71 - CHAPTER XIV "The Queen and the Warrior"
I would be lying if I said I was not anxious.
Even though they helped us, we were in a land of demons. It is a land where all the people are demons, except for the king.
Immediately after forming an alliance, it was not a matter of deepening our friendship, but rather a situation where we were both groping around, unsure of each other.
It was a fiction that I made up out of thin air.
Although I proposed it to the ambassador with the Queen's permission, I do not deny that I had a mindset of "what can go wrong, will go wrong.
Surprisingly, however, things went smoothly.
It seems that the other party was also struggling with the question of how to start an exchange between demons and humans, and under the grand theme of "living together for a certain period of time to bridge the gap in common sense and promote mutual understanding in preparation for a full-scale exchange between nations, which is expected to begin in the future," the training program in the other party's country was started. I will spend a little more than a month at a facility.
Again, I was anxious.
Of course. How could I not? After all, we were dealing with a nation of monsters who love to fight. It makes no sense that demons form a nation in the first place, but considering their nature, it would not be surprising if they suddenly attacked us on the street.
And if the person who attacked me was a giant or a demon, I could die from that alone, but I pushed those fears aside and entered his country. I wish I could have taken pride in my courage, but it would have been more like barbarism.
But even so, there was only one reason why he made the pretense of inter-national exchange and visited the land of all demons, even though he knew it was an uninhabitable land.
I want to be strong.
I want to have the strength to fight.
That was the only reason.
The people of the demon kingdom are surprisingly gentlemanly, and the training was hell.
And apparently, they are not unforgiving, but they know how to be forgiving.
It was the first day that I was made aware that these people were from a different world with a different set of common sense and values than the demons.
The days of hell continue.
Not only the front line fighters like myself, but also the magicians in charge of logistical support were equally subjected to basic training.
My childhood friend, a dwarf, who ran with his short arms and legs swinging as hard as he could, looked as if he were being tortured, but that did not lessen the intensity of the training. Everyone was desperate to survive one day at a time.
However, they were quickly healed by drinking the mead provided by the assistant superintendent of the pavilion. Thanks to this, I am not even able to be depressed because of my physical limitation. Every day, everything but meals and sleep is allocated to training.
But even so, none of us gave up.
The instructors told us that we could quit if it was too hard, but we all shook our heads.
After the actual battle training, it was becoming a daily scene that those who had fallen down uttered something akin to whining, such as <
What sustained the hearts of these warriors was the memory of the past days.
In the midst of their modest but peaceful days, a sea of flames hit the capital city.
Noblewood hunters and soldiers chased away the fleeing citizens.
In the villages where they barely escaped, they were strangled with a cotton ball.
And then--the young queen, rubbing her head against the ground, begging the travelers to <
<<--I want to be strong.
Someone said.
Everyone thought so.
<-- I need my strength to fight.
At the very least, the power to call oneself a queen's warrior.
I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
<-- I want to protect you this time.
That's exactly what everyone here is thinking.
That's why.
So this time...
He, Felk, who has been appointed as the chief of warriors, has a firm resolve in his heart.
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"----ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
He screams and charges forward.
The quiver of sound that rushes from their throats is a battle cry that challenges the past.
The warriors in their white robes rush out in unison, and the chief warrior (Felk) is the first to break away.
He is overtaken by a volley of covering fire from a flurry of long staffs.
Blades of wind, bullets of rock, arrows of flame, and balls of lightning - all of a low rank, but the sorcerers in the rearguard attack with a wide variety of attribute magic, landing on the group of green-clad warriors.
However, the power of each shot is not so great. As expected, they are all blocked by the barriers deployed by the green-robed enemies. However, by making them devote their attention and actions to the deployment of the barriers, they were able to block the interceptive actions of magic and bow and arrow. The warriors in white did not slow down and closed in on them, taking advantage of the opening created by the check fire.
FELK, who had been running in the lead, reached the enemy camp and drew his staff sword.
"Shhh--!"
He let out a sharp exhalation and flashed his staff sword full of magic power.
The blow, delivered with the force of a gallop, was barely caught.
On the other side of the blade, the man in green shaking the small sword he drew from his waist - Selwyn, the chief hunter's agent, has his eyes on the other side of the blade.
"How far ...... do we have to go to make a fool of ourselves?
A low voice that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth.
There was a sense of danger, like a bomb on the verge of detonation.
Selwyn shudders as his small swords clash with each other, his handsome face contorted in hatred.
They stood dumbfounded, not because they were being waited on along the invasion route. They were shocked to find that the Noblewood hunters had been confronted by a bunch of men and women from LATESTWOOD. And after the irascible warning shot, the shock that has gone away is replaced by a feeling of rage.
A small army of the lastswood is about to fight a Noblewood hunter who has been trained for more than a hundred years. Moreover, he does not even show any pretense of stalling for time, in other words, he tries to win the battle by his own strength without the help of a
His insolence, his arrogance, his ignorance of his own size - he deserves to die.
"Don't you dare, you filth!
Finally giving in to his exploding emotions, Selwyn swings his blade wildly.
No matter how furious he may be inwardly, he is a true master of the art of swordsmanship.
A downward thrust, a stab that flies in a straight line, a slash that flows in an overthrow, a slash that comes to hunt for the neck - it is the sharpness that befits the lineage of the chief hunter, and it attacks FELK mercilessly.
"d*mn ......!"
He received, ducked, handled, and played, barely escaping being hit by a bullet.
There is no room for complacency. They are just desperate. If he blinked, he could have had his head chopped off at that moment.
The blade arcs upward. Felk manages to catch it at the base of his sword, but his hand goes numb from the shock. He almost drops the sword from his hand, but he fights back with the dagger in his left hand, which he pulls out from his waist. It did not reach him. Selwyn's small sword, which had somehow been switched to the opposite hand, blocked the thrust of the dagger.
A follow-up attack comes. The next blow, however, is not with the blade, but with a kick from a short distance away. The ribs made a sickening sound when the blow hit them hard, and the air pushed out of their lungs became a bitter cry. Felk bit his back teeth to endure the pain, and pushed his almost lifted leg to the ground.
Then came another blow. The third blow was a thrust from the hilt of a small sword held in the opposite hand.
Felk ducked as he turned his head to avoid the blow to the jaw, one of the most vital points on the human body, but was immediately hit by a slice of the blade. With a flick of his wrist, he delivered a slash at close range. The blade drew a crescent moon as it approached him, and he made a quick decision to jump backwards.
"--,!"
The cost of surviving the lethal barrage of blows was the distance between the two sides.
Selwyn held his free left palm straight out in front of him, opposite the hand that held the small sword.
The converging magical energy sent a shiver down Felk's spine.
"Release the arrow of the gale!
A formula assembled in an instant. It is an attack magic of the wind attribute that interrupts the attack and defense being exchanged at high speed and is manifested with abbreviated chanting.
It is said that it is an extremely difficult task to formulate a magic formula in the middle of a melee battle. This is even more so when it comes to expression through abbreviated chanting, for which chanting assistance is also inadequate. However, the skill of the elves, who are said to be the most skilled in magic among the four major races of the continent, and even the Noblewood hunters, overcame these difficulties.
A dagger shaped like a gale struck Feruc's body, and fresh blood was spilled.
"But, ah......!
He twisted quickly, but he could not avoid it at such close range. He avoided being hit in the head and central torso, but his left shoulder was gouged out. A stain of vermilion spreads across his white robe.
But before checking the damage, Felk closes the gap between him and the enemy.
If he kept his distance from the enemy, he would receive a follow-up attack of magic. And if they exchange magic fire, they will surely be defeated. Although Felk was able to use magic to a certain extent among the warriors who specialized in close combat, he was not skilled enough to compete with Selwyn, the leader of the hunters.
There was no other way but through close combat, and that is why he jumped into the bosom of his enemies without hesitation.
And so, close combat again.
Perhaps his pride was hurt by the fact that his attempt to make the killing blow,
"Ha, ha, ha ......! Ha,ah--!"
Gasping breaths. The disordered breathing caused a slight delay in his response, and a laceration appeared on his cheek.
The blood splattered on the white coat makes a speckled pattern, but I don't care. A follow-up attack comes soon. He aimed at the neck. He barely misses it and crosses the line of death for the first time.
--It's strong. Strong. The elves of Noblewood are arrogant puritans... but they are true champions of the Sea of Trees.
And they are not afraid to call themselves a proud clan. Their murderous skills, trained with a single-minded determination to exact revenge on those who have left a stain on the history of Noblewood, are not for the faint of heart. They have abandoned their peaceful days and devoted themselves solely to vengeance, and the result of their obsession has been refined to an almost artistic level.
But...
"Not as good as Gob Jiro-dono ......!"
The incoming sword blows are indeed deadly sharp, but they are not impossible to avoid. Even if you cannot avoid it, you can prevent it by matching your blades, as has been proven in the dozens of fights we have had so far. At least, it was not unreasonable to have your bones shattered by a single blow.
The same is true of the enemy's magic. If there is no chance to win in a battle of sorcery, and if the enemy can unleash his sorcery by making even the slightest gap between you and them, then you should continue to challenge them in close combat without giving them a chance to chant. If they are of the lineage of the chief hunter, they must be on the lookout for un-chanted magic, but it is possible to prevent it if they are not given enough time to weave their magic.
Each of these is difficult, but by no means impossible. Only by doing so, you can fight. I can continue to fight as a warrior.
--None of this would have been possible a month ago.
"Ha, ha, ha, ah ---- ha, ha, ha ......!"
We can fight. We can fight. We're outnumbered, but we can fight. If we put our all into it, we can get close.
We can fight the people we defeated that day.
Against the enemy who took away what we wanted to protect.
We, the Queen's warriors, are able to face them head on!
"Don't get ...... carried away!"
A small sword is slammed down with an angry voice. The heaviest slash flicks the dagger in his left hand, and the tip of it slices across his forehead. The blood spilled into Felk's left eye, cutting his vision in half.
A large blow was fired from Felk's blind spot, which made him shiver. He knew instantly that Felk had lost his vision on the left side, and he was convinced that he had struck a blow with all his might. He sensed the thick presence of death, but could not cope with it.
Thus, the deadly blade, filled with the magic power of the wind, was sucked into Felk's defenseless neck...
I won't let you!
A small man jumped out from behind and intervened.
The small man in full armor sits down as if he were rooted to the ground and blocks the lethal slash with a large shield that is bigger than he is tall.
He is a heavily-armed shieldman of the dwarves, with wild limbs disproportionate to his short stature. He is the eldest son of a man who was forced to flee his homeland because he was too clumsy with his hands and was thus disgraced as "no Dwarf at all.
His father died three months ago in a single battle, serving as a shield for a fleeing princess and her citizens.
"What!
A blindingly aware Selwyn flanks him. From there, a kick is delivered by a beastly girl.
The girl with the distinctive long ears sprouting from the top of her head is a kind of beastman called the Rabbit People, and she comes into this world as a twin sister.
However, in the village where she was born, twins are regarded as an abomination, and her family, suffering persecution, visited LATESTWOOD in search of a safe place to live.
During the journey, her father was killed by a magical beast. Her mother has already passed away, leaving her with only two surviving family members, an older sister and a younger sister.
Surprisingly, she wore no protective gear of any kind. Even the speed-oriented Felk wears light armor, but not even that. This outfit, which abandoned even the minimum protection, was the result of her earnest pursuit of mobility.
As soon as the girl is taken by surprise, she immediately moves away with her legs, which she boasts of, and busily moves her long ears on the top of her head to look for any sign of her surroundings. As soon as she spots another enemy distracted by the warrior in front of her, she disappears into the crowd, looking for a chance to surprise him.
Her sister must be fighting somewhere in this battlefield just like her. She is dressed in a garb that could be fatal if she takes even a single bullet.
"Felk! Let me see the wound! While you still can, quickly--!"
As the Dwarven shieldman blocked Selwyn's barrage of blows, Felk heard a voice behind him.
It was his childhood friend, a dwarf born and raised in Rattestwood.
Despite her race's distinctive childish voice, she speaks sharply and quickly begins to weave a healing formula.
The light of healing amplified by the short staff was used to stop the bleeding at a minimum and to join the broken bones. Trained by the gentle but strict saint, she stares at the ghastly wounds that would make a normal person involuntarily look away, observes the damage, and applies the most appropriate treatment.
The severely injured left shoulder is far from completely healed, but it is enough as a stopgap measure.
"----"
Felk looked at him silently, and his childhood friend, a dwarf, nodded his head and began looking for the next injured person.
According to their common sense, healers are supposed to stay in the safe zone away from the front line, in the relief station, and treat the wounded who are brought in. However, there is no time for such a leisurely approach in this situation. The dwarf woman shakes her short arms and legs and runs to those who need her help.
--Such a scene was unfolding all over the battlefield.
Centered around a half-elf light warrior wearing the same armor as Feruc, vanguard groups of dwarves and beastmen joined in from time to time to provide support, forming a front line with only a small advantage in numbers and the power of coordination.
Needless to say, everyone is desperate. No one here can afford to be complacent. It is a situation in which they are exerting all their strength without thinking of the future, exerting all their deadly power, and somehow making up the gap in their abilities. The war situation continues to be perilous, as if we are dancing on thin ice.
But it is too late for that.
We have been living in a hellish environment for the past month.
I am used to fighting against an enemy I cannot beat. We know how to overcome the unreasonable. We have certainly learned it from those who treated us as
So this is just business as usual, he thought, as he looked into the eyes of his enemies with the eyes of a warrior...
"O--aaaah!"
He shimmers and shimmers.
There is no hesitation in his steps.
This time, Feruc has once again thrown himself into the blood-spattered front line to fulfill his true duty as a warrior.
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A high ground with a good view away from the battlefield.
Surrounded by priests and elders, the Great Elder's voice trembled with anger.
"Why, ...... why can't we win!
The question is intended to describe the unrealistic war situation as seen through the vision of a special soldier.
The Fairy Mother Dragon, which was revived just a few days ago, had originally been sealed in a perfect state, or perhaps it had been sealed in a perfect state, but it had amassed full strength immediately after its release. However, the other six fairy dragons, like the previously unleashed ones, were severely starved and needed to eat a large number of elves in order to be fully revived.
The people of Oldwood alone could not supply the six dragons, let alone just one. Therefore, Noblewood also sacrificed all of its people to the dragon except for the council of elders, the priests necessary to maintain command of the dragon, and the minimum amount of white soldiers.
As a result, the remaining white soldiers are only a few who have earned the title of
But even so, those who have trained themselves to the point of earning the title of <
In other countries, however, the title of hunter in Noblewood does not come cheap.
Elves, being a long-lived species, have always been a select few, but a hunter in Noblewood can easily outnumber the average adventurer.
But what is the reality?
The great magic he excels at is blocked in close combat, and even in close combat, he is forced to fight in close quarters. A flash of lightning that should have leapt off a head is limited to less than a mortal wound, and that wound is healed by the hands of the healers who are recklessly running around the front lines.
If the healers with low fighting ability are targeted, they are blocked and out of reach by the beastmen and dwarves with their large shields, who strike out of nowhere. And the enemy soldiers who have completed a minimum amount of medical treatment will rise up again and again like immortals and return to the battle line.
It is like a single beast.
Such a way of fighting is not the one of elves who make use of their superior individual abilities.
Nor is it the way of those who rely only on their numbers.
They complement each other and fight as if they were a single group of creatures, something more fearless.
"You're up against dirt. ......! We may have lost our best in the advance party, but even if we are hunters, even if we are the Elves of Noblewood in glory! And you can't even beat a hodgepodge of factions! Our soldiers, who have reached the level of hunters, are no better than the "Unsullied"!"
The Grand Elder blushes and rants, but his words are somewhat erroneous.
Although they seem to be struggling at first glance, the hunters of Noblewood are not being pushed around. They are in a competitive situation. It is just that the warriors of LATESTWOOD are fighting with all their might, ignoring the distribution of the pace, and the battle is finally being balanced.
But for the Grand Elder, this alone was enough to cause his indignation. In the first place, the "filth" deserved to be swept away at the drop of a hat. Defeat or even a hard fight is out of the question. The fact that we are still fighting against such an opponent is more than enough to make it an unbearable humiliation.
With every second that passes, the history of Noblewood is being stained.
In a battle that was supposed to purge the stain of a hundred years and two months ago, more stains were seeping in.
The Elder scratched his head as if he had aged several decades in the past few minutes, and the blood that had gushed from his scalp stained his golden hair vermilion.
I was at my limit. He had reached the limit of everything. The Elder, his eyes clouded with madness, finally looked up to the heavens, his bloodstained fingertips shivering.
Then he cries out to the cloudy sky where dragons are dancing.
Mother Fairy, Guardian Dragon, Mother of the Elves! Wipe out the filth! --All of us (・・・・・・)!
The words were uttered with a face contorted into a rage.
When the people around them heard this impossible order, they all peeled their eyes and rushed to the Grand Elder.
The priests and elders shouted frantic admonishments, but even their screams could not reach him. The Elder's eyes no longer reflected them. Mother Fairy Dragon, in accordance with her pact, begins her ascent to fulfill the Elder's command.
The Elder, with his eyes flashing with madness, waits with a martyr's heart.
He waits for the light of destruction that will erase this impossible reality, that will bring everything to nothing.