Chapter Fifty-Nine: War Is Simply War

Those looming shadows sprang and darted among the trees, leaping back and forth as if they were gigantic apes. In a matter of moments, they rushed forward, and one dark figure descended from above, swooping onto a soldier who had raised his sword...

Though the cavalry had drawn their weapons, they were ill-prepared for such agile, airborne adversaries. Three were quickly brought down—one stabbed viciously in the heart, while the other two grappled desperately with their foes.

The remaining dozen shadows instantly plunged into the midst of the imperial cavalry. Shaya felt a rank, musky stench rush upon him as a massive figure spread its arms wide, lunging at him. He had no time to evade; he was tackled to the ground, the enemy’s hands twisting madly at his neck. Shaya grunted, seized the attacker’s hands, and with a forceful wrench—crack, crack—the opponent’s wrists broke. The two rolled on the ground, Shaya crushing the enemy’s throat, his grip tightening...

Gah!

As Shaya struggled to his feet, Kevin had already swung his mace, hurling a shadow away with full force. A short dagger was embedded in Kevin’s shoulder, blood streaming freely where it had pierced through the gap in his pauldron—a wound sustained during the previous assault.

“Damn it! What are these things?”

He watched as several shadows retreated swiftly, leaping from tree to tree with uncanny agility—hulking figures, yet nimble as monkeys.

Kevin panted and shouted hoarsely, “Close ranks! Everyone, close together! These are Odin’s Icefield Hunters!”

The first assault had left six Byzantine scout cavalrymen dead—only two survived, the other four already lifeless. The enemy, those Icefield Hunters, had lost just two—one slain by Shaya’s broken neck, the other crushed by Kevin’s mace beneath a tree, his chest collapsed and bones shattered.

Now, in the darkness, the forest canopy shielded the sky, and the scouts, seeking concealment, had not lit a fire. Yet Shaya, born with night vision, could still make out the appearance of these Icefield Hunters.

Each wore black pelts, towering above the Byzantine scouts, their long arms hanging low, resembling apes. Their massive bodies, cloaked in black fur, made them seem more like bears; in the night, their forms were nearly impossible to distinguish.

Strangest of all, though their bodies were bulky, their movements were terrifyingly swift. Even as they bounded among the trees or pounced on the ground, they made almost no sound!

These were, after all, the elite Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment. The scouts quickly gathered together, forming a tight circle, back to back. Shaya and Kevin pressed close; beside them stood the scout captain, his face bloodied—he too had been attacked, his forehead split open from a fall, gripping his sword in one hand while clutching his left side with the other, where his leather armor had been ripped open and a deep wound bled profusely.

“It’s these damned things! Our mortal enemies, the scourge of Byzantine scouts!”

The captain rasped, his words forced through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the hunters lurking in the darkness—those figures struck and withdrew, now moving swiftly through the trees, leaping about, as if searching for another chance to attack.

Kevin yanked the short dagger from his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the pain. “Be careful, Shaya. These are Odin’s scouts, living in the northern icefields, running year-round across slick ice and steep mountains. Their agility is unmatched!”

No wonder—they truly moved like monkeys.

Shaya narrowed his eyes, watching the distant standoff. Both sides waited patiently, as the Icefield Hunters kept shifting positions...

At last, a whistle pierced the night. One shadow dove first, followed by a dozen more, leaping from all directions! The cavalry raised their swords to resist, but their foes were ferocious; often, a scout’s blade would strike true, yet the enemy ignored it, pressing close to stab with their short knives into vital points.

After several cries of agony, the defensive circle was breached! Shaya kicked one attacker away with tremendous force, sending him spraying blood midair. He realized that fighting such nimble foes with a massive double-bladed sword hindered his speed, so he drew his fire fork instead.

Then Shaya charged forward!

He sprang with all his might, soaring several meters like an Icefield Hunter. In midair, he met an enemy head-on, arms outstretched like an octopus, wrapping around him. The foe’s short knife plunged into Shaya’s chest—but he had miscalculated! Shaya’s body was now so resilient that a mere knife could not pierce him. With a powerful squeeze, bones cracked beneath his arms! The barbarian’s brute strength was extraordinary; Shaya landed on a tree with his dying adversary, tossed the corpse aside, and snatched the short knife from the enemy’s hand. Seeing another shadow leap toward him in the darkness, Shaya hurled the knife, striking the foe in the throat—he clutched his neck, choking, and fell backward.

Shaya seemed transformed into an Icefield Hunter himself—his movements, speed, and agility far surpassed theirs. If they were monkeys, he was a lynx!

In a single breath, he slew three, quickly targeting another...

This one was the tallest among them, having just slit a scout’s throat, his face smeared with blood. As he rose from the ground, Shaya tackled him, bringing him down again.

They wrestled fiercely. Shaya instantly sensed the enemy’s strength—far greater than the previous ones. He tried to break the foe’s neck, but this one managed to pry his hands away.

Shaya was furious! How dare you resist when I’m trying to kill you?

They rolled, Shaya creating space to drive his knee sharply upward into the enemy’s thigh. The man twisted in pain, and Shaya seized the moment—his elbow crashed into the foe’s chest.

Crack, crack—chest bones shattered. Shaya leaped up, lynx-like, onto a tree. He saw Kevin had just floored an opponent, but another Icefield Hunter had pounced onto Kevin’s back! The attacker’s legs locked tightly around Kevin’s waist; the impetuous youth struggled in vain to shake him off. The hunter, gripping a short knife, stabbed ferociously at Kevin’s neck...

Without hesitation, Shaya flung his fire fork like lightning. Kevin, feeling the cold edge at his throat and despair settling in, suddenly heard a thud as blood splattered his ear. The attacker’s body froze and fell away. Turning, Kevin saw the enemy’s head skewered by the fire fork!

Shaya jumped down and retrieved the weapon. Kevin, breathless, whispered, “I owe you my life!”

Shaya grinned...

Now, only four Byzantine scouts remained alive, while the Icefield Hunters finally whistled and leapt out of the battle, springing onto the trees and vanishing swiftly into the darkness, no longer lingering.

Fourteen scout cavalrymen perished in this ambush, while ten Icefield Hunters were killed—six by Shaya and Kevin alone. Without them, the scout unit might have been utterly wiped out!

For the first time, Shaya was deeply impressed by the ferocity of the Odin people.

As the enemy retreated, Kevin slumped to the ground, and the surviving scouts struggled to stand. The captain was still alive, bracing himself against a tree, his wound staining half his body red.

Kevin glanced at Shaya, his expression strange, and tugged him aside to whisper, “The fallen soldier was the captain’s son.”

What!?

Shaya was stunned.

The young cavalryman, who had left little impression during these days together, had a plain face and resolute eyes, his smile shy on rare occasions. In all the time, he addressed the captain as “Captain” like everyone else, never once calling him father. Nor was he given any special treatment—he was assigned the harshest duties, whether scouting, keeping watch, or standing guard...

And in a single moment, a father had lost his son.

In that same brief instant, life and death had severed the bond of kinship with brutal finality.

※※※

This was the first battle of Shaya’s military career. The captain’s lifeless gaze, as he looked upon his dead son, was etched into Shaya’s heart like a blade.

For the young hunter, this small yet savage skirmish made him realize a stark truth:

War is not hunting in the wilds!

War is not adventure on the open plains!

War is... war!

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