The Grasslands Will Remember Us Forever (2)
"What the hell is that...?!"
The curse slipped out naturally at the unbelievable sight.
The man's name was Timur.
He was the chief of the Blue Legs Tribe, the largest tribe in the eastern desert.
"W-What is that?!"
"Timur! What in the world is that thing?!"
They had kept watch throughout the night without fail.
Two women, one man.
They had been specifically warned to be cautious, so he was certain he had brought more than enough men.
But what in the world was this?
Why had the enemy's numbers suddenly swelled into the thousands?
And what the hell was that thing floating in the sky?
"A-A monster!"
A gigantic owl the size of a human was flying toward them.
Its enormous wings spread wide as it charged straight at them.
— KIIIIIIIIII—!
"Get your spears ready, bastards! Somehow, just—!"
He hurriedly shouted orders to his subordinates, but it was already too late.
Part of the group behind them was struck by the monstrous bird's charge, throwing their formation into chaos.
"Timur!"
"Damn it, run! It's a monster!"
"U-Uwaaaagh?!"
Several warriors swung their swords at the giant bird as it landed, but it was hopeless.
— KIIIIIIIIII—!
The black wings slammed into them, sending the warriors helplessly flying through the air.
The creature's strength was impossible to deal with.
Flap!
Then the giant bird of prey's claws seized one of the warriors.
And it didn't stop there.
The black monstrosity snatched him up and soared into the sky.
"U-Uwaaaah—!"
"Ulan!"
One of their comrades vanished in an instant, terror flooding their eyes.
They prided themselves on fighting all kinds of enemies in the desert, but the sky?
That was an overwhelming force completely beyond their control.
Thududududuk—!
On top of that, the quarrels fired by the entrenched undead rained down upon them.
The iron bolts, three times more powerful than ordinary arrows, struck down the warriors riding in the front ranks on the spot.
"Kraaaagh?!"
"They've formed a shield formation with archers behind it!"
"Damn it, what kind of person is this bastard?!"
Timur gritted his teeth as he looked at the shield wall interlocked like a turtle's shell.
"There are too many of them! We should retreat—!"
"Shit, if we could retreat, we would've done it already!"
Timur shouted sharply.
"We already took the advance payment for this job! If we run now, we'll lose all our honor!"
With that, he gave orders to the warriors following him.
"All units, spread out!"
At Timur's command, the two hundred riders charged forward without breaking formation.
Tutututututu—!
The shield wall grew closer and closer.
If they collided head-on, both the riders and their horses would be annihilated.
"This ends once we capture Young Master Klein. Understood?!"
"Yes!"
And yet, without the slightest hesitation, they crashed their mounts directly into the shield wall.
KWAANG—!
A speed like charging war chariots.
Unable to withstand the impact, the horses were instantly impaled on the spears and killed.
"Uwaaaaaah—!"
But the impact created small openings in the formation.
The warriors didn't miss that chance.
"Everyone, jump in!"
The riders launched themselves upward all at once.
Above the shield wall, where there was no protection.
Just as expected, the silver-haired boy was staring calmly at them as they leapt into the air.
Crunch! Crack—!
— KRAAAAH—!
The Skeletons wielding swords charged toward the warriors.
Short swords reaching only to the elbow.
The ideal weapon for group combat.
"Timur! These bastards...!"
"They're skeletons! Skeletons!"
"Skeletons?!"
Animated bone puppets created from the bones of the dead.
At those words, a faint spark of hope lit up Timur's eyes.
"So you're a Necromancer. Then this is perfect!"
Necromancers fought wars of attrition using formations of undead.
But Timur and his warriors had already broken through the formation and penetrated deep into the center.
In a situation like this, victory belonged to those wielding blades.
'Using cheap tricks to toy with us...!'
The giant bird that had attacked their formation moments ago flashed through his mind, and fury surged inside him.
"Young Master Klein, right?"
"And if I said no, would you let me go?"
As though he didn't even understand the situation, Klein answered with complete composure.
His tone sounded almost as if he were evaluating them.
Arrogant to the extreme.
"They told us to bring you back alive, but they never said your limbs had to stay attached."
Against a Necromancer, the solution was simple.
Kill the caster!
"I'll carve all four limbs off your body!"
Timur's curved blade slashed toward Klein's neck.
This was the domain of swordsmen.
Not a speed a Necromancer should've been able to react to.
...Or at least, it should have been.
Clang—
"Huh?!"
Sparks exploded.
The sparks born from two blades colliding.
As his attack trajectory twisted away, shock flashed across Timur's face.
"Why is a Necromancer using a sword...?!"
"It's not my specialty, but I picked up a few things watching others."
With that brief joke, Klein's blade shot toward Timur's throat.
"Khk?!"
An unexpected situation.
A sword thrusting from an impossible angle.
Timur immediately drew up mana and tried to deflect the blade.
Kirik?!
Or rather, he tried to.
"What...?"
Timur's eyes widened.
Three sword strikes bent at bizarre angles as they stabbed toward him.
Kakakang—!
After tangling their blades together, Timur forced the sword downward, but the boy immediately transitioned into his next movement without hesitation.
"That technique...!"
A familiar sword art performed by an unfamiliar boy.
But as the chief of the tribe, Timur recognized it instantly.
A secret art of the desert warriors, twisting and bending like a serpent to deceive the enemy's perception of the blade's path.
Yungsa (凶巳).
Clang—!
As he knocked the blade away, the boy gritted his teeth.
Perhaps the strike hadn't penetrated deeply enough, because his sword failed to break through Timur's mana-enhanced defense.
"No. That can't be...!"
But to Timur, that was no longer important.
What mattered was the swordsmanship the boy had just used.
What he had blocked moments ago was none other than the lost sword art of the ancient sages.
"Kuh!"
Pushing his questions aside for the moment, Timur charged again, causing Klein's expression to harden.
Kakakakang—!
A relentless barrage of consecutive strikes poured down.
Yet the more their swords clashed, the more Timur's suspicions turned into certainty.
"Raven!"
In the middle of the exchange, Klein suddenly shouted someone's name into the air.
Timur barely had time to wonder about it.
A sword infused with dense mana came hurtling toward him.
KWAKWAAAAANG—!
"Kraugh?!"
The sheer force was enough to overwhelm his own blade.
It was an attack on an entirely different level from the silver-haired boy's sword, which held no mana.
Shraaaak—!
Even after being blown backward by the shockwave, Timur's posture never faltered.
He was the chief of the Blue Legs.
A man whose martial prowess could stand proudly even against the knights of the continent.
— You endured that. You're no ordinary opponent.
A voice flowed from the armor wrapped in shadows.
But the tide of battle had already turned.
The knight slowly raised his sword, preparing the finishing strike.
"T-That swordsmanship!"
"What?"
If that attack came again, he wouldn't be able to stop it.
Though standing at death's door, Timur could no longer restrain himself and shouted his question.
"That sword art you just used—where did you learn it?!"
Even his tone had changed entirely.
Instead, the one left bewildered was Klein.
"No, you barged in attacking me out of nowhere, and now what the hell are you—"
"Answer me!"
Timur roared at the boy.
A brief opening formed amid the ongoing battle.
As if intrigued by the question, Klein spoke with a suspicious look.
"My uncle taught me. What about it?"
"...!"
Uncle.
The moment he heard that word, Timur lost all will to fight.
As he lowered his sword, the boy spoke as if dumbfounded by what he was doing.
"Hey, what are you doing stopping in the middle of a fight? I practically had you already..."
But his sudden behavior wasn't the only shocking thing.
"All forces, cease combat!"
Out of nowhere, Timur ordered the warriors fighting beside him to stop battling.
"Timur?!"
"What are you saying?! We can still fight!"
His subordinates shouted back in disbelief.
Clang—!
But Timur's actions became even stranger.
Right in front of the enemy, he threw down his weapon.
Ignoring the confusion of his men, he immediately lowered himself before Klein and then—
"Senior Brother—!"
With a cry that sounded like he was coughing up blood, Timur prostrated himself before Klein.
Alright. Don't panic.
Let's organize the situation for a second.
Since yesterday, there had been pursuers tailing me.
And those bastards attacked me this afternoon.
Naturally, I had already expected all of this, so I immediately summoned undead to respond!
The plan was to use myself as bait and wipe them out in one go!
And just when I was about to finish them off, this guy suddenly became interested in my swordsmanship?
So I answered him, and now he's kneeling and calling me Senior Brother?
No, what the hell is going on here?
"T-Timur?!"
Fortunately, it seemed I wasn't the only one who couldn't understand the situation.
"What are you doing all of a sudden?! Do you want to live that badly?!"
"Get up already! Otherwise we'll stab you in the back ourselves!"
The other men who had shouted Timur's name while attacking me also looked utterly confused.
"Shut up! You lot get over here and kneel too!"
"W-What?!"
And at Timur's shout, their expressions became even more miserable.
Of course, the one watching all this was even more confused than them.
— What will you do?
Raven's voice echoed from where he stood waiting.
— Striking the enemy commander while he's defenseless would be the most efficient option.
"That's true."
From a rational perspective, he was right.
Whatever these bastards had mistaken me for was none of my business.
"Wait a second."
This was the royal tomb of the ancient Aishingior Empire.
And the wavelength of their souls matched those sleeping beneath this place.
Meaning these nomads were descendants of the old Empire.
'If I kill them here of all places...'
I recalled the mummies I had seen when I first arrived in Terchin.
The grave robbers who had tried to excavate this royal tomb.
'The tomb requires the blood of an old imperial descendant, but forcibly extracted blood causes the opposite effect.'
Remembering what had happened to those men, I raised my hand and halted the undeads' assault.
"Uh...?"
"What's going on? Why all of a sudden...?"
As I stopped the attack, the warriors also lowered their weapons in confusion.
"What's happening?"
Stella, who had been standing farther back with Arin, approached me and asked.
"Give me a minute. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do either."
Think about it.
We were fighting to kill each other, and now he's suddenly kneeling there calling me Senior Brother or whatever nonsense.
How am I supposed to understand this situation?
"You called me Senior Brother, right?"
"Yes!"
When the other side was acting like this, it was hard to just keep trying to kill them.
Scratching the back of my head, I asked the man:
"And why exactly are you calling me that?"
Keeping his head lowered, the man answered:
"The swordsmanship you used!"
Swordsmanship?
I replayed the battle from moments ago in my mind.
Their style was different from the Empire's, but it was still one of the countless sword arts Ian had taught me.
And the best way to break through a specific sword style was to counter it with the same style.
That was all I had done...
"It's the traditional sword art of our tribe!"
What?
"A secret technique passed down only to the chief and his descendants!"
What did he just say?
"And even that has long since been lost to history, with no one left who remembers it—!"
No, wait. Hold on a damn second.
...Seriously?
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