Saaaaaah.
Fog and Scalers were a good match. That was why they had deployed the Fog of Annihilation. But there were four Knights here. With ordinary monsters, they couldn't even hope to stall for time. Ragna proved that first. His greatsword cut down the Scaler serving as the sorcerous medium.
Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been easy. How did he chase down and kill a medium that hid far in the back, keeping as much distance as possible and only rolling its eyes? Ragna simply charged straight ahead, putting himself inside the enemy's encirclement.
If the monsters had been sapient, it would have been enough to make them scream madness.
If they target your back, then make every side your enemy. Then just cut everything, front and back alike. Ragna's thinking was simple.
That unexpected charge, with the medium dying first, was the Scalers' fatal error.
'Even if the fog had stayed, it wouldn't have mattered.'
So judged Enkrid as he took the hand of his lady in the amber dress and danced. He never stopped stepping as he swung, catching Scaler heads on his blade.
Shick!
The True-Silver edge lopped the head on the blade without resistance. The Black Gold edge added weight and lent force to the speed, and the Meteorite Iron held the center. It didn't just feel good to cut—it made his hands thrum with life.
'It's fantastic.'
Had Aetri's skill improved, or was it the materials?
'Both.'
Compared to the Black Gold and True-Silver he'd received before, this fit his hand far better. The way it "caught" almost sounded like Lady Tri-Iron whispering. That she was pleased to have found the perfect partner.
'Me too.'
Muttering something that would make people call him a madman if they heard, Enkrid kept stepping, helping his lady's dance. He wasn't moving at random. He moved in circles around Anne as the center. With accelerated thought and keen senses, he accounted for every incoming attack. He kept to the form of the Wave-Blocking Sword, and whenever he found an opening, he thrust and cut again and again. Whether Scalers or Plague Brides, nothing could approach past a certain distance with Enkrid tracing circles. Anne felt as if she stood in the eye of an amber-blowing typhoon.
"Plague Brides' breath is poisonous too."
Anne spoke. No one reacted. They hadn't left any Brides alive, slicing and stabbing them without letting them close from the start.
Anne's eyes couldn't make it out clearly, but it needed saying.
It took less than half a day for the Scaler horde to be wiped out.
The last few flattened themselves with bellies to the ground, slithering as if to flee while actually aiming for Anne, but it was equally useless.
Magrun dashed to and fro, stabbing the ground with his sword.
Thunk, crack!
A few dead lizard-beasts showed up in the mix, but that was all. There weren't even five of the big quadrupeds—and Ragna had killed them all.
'If it's raw combat power, the beasts are more threatening.'
So Enkrid thought. What made Scalers dangerous was their knack for fooling even a Knight's senses.
They hissed—ssssss—sending vibrations through the air and scrambling the senses. Since they naturally carried no odor, detecting them by smell was hard—in fact, the hardest of all. They were the natural enemy of the Beastkin, perhaps.
They possessed tricks that cleverly disrupted touch, hearing, and smell. In that case, you simply confirmed with your eyes and cut and thrust. And the tingle on the back of his head—the sixth sense that prickled—told him when they closed.
'No Knight gets taken easily by the likes of these.'
As said, they were just a nuisance. No more spells or sorceries interfered in the middle either. Only after he'd swung his sword with his lady for a long while and come back to himself did the question rise.
'Why did they come at us? Why expend this much force?'
He learned the reason after the fight ended.
Thunk, crunch!
Ragna drove his greatsword into the head of the last remaining one and twisted his wrist, shattering it. Skull fragments flew at that simple motion, and brain matter and black blood poured out of the split head with a rush. Watching while keeping the perimeter, Grida frowned and spoke.
"Those bastards."
Her gaze went far to the rear, well behind the place they had chosen as a battlefield. They had stepped forward to keep their mounts from being caught up in the fighting, but an unexpected scene had appeared in the rear.
The horses that had carried them from the Border Guard lay on the ground, necks severed. Bright red blood pouring from their throats spread over the black earth and turned a dark crimson.
"They took our water and food."
Magrun, who had moved to the picket line to check, spoke. Since they had been riding hard, there had been no need for humans to carry the loads; cookware and such were all in saddle bags, and even packs had been tied over the rumps. All of it was gone.
'Did I get too caught up in the fight?'
Enkrid wasn't the sort to despair and berate himself over a mistake. That didn't mean he didn't reflect.
So he briefly reconstructed the situation with tactical thinking.
He began by asking himself and answering. The question of whether he'd gotten carried away by the fight.
'No.'
This had been the enemy's aim from the start. They had shown Scalers and Plague Brides for that reason.
One to scramble the senses, the other to numb the nose.
On top of that—
'They even risked a bold spell that could've revealed their position.'
Had he been a little lucky when he batted the fireball away, he might have located the mage.
'With a little recklessness, it would've been possible.'
But that recklessness would have put Anne's life on the scale, so he didn't.
'What if I'd called Ragna over to guard her and moved myself?'
In pure detection, he was probably better. Even so, he might have missed them. And in any case, it was past. No point belaboring it. Even if the same thing happened again, he couldn't lightly leave Anne's side.
'For this, the enemy even revealed the existence of a sorcerer.'
They had done all that just to kill a few horses and strip away their water and preserved rations.
"Feels like they're trying to shout us back home."
So Enkrid concluded. If not that—
'Mages layer spells repeatedly to shape the situation into the form they want.'
What if this mage could use his head like Krais?
"The riding ends here, and this is what they pull—so they were after our supplies."
As a guide, Grida read the situation. Nothing good in it. But nothing to be flustered over either. Ahead lay mountains. To ordinary folk, threatening perhaps—but not to her. Mountains were full of food. With the weather warming, there would be greens, berries, and fruit; game to hunt as well. And water could be replenished as they went.
"We push on."
Enkrid had reached the same judgment. As he spoke, he looked to Anne. His eyes asked a question.
If she wished to turn back, she could say so anytime—that was the sense of it. Anne clenched her teeth. Someone with malice was targeting her. That wasn't pleasant in the least. But she wouldn't cower and retreat here. Never.
"I'm a Healer. My goal is to cure every disease in the world."
What awaited in Zaun was also among the reasons her family had been taken from her.
"All right."
Enkrid answered, and Anne firmed her resolve as she spoke. Perhaps the amber liquid's effective time had passed; the sheen on the blade thinned and slid off, dripping to the ground.
"No more lady, right? From now on, just fight."
Anne spoke. It was a way of steadying herself with needless chatter. Enkrid soothed her heart.
"Next time, I'll ask for a black tailcoat."
Anne's reply was the highest praise.
"…The order's name is never changing at this rate."
They set off again. Thanks to the habit of keeping all weapons on their person, what they'd lost were only blankets, pots, cups, and rations.
Blankets could be replaced by wrapping up in a cloak. Ragna undid the cloak at his waist and handed it to Anne. He usually found it cumbersome and rarely wore it. It had, luckily, been at his waist. Otherwise they'd have lost it too.
"Ah, thanks."
Anne folded the cloak in half and wrapped it around herself. Cloaked in deep navy, she took a step.
"Let's go." "Yeah, let's."
Grida answered, and Magrun nodded.
It seemed both judged that something was happening inside Zaun. If not, what were all these things that had happened until now for?
Since it had all occurred even before they'd reached Imperial Territory, the two also felt a lingering foul taste. After they started walking again, Enkrid, pacing beside Anne, asked:
"What are Panax and Remede Omnia?" "Huh?"
Anne turned her head and blinked. The vast land that looked to stretch far already slipped behind them; after a few rises, a field of grasses rose underfoot and greeted them. As they walked, treading the grasses, the ground steadily began to rise. They were taking to the ridgelines. The increasing number of trees meant the same.
"Where did you hear that? It's the same in meaning as Elixir. Panax is what the Fairies call it, and some scholars say if you melt down a Philosopher's Stone it serves the same function."
Enkrid knew the word Elixir. The Water of Life—the medicine that cures all disease, so the stories said.
It was a thing often found in the tales of bards. Not those that recited history, but stories full of legend and fancy. In some tales it was a golden apple; in others, a potion that kept moving even inside a glass bottle.
As for whether it existed in reality, one could say it was a mystery no alchemist on the continent had yet realized.
"Remede Omnia is an alchemical concept. Put plainly, it's a form that cures every illness."
"Does such a thing actually exist?"
Enkrid asked, and Grida—right beside him—cut in.
"Sometimes a wandering alchemist claims his brew is that, and nine times out of ten it's close to poison. In the end, medicine and poison are a hair's breadth apart, aren't they?"
Anne looked at Grida as she answered.
"You know your alchemy? You're right. Even a poison becomes a medicine if used well. Conversely, use medicine wrong and it becomes poison. Some medicines become poison if you take too much, and some poisons become medicine if you take only a little."
"So the question is whether a medicine that cures every disease can exist."
Grida's tone was dry. Enkrid kept listening in silence. Anne didn't answer right away. She walked a path where roots rose up and, in the distance, looked to a lone tree standing tall. Beads of sweat formed on Anne's brow. She wasn't weak, and the party was pacing for her—but still, it had to be hard.
'A bit farther and I'll have Ragna carry her.'
So Enkrid thought, and only after a few more steps did Anne speak.
"Those who study the healing branch of alchemy all dream of the Elixir. I always thought their attempts were all foolish."
So there was no such thing, as expected. Among those she'd studied with, Anne's talent had been outstanding. Even Laban, the alchemist, coveted her gift and envied it.
So even though Laban taught her only a portion of his knowledge, Anne had long since surpassed his level in healing arts. If there were sword geniuses, there were alchemy geniuses, too.
Anne herself believed that luck had helped her grasp the principles a few times—that a few insights had simply struck her. Others would call that talent. Because her gift was exceptional, she knew the Elixir was an impossible brew—something that would remain only in legend.
"But what if we change the point of view a little? People believe Elixir, Panax, Remede Omnia are the names of a medicine, right?"
"Point of view?"
Grida asked back. Enkrid listened, focused.
"What if it's not a medicine, but a title?"
Anne continued. Enkrid felt his ears prick at that.
'A shift in perspective.'
If it wasn't a medicine, but a title—then there was no legendary potion. But—
"It's my dream. Remede Omnia. I aim to be the person who cures every disease."
The person could exist. That was Anne's dream. Hearing that, Enkrid suddenly felt he could guess what the enemy wanted. Shifting his perspective into tactical thinking, he saw their intent.
"I smell water."
Right then, Grida spoke and led the group. Over a small knoll, a not-so-large lake came into view. The water was clear, and beyond it a steep path rose. It was water pooled in a bowl of terrain. Perhaps fed by groundwater; there was a chill to it. They had a few canteens, so containers weren't lacking. But—
"Wait."
Enkrid stopped Grida and looked to Anne.
"Can you check if there's anything wrong with the water?"
"Hm? Yes. Of course."
Alchemy concerns itself even with the quality of water. That's why those particular about their tea water often kept ties with alchemists. Hadn't Marcus always said things like that?
"If you know an alchemist, water's easy. The best of all is the dawn-dew the fairies make, they say."
Anne approached the source, filled a canteen, and tapped in a few drops of reagent. She always carried a small backpack, and it was filled with reagents she would never, ever spill on herself.
"We can't drink this. It'll build toxins in your gut. Not lethal, but still water you shouldn't drink."
The enemy's aim was plain.
"Did they mess with our gear knowing this source was tainted?"
Magrun muttered.
"Or they poisoned it ahead of time."
Enkrid heard Grida add, but that was as far as they could confirm.
Whether the poison had been added here, or whether the water naturally carried taint—they couldn't know. One thing was sure: the path ahead wouldn't be smooth.
Knights who wielded Will wouldn't topple from a little of this water, so their aim was obvious again this time.
'Anne.'
He still didn't know why. He didn't know who the enemy was either. But something boiled.
What boiled? The will never to let the foe have what they wanted, whatever that was. And Enkrid wasn't the only one boiling.
"What a damnable lot of—"
Prickly words, laced with a curse and a sneer, burst from Anne's tiny mouth. It was like an exclamation. Of course, she wasn't moved to tears.