Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 4 - Chapter SS3

The Black Hand Rides

The time when the races of Aletia vied for supremacy was a savage one. The strong endured and the rest were ground into the muck. Death was a fact of life in that violent age, feeding the ever-growing maelstrom of hatred that swirled over the continent.

This was a battlefield—a hellish extreme that permitted not a moment’s misstep. A hundred thousand men clashed with a hundred thousand more, and every time steel sang, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of lives were spilled across the land. The collision of conviction meeting conviction shook the air and nigh on split the earth.

“Hah! What say you?! Have I not trained my men well?!”

Atop a towering cliff with a commanding view of the field, a man watched the armies crash together with a delighted grin.

“Sloppy,” a second man said. “Strength without finesse is the domain of beasts. Humans ought to use the brains they’re born with.” He tapped his brow to illustrate the point.

“Humans, is it, Lox? Odd choice of words for a fiendkin.”

Lox didn’t rise to the bait. “You ought to curb that temper of yours, Roylicht. The battlefield makes no distinction between human and zlosta.”

“Does it bollocks. I’ll pray to the Spirit King that none of your soldiers make it back, how about that?!”

“You speak like a child. My troops are not so frail.”

As the two glared at one another, a third figure approached them, whistling. “My, my. You two ought to get along better or you’ll make the old man mad again.”

“Quiet, you freak,” Roylicht growled.

“Keep your distance, Amphibia. That form of yours disgusts me.”

The androgynous individual called Amphibia fixed the pair with a pouty glare. “You’re such meanies! What did I ever do to— Oof!”

“Stop your simpering. It makes my fists itch.”

“Perhaps next time you should warn before you punch,” Lox said, although his eyes urged Roylicht to continue.

“How cruel... What did I do to deserve that?” Hand pressed coquettishly to cheek, Amphibia stared at the pair with watery eyes. Both stepped back three paces, revolted.

“How often do I have to tell you youngins? Distraction is death on the battlefield.” A hoarse voice rang out as an old, white-haired man approached the trio, his slow steps aided by a staff.

“Only sometimes.” A black-haired, black-eyed boy stepped out from behind the elderly man and patted him on the shoulder. “Shows of confidence might not set a good example for the troops, but they do reassure them.”

“I tell you, Lord Schwartz, you’re too soft on these striplings. You’ve got them thinking they’re invincible.”

“And you’re a little too harsh. Why not ease off just for today? The Black Hand is together once more. Isn’t that a reason for celebration?” The boy named Schwartz crossed in front of his subordinates, strode comfortably to the edge of the cliff, and peered down. After a moment, he turned back with a grin. “Now, to business. Your men are all fighting admirably, but they can’t quite win the day. So, a question. How can we keep this battle from falling into a deadlock?”

The four commanders frowned back at him, caught off guard.

The old man was the first to speak. “Are you proposing committing our core and finishing the enemy yourself?”

Schwartz shook his head. “Not quite. It’s true that a new player is needed, but it won’t be me.”

The old man was the first to realize what he meant, followed by Amphibia and Lox.

“Oopsie. Then I’d best rejoin my men. Bye, Lord Schwartz!”

“I too shall take my leave.”

The two hurried away, leaving behind a confused Roylicht.

“Where are they going?! What’s gotten into them?”

Schwartz raised a finger. “Look over there and you’ll understand.”

Roylicht followed. In the distance, an army had skirted around the enemy and was now approaching them from the rear. His eyes bulged as he saw the banner they carried.

“Meteia?! Blast it, talk about stealing glory!”

He, too, hurried from the cliff.

Schwartz’s smile deepened as he watched the three leave. It was then that he realized the old man had not moved.

“Aren’t you going to join them?” he asked.

“No, no. I am quite content to watch younger men fight these battles.” He paused. “The Black Hand, is it? Quite the name we’ve been furnished with.”

“Artheus does love his titles,” Schwartz remarked.

“He’s wasted this one on those striplings, if you ask me.”

“They’ll need a name people can remember. In time, the whole world will know it.”

Eventually, all of Aletia would tremble before the War God and his Black Hand. Their flame might be small now, but soon they would sweep across the land like the fiery rays of the rising sun.