scales of the battle were clearly tipped in one side’s favor. 

It was Skáviðr who was winning. 

“Ngh! Rrgh?! What is this uncanny feeling?!” Pushed onto the back foot, Hveðrungr grunted in frustration. 

He couldn’t understand it at all. 

His guard was perfect, and he was completely focused on his opponent, but couldn’t get a read on the initial motions of his opponent’s attacks. He wasn’t seeing them, somehow. 

Because of that, his reactions to those attacks were all slightly delayed, and he was constantly behind in the initiative. 

However... after ten more exchanges, Hveðrungr managed to find the answer. 

“So that’s what it is!” he shouted. 

Such was only to be expected of Hveðrungr, whose powers of keen observation were greater than most. 

A novice fighter tends to watch and focus on the opponent’s weapon. But when facing foes beyond a certain level of skill, it becomes impossible to keep fighting that way. 

If one only reacts after seeing the movement of the enemy’s sword, a human’s reflexes just aren’t fast enough to respond in time. 

Thus, one learns to read the foe’s killing intent, their eyes, their breathing, the movement of their shoulders and feet, and many other subtle clues. All of these are things that occur before the movement of the weapon. 

Reading those initial or preparatory motions, and responding to them, was what defined a battle between experienced fighters. 

And so, what was surprising about Skáviðr was that his movements did not contain those initial tells. 

More precisely speaking, they weren’t all eliminated completely. But they were extremely subtle, and few. That was why Hveðrungr had been unable to read the startups to his attacks. 

But even though Hveðrungr now knew the secret to it, he still couldn’t counter it. It was such an aggravating technique to go up against. 

So aggravating, in fact, that it was worth taking and using for himself. 

“Now that I’ve figured it out, it belongs to me!” As Hveðrungr shouted this, he began perfectly mimicking Skáviðr’s sword style. 

Hveðrungr’s rune Alþiófr, Jester of a Thousand Illusions, had the ability to steal other people’s techniques. 

Now we’re on equal footing, Hveðrungr thought with a twisted grin, but it was only a moment later that his smiling face froze in shock. 

“Hoh!” With a sharp exhale, Skáviðr used the Willow Technique to make Hveðrungr’s attack veer off-course. 

Hveðrungr managed to notice it was happening and react at the last second, releasing the force behind his attack to prevent his upper body from being pushed off-balance. But the sweeping slash that followed nearly caught him, and made his blood run cold. 

He quickly dropped low and avoided the attack, but it sliced off a few strands of his hair. 

“Then how about this!” Hveðrungr copied Skáviðr’s sword style once more, using an exact duplicate of the sweeping strike that had just been used against him. 

Skáviðr easily dodged. 

The sweeping attack also created a tiny opening, and he was countered. Hveðrungr felt a flash of hot pain in his left shoulder. 

It was only a shallow cut, not enough to affect his ability to fight, but his mind was quite agitated and confused. 

As if able to read that mental state, Skáviðr scoffed at him. “Even with your ability, you can’t steal this from me.” 

“What?!” Hveðrungr was baffled by this claim. But, in fact, Skáviðr had managed to see through every one of Hveðrungr’s attacks. 

If Hveðrungr had been copying the technique perfectly, then even a master of the sword like Skáviðr should have showed a drop in his reaction speed. But he hadn’t, at all. 

“I’m sure you have already figured it out, but this technique is nothing more than erasing one’s initial motions before an attack,” Skáviðr said. “After I lost to you half a year ago, I spent my time standing in front of a mirror, watching myself swing the sword, finding the tells and working to eliminate them, over and over.” 

Skáviðr said all this as if it were simple, but in reality, it must have been work that required an awesome level of perseverance. 

The “quirks” of one’s fighting style persisted precisely because they were so difficult to get rid of. 

If one focused only on eliminating a quirk in a half-hearted manner, all that would do is create a new, different one. It would become an endless game of cat and mouse. 

Of course, if one dedicated careful time and effort to eliminating them gradually over time, they would certainly decrease. But that was an effort that would take ages. 

Just how many times would it have taken Skáviðr swinging the sword in front of the mirror, in order for him to reach that state? It was impossible to even imagine. 

“My fighting style is something that I’ve developed, and it is attuned to my own body,” Skáviðr said. “You and I are different heights, have different builds. Even if you mimic the same movements I make, that won’t be enough to erase your own initial motions. Not until you attune the movements into an ideal form that matches your own body, that is.” 

His lecture finished, Skáviðr brought his sword to the ready in front of him. 

The two men would have no way of knowing this, but in the older traditional Japanese schools of martial arts, what Skáviðr had described was known by such terms as mubyoushi (“void of rhythm”) or shukuchi (“shrinking the earth”), and it was one of the highest classes of esoteric technique. 

It was something one could only achieve by practicing the fundamentals over and over, an ultimate technique that was, at its heart, an application of the basics. 

“Grhh! In that case, take this!” Hveðrungr screamed, swinging his sword again. 

Pushed into a corner like this, all he had left to rely on was his own signature technique: the Sword of a Thousand Illusions. 

He would unleash the sword styles of every person he’d stolen from, a concept completely the opposite of Skáviðr’s technique. 

With each use of the ability, he shuffled the order in which he brought out the copied attacks. 

It was like an ever-changing illusion at his command, something that should have been impossible to predict. However, such was not the case. 

Skáviðr snorted. “Hmph, maybe that will confuse someone young and less experienced, like Sigrún, but you should know how many battles I’ve survived, how many times I’ve cheated death. A petty trick like that will not work on me.” 

And just as he’d asserted, he easily dealt with each of Hveðrungr’s attacks. 

He knocked them aside. He deflected them. He evaded them. 

He even saw through the sword strike combined with the Glamour spell, and at last stepped in close to Hveðrungr. 

Skáviðr’s waist turned, the power in his muscles twisting into form, unleashing one final, horizontal slash. 

I’m going to die now. 

That thought echoed in the bottom of Hveðrungr’s heart, and he believed it. 

However, Skáviðr’s attack suddenly began to look slower. 

The color seemed to disappear from Hveðrungr’s vision, everything becoming grey like ash. 

He had once heard that when a person is on the brink of their death, the world appears to slow down for them. 

He figured that was what was happening now. 

However, at the same time, he also realized it was an opportunity. 

Death awaited him if he did nothing. But if he could take advantage of this slowly-moving time, perhaps there was something he could do. 

As a test, Hveðrungr attempted to move his blade to intercept the path of Skáviðr’s attack, to slide it off its course. 

His body didn’t move like he wanted it to. 

It felt heavy and sluggish, like he was trying to move underwater or in mud. 

But he was still moving faster than Skáviðr. 

Clang! 

The sound of metal on metal rang out, and the two blades repelled each other. 

Hveðrungr had snatched back his life from the jaws of death. 

Still, the danger hadn’t passed. 

Skáviðr renewed his sword grip and moved to strike with a powerful overhead blow. 

Slowly, Hveðrungr moved his own sword to line up with the attack, and deflected it. 

“Ghh...?!” Skáviðr gasped, and looked at him in shock. 

After all, the only way Hveðrungr could possibly be deflecting his attacks was if he were able to read them. 

The calm confidence from a moment earlier had completely vanished. 

For Hveðrungr, seeing Skáviðr looking this way felt wonderful. A wild laughter bubbled up from deep within him. 

“Keh heh heh! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! I can see them! I can read your attacks like the back of my hand!” 

Hveðrungr’s rune Alþiófr, Jester of a Thousand Illusions, could steal any technique. 

What he was using now was Sigrún’s technique: the Realm of Godspeed.

“Hah!” Skáviðr lunged forward, unleashing a powerful thrust attack. 

Watching it in slow motion, Hveðrungr couldn’t help but be impressed at the sight of it. 

It wasn’t just the sword thrust itself, but the motions of the lunge, too; even in his current state, Hveðrungr could hardly see the initial movements before them. 

However, that wasn’t a problem at all now. 

As he was, he could now react to the attacks after the sword was moving, and still make it in time. 

Hveðrungr turned sideways to dodge the thrust, and took a large step forward, bringing him into close range with his foe. This was something he could only do because he could read all of Skáviðr’s moves now. 

“Hoh!” he exhaled, and slid his sword through the heavy air of the slowed time, as if guiding it through water. 

From Hveðrungr’s perspective, his movements looked sluggish too, but that wasn’t true at all. 

In fact, this attack was probably the fastest movement Hveðrungr had ever performed in his life. 

“Khh!” Skáviðr grimaced and made a desperate leap backwards. 

Hveðrungr felt resistance on the tip of his sword, but it was only slight. Apparently he had only managed to give Skáviðr a shallow cut. 

Honestly, Skáviðr was amazing to even be able to react in time at all to Hveðrungr in this state. It seemed that “Mánagarmr“ was more than just a title for show. 

Glowering, Skáviðr clicked his tongue and addressed Hveðrungr. “Tch, your reaction time and movements got much faster all of a sudden. I see, so this must be that technique of Sigrún’s, the one she called the ‘Realm of Godspeed.’” He spat out the words in frustration. 

“Hmm.” Hearing that, the pieces finally fit together for Hveðrungr. 

Thinking back to the previous day’s battle, Sigrún had also displayed an abnormal increase in speed. 

She must have entered the same state that he was in now. 

He never would have guessed that his rune Alþiófr could steal her technique without his even being conscious of it. He silently gave it his thanks. 

“Heh heh, my own talents frighten me sometimes,” Hveðrungr smirked. 

“...That’s true. They are frightening indeed. It would have been better for me to be more wary of them.” 

“It’s too late for that now!” Hveðrungr shouted, and kicking the ground, he lunged forward, unleashing a sweeping horizontal slash. 

Skáviðr could only manage to block it; it seemed it had been too fast for him to react in time to use the Willow Technique. 

Hveðrungr brought his blade around to follow up with a diagonal strike from above. 

Again, Skáviðr barely managed to deflect it. 

This left Skáviðr’s stomach open, so Hveðrungr mixed in a kick. 

Skáviðr reacted by using his elbow to block, but the kick was stronger. He was pushed back, losing his solid footing as he lurched backwards. 

Hveðrungr followed up with another horizontal strike. 

Skáviðr held his sword vertically, and barely managed to stop the blow head-on. 

“Heh heh heh! You’re pretty tough to kill! But how long will you hold out?!” With mocking laughter, Hveðrungr continued his attacks without pause. 

A downward strike from high overhead, and another horizontal sweep. 

An upwards diagonal strike from his left side, curving into another arcing slash from over the shoulder. 

Yet despite this furious torrent of attacks assaulting him, Skáviðr laughed right back at him. 

“Heh. And I wonder how long you can hold out? I heard something interesting from Sigrún. Apparently your body can’t handle moving at that speed for very long.” 

“Wha?!” Hveðrungr had been too excited by the ability to notice before, but indeed each time he swung his sword, there was pain in his arms and back. 

His body itself was unable to keep up with the speed he was forcing on it, and it was wearing out. 

It seemed he’d have to settle this fight right away. 

“Haaaaaah!” With a loud cry, Hveðrungr unleashed the Sword of a Thousand Illusions, moving as fast as the Realm of Godspeed would allow. 

One! Two! Three! 

Four! Five! Six! 

Seven! Eight! Nine! 

It was a nine-strike combination with every ounce of his strength and focus behind each blow, delivered at a speed even greater than anything he had done thus far. 

“Ngh! Hah! Khh! Hoh! Toh!” Skáviðr, however, managed to block every one of them. 

“How?!” Hveðrungr screamed, incredulous. 

That was impossible! 

Skáviðr wasn’t in the Realm of Godspeed, that much was clear. So how had he been able to react to all of the attacks?! 

“It’s true, you are fast right now,” Skáviðr said. “But you’re still not as terrifyingly fast as the Battle-Hungry Tiger, Dólgþrasir.” 

It was true that, once you get used to seeing something moving at an incredible speed, then afterwards, even something moving very fast doesn’t feel as overwhelming. That seemed to be the phenomenon Skáviðr was describing. 

Hveðrungr understood the logic, but even so, there should be a limit to what his foe could handle. He was overwhelmingly faster right now, so it just didn’t make sense that the slower Skáviðr would keep being able to block his attacks. 

“And one more thing: You’re skilled at striking the gaps in people’s defenses, their weaknesses,” Skáviðr said. “But you haven’t honed your own core, your own personal strength. The way you move your body in battle, the way you swing your sword, all of it is still green. You’re wasting that incredible speed you have. You’re not going to be able to best me.” 

“Grrh!” 

“Those with natural talents can learn to do things easily, so they also have a habit of not practicing their fundamentals,” Skáviðr said. “Your talents are indeed frightening. And you are the one who should have been more wary of them.” 

“Shut up!!” Hveðrungr screamed in a shrill voice, and swung his blade. 

But Skáviðr effortlessly dodged the blow. “Bring your arms in tighter on the sides!” 

“Gaagh!” Grunting, Hveðrungr put all of his strength behind another overhead swing. 

Kiiin! The ring of metal echoed in the air. 

“You haven’t trained your lower body enough! That’s why your strikes don’t have enough power!” 

“Khh...!” Hveðrungr stumbled backwards. When his attack was blocked, it had felt as if he were striking a solid boulder. 

Even with the Realm of Godspeed, this was all he could do. 

Could he never hope to match up to this man, no matter what he did? 

That doubt began to consume him. 

At times like this, it was the diligent, daily training of the fundamentals which supported a swordsman’s heart most of all. 

The efficiency trained by how often he’d practiced his swings every day. The stamina he’d built up by exercise. These were what made the difference when everything else was useless. 

But Hveðrungr didn’t have those things to support him. Everything he had was taken from someone else. 

The doubt grew in him and gave rise to hesitation, and that hesitation disrupted his focus. 

“Ngh?!” Suddenly, Hveðrungr’s entire body felt like it was as heavy as stone. 

The Realm of Godspeed had given way. 

Being pushed to the brink of death had forced his focus beyond its limits and opened the way for him to enter that state. But with his focus disrupted by doubt, he could no longer maintain it. 

“Ngh... ugh...” 

The price for the incredible increase in his speed was intense pain and a loss of strength in his whole body, all of which overtook him at once. His legs shook and he couldn’t remain standing, dropping down onto his knees. 

Even then, he couldn’t hold himself up, and he fell forward onto his arms. 

With his enemy right in front of him, he knew that this was beyond dangerous. He tried to force himself to stand back up, but his body wouldn’t respond. 

And at that point, Hveðrungr understood that this was the end for him. 

“So, in the end, the power I stole from others was nothing more than a cheap fake...” he murmured. 

Stubborn as he was, even Hveðrungr couldn’t help but think that way now. 

In just two short years, the boy Yuuto, who hadn’t known the first thing about military strategy, had grown to surpass him completely, and now all of the skills he’d accumulated with the sword had been mercilessly overpowered. 

Skáviðr lightly shook his head. 

“Imitating other people isn’t in itself a bad thing. In fact, for a beginner, it’s the most important thing to do. But what you did was satisfy yourself with just that. You neglected to take what you’d copied and make it a part of yourself, using it to add to who you are and make you stronger. That is what makes you different from Master Yuuto, and that is why you lost.” 

“Hmph, I don’t need to hear you lecture. Hurry up and kill me.” 

“...Right. I would like to say, ‘May we meet again in Valhalla,’ but with the sins you’ve committed, you won’t be going there.” 

“Hah! Adding insult to injury I see.” Hveðrungr gave a tired, self-derisive chuckle. 

Looking down on him, Skáviðr raised his blade high into the air. 

“Farewell, my disappointing student,” he said in a cold, detached tone, and brought down the sword— 

Clap clap clap! “All right, that’s enough now!” 

He was interrupted by a young girl’s voice and clapping. It was a childish voice that seemed out of place on a battlefield. 

Skáviðr’s blade stopped just before reaching Hveðrungr’s neck. 

“Kristina.” Without moving, and holding his sword exactly where it stopped, Skáviðr’s eyes alone turned to glare at the young girl who had arrived. 

Behind her were several dozen soldiers. 

Apparently, the fact that Hveðrungr was heading for the mountains was something Yuuto had also known. This really was a total defeat. 

“‘You may take him dead or alive. However, if it’s possible, bring him back to me alive.’ I believe those were Father’s orders, yes?” 

“...Yes, they were.” 

The girl held up a finger and pointed at Skáviðr. “And for someone like you who is the very face of the law, turning your back on Father’s orders would certainly cause problems for you, would it not?” 

“Tch.” Skáviðr clicked his tongue in irritation, and pulled his sword away from Hveðrungr’s neck. However, even as he did, Hveðrungr could feel the man’s focus directed towards him, ready to react if he did anything. 

That level of mastery even outside of combat was as impressive as ever. 

“Now then, everyone, if you would.” The girl snapped her fingers, and the soldiers behind her ran over and latched onto Hveðrungr in a group. 

They forced him roughly to the ground and began tying him up. 

He no longer had any strength left in him to fight back, but they still kept five men on him. 

While this was going on, Hveðrungr picked up on the conversation between Skáviðr and the girl, their voices carried over to him by the wind. 

“You owe me for this one, all right?” 

“...For stopping me from killing him?” Skáviðr asked. 

“No. For allowing you to do something as reckless as go after him by yourself.” 

“You’re right. I owe you one, then.”

“Hey, get up!” Someone shook Hveðrungr’s body violently, and he opened his eyes. He must have lost consciousness at some point. Perhaps it was a side effect of the intense strain put on his body by using the Realm of Godspeed. 

Apparently, after being bound up, he’d been thrown onto a horse-drawn wagon. 

As the Panther Clan patriarch, he’d spent his nights sleeping in a luxurious and gorgeously decorated bed, and yet a few days later, this was how far he’d fallen. Hveðrungr couldn’t help but laugh at himself. 

“What are you laughing at?” the soldier shouted. “Go on, stand up!” 

“Ghh...” As the soldier forced him upright, intense pain shot through Hveðrungr’s whole body. This, too, must be the aftereffects of the Realm of Godspeed. 

So then, while it certainly granted a drastic increase in combat abilities, it seemed one had to pay a fitting price for it. 

“Get off here,” the soldier ordered. “The patriarch is waiting for you.” 

Hveðrungr did as he was told, dragging his legs off the open back edge of the wagon, and dropping down onto the ground. 

He could move his body a little now, perhaps thanks to the fact that he’d gotten some sleep. However, it was only a little bit; he was in no shape to fight. 

Besides, his upper body was completely bound up in layers of rope. 

Steel Clan soldiers were also all around him, all with their eyes trained on him. 

Hveðrungr wasn’t fool enough to think of trying to put up any resistance. 

The soldier yanked on the rope tied around him, pulling him towards a large pavilion tent, covered and surrounded by large sheets of white cloth. 

One of the sheets was pulled up, and he passed under it and into the tent, where a bunch of men were gathered, all of them clearly more distinguished and fearsome than the average soldier. 

They were likely the generals of the Steel Clan army. 

Several of them had faces Hveðrungr recognized. 

At the back of the crowd, seated on a chair with his chin resting against one hand, there sat a young man with black hair, staring his way. 

The instant Hveðrungr’s eyes met his, he felt his body shudder uncontrollably. 

Even though he was younger than anyone else here, the young man had an overpowering presence and intimidating air that dwarfed all of them. 

Hveðrungr couldn’t hide his surprise at the realization that this was Yuuto. 

“So, you are Hveðrungr?” Yuuto said, in a low, chilly voice, staring right down at him. 

There’s no way you wouldn’t know that. Why are you even asking? That question popped into Hveðrungr’s mind, but he was so overwhelmed by the difference in Yuuto that he couldn’t speak. 

Yuuto lifted his chin from his hand. Sitting up straight, he held up three fingers. 

“You have committed three great sins. The first: ravaging the fair lands of my subordinate clan, the Horn Clan. The second: killing my son Olof at Gashina, along with many other members of my family. The third: setting fire to your own lands, burning down that which you were meant to protect.” 

As Yuuto listed each accusation, he closed one finger, until there were none left. 

He then stared down at Hveðrungr with cold fire in his eyes, and proclaimed: 

“The price for your sins is death.” 

“Ah!” A beautiful, golden-haired woman standing nearby gasped, and her face went pale. 

It was Felicia, Hveðrungr’s biological younger sister. It seemed the shock of hearing her own flesh and blood receive the death sentence was difficult to withstand. 

However, she did not protest against it. Biting her lower lip, she quietly averted her face from looking at Hveðrungr. It seemed she had prepared herself for this. 

Hveðrungr felt great disappointment that the last time he saw her face would be in sadness. However, he was still glad he’d been able to see her once more before he died. 

In that moment, Hveðrungr prepared his heart for death. 

Yuuto unfurled his index finger, holding it up again. “That is what I would prefer to say, but you are more useful to me alive.” 

“Hmph! Are you feeling swayed by compassion for an old friend?” Hveðrungr sneered. “I was thinking you’d grown somewhat, but you’re still, soft after all.” 

“Old friend? I don’t know what you mean.” 

Yuuto ignored Hveðrungr’s words, and instead looked over to his right. 

“Skáviðr!” he shouted. 

“Yes, sir!” 

“You did well in capturing him alive. I’ll reward you now for it, as well as for all of the loyal work you have done thus far. I shall grant you the Panther Clan.” 

Skáviðr gasped in surprise, his eyes wide. “You would install me as their patriarch?” 

Skáviðr was normally a very calm and unflappable person, so judging by his reaction, Yuuto must not have told him about this beforehand. 

“That’s right,” Yuuto said. “As luck would have it, we have the current Panther Clan patriarch right here, and we have his predecessor back in Gimlé. That should be enough to make a legitimate claim to the position, right?” 

Yuuto’s mouth curled up into a devilish smirk as he said this. 

If one killed a patriarch to take their place, that was usurpation by murder. It didn’t serve as proof of rightful rule, and the members of the clan would surely be reluctant to obey the claim of the new patriarch. 

However, if one kept the patriarch alive and took the clan from him, that was a forced abdication. 

Of course, it was still being taken by force, and there would still be clan members who opposed it, claiming that the Oath of the Chalice that granted the new patriarch the position was null and void. But this method was still a great deal more politically legitimate than the former one. 

If the previous patriarch of the Panther Clan was in Steel Clan captivity as well, that would make it even more effective. 

Yuuto held up a fist, clenching it tightly. 

“What I need right now is power. Enough power to rule over all of Yggdrasil. The mounted fighters of the Panther Clan are a step towards that purpose, and I must have them for myself.” 

“...!!” There were wordless gasps throughout the room, as if a shockwave had run through the people gathered there. 

That was perfectly understandable, for in that moment, Yuuto had just proclaimed his intention to conquer the realm. 

“Keh! Keh heh heh! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Hveðrungr couldn’t stop himself from bursting out in laughter. 

His voice echoed far beyond the walls of the tent. 

“What are you laughing at?! What’s so funny, huh?!” one of the generals in the crowd shouted, but Hveðrungr paid him no mind. 

How could he not laugh at this? 

Yuuto’s statement was big talk, enough so that one could only consider it an unrealistic boast. And yet, Hveðrungr had also sensed the sheer resolve in his words, indicating that he had the willingness to take on the difficulty and responsibility that his proclamation would surely bring him. 

He now had the dignified bearing of a just and rightful lord, and also the fearsome aura of a conqueror. With both of those qualities in balance, his was the commanding presence of a supreme ruler over all. 

This was the same person as that useless, naive little boy from before? 

He was a totally different person. 

In just two years, he had grown so much. Hveðrungr wondered just how much time he must have spent working to improve himself in body, mind, and spirit over that time. 

Compared to Hveðrungr, who had clung to borrowed strength without ever making it his own, Yuuto was on a different level as a person. 

All this time, Hveðrungr had thought of him as a conniving little thief. No, he had forced himself to think of Yuuto that way. 

But it seemed that the stray cat his little sister had brought home had turned out to be a bona fide lion. 

At long last, that truth finally sank in for him. 

No matter how much he’d struggled, he’d never been able to match up to Yuuto. And now, Hveðrungr realized that he wanted to watch and witness just how much further this young man could go. 

“All right, then, I’ll give you the Panther Clan,” Hveðrungr announced. “Use it as you see fit.” 

He said this with an expression that looked almost refreshed, as if an evil possessing spirit had finally left him. 

He was smiling, but it was a cheerful smile, the same as the one the man known as Loptr had used to wear.