"What can a knight do?"
Kraiss did not reduce the answer to this question to a single point.
"Everyone has a different specialty."
What if you put Audin on an infiltration job?
"Wouldn't it turn into a half-frontal breakthrough?"
He can walk without a sound if he has to, but that bulk stands out. The nickname "bear beastman" didn't stick for nothing.
"What if you give a tracking mission to Ragna?"
Killing the target is one issue, but whether he'd make it back is another.
Pel is specialized for one-on-one combat, and Lawford fights well even while commanding a unit.
Of course, even if you swap roles, they'll somehow pull it off. That's the sort of people knights are.
"Is it only about specialties? Disposition matters too."
For instance, if you told Enkrid to cut down a thousand enemy soldiers overnight?
He wouldn't do it. Being able to do something and being filled with the will to do it are different issues.
"He'll look for the path where the fewest people die, no matter what."
That doesn't mean he avoids battle, nor does he look away from the horrors of war.
The road Enkrid has walked is far too rough for that.
He knows how keen the blade of reality is. He knows that blade thrusts into your flesh from where you never expect, rummages through your muscles, and parts your innards.
If it's necessary, he cuts. If it's justifiable, he fights. Enkrid will do that.
You have to weigh both specialty and disposition. Kraiss did exactly that.
"Then what if we limit it to killing rather than fighting, whether the opponent is a mage or not?"
In a straight-up duel, Jaxon can't guarantee victory against anyone. But tell him to kill, and it's a different story.
He never shows his full ability. It's a habit pounded into him from living as an assassin since childhood. What happens when that man named Jaxon makes up his mind and goes for a target?
Not everyone answers honestly, but none of them truly looks down on him.
"Information. I need everything there is to know about the enemy."
Kraiss laid out the role he wanted from Jaxon, and Jaxon asked that as if it were the most obvious thing.
"I don't know. I don't, which is why you need to do it."
But Kraiss only knew the barest sliver of what had to be known about them.
"Here's what I do know. Among the ones belonging to that group, there isn't a single one who hasn't done human experimentation. I heard it was a fad among them for a while."
"A fad?"
"An experiment to implant stars in people."
Just hearing it makes you want to retch.
"They embed tools infused with Will or mana into a human body. Want it simpler? They tried to use the human body as an instrument, to turn it into a kind of Spell Object."
Why? Esther knew that reason well. Kraiss relayed her words.
"Same principle as cooking. Using the human body as cookware."
They did it to adults, the elderly, even children, without distinction.
Was this the only kind of thing they did?
Astrail—grandiose name for a group that doesn't even regard sapient beings as people. In some ways they're more cruel than demons. Is it because they're human that they can be more cruel to their own kind? Because humans are the species most specialized for adaptation?
"Sometimes, as you live, things you can't comprehend brazenly shove their faces at you."
Jaxon nodded at Kraiss's words. A nod of assent. When he faced things outside the bounds of understanding, Jaxon treated them in one, consistent way.
Kraiss wanted to see that consistent way of his again this time.
***
"So you knew we were coming. It can't have been mana detection. How'd you do it?"
A white robe, threaded with gold filament, flashed. The mana housed in those threads was the mage's preparation.
With the spells embedded in his robe, killing a few knights would be nothing. At least, that's what he believed. He'd never tested it.
He simply felt it was natural, because he knew the principles.
Which is why, leaving the Child of the Star standing there ahead, he considered it more troublesome that he had to kill the rest of the chaff. Keeping the Child of the Star alive during a fight—now that was more of a nuisance.
Their gazes crossed. Esther, owner of those blue eyes, opened her mouth.
"It is mana detection."
"You extended your detection range past the whole city to here?"
It was outside his sense of the possible. The mage's brows knit. At the same time, light burst from his robe.
It was because the disciple—his henchman—right behind him suddenly lunged.
The mage's gaze whipped back. He saw a blade shoot out from within a gray robe.
"Don't you—"
White light burst from the mage's robe as his warding spell triggered. That spell had three effects.
First, gravity increased within three steps of him. Second, a reflection spell: if the thing that stabbed him was a sword, an identical sword of light would be created to stab back; if it was an arrow, it would return as an arrow just the same.
Lastly, the third was a spell called Restoration of Light—so long as the wound wasn't outright fatal, it would keep the caster alive.
A spell world modeled after divinity itself. He believed this ward would save his life at least three times.
And then a two-hand-span dagger sliced across the carotid near the neck that joined face to torso, and across the vertebrae behind it.
Schk.
Even though it cut bone, the sound was small. The dagger that severed his neck wasn't even all that fast, nor did it rip through the air with a tearing shriek.
His head came off; blood jetted; the half-severed neck dangled and tilted to the side.
No one calls a severed head a critical wound. This is just death. Nothing but the moment of demise. A kiss from the Reaper, dealt in a single stroke.
At some point Jaxon had disguised himself as the henchman in the gray robe, and with one blow, he took the head of a mage belonging to Astrail.
Kraiss's request was to take a mage's head the moment they faced each other. The first strike, exploiting complacency, was Jaxon's part.
The skin of the neck, dangling by a thread, was thin. The head was heavy. The skin that barely held on snapped, and the head thumped to the floor. The body that had been spraying a brief fountain of blood tilted and fell.
Bzz—bzz—bzz.
The lights blinking in the fallen mage's robe flickered out. A spell needs a caster to exist. A spell world had just ended.
Some of the henchmen only blinked at the unbelievable reality. Something they'd never imagined had happened.
What is this? Their master just died out of nowhere. Their reality shattered to pieces.
"They're the same."
Esther spoke and swept her hand. In the wake of her gesture, blades of a cutting gale rose. It was a creation spell that poured the power of the frozen waste into Drmul's scythe.
"Cutting Gale of the Frozen Waste."
At her call, mana flowed and touched the spell world. The mystery called a spell hewed the remaining henchmen's necks.
A few lifted staves in defiance, but it was useless. Shields of light, brimming with hot heat, sprang up, yet could not stop the blades of the frozen waste.
Schk, schk, schk.
Similar sounds rang one after another, and the remaining henchmen all collapsed with their necks or heads severed.
"Well, I don't think we even got to talk."
Enkrid said, and Rem picked up his words.
"Any talking left, we can do it with the next ones coming."
Astrail is a collective. They don't move alone. But it's also true that, for a collective, their binding force is weak.
Esther had judged that there would inevitably be one who rushed in first for greed. Complacency? If you break it down, this wasn't even complacency.
Jaxon was simply that extraordinary. Shaking off his blade, he stood by Enkrid's side. The trick he'd shown a moment ago was fairly astonishing.
He saw the opponent's ward trigger and adjusted the speed at which he swung; he slipped past the reflected blade that targeted him, timed his entry for the gap as the ward fired—at the moment when the reflection would not repeat—and cut only the opponent's neck.
From the outside it looked like a single slash, but if you break it down, it was three separate attacks. Naturally, only Enkrid, Rem, and the Dragonkin recognized it for what it was.
"With his left hand, he parsed the spell's form."
The sword was in his right. Jaxon swept his left to grasp how the ward worked. Then he swung, modulating his reaction speed.
Simple if simple, but the result was shocking. From the opponent's side, anyway.
Without panting even once, Jaxon let his arms hang and stood beside Enkrid. The dead mage's blood stained the floor a vivid red.
After that, a second mage approached. He came gliding as if riding a black tray. He hovered about two hand-spans off the ground.
He was straight ahead, in Enkrid's line of sight. And to the right, a new mage appeared as well.
This one was a woman. She wore a broad-brimmed hat, and thin snakes coiled around both her forearms.
Then from the left, another mage popped out. He was so small he wasn't even half Enkrid's height, clad head to toe in silver-gleaming full plate.
All three were old acquaintances to Esther.
"Looks like all the men who got dumped by me showed up."
Esther cracked a joke. Obviously she aimed it for Enkrid to hear.
"There's a woman too."
Enkrid picked up the line.
"Feels like everyone I dumped is here. The Witch of Enchantment—that's me."
"…Is that Rem, or Shinar, or did I just read something wrong?"
Enkrid asked. It was none of the three.
"Why do you always drag me into it? You picking a fight? Huh?"
Rem let his sling unspool as he spoke. For Esther, it was simply a line mixed of apology and gratitude.
She may be the witch with a cold heart, but she's human too. Anyone can make a mistake.
The moment she spoke, she wanted to turn back time.
From Enkrid's view, Esther had no reason to feel sorry. From what she'd told him, the ones belonging to that group called Astrail were all fit only to die.
The star-chasers.
Some among the mages who set off the incident that summoned a demon in the Tower of Wisdom belonged to this group, too.
People who would burn the continent for their experiments. People who would start wars for their ends.
Enkrid opened his mouth, putting his heart into a rambling string of words.
"You wanted to stress that plenty of people courted you, right? If you envied the 'enchantment,' I'd like to tell you it's not exactly a nickname to be thrilled about."
A flush crept over the face of the witch whose weapon is cold composure.
"The Witch of Enchantment—that's me."
Rem echoed her line.
"Witch of Enchantment, huh. Should I nudge the information guild to spread some rumors?"
Jaxon offered a favor.
"That witch is feeling shame right now."
The Dragonkin read Esther's heart.
These mad bastards only get along this well at moments like this.
One who babbles and teases, one who parrots her words with a snicker, one who pretends it's a favor to spread rumors while needling, and one who coolly speaks of shame as if nothing.
Cheeks a touch reddened, Esther faced the three mages coming in and said:
"I'm right here."
Meaning the witch they wanted is here. She tried to let the teasing pass, but are these men mad for nothing?
"The Witch of Enchantment—that's that woman."
"Right here."
"It's not a nickname I'm fond of, but if you want, I suppose it makes sense even for me to call you that."
"Shame. Profound shame. It feels like that's what she's repeating to herself inside."
Rem, Jaxon, Enkrid, the Dragonkin—in that order.
Ah, should I just kill them all?
Esther only debated whether to include them in the range of her spell while she was at it. There was no sense of crisis. If you asked why—
"If any of you three happen to be busy saving people, say so."
It would be because of this man.
As Enkrid spoke, he met each of the three mages' eyes once.
There's a fact only Esther knows properly: Enkrid murders spells. Ordinary spells hardly work on him.
Jaxon took a few more steps back.
From the ground where he'd been, dirt spat, and four finger-thick thread-snakes lifted their heads.
"You dodged?"
The witch on the right smiled faintly as she spoke. She had mastered the handling of snakes and built her spell world with them.
What's more, she had transplanted the blood of a Medusa said to live in the Demon Realm into her body. Madness shadowed her smile.
"If you cherish these people, I'll spare them. Come along."
The mage on the disc up front spoke. His specialty was black agglomerate. He shaped black iron filings and combined them with spells.
Not an easy sort to face.
Lastly, the craft of the small mage born with a heavenly punishment was unusual as well.
Enkrid sprang forward. Esther gestured to the right, and Rem turned his body aside.
Every movement was simultaneous.
How can mages take in a knight's motion with their eyes?
They cannot—so they had prepared for everything. Only, their preparation was a touch insufficient. No, to be precise, they had underestimated the mad Border Guard knights.
A black iron wall sprang up before Enkrid and closed around him.
"Sleep in the black coffin!"
The mage shouted. A high-level mage launched into a full incantation in earnest—that's how much Enkrid's charge pressured and startled him.
Even though this was exactly the kind of thing he had prepared for.
Seeing the wall trying to enfold him, Enkrid accelerated once more. That left the spell unable to keep up with him. Interest sparked in the Dragonkin's eyes.
"So this is a method he's never shown once."
A technique didn't seen in all their prior spars came out. It wasn't the technique itself that drew interest, but the intent of a human whose Will blazed bright. The Dragonkin, half done spectating, stamped his foot.
Thoom.
With that, the snakes aiming at his soles were wiped out in the earth. It was a technique of handling Will and radiating it. It had been over two weeks since he woke.
The Dragonkin was in the midst of reawakening skills and techniques he'd half forgotten.
With double acceleration, Enkrid stepped out of the spell's domain, and Dawn Tempering split the spell.
The prepared spells—those pitch-black masses that came flying in succession—were shorn like matted wool. Spells that should have burst and strewn lethal dust into the lungs failed to trigger.
He murders spells. It was a scene that fit the phrase.