In other words, he was entirely wrong. "Everyone's in position."
"Shall we?" "Let's."
"Let's do this."
The Gulliver brothers were standing stock-still atop the sand dunes as they looked down on the Warsa army, their voices overlapping despite being so far away from each other, as if they were telepathic.
To the four of them, distance did not count for much. As long as they could see each other, it did not matter whether the enemy was just one or ten thousand, they would exterminate them with such tight coordination that did not allow even one soldier to escape.
Staring blankly down at the army below them roaring with laughter, they lowered their visors and leaned forward, seemingly pulled down by gravity as they dashed down the dunes. An instant later, cries and screams began ringing out from all directions at the same time.
In later years, it would come to be known as the Battle of the Sindh.
A battle told in countless bards' songs and children's plays about the prince of a country in ruins who, with the aid of eight anonymous heroes, foiled the plot of evil deities manipulating Warsa behind the scenes. There would be no end to scholars and historians attempting to determine what exactly happened that day.
And one particularly famous point of study shrouded somewhere between the myth and truth of the battle was regarding the birth of a revolutionary tactic.
It was the "groundbreaking encirclement and annihilation formation carried out by just four people."
It was a maneuver where just four people in total were positioned at the north, south, east, and west of a force of twenty thousand that was both incomprehensible and yet somehow powerful beyond belief—a maneuver that would shock later military scholars and tacticians.
Renowned military scholars howled at its mention, as if to declare "How is that possible, you imbecile?" But it was emblematic of the age of deities,
and records indicated that it was, in fact, used to wipe Warsa's force of twenty thousand off the map.
Records of that unbelievable battle were left by a historian who was well- known in the desert realm, Orcas Gruen. He was one of the few survivors of the Battle of Sindh and the one general who saw firsthand what occurred that day, and when he described the battle in his autobiography, the next passage he wrote was: "My humblest apologies. I'm truly, truly sorry for looking down on you."
"General Jafar! Warsa's army has already begun the battle!" "What?!"
As Hedin, Hegni, and the Gulliver brothers embarked on their respective rampages and the agonizing cries of Warsa's army echoed throughout the desert, the Shalzad army deployed all by itself in the Gazoob Wasteland finally realized what was going on.
Based on reports from scouts saying, "I don't really get what's going on, but Warsa's army is getting its ass handed to it," the army hurriedly advanced toward the Sindh Expanse.
"Well, by the time they get there it will already be over," Freya said.
She was sitting in a chair with her legs crossed on the deck of the Fazoul Trading Company's desert ship. The ship was being steered by merchant trainees, keeping a safe distance from the battlefield while still being able to observe what was happening, as it leisurely cruised through the sand.
"Is this really okay, Lady Freya? Letting Lady Ali…Prince Aram move separately?" a stout, toned man asked.
"There's no helping it, since she said she wanted to see the battle with her own eyes. And if she is to be king, that sentiment is entirely reasonable," Freya responded.
Ali was currently watching the battle from an even closer position with the bare minimum accompaniment from the trading company. Freya was more worried about her being attacked by monsters than soldiers, but figured it should be fine.
With the overwhelming battle going on around them, the monsters would
be cowering in fear and not attacking humans. A smile crossed Freya's face as she imagined the look on Ali's face as she watched the battle.
"…Speaking of, though…who are you?" Freya asked, turning to the tall,
handsome man who was waiting at her side as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
She had been wondering about him for a while, but he had preternaturally adopted the role of her attendant so well she had not really had a chance to ask. The brown-skinned man responded naturally.
"I'm Bofman, milady."
NO WAY! Freya thought in her heart, forgetting her character for a moment.
The self-proclaimed Bofman was not a fattened blob of flesh but a well- sculpted mass of muscle. He had a short mustache, but beneath his brown skin, he had the physical structure of a slightly smaller Ottar.
Freya's wide-eyed gaze conveyed the question What happened during that one night?
"Last night I received a strict punishment from Messrs. Ottar, Allen, Hedin, Hegni, and Gulliver and was made aware how unsightly I truly was… Muscle is righteousness." The self-proclaimed Bofman averted his eyes as he responded.
But his answer was incomprehensible to Freya. It was not just his appearance; even his tone had changed. Such a dramatic transformation in the course of a single night shocked even a goddess.
"…Why don't you come to my room tonight?" Freya suggested.
"No, a lowly beast such as I am not worthy to be summoned by you, Lady Freya."
However, a gravelly, handsome voice politely rejected her. She wondered why she felt like she had been defeated. Freya was a bit annoyed by that and made a mental note to torment Ottar later.
"…Lady Freya, that is…"
Bofman and the rest of the crew all looked in the same direction. When Freya also glanced over, she spotted an air current rising into the sky, creating a sand tornado—
"A…a sandstorm…"
A fiendish vortex filled the sky as the soldiers of Warsa trembled in fear. The powerful wind whipping the sand into the air swallowed up the soldiers running for their lives one after the other as their screams were swept up into the storm.
Warsa's fourth division, ten thousand soldiers, fell into a panic at the inexplicable phenomenon occurring before their eyes.
"Wh-what is that?! Magic?!"
No. It was the aftereffects of someone sprinting. A preposterous, inhuman, almost supersonic movement kicked up a wind that scattered sand through the air. It was nothing more than a side effect.
The unit commander who cried out saw the single flash of a silver spear come from inside the depths of that evil storm for just a second before it pierced his chest.
"Gaaaaaah?!"
Paying no heed to the soldier who collapsed with blood pouring from his chest, the fighting cat kept sprinting.
"Tch, just like in Sand Land, huh? This always happens in sandy terrain." Despite having already lost count of how many enemies he had killed,
Allen did not slow his spear in the least. As he ran around in every direction at top speed, leaving only death in his wake, his passing created a tremendous wind, giving birth to a sandstorm that swallowed up an entire division of Warsa troops. He continued striking down his targets at an ever-faster rate as they fell into a panic.
The fastest in Orario.
Allen was faster than every other adventurer, and he ran riot around the battlefield, kicking up an enormous plumes of dust like a blindingly fast chariot. To the soldiers, it was like a natural disaster or a gigantic monster attacking. Their taste for battle vanished, but Allen did not allow even one who turned their back to escape.
There were no calls of surrender. No one would think to wave the white flag in the face of a storm. Because of the sand, no one could even see Allen as every last one of them fell to his silver spear without exception.
"Ha-haaaaaaaa!"
At least that was how it should have been.
Someone charged into the wall of sand, broke through, and swung dual
swords down at Allen. Allen considered parrying with his spear for a moment
—but quickly decided to avoid the blades instead. His superhuman dynamic vision noticed that the blades were a suspicious red and blue color.
And, as if announcing he was correct to jump back, a stream of flames and a blast of frost erupted from the blades. The combination of searing flames and ice that froze even the desert scattered the sandstorm. Allen stopped moving when he landed on the ground, observing the enemy that had been able to attempt an attack on him while he was moving.
"You're the one! You're the guy trying to disrupt my lord Resheph's plan!"
It was a lean and tall male elf. He was untanned with long black hair, wearing a cloak over his otherwise bare upper body. His face and chest were covered in warpaint-like tattoos, but he did not seem to be a proper warrior, instead giving off a bit of an ominous air.
"I am Lord Resheph's greatest follower, the leader of his familia, Seal!" "…Do all the servants of that Resheph or whatever have the same bad
habit of introducing themselves?"
The man who called himself Seal did not pay Allen's gaze any heed as his delightedly clanged his magic swords together.
"You're strong, aren't you?! I can tell just by looking! What was with that speed?! Are you by any chance a warrior from outside the desert, like us? No, wait! Is there any chance that you might be an adventurer from Orario?!"
Perhaps getting excited in the heat of the moment on the battlefield, or perhaps losing himself in joy at the appearance of an overwhelmingly powerful warrior, the elf twisted his face in a way that disfigured his features as he shouted, guessing at Allen's true identity.
Resheph Familia's leader spoke in a grating voice that served only to increase Allen's irritation even as the strange man's smile deepened.
"Even I, a kavir, can't hope to win against you! No chance at all! Ha-ha- ha-ha-ha-ha! Scary, scary! Aaaaah, what a fearsome warrior!"
Despite recognizing the difference in their strength, Seal could not stop laughing. Meanwhile, Allen had moved beyond displeasure and was ready to commit murder. Just when he had decided it was enough and was about to run down the elf—Seal noticed his ferocious hostility and quickly began to move.
"At this rate, I'll be killed! So I'll just have to show you my invincible
warrior-killer technique!"
And he followed that up with a hair-raising chant.
"Run wild! Wind of pestilence!"
Allen gazed in surprise for a second when he realized it was not magic but a curse as Seal revealed his unerring technique.
"Hal Reshef!"
A bewitching light shimmered in Seal's eyes. Even Allen, whose legs could allow him to completely evade a barrage of attacks and the full brunt of an area of effect spell, could not evade a ray of light that worked on eye contact.
Allen immediately covered his eyes with one arm after the flash of dim, dark-purple light, as he stood there scolding himself for being careless. It was uncommon for curses to do direct damage like attack magics, so he did not move as he tried to determine the attributes of the curse afflicting him.
There were no abnormalities in his extremities, and he could not verify any kind of status ailments. Even if his magic or skills were sealed, it was irrelevant, since he did not need anything other than his raw strength to crush them. There were no obvious impediments to his five senses. Based on the quick double check he performed, Allen suspected it might be a counterattack sort of curse. The sort that inflicted whatever damage the cursed person dealt back onto them.
Having figured out from Seal's speech that he was not the kind of person to fight directly, Allen made a frustrated noise as he looked back up.
"…?"
Seal had disappeared. And not just him. Allen could not see any of the other soldiers, either. There was only the blue sky, the expanse of sand, and the murderous heat of the sun beating down on him.
Allen's thoughts immediately jumped to the idea he was hallucinating, but he quickly rejected that hypothesis. The corpses of the soldiers that Allen had killed were still visible, and the blood on the sand was still there, too. And most of all, Allen's keen nose could still sense countless soldiers in the surroundings.
—Concealment? Did he drop a pain-in-the-ass illusion on me?
Allen's brow furrowed as he looked on dubiously, preparing to follow his nose to slam his spear home, but—
"Big Brother."
That girl's voice stopped him in his tracks. "—"
On his right, a girl suddenly appeared, tears in her eyes as she stretched out her hand toward him. The way she struggled to walk over to him was as if she had just suffered horrific injuries.
It was a catgirl wearing her battle gear, an adventurer like Allen. She had a gold shoulder piece on the opposite shoulder from Allen and brown fur. She did not have it with her there, but Allen knew that she carried a golden spear as well.
The fearsome fighting cat Allen forgot his annoyance and hostility, his eyes going wide as he stood there.
"Please wait, Big Brother…Don't leave me behind!" Without a doubt, it was Allen Fromel's little sister, Ahnya.
It worked! I'll be taking some more of that sweet, sweet high-rank excelia!
Seal was sure of his victory.
He had changed locations, lowering his body and camouflaging himself against the sand using his cloak, as he licked his lips while watching Allen stand there stock-still.
He, of course, could not see Allen's little sister. The person facing Allen was an assassin from Resheph Familia with a poison dagger in one hand hidden behind his back.
Hal Reshef. As Allen surmised, it was an illusionary curse. Seal, the caster of the curse, had no way of knowing who the victim was seeing, but knew it was that individual's most beloved person. That was the effect of Seal's curse, Hal Reshef. It revived the traumatic memories deep in his target's heart, a curse that brought forth a heartrendingly foul pestilence.
Seal had used that power to lay low countless warriors stronger than himself. Given the nature of statuses and leveling up, it was essentially a rule that those who had accomplished great feats had also paid some sort of price. Whether their dark past involved a comrade, family, or a lover, they were all a perfect fit for Seal's curse. No matter how strong someone was, they would be shaken by the appearance of the person most precious to them and replay some tragic memory in their mind, leaving a fatal opening for Seal to exploit.
It's all thanks to this curse that I've gotten to Level Four.
Seal had no doubt that he was the weakest Level 4 in the world. Up against a strong opponent, he could only gain excelia by catching them off guard with tricks like that. His techniques and tactics were mediocre, and his abilities were all at the lowest levels. The adventure he had embarked upon was equivalent to the labor of gradually whittling down a rampaging wild bull. He was not really a warrior at all. He was a hexer.
However, Seal also had no doubt that he was the strongest. At the very least as long as he wasn't fighting a monster. He was the strongest in the world when it came to fighting other people. There was nothing fake about the most beloved person Allen was seeing at that very moment. It was projected from within him and was without doubt the person he truly loved above all else. Their shape, voice, scent, feel—all of it was real. They were reflections of his own memories, and no one would be able to doubt what had been engraved deep in their own heart.
Of course not. How could anyone raise a hand against their most beloved? The trauma every victim of Seal's curse saw was like a crossroad in life where the path had been chosen long ago and could not be rejected or denied now.
My lackey's dagger is coated in a powerful poison, a drop item smuggled out of the Labyrinth City…You won't be able to defend against it no matter how strong you are.
There was a chance that when Allen was stabbed he might kill the lackey in confusion, but that was fine. Seal had plenty of pawns capable of playing the role of a victim's most beloved. Allen could not see them currently because of the curse, but all the scared soldiers watching from the surroundings would do just fine. The world Allen currently saw was a mixture of illusion and reality, and until Seal released the curse, he would never break from the nightmare of seeing his most beloved.
"So, how will you scream for me?" Seal watched with a sadistic grin. "…"
Allen looked down silently. The assassin moved closer, step by step. The man who appeared nothing like the adventurer's little sister to Seal slowly lowered his arm. The voice tearfully calling for her big brother rang in his cat ears. And the moment his sister was right before his eyes—the moment the assassin's blade could finally reach him…
Allen swung his silver spear with all his might, turning his little sister into a broken lump of flesh.
" What?!"
Time froze for Seal and for all the members of Resheph Familia who were familiar with his ability. The soldiers of Warsa were struck by a pure terror. Having killed his little sister with his own hands, Allen snapped like never before.
"You showed me a real pain in the ass…"
His chilling voice revealed that his normally restrained wrath had broken free. His voice was brimming with murderous rage, causing Seal to break into a cold sweat as he reflexively leaped backward.
Whipping around faster than the wind, the fighting cat locked his eyes onto Seal.
He should only be able to see his most beloved person—how did he recognize me?!
Seal dropped all pretenses as he screamed:
"Someone stop hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim!"
Resheph Familia and the soldiers reflexively obeyed his order. The soldiers all looked like Allen's most-beloved person as they barreled down on him. In Allen's eyes, they looked exactly like his sister in her adventurer's equipment; like his sister wearing her uniform for the restaurant; like his sister from days long past when she was young.
And not realizing the fuel he was adding to the flames of Allen's wrath, Seal watched what happened next. The cat's body blurred as he dodged and slaughtered every last one of the little sisters charging at him.
"Wh-what are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?!"
His spear pierced and its shaft smashed as he unleashed a flurry of blows to take the sisters apart. As Allen kicked up a storm wiping out all the enemy troops, Seal could not stop himself from screaming as he raised his twin blades. While the grunts were holding the cat back, he frantically readied himself to finish the adventurer with his magic swords.
However, the cat's wrath had crossed its boiling point. Allen leaped away from the remains of his most-beloved lying scattered around the ground. The dune he had been standing on exploded from the force of his leap as he unleashed his strongest charge, passing by Seal, who was swinging his twin blades down.
"What?!"
A ray of light flashed past right as Seal's arms swung down through the air. But his arms had both disappeared below the elbows. He froze when the magic swords he had been holding fell to the ground behind him, sticking out of the sand.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH?!"
An ear-splitting wail reverberated across the sands.
The shock of losing both his arms to Allen's silver spear, the lightspeed movement that was impossible to sense, the burning pain in both his arms, and the sense of inescapable bloodlust that he never before felt—all of it ate away at Seal's mind, warping the elf's features as tears and beads of sweat coated his face, like he had lost all hold on his senses.
"Hey, asshole."
The sound of the man's voice behind him was more chilling, more terrifying than anything Seal had ever felt. Unable to breathe, Seal struggled to fill his lungs as Allen's subzero voice continued.
"You look just like some dumbass I hate more than anything in this world, too."
Liar, liar, liar! What you're seeing is the person you love the most! The irreplaceable other half of your soul! It can't be the person you hate the most!
—But why, then? Why can he so mercilessly and calmly swing his spear at his most beloved—?
—What the hell is he seeing with those eyes of his?!
"Undo this curse now. If you don't, I'll murder you. Slowly and painfully."
"O-okay! I got it! I'll do it! So don't kill me!"
Allen threatened Seal with a low, quiet, murderous voice as the bawling elf just about wet himself while intoning the curse removal.
"Be gooone, epidemic calamityyy!…It's gone! It's gone! You're greatest love is gone!!! So! So please don't!"
Announcing that the curse was removed, Seal begged for his life, half crying, half laughing.
Three seconds.
Allen gritted his teeth as tight as he could and then swung his spear down with one hand, splitting Seal straight down the middle.
"You didn't undo anythiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!"
His howl thundered across the plains. Allen's eyes still saw his little sister, still saw that idiot, that disgrace.
His rage that had long since passed its boiling point and finally reached its critical point. He instantly cut down Seal, who had lost his reason and had not been able to control his magic well enough to undo his own curse. Now the elf's horrific corpse lay on the sand.
When Seal had failed to undo the curse, Allen had thought it would end once the caster was dead, but even after cutting him in half, her face was still all he could see. The effect continued even after the caster was unconscious or even dead—meaning it was the type of curse that would only disappear after a set amount of time had passed.
Allen's fur stood on end in rage. Sensing the danger, the soldiers, who all looked like his little sister, cried out in terror as they tried to run away from Allen's silver spear.
Don't fuck with me. I won't allow it. I won't forgive anyone masquerading as that nitwit.
Allen would never accept that that was his truth. Because of that, there was only one thing left to do.
"—I'm gonna slaughter every last one of them."
Ghastly was the only word to describe what followed.
Generally speaking, it was impossible for an army to be entirely wiped out. Once a force took greater than 30 percent losses, the battle would usually be over. However, the division that Allen had targeted was slaughtered to the last man by the fighting cat who enthralled to his rage. In order to erase the scene that so disgusted him, Allen summoned forth dozens of sandstorms, manifestations of his wrath.