Loki’s gray fur was barely visible in the darkness.

  He moved without making the slightest sound.

  Using only sound and scent, he locked onto his prey with absolute certainty.

  Moonlight was blocked by clouds, and a thin mist drifted through the forest.

  The fallen leaves had soaked up moisture, muffling any footsteps.

  Beside Sara stood a large woman.

  She gripped a bow in her hands.

  Her name was Hilda.

  They had only met the day before, at the rendezvous point.

  Sara and the eight thousand cavalry of Elysia had arrived in Reinshtadt three days earlier.

  Outside the city, six thousand soldiers of the Reinshtadt army were already lined up in formation.

  Most were infantry; half carried longbows, while the rest wielded spears.

  They were not the heavily armored infantry of Tragia, but light troops in leather armor.

  There were about a thousand cavalry, all armed with lances.

  Surprisingly, a large proportion of the troops were women.

  “Do the women of Tragia also go to war?” Aulius asked.

  Aquinas answered, “According to Kratos, women fought in the old days. When the men were away, the women hunted. Their skill with the bow is apparently no different from the men’s.”

  “We have one with us too, but theirs are quite large. Sturdy build.”

  A group of Tragia riders approached.

  “Thank you for coming. I am Bernhard Fidelius, lord of Reinshtadt. This is my brother, Darius.”

  “Bernhard and Darius,” they said, bowing from their horses.

  Aquinas translated their words to Aulius.

  “This is General Regulus Aulius, commander of the eight thousand Elysian cavalry.”

  “It is an honor to fight alongside you. Welcome.”

  Fidelius extended his hand, and Aulius took it.

  They both knew they had fought each other the previous autumn.

  They understood each other’s strength.

  Fidelius spotted Sara behind Aulius and called out.

  “Impressive turnout. I’m counting on that arm of yours.”

  Sara took the offered hand and shook it firmly.

  “You know each other?” Aulius asked.

  “Yes. I met him when I accompanied His Majesty to Ronal the other day.”

  “I see. So he’s already seen what you can do.”

  Sara nodded.

  The Elysian army fell in behind the Reinshtadt forces and followed them to the assembly point.

  By the time the combined Reinshtadt and Elysian armies reached the eastern border of Meizen and Giesen, the other two armies had already pitched their tents.

  Four armies had united, forming a host of thirty thousand.

  The Meizen and Giesen troops had already begun patrols, and from that day forward they were under orders to shoot on sight any western soldiers they encountered.

  Two thousand archers had been sent ahead to keep the march hidden.

  The assembly point had taken on the atmosphere of a festival, with soldiers from each army mingling and deepening their bonds.

  The liveliest spot was the shooting range.

  Archers took turns drawing their bows, competing by the number of hits on the target.

  Each had five shots.

  If the match remained undecided, from the sixth shot onward, the one who missed first lost.

  Sara watched from a short distance, leaning against a tree with Loki at her side.

  Shera was pregnant, so she had been left in the village.

  A large woman with chestnut-brown hair tied back in a thick braid and an even larger man were competing.

  It was a close match; both hit the target with all five shots.

  The contest went into overtime. On the eighth shot, the man missed first, and the woman landed a perfect hit to win.

  The crowd erupted.

  Everyone was drinking fruit wine from large wooden cups.

  Since barley had failed, they were avoiding ale.

  At that moment, a woman approached Sara, gesturing and waving her over.

  There was no malice in her expression. She pointed at Sara’s bow, then at the target.

  She seemed to be saying, “You shoot too.”

  Sara followed her, and the moment the crowd saw her, they exploded with excitement.

  They were pointing at Loki.

  The large woman strode over with a fearless grin.

  She placed her left hand on her chest and said “Hilda,” then extended her right hand.

  The muscles were magnificently honed.

  Sara introduced herself and shook the hand.

  Hilda pointed at Sara and loudly announced her name to the crowd.

  The spectators shouted Sara’s name in unison.

  Some called her “the black-clad Sara,” but Sara only understood that her name was being called.

  Perhaps it was the hunting people of Tragia’s nature, but Sara felt a little overwhelmed by the strange fervor.

  Then a man brought a quiver and handed it to Sara.

  She had her bow, but the quiver was still on her horse.

  Sara accepted it with a smile and thanked him.

  She stroked Loki’s back and told him to wait, then set the quiver down and took two arrows in hand.

  Hilda pointed at Sara, then at the target.

  It seemed she would shoot first.

  Sara looked at the target.

  The distance was about half a cho (roughly 54 meters), and the wind was a light breeze.

  She nocked an arrow and drew the bow.

  The crowd seemed intrigued not only by the longbow but by her unique grip—holding the lower part of the bow.

  Sara released the arrow. A clear thwack rang out.

  The arrow pierced the exact center of the target, and cheers rose.

  Hilda praised her.

  Now it was Hilda’s turn.

  Her bow was about six shaku long. She gripped the center and released.

  Her arrow struck just to the right of Sara’s.

  The crowd cheered.

  Sara placed her next arrow above the first.

  Hilda landed hers right beside it.

  The crowd roared again.

  Sara aimed below the first shot; Hilda matched her again.

  Even after five shots, neither had missed. As the number of arrows increased, the crowd gradually fell silent. Only the sound of bowstrings and arrows striking the target echoed.

  The spectators followed every arrow with their eyes.

  When the target was finally filled with arrows, the two women clasped hands and embraced each other’s shoulders in mutual praise.

  The crowd cheered wildly.

  Sara waved back in response.

  Aquinas and Clovis had been watching too.

  When they saw the match end in a draw, they approached.

  “Magnificent draw. The target completely buried in arrows. Your skill is incredible as well.”

  Aquinas praised Hilda in their language.

  Hilda seemed to say something to him.

  “She says she commands a hundred-man unit. She wants to fight alongside you on the battlefield.”

  Sara nodded and offered her hand.

  Hilda smiled brightly and took it.

  Her smile was refreshingly warm.

  Afterward, Sara was taken by Aquinas to the strategy meeting.

  Hilda was there as well.

  According to Aquinas, two thousand troops from Giesen and Meizen had already advanced ahead to monitor enemy movements and locate their camps.

  On the western side of the border, an estimated hundred-man force had established twenty camps at regular intervals running north to south. Their locations were all known.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The plan was to move the main camp to the eastern edge of the border at dawn and launch a night raid.

  All attacks would be carried out by infantry, with archers given priority.

  After destroying the camps, they were to hunt down any survivors and ensure no reports reached the main enemy force.

  They did not want the west to have time to prepare countermeasures before reaching their first objective, Bromberg.

  Once they broke through the western side, they were to immediately locate the enemy main camp.

  It was believed to be along the highway running east from the imperial capital, due to supply lines. The units assigned to the northernmost and southernmost camps were strictly ordered to move north or south while eliminating every remaining enemy soldier.

  Sara was assigned the southernmost camp.

  The commander of that unit was Hilda.

  Aquinas had learned that Hilda was the greatest archer in Giesen. Her entire unit consisted solely of female archers.

  Even without men, they went into the forest to hunt. They were a pure hunting collective.

  “Also, your reputation has spread throughout the army. They call you the archer who rides with a wolf. Some are even calling you a Valkyrie.”

  Aquinas laughed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “‘Battle maiden.’”

  Sara felt strangely embarrassed and blushed, scratching her head as she returned to her own camp.

  Loki walked faithfully beside his master.

  Loki suddenly stopped.

  He had sensed something.

  Sara signaled Hilda to halt with her arm.

  Looking at Hilda’s face, she placed a finger to her lips and tried to convey with gestures:

  You, here, quiet, wait. Me, go ahead.

  Hilda smiled and nodded.

  Sara moved forward swiftly.

  She advanced through open ground so her bow wouldn’t knock against anything.

  When she reached Loki, she saw a single soldier relieving himself against a tree a short distance ahead.

  Sara gave Loki the signal to go.

  He moved silently and swiftly, leaping at the man from the side.

  The soldier, startled mid-stream, fell backward on his backside.

  “W-wolf! H-help! Aaaah!”

  On all fours, he tried to crawl away.

  Loki jumped onto his back and pinned him down, toying with him.

  The man kept screaming.

  Then, rustling sounds came from all around as bushes were pushed aside.

  Sara whistled sharply. Loki released the man and raced back.

  The soldier’s comrades emerged around the pitiful man—about seven of them.

  Sara signaled Hilda. Her subordinates loosed their arrows in unison.

  Sara gave Loki a piece of dried meat.

  He ate it with obvious relish.

  Hilda approached and clapped Sara on the shoulder, giving a thumbs-up: Well done.

  Sara smiled and nodded.

  All the surrounding enemies had been eliminated.

  Sara sent Loki ahead again.

  There seemed to be no more enemy soldiers in the area.

  After walking a while longer, they saw the glow of campfires.

  A campsite.

  It was in a clearing in the forest, beside a spring—an ideal spot.

  The men seemed relaxed; they hadn’t heard the earlier screams.

  Hilda positioned her troops.

  The Rondo archers followed suit.

  They took aim at everyone in the open and fired together.

  Then they advanced, using the campfires to ignite pots filled with linseed oil wrapped in nets.

  They hurled them one after another at the tents. In moments the entire area was engulfed in flames.

  The pots had been filled with linseed oil.

  Soldiers driven out by the fire were mercilessly shot down by Hilda’s women.

  Those who became human torches and tried to leap into the spring were pierced by arrows before they hit the water, their corpses floating on the surface.

  No one had expected the fire attack to work so perfectly.

  They must have been completely off guard.

  Soon no one was moving. Only the crackle of flames and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  Hilda’s unit spread out and began moving north.

  Occasionally screams came from the east, and they would encounter soldiers who had fled that way.

  Those who had run desperately were split open by hatchets and hand-axes.

  The women showed no mercy.

  Their grudge over the salt ran deep.

  Fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers—some had even lost children.

  They needed something to vent their rage on.

  The Rondo archers picked off any who slipped through and provided support.

  The forest must have been thick with the stench of burning flesh.

  After walking quite a distance, they finally emerged onto the highway.

  A brightly lit area stood out to the west.

  That must be the main camp.

  Hilda sent a messenger to Fidelius.

  They would wait for further orders.

  Sara sat down beside Loki.

  The Rondo archers gathered around her, checking their gear and eating lightly.

  Before long the main force advanced from the west and they linked up.

  They would take the enemy main camp right away.

  Ankart Michel was relieving himself.

  He had drunk too much ale and needed to go often.

  His unfocused eyes gazed outside. The eastern forest looked faintly colored, and hazy smoke was rising.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  Smoke was rising from several points running north to south.

  “This… is bad…”

  Michel hurriedly finished, pulled up his braies without tying the cord, and staggered back into his tent.

  He left his armor, stuffed all his money into his coat, grabbed only his sword, and fled.

  The camps scattered throughout the forest had clearly been annihilated.

  An army large enough to do that was out there.

  Six thousand men could never stand against it.

  Michel quietly led a horse out of camp and galloped south.

  His only chance to survive was to break through the encirclement before it closed.

  Sorry to his men, but they would have to buy him time.

  When he looked back a short while later, the northern sky was dyed red.

  He had escaped by the skin of his teeth, saved by a piss.

  “That was close… No way I’m risking my life for this… I got paid by Otto—I’m getting out.”

  Michel rode at full speed.

  The main camp was wrapped in flames, burning bright red.

  Horses possessed by fire ran wildly, trampling soldiers one after another.

  No one could control them.

  A man rolled on the ground trying to extinguish the flames that had caught his clothes, slapping at them frantically.

  The oil had soaked in; the fire wouldn’t go out.

  An arrow flew in and pierced his eye. He clutched his face as he burned.

  A man stood frozen, staring blankly at the horrific scene, unable to accept it as reality.

  A group fleeing toward the exit slammed into him.

  He was trampled, kicked, and curled up clutching his face and stomach.

  “There’s no fire over there!” someone shouted, pointing.

  A crowd of men ran toward the spot.

  But there was no fire—because it had been deliberately left unlit.

  The panicked men simply charged straight into the waiting archers.

  Needless to say, they became perfect targets. A mountain of corpses piled up at the camp entrance.

  Some officers tried to restore order by shouting names, but their commander’s tent was already ablaze.

  The six-thousand-man force had become a disorganized mob inside the inferno and was being cut down one by one.

  No one imagined that the commander had already fled.

  “A sloppy army is fragile,” Aulius muttered, watching the gruesome sight. “They lose their cool and march straight into hell.”

  “When you leave men stationed for half a year without telling them why, this is what happens,” Aquinas said, covering his nose. “Morale never rises without a clear purpose.”

  “They put the people with a salt grudge right in front of their noses. No wonder the soldiers snapped.”

  “I can understand their feelings, but watching one-sided slaughter isn’t pleasant. It shows the caliber of Tragia’s rulers.”

  “I don’t want to end up like this… You can’t just say you like or dislike politics. This is the perfect example of what happens when fools are in charge.”

  “You’re unusually talkative today…”

  “It makes my stomach turn…”

  Aulius spat the words out.

  The smoke rode the wind eastward as the eastern Tragia army advanced west.

  The eastern Tragia army camped in the forest east of Bromberg.

  From there, Bromberg was half a day’s march.

  The soldiers slept for only a few hours.

  At sunrise, they formed ranks and took up position on the plain east of Bromberg.

  The Elysian cavalry was ordered to remain hidden in the forest.

  They were keeping the reinforcements in reserve.

  Fidelius sent a messenger to Lord Rise Rigbert of Bromberg with a letter.

  Darius had written it.

  It explained everything that had happened and the reason for the uprising, then asked whether Rigbert would join them or fight.

  The seal was that of the Lord of Reinshtadt.

  Darius knew Rigbert personally.

  He came from an old family loyal to the royal house and was highly trusted.

  He didn’t want to fight.

  Rigbert would surely recognize his handwriting.

  Darius prayed that was true.

  Before long, a group of riders emerged from the castle gate and galloped toward them, a white flag at the front.

  Darius stepped forward in front of the formation and waited.

  The four lords accompanied him.

  Rigbert dismounted before Darius and knelt.

  “Your Highness, I am overjoyed to see you safe. I believed the rumors of your death and acted accordingly. Please forgive me.”

  He bowed deeply.

  “Raise your head, Rigbert.”

  Rigbert looked at the arm Darius offered.

  The skin still bore the scars from three years in manacles.

  “Please come inside and rest. I will open the storehouses and feed your troops as well.”

  Rigbert led Darius, the four lords, the Elysian general, and the interpreter into the castle.

  Darius then wrote letters to the surrounding lords.

  Rigbert added his own endorsement and sealed them with his stamp, then dispatched messengers in every direction.

  Within a few days, replies arrived from four nearby lords pledging troops.

  However, no letter came from Lord Schper Otto of Prysel.

  The man was the leading figure among the local lords, working to reconcile the reformists in the west and the conservatives in the east.

  In the east he commanded the second-largest army after Bromberg, and Rigbert had high hopes for him.

  Fidelius, however, had seen through him and seemed to think he would never come.

  Even so, with the four new lords and the Elysian reinforcements, the army was approaching fifty thousand.

  At this scale, food supplies were becoming a serious concern.

  Ankart Michel finally reached Otto’s mansion on the outskirts of Prysel.

  He had ridden without rest since that night—an entire day.

  His horse had collapsed midway, and he had borrowed another from a nearby farm.

  Otto was in his study looking over documents.

  When Michel appeared, Otto kicked over his chair in shock and stood.

  “Why are you here?! What happened to the army?!”

  He sprayed saliva as he shouted.

  “We were attacked. I returned to report.”

  “The commander himself playing messenger? Unbelievable fool. Whose army was it?”

  “I believe it was from the eastern forest region.”

  “You believe? We’re blockading the salt—how could they move?! If there’s a leak, it’s your responsibility!”

  “There was no movement of people. The towns were under surveillance. Nothing unusual.”

  “You idiot… I’m returning to the imperial capital!”

  “What about my pay…?”

  “Pay for a commander who abandoned his army and ran? Don’t make me laugh! You’re fired!!”

  Otto slammed the documents down and stormed out, barking orders at the servants as he prepared to depart.

  Six months of work and no pay…?

  Don’t screw with me.

  I did exactly what I was told—stopped all movement.

  Why am I being cursed at…?

  Michel trembled with rage.

  If that’s how they were going to play it, he would do as he pleased too…

  Michel bared his teeth in a grin.

  He hurried home and kicked his bed with all his strength.

  Then he scraped the bed leg across the floorboards until they were scarred, and knocked one loose.

  From beneath the floor he pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  The wax seal was blank, but inside were the clear names of sender and recipient.

  The contents were something the eastern faction would give anything for.

  “Heh heh heh… This is the end for you too… ba—”

  Michel’s voice cut off.

  He felt something strange in his stomach.

  A blade protruded from his right side.

  “So you did have it.”

  Otto’s voice.

  “Y-you… what the… aa… gh… ba…”

  When he turned, he saw Otto’s face twisted with fury.

  Otto twisted the sword left and right.

  A wet sob escaped Michel’s mouth.

  A huge amount of blood poured out.

  He toppled sideways.

  Otto pulled the sword free with a look of disgust, wiped the blood on the bedcloth, and sheathed it.

  He took the letter from Michel’s hand, checked the contents, and slipped it into his coat pocket.

  A blood-soaked key lay beside Michel.

  Otto picked it up, left the room, and locked the door.

  He descended the stairs, stepped outside. The city was already lit with evening lamps.

  A deep red sunset dyed the sea.

  Otto tossed the key away, wiped his hands with a handkerchief and discarded that too.

  He threw the letter into a bonfire, then headed for the harbor and boarded a ship.

  Michel lay on his side, his face twisted in agony.

  His gaze was fixed on the loosened floorboard.

  He seemed to have been reaching for it, but his strength had given out.

  Another sheet of paper could just be seen peeking out from beneath.

  Inside the tent, a small lamp burned.

  Sara was drinking tea.

  Beside her was Loki’s gentle warmth.

  ––––– Fear not death; keep it at your side.

  Desperation is death itself. –––––

  The words on the stone monument flashed through her mind.

  It was exactly the scene the words described.

  As a warrior on the battlefield, it was unavoidable.

  Yet something clung stubbornly to her heart and would not let go.

  It was not about the morality of killing.

  She had already settled that question.

  She had thought it through in the mountains after her first battle.

  If you stab a man to death in the city, the law condemns you.

  If you stab a man to death on the battlefield, you receive rewards and medals.

  The same act, within the same country, judged as good or evil.

  Morality is nothing more than a human norm—full of contradictions.

  So there was no point in agonizing over the act itself.

  No answer would ever come.

  Especially not for the Rondo clan, who had inherited weapons and techniques of war for a thousand years.

  They could not live apart from battle.

  But slaughtering people who had no will to fight, who simply fled in panic, was not war.

  They probably understood that too.

  Yet they could not stop.

  Because they had grudges.

  Tracing it back, wasn’t it all born from desire?

  During years of cold summers and poor harvests, if everyone simply ate less and thought of ways to obtain food, they could survive.

  At least the Rondo had lived that way.

  But most people were different.

  Everyone wanted more than others.

  The greatest desire was gold.

  The result of those involved in governance seeking status and gold was this tragedy.

  Yet Sara could not blame the women.

  She did not know the suffering and sorrow they had endured.

  Sara realized she was crying.

  It hurt.

  She wiped the overflowing tears with her sleeve.

  The kettle was empty. She stepped out of the tent to get more hot water.

  Around the campfire sat the Rondo men, all with slumped shoulders.

  So everyone feels the same.

  Sara walked over to them.

  “Is it okay if I sit here?”

  The men made space: Sit, sit.

  They noticed her red, swollen eyes but said nothing.

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Wine.”

  “Did you bring it from the village?”

  They nodded.

  “Can I try some too?”

  “Oh? Want to give it a go?”

  One man brought a fresh cup, handed it to her, and ladled wine from the jar with a bamboo dipper.

  Sara took a cautious sip. The sharpness stung her tongue; she closed her eyes and frowned.

  Laughter erupted from the men.

  It felt like drinking with their own daughter, they said happily.

  It was as if she had returned to the village.

  They must all have felt the same.

  Suddenly Sara thought:

  Why did Sui choose poison?

  She was probably afraid of being consumed by hatred.

  If she had used a sword, she wouldn’t have been able to stop.

  Sara made up her mind.

  “I want to end this war as quickly as possible.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  Sara looked back at them.

  They were warriors’ eyes.

  Yet somewhere in them was warmth.

  “Yeah… Let’s do that…”

  They raised their cups and drank them dry.

  Loki came over and sat beside her.

  His mouth opened and closed.

  He was probably hungry again.

  Sara cut some meat for him.

  Loki ate it with delight.

  His gray fur rippled beautifully in the moonlight.

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