Chapter 171
"Urachachacha!"
Smash!
Aldu swinging a giant hammer.
"Perfect for a skewer!"
Stab! Stab! Stab!
Filo continuously thrusting his spear.
"Shield unit, charge!"
"Uwaaaah!"
And Puppi commanding the shield unit in battle, along with Serena shooting arrows.
Even if left alone, the bandits were annihilated on their own.
"Is the North always like this?"
"Something like that."
Regrettably, the North is originally like this.
The North has snow falling all four seasons.
There are deviations, but generally it's like that.
Because it is always cold and snowing, the territory is vast, but there's little that can be utilized.
For some reason, the forest is lush and a good place for magical beasts to live, so the residents' occupations lean toward only a few.
Farming, soldier, knight, hunter, guide, and so on.
There are many who dream of becoming soldiers or knights, but not just anyone can become one.
Thus, they sometimes farm or become hunters, but when neither works out and they run out of food, the territory's subjects不知不觉 turn into bandits.
It's quite a common occurrence.
"Job creation is a very difficult task everywhere."
It's a reality that can't be helped, especially in areas where there's no way to make money.
"How many bandits survived?"
"About thirty."
Puppi ran up first, knelt on one knee, and answered.
"Quite a large scale."
The snowfield had long been stained with blood.
It seemed quite a lot of them died, yet there are thirty survivors.
That's more than expected.
Originally, the North is a place overrun with bandits.
Geographically and because the landmass is quite large, it's a perfect place for those living in sin to hide.
"Something is strange."
"What? Bandits are everywhere."
Unlike Junis, who retorted as if uninterested, Ailey nodded her head.
"Their eyes are strange."
"They are not the eyes of ordinary bandit bastards."
A person can change in many ways.
But their eyes don't change easily.
Since Callias had some experience catching bandits in the past, he had a keen eye for their habits and eyes.
And these guys.
"You bastards, you haven't been bandits for long."
The hands holding weapons.
Their movements and ingrained gestures were unfamiliar.
They were awkward at fighting.
But in contrast, the location of the calluses on their hands was familiar.
"Did you originally farm?"
"...Yes."
There are no coincidences in the world.
Farmers wouldn't become bandits out of boredom.
Moreover, with this number, it's hard to simply call it a livelihood problem.
There must be some reason.
"I'm not really interested, but..."
He felt like he should listen.
Something ominous assailed him.
"K-kill me! I'm dead anyway!"
"...Why."
"Because the North is doomed anyway! Soon the descendants of the Ancient Gods will kill us!"
Ancient Gods?
"Are you talking about the gods of the ancient era?"
Ancient Gods. Their descendants.
"You mean the descendants of the Giants."
These are not words that should come from a mere bandit's mouth.
Especially from the mouth of a bandit located in the North.
"Who did you hear that from?"
"From a follower of the Ancient Gods..."
Under Callias's murderous glare, the shouting bandit shrank like a puppy with its tail between its legs and told everything he knew.
'Descendants of the Giants...'
What could be the descendants of the Giants?
If there were those to be called the descendants of the Giants in the North, there is only one.
'Trolls.'
The very bottom of the Sinking Forest.
A race said to be extinct, residing in a place akin to the abyss.
Trolls.
Monsters that Callias too had barely caught after risking his life with Luteon.
"So Trolls have appeared..."
The bandit said.
That Trolls occupied the forest, raided villages, and were eating humans.
Callias's gaze sharpened.
Trolls are not creatures that can crawl out of that deep place unless there is some trigger or someone pulls them out.
They don't have the intelligence for it, nor would they have the intention...
'There's someone behind this.'
The words of this bandit were like that.
He says in terror that the descendants of the Ancient Gods will kill them.
A follower of the Ancient Gods. Who could it be?
Honestly, there was no need to think deeply about it.
One who knows of the existence of Trolls.
And one who can profit by using them to bring down the North.
Considering that, there is only one.
"It's Kracion."
Kracion.
They are the only organization that knows of the Trolls' existence and has the capacity to use them.
Kracion was originally a group of those who worship forgotten gods.
Their ultimate goal is the same, but there are several branches seeking to achieve it.
Split into three or four factions, it is an organization where each faction acts independently. Since the gods they worship are different, their tendencies vary widely.
It's easy to understand seeing that Cedric and Beatrice, who were originally members of Kracion, didn't side with the Empire unlike Ramatu.
'If it's a faction that has a grudge against the North as well, it must be the ones with Ramatu.'
He was defeated quite miserably here, so it makes sense for him to be obsessed.
Pulling the Trolls out of that deep quagmire couldn't have been that simple.
Thanks to that, it coincidentally matched the time of Callias's arrival.
Should I say it's good luck or bad luck?
Anyway, the first thing to do had arisen.
"I must go to Jeibarsh."
First of all, going to the castle and quickly figuring out the overall situation is the top priority.
'To think they would try to smuggle out Trolls.'
There's so much to do with those guys.
Not only is Troll blood very useful, but swords made from them have a high chance of becoming Spirit Swords.
Callias didn't want to miss out on those creatures, where nothing was wasted.
Furthermore.
'If they scoured the bottom of the Sinking Forest, there's a possibility that Fatalite's sanctuary was also discovered.'
Moving the sanctuary at this opportunity wouldn't be a bad direction to take.
"What should we do with them?"
The tied-up bandits.
Callias's eyes looking at them weren't kind. He wanted to kill them all right away, but.
"...There will be quite a lot of guys like these in the North. Tie them up and bring them along."
The more workers, the better.
If they can be used, it's good to use them.
'The situation doesn't look very good.'
* * *
Same time.
Inside Jeibarsh Citadel.
The Lord of Zerban, sitting alone in his office, swallowing a groan.
Elberton frowned and let out a sigh.
"Trolls... Why are monsters of the old era popping up now..."
Tsk.
Elberton's eyes were fierce as he clicked his tongue and tore open the envelope.
Soon after reading the contents.
"Ha!"
This is utterly absurd.
"They're crazy."
The sender was a follower of the Ancient Gods.
What they wanted was as follows.
'Kalis.'
Storm Sword-Kalis.
And they want Zerban's contractor.
"Contractor..."
Elberton's eyes deepened.
Zerban's contractor.
The Lord of Zerban couldn't possibly not know what those words meant.
Knock knock.
Right on cue, a knock struck Elberton's ears.
"Come in."
Creak.
An elegant old man opening the door and entering.
Zerban's Head Butler.
It was Noitel.
"Did you call for me?"
"Hmm..."
Elberton looked at Noitel and fell into deep agony.
Head Butler Noitel.
He had been there since Elberton was young.
He had devoted his life to Zerban for so long, since Elberton was so young that he couldn't even remember.
He was so loyal and dedicated that there was no direct descendant of Zerban who hadn't borrowed his hands.
"How many years has it been for you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the years you've devoted to the family."
"Well. It's been so long it's hard to count. My life itself is with Zerban. Would that be a sufficient answer?"
Zerban is everything to me.
Noitel's words resonated deeply in Elberton's chest.
"Yes. That's right..."
"What is the matter..."
"Those calling themselves followers of the Ancient Gods suggested surrender. They told us to hand over Kalis."
At his reply, Noitel let out a scoff of disbelief.
Zerban's founding ancestor.
The sword created under the oath of Kalis von Zerban to become a corpse himself to protect the North was precisely Kalis.
Storm Sword-Kalis.
How could they hand over a sword that is like Zerban's roots, a sword that is the ancestor itself?
This was no different from telling them to hand over Zerban itself.
For the Zerban family, which is the North itself, there was no greater insult than this.
Thus, Noitel uncharacteristically revealed a hint of anger.
"Insolent bastards."
As the old butler, who rarely showed any emotion, replied thus, Elberton nodded involuntarily.
"No matter how fearsome the descendants of the Ancient Gods are, the North will fight and achieve victory, as it always has."
To them, the North is their home and everything.
No one can abandon their everything.
Struggle is familiar.
Achieving victory has also always been done that way.
"Life is struggle and achievement. That's what the previous generation always said."
"Did they..."
"Yes. I heard it was what the generation before the previous generation said, and also the generation before that."
"I see."
Elberton looked at Noitel.
It felt as if the shadows of the previous generations who protected the North were wavering behind him.
"What is Bernard doing?"
"He has already led the knights of Zerban and gone to battle."
"For a man whose body isn't fully intact..."
"Rather, because of that, he wants to go to the battlefield even more."
"Even at that age. Even missing an arm, he is a knight."
The battlefield is exactly where a knight should be.
There, a knight speaks his convictions and establishes his chivalry.
A knight's beginning is the battlefield, and so may his end be.
"Does he want to die as a knight..."
"Because he is a knight of high pride. And perhaps... he knows."
"Knows what?"
"That God is calling him."
His lifespan.
It meant that not much was left.
Elberton's eyes changed with complicated emotions.
"Are you saying he went to find a place to die?"
"Perhaps..."
"...What a frustrating old man."
But he couldn't curse him otherwise.
Because knights, each and every one of them, are all like that.
"His granddaughter will be sad."
Swallowing the words, 'And Callias too,' Elberton stood up from his seat.
"Let's go."
Whatever the enemy is.
No matter how formidable the enemy.
The North fights.
Zerban stakes its life and fights.
Because that is Zerban of the North.
"All forces, deploy!"
* * *
Taaang! Taaang! Taaang!
A vast, expansive giant forest.
The sound of a hammer driving iron stakes echoed faintly around the outskirts of the forest.
"Phew, is this it now?"
"It's done."
The bald man sweating profusely and the hooded man beside him stared at the gigantic figure standing with a blank expression.
Half-human, half-demon.
Descendants of gods, but corrupted by demons.
The bastards of the Giant tribe.
Troll.
Thin threads were wrapped around its neck, forearms, and legs all over its body, and iron stakes were embedded in its shoulders, back, and waist.
"Wow, by the way, I never dreamed there would be real Trolls. How did that old man know these guys were hiding in this backwater anyway?"
"Who knows about that. He was defeated so disgracefully that I thought he'd become a total has-been, but I guess he's not dead yet."
Eyes that seemed to have lost their intellect and direction.
But its bulging muscles and skin were so firm they seemed to radiate heat even in midwinter.
Moreover, the club it held looked like it was gripping a giant tree, so it seemed no one could make these creatures kneel before the world.
A Troll corps embedded with threads and stakes.
There were 12 of them.
With twelve of them, what in the world would they have to fear? With this number, destroying a castle wouldn't even be a difficult task.
Trolls are originally powerful.
Captured with threads and reinforced with stakes, there was nothing more to fear.
"With these guys, we could easily annihilate even a small kingdom, right? Politan. With this, even the Empire bastards won't treat us carelessly."
"The Empire's power is still needed. For our great wish."
The hooded man named Politan turned his eyes to the other believers gathered around.
Most of them held red or white threads in their hands, and if not, they possessed needles and stakes.
"Any contact?"
"None."
"Well, I expected that. There's no way the Zerban bastards would surrender easily."
He nodded as if he had expected it.
At this, the bald man asked.
"Then do we just push forward?"
"The North owes us a debt anyway. The family heirloom of Zerban, Kalis. And if we can just get our hands on the fairy who has protected this place for a long time, making a sacred relic won't be that difficult."
A corpse nearly a thousand years old.
A fairy who has lived for a similar amount of time.
"A sacred relic... If so, we could truly dream of the revival of a proper religious order. Even without borrowing those guys' power!"
"Kracion is merely a group gathered out of necessity in the first place. Since each worships a different god, harmony is out of the question. So we just have to do what we need to do ourselves."
Therefore, there is only one thing for us to do.
"Bring down Zerban."
"Just leave it to me! With this Brance here, taking down Zerban is as easy as eating cold soup!"
Brance thumped his chest and made a bold declaration, with a red thread wrapped around his neck.