Cypress looked up at the sky and brushed his rough, stubbled jaw with his palm.
"This is unfair."
He was displeased with the situation.
Piiiiiiiiii—
A monster’s shriek stretched from the heavens down to the earth.
The wind that blew made his red cloak and his light-brown hair—already shot through with gray—ripple.
He had thought he could finally breathe a little easier once Ingis became a knight, but then the South sent out something absurd.
They called them Gryphon Riders.
Men mounted on gryphons flew at heights arrows couldn’t reach, dropping modified scrolls and throwing rocks.
It wasn’t a weapon that threatened individual knights. Even at the squire level, no idiot’s skull was going to pop from a little hail.
But for the southern garrison, it was fatal.
To stop that, the entire Order cut sleep to hurl spears and loose arrows.
“A composite bow that won’t snap under a knight’s strength, and at least three months.”
Those were the conditions to intercept those monstrosities overhead—the things with an eagle’s upper body and a lion’s lower body, and the bastards riding them.
Cypress coolly assessed the present state. Without the conditions he’d just considered, the southern front would be pushed back. Holes had already opened everywhere, and some of the monster packs had crossed the border.
The South had intentionally opened a road to send those monsters through.
“We don’t have the spare strength to block even that.”
As sometimes happened before, those would have to be handled by the people in each domain. Even so, it looked like they were about to lose.
Gryphon Riders—truly a card no one had foreseen.
“Ingis.”
“Yes, Master.”
If the recently knighted Ingis and that other knight—the one whose second name was “the knight who fights,” the one who usually held this battlefield—had not been here—
“We’d have been pushed already.”
The South’s underlying strength was greater than he’d thought. But should they retreat for that?
If they were going to do that, they wouldn’t have fought this long in the first place.
“We’ll have to devise a way to get up into the sky.”
“...Yes.”
Ingis’s answer was a touch late. Cypress was a hero who turned the impossible into the possible.
His epithet was “the knight who gets anything done.” That didn’t mean he literally intended to fly. But they needed a measure of that scale.
“If we can’t do it, we lose.”
Ingis could see the southern commander’s intent. In truth, most commanders want similar things, so reading that intent wasn’t hard.
“To win easily while minimizing friendly losses.”
To uphold that premise, a commander drafts all manner of strategies. Simple to say, hard to keep.
The South sent out Gryphon Riders without pause. Dawn, morning, noon, afternoon, evening, and night—constant.
To stop them, they needed the Order. They had to intercept bundles of scrolls in midair and threaten the gryphons by casting javelins upward.
At that height, ordinary soldiers couldn’t even reach. Thanks to that, the Order had no proper time to rest.
“At this rate, in a mere fortnight we’ll have to face the South’s knights while sleep-deprived.”
Coldly speaking, that meant going into the fight with one arm tied before it even began.
“And just those Gryphon Riders alone have driven our army’s morale into the ground.”
The Order could not rest. If they faced the South’s Guardian like this?
The Guardian was the epithet of a knight belonging to Southern Rihinstetten. He called himself the one who protected the nation. He was also a madman who believed everything would always go his way.
The Gryphon Riders were something truly no one had expected.
They said the South had monster tamers, but who could have predicted they would break a high-tier monster like a gryphon?
And then put men on them to drop fireballs from above?
“Are we to pull it off somehow, no matter what?”
His master was, by nature, the kind of knight who had lived that way.
Whatever the case, the greatest crisis on the southern front that lived in Ingis’s memory was now.
“No need to take me along. Just bring the ones rutting like horny beasts because they haven’t fought in a few days.”
Only Jaxon said that as he stepped out. Naturally, the moment he said it, a brawl broke out.
“Who are you calling beasts? The only beastman here is the bear.”
“Hoho, brother. Are you talking about me?”
“Using ‘beastman’ as an insult? You looking for a fight?”
Rem, Audin, and Dunbakel bristled at Jaxon’s words.
“If we’re setting out, I’ll take point.”
Ragna spouted nonsense.
“No. We’re going on horseback. I’d put you in a carriage, Sir Ragna, but that would be too conspicuous, so please take the most docile horse.”
Rophod reined Ragna in.
“War with the South, is it? Good. It’s about time I showed off the skills I’ve been polishing at leisure.”
Indefatigable Pell could only show his anticipation, no matter what anyone said.
The Dragonkin, the Frokk, and the fairy were, from the start, the kind who didn’t react to talk like that. The three simply stuck close to Enkrid.
And when Teresa’s humming laced through—
“This is what a madmen’s Order looks like.”
Just as Kraiss said. This was a band of madmen.
At their center, only Enkrid °• N o v e l i g h t •° was composed. When one after another said they’d follow, he merely nodded and let them. The matter grew this big.
“Move out.”
Enkrid took the lead. With Odd-Eye joining as well, it was not a small party.
Everyone set out except Esther and Jaxon.
That was how they left.
Rem idly played a reed pipe and patted his horse’s head, and Ragna dozed in the saddle, nodding off.
Enkrid, seeing the lumps and bruising mottling Odd-Eye’s back, stroked it and asked,
“I don’t see you getting beaten anywhere.”
The horse, who could understand human speech, shook his head.
Heeeing.
The whicker meant, “Of course not.”
“Then why are you like this here?”
Even with a gentle stroke, the back muscles twitched as if it hurt.
Heeeing.
This time it felt like, “I don’t know.”
“You converse with horses? Do you have a gift like mine?”
The Dragonkin asked. Being able to read minds didn’t mean he could see through another’s abilities.
“No.”
“Yet you’re communicating.”
They spoke across Shinar. She answered the Dragonkin’s remark.
“It’s the same as speaking with eyes alone, Dragonkin. As when my betrothed and I pledged our engagement with our eyes.”
The Dragonkin blinked his vertical pupils once and opened his mouth.
“I heard fairies don’t know falsehood. The world has changed a lot.”
Shinar’s eyebrow trembled so slightly you’d miss it if you weren’t looking closely. An expression of displeasure? That was how Enkrid read it.
“What part of that is false?”
Fairies do not speak lies. They merely distort the truth.
For Shinar, the betrothal was not yet truth, but it was something that would happen, and so was “betrothed.”
“Betrothal and betrothed.”
The Dragonkin flatly denied it.
“No. You devil.”
At last the fairy let her displeasure spill from her lips. For her, if there was an insult worse than “sprouted potato eyes,” it was calling someone a devil.
“I am Dragonkin.”
“It’s a figure of speech. Not a lie.”
Lua Gharne gave up on trying to understand the two. Enkrid, from the start, had little interest in their exchange.
All of them were mounted. Finding a horse that could carry Audin had been quite difficult, but the stable master of the city of Greenperl had long tended horses out on the wide plain and prepared a mount that could easily bear him.
It had hair on its fetlocks, and its brown and gray coat mixed together—an excellent breed. Naturally, Teresa received a horse of the same breed.
“Your name is Piyob.”
Audin named his horse thus.
Piyob was a name from the Scripture—a man who endured suffering, carried stones, and raised the walls of a fortress.
“That horse is a mare.” Said the man who’d handed over the reins, but Audin didn’t change the name.
“Gender is not what matters; the meaning in the name matters, brother. This horse’s name is Piyob.”
When you saw Audin’s bulk and fists, and the smile that harmonized with them, you agreed with him without thinking. So did the man who handed over the reins.
“Right, Piyob. From today, you’re Piyob.”
The man who’d been fitting the shoe nodded at once.
Once Audin named his horse, everyone else named theirs.
“Pathfinder.”
That was Ragna.
“Black-Eye.”
Rem named his after the horse’s pitch-black eyes.
The Frokk, because of her slick skin, had the saddle raised front and back so she sat wedged between them; she called her mount “Carriage.” It was a name without deeper meaning.
Temares read the horse’s mind and said this friend’s name was “Father’s Seventh.”
“Do Dragonkin lie?” When Rem asked whether the horse really thought that, Temares nodded.
“If necessary. It hasn’t been necessary yet.”
Arrogant, in one light—but also perfectly suiting the epithet “the one who walks alone.”
And “Father’s Seventh” meant the horse’s self-perceived ego. Rem cackled that it was real.
Rophod, Pell, and Teresa named theirs Cream, Speckles, and Pania, respectively.
Cream and Speckles were for coat color; Pania was the name of a pilgrim in the Scripture.
Dunbakel just called hers “Horse.”
The Madmen’s Order numbered thirteen in all—or rather, thirteen plus Odd-Eye made fourteen. For a journey headed to the southern battlefield, the atmosphere felt oddly like a picnic.
There were few clouds in the sky, the sunlight was warm, and a cool breeze blew now and then.
“A fine day.”
Enkrid savored the weather. Leaving the Border Guard and riding north along the Safe Road, they received military salutes at several checkpoints.
Odd-Eye’s back bulged in front, but if he rode toward the rear there was no great issue.
On the flats they went at a trot and a brisk pace; when a horse looked tired, he slowed to a walk.
No matter how sturdy the mounts carrying Audin and Teresa were, they were not warhorses—and on top of that, they bore various camp gear and equipment.
From the start, pushing past a trot was unreasonable. They’d also selected not fast horses, but ones with good endurance and stamina.
After passing two or three forests and coming out into open fields, the air was so clear the view opened wide.
“Edin Molsen.”
Enkrid wasn’t contemplating swordsmanship; he was thinking of the person he’d left behind.
“On the battlefield, Edin is a burden.”
His true value comes from the city and administration. Is Edin the only one like that?
“Farmers, craftsmen, artists, poets, musicians, painters, artisans.”
Until now, the places for such people had been terribly narrow.
“The continent is ruled by force.”
Knights—few in number and elite—were the very symbol of that force.
Why had that little country beyond the western lands Edin spoke of survived until now?
Thanks to a single old knight who devoted his life to defending it.
Even if knighthood extended one’s prime, it was rare to act into one’s eighties or nineties.
“Even so, thanks to him that nation endured.”
Trade cities survived by cleverly using mutual checks and balances, but at root, they were held up by mercenary bands at the quasi-knight level.
Even if they “sold their faith for gold,” they did not change their contracts just because someone offered more coin, so none took their fidelity lightly.
“A world where those without force still realize their will.”
Not just ending war—this was a conviction to be planted firmly.
Guarding the rear meant protecting such people.
Then were there none like that in the South they were now riding to fight?
The thought struck him suddenly.
Tok.
Odd-Eye halted mid-stride. Enkrid’s gaze lifted forward. His pupils narrowed as he snatched a distant object into focus.
A knight’s eyes see far beyond what ordinary people can.
Enkrid saw a dot approaching from far away. The dot closed the distance quickly.
It was an open plain so broad the horizon showed. If they kept on this course, they would reach Viscount Harrison’s domain; the plan was to rest there before moving on.
The approaching dot came from the south near the viscounty.
A speck running across the open plain drew nearer. Even at a distance where visual observation should have been difficult, it was fast.
Up close, wouldn’t it flash past their flank in the blink of an eye?
Once the distance narrowed enough, arrows traced parabolas in. They were bone arrows, discolored gray. Without anyone needing to shout, everyone moved to cover their own mount and swung their weapons. Odd-Eye dodged on his own.
Shshsh—whoosh. Tat-tat-tat.
Only a jumble of noise rang out. Deflected arrows scattered across the ground here and there.
“Sour.”
Battering the arrows aside, Enkrid caught a strange scent. Sour and fishy.
“Poison.”
Rem spoke.
Ragna, jolted awake, swung down from the saddle. In a short sprint, a knight is faster than a horse. His judgment was quick, his actions quicker. That was Ragna’s edge.
But the enemy’s reaction was quicker still.
“Look at these bastards.”
Pell muttered.
Shoot and run. At a speed that killed any thought of daring to give chase, just as before. Those things pounding the ground from afar bolted as they were.
“Disagreeable creatures.”
Rophod voiced the ill omen tugging at his sixth sense. He didn’t feel his life was threatened, but it grated.
Heeeing.
A few startled horses tossed their heads, but didn’t break into a bigger commotion. Odd-Eye was already the leader among them.
Just by walking once through their midst, he calmed the other mounts.
It was a knock that broke the calm.
“Centaurs.”
Enkrid said it. He had once faced them at colony-class growth. Only this time, their nature was a little different.
After three days, what the things were doing became clear.
“They’re waiting until we wear out, these things.”
Rem, a born hunter, said it.

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