Hyakuren no Haou to Seiyaku no Valkyria - Volume 2 - Chapter 5

ACT 5 

“Master, what do you need from me this late at night?” Skáviðr asked as he entered the room. 

“Mm, well, take a seat,” Yuuto said, making a gesture for him to sit down. 

“Sir!” With an unsociable no-nonsense expression that matched his words, Skáviðr dropped down to one knee and held himself at attention. 

Yuuto had been trying to imply that it was okay to relax but... This is just how this man always is, Yuuto thought with a wry chuckle. 

They were in a small settlement on the banks of the Élivágar River, not too far off from Gimlé. The Wolf Clan troops led by Yuuto had made this settlement the center of their base camp tonight, and were recovering from the fatigue of the day’s march. 

A house in the center of the settlement slightly larger than the others had become Yuuto’s lodging for now. 

It might have been larger than the others, but the house was made of sun-dried bricks that looked in poor repair, and the inside was pretty old, too. From the perspective of someone from the modern era, it might as well have been an abandoned building or ruin. 

It was still a lot better than what the average soldiers had to put up with camping outdoors, though. It would be bad karma for him to complain too much. 

“At least it doesn’t seem like there’ll be any work for me to do here,” Skáviðr laughed derisively at himself, as if he were making light conversation. 

“It is abandoned, after all,” said Yuuto. “Linnea did her part well.” 

“Hm, the patriarch of the Horn Clan did?” 

“Yeah, we’re right alongside the border here. I have no intention whatsoever of letting the Lightning Clan break into our territory, of course, but just in case worse comes to worst, I thought I should have everyone evacuated.” 

When invading an enemy country, pillaging the local towns was the long-held custom in Yggdrasil. So Yuuto had a duty to protect the people within his clan territory as their patriarch. 

That said, this area had originally been the territory of the Horn Clan, and the locals were hardly accustomed to being ruled by the Wolf Clan. His forces couldn’t just roll in and say, “We’re going to have a war now, so hurry up and evacuate your homes, and go off somewhere else.” It would be questionable whether the people would obey in the first place, and it might also invite a hostile response. 

Linnea, on the other hand, was widely beloved and respected among the people here, and she was familiar with all of the small villages and settlements in the area. More than anything, she was incredibly skilled at setting up organized plans and executing them. 

He’d figured she’d definitely be able to secure a destination for the people to evacuate to, and take measures to ensure they got the food and water they needed. It was a fitting example of finding the right person for the right job. 

“All right, to start off, here you go.” Yuuto sat cross-legged in front of Skáviðr, and handed him a silver cup. Then he proceeded to fill it up with the wine he’d had Felicia procure for him. 

The sinister and gloomy man in front of him broke out in a pleasant smile. “Well, well. To think I get the pleasure of my master pouring me a drink himself.” 

“I’m really grateful to you,” Yuuto said. “This is the least you can let me do.” 

“I haven’t done anything worthy of gratitude, but still, I accept. ...Mm, that’s good.” Skáviðr downed the whole cup of wine in one quick gulp, and then shivered slightly as it hit him. He truly seemed to have enjoyed it. 

Yuuto knew that this man was a huge fan of alcohol, and of this type of wine in particular. 

Yuuto steeled himself, and broached the subject he needed to ask. “So, how many did you kill on the way here?” 

“Three. With this many people all together, a few fools are bound to show themselves.” 

The current Wolf Clan forces, including reinforcements from the Claw and Horn Clans, numbered around 5,000 in total. 

In addition to all of the Wolf Clan’s recent military strides, their recent victory against the Hoof Clan must have been some kind of turning point, for there had been a stream of skilled fighters making their way into Wolf Clan territory over the past month, with the hope of becoming commissioned officers. 

There were more than a few among their number who could only be described as scoundrels. And with everyone preparing to head into battle, there were those whose fighting spirit also heightened their aggression. It was inevitable that there’d be incidents of trouble at the villages where they had stopovers. 

“I’m sorry for making you be the one who has to kill his comrades,” Yuuto sighed. 

It was an inevitable problem. It couldn’t be eliminated entirely. But he’d been able to reduce it. It was for that reason that he’d needed to make everyone thoroughly aware that the crime of disobeying military orders carried a severe punishment. 

There was an old Japanese proverb: “Punish one, warn one hundred.” It meant that punishing one person for their crime or mistake can serve as an example to others, deterring them from committing that same crime or mistake. 

No one would want to kill someone who’d been their comrade up until yesterday. However, someone had to be the one to do it. 

It was all the more true at that time in particular, when they were marching to do battle with the Lightning Clan. If it wasn’t made abundantly clear that one mustn’t disobey the orders of their superiors, then even a winnable battle might be lost. There was no space for naive talk of ideals or principles. 

The one who executed those punishments would be resented, shunned, and feared. And the one who had taken that role upon himself was Skáviðr. 

“There is not a single thing for you to apologize over, master,” said Skáviðr. “I don’t feel the slightest bit of pain over cutting down fools who would hurt women and children. This is my way of making amends to my wife and child.” 

He was already over thirty. In Yggdrasil, where marrying during one’s teens was totally normal, it would be strange for him not to have a family of his own. But Skáviðr was alone. He had lost his wife and eight-year-old son when bandits broke into his home. 

“It really should be my job to do it, though...” 

“Master, to our people you are a light of hope. A social outcast like myself is a more fitting choice for such dirty work.” 

“But, still...” 

Yuuto understood. Logically, he knew Skáviðr was right. That was why, when Jörgen’s child subordinate was executed, he’d restrained himself from saying anything. 

When the citizens were raining jeers down upon Skáviðr, Yuuto had wanted to come to his defense, to shout out loud that their patriarch was truly the one to whom they should direct their anger. He had felt sick with himself as he’d received everyone’s praise, and he’d wanted to set the record straight with them all. 

But that would have only served his own self-satisfaction. Skáviðr had taken that hated role upon himself for the sake of the nation, and Yuuto couldn’t allow himself to sully that noble determination for his own petty reasons. 

Even knowing all that, he still had trouble accepting it emotionally. It was unbearable for him to watch someone else take on the dirty and unpleasant roles resulting from his decisions, while he remained clean and blameless. 

A clan’s patriarch must seek the happiness of the many. This was the result of that, and another example of putting the right person to the right job, but Yuuto still couldn’t forgive himself. 

“Heh, do not feel like you need to take everything onto yourself at such a young age,” Skáviðr chided kindly, with a somewhat nostalgic look in his eyes. “It’s fine to leave these sorts of things to adults.” 

If his son were still alive, he’d be Yuuto’s age now. Perhaps he saw a bit of his son in Yuuto. But it would have been uncouth for Yuuto to ask about that. 

“Master, there are things that only you can do. Only the lion can hunt the tiger. Please protect the smiles of the people of the Wolf Clan. Nothing would make my wine taste sweeter than that.” 

“The Lightning Clan has 8,000 men,” Yuuto said. “There’s not as great of a gap in numbers between us as there was with the Hoof Clan, but they’ve still got the advantage on us by a lot.” 

He’d gotten the info from Kristina, and the numbers were likely fairly accurate. Once more, the battle ahead of him was going to be a rough one.

The next day, Yuuto moved his troops across the Élivágar River into Lightning Clan territory. He’d managed to avoid letting his enemy make the first move and prevented the invasion of his own territory. 

At least for now, that meant he’d won the battle on the information front. 

He set up his troop formation with the hills at their backs, and had them rest to regain their spirits while he waited for the Lightning Clan’s army. 

That army showed themselves two days later. It was here that the first spark of the fires of war was lit between two clans, Wolf and Lightning.

A battle on level ground usually began with the exchange of arrows. 

The common strategy was to use the archer fire as moving cover, while using chariots to close the distance or flank, until finally the two sides were pulled into close combat. 

“Hey, why’re their arrows reaching us from that far away?” Steinðórr stood atop the earthen fortifications he’d had constructed for his battlefield headquarters, tilting his neck quizzically as he stared out toward the front lines. 

The wind was blowing from his side, so it should have been a headwind for the enemy. And yet, as if to spite that, the Wolf Clan’s arrows were reaching his men from outside of the range of his own archers. It was profoundly mysterious and upsetting. 

“I have heard that the Wolf Clan patriarch has a number of strange tools at his disposal,” a well-built man at Steinðórr’s side answered in a humble manner. “Perhaps this is the effect of one of them.” 

His severe face carried the air of a military veteran, while the composed look in his eyes indicated a calm intelligence. 

His name was Þjálfi. He was an Einherjar bearing the rune of Tanngrísnir, “the Snarler,” and he was Steinðórr’s confidant and military advisor. 

“Ah, who cares about the details,” Steinðórr muttered. He raised his voice and shouted an order, thrusting his arm out in front of him in a gesture of command, palm facing forward. “Guard yourselves with your shields and advance!” 

A situation where only the enemy got to attack meant that only his own casualties would increase. If he was to win this contest, he’d need to first reach a distance where his own attacks could hit. 

Archers might have a bit of range, but so what? They were only arrows. The exchange of arrow fire was nothing more than a prelude, a skirmish lasting only until the chariots and infantry closed in and melee combat began. 

All it meant was that this time, the rain of arrows as they advanced would last a bit longer, and if they guarded themselves carefully with their shields, there shouldn’t be many casualties. Indeed, he assumed the danger would be trivial— 

“Graah!” 

“Aaagh!” 

Cries of pain rose up one after another from the front lines. 

“What just happened?!” Steinðórr shouted. 

“Th-the enemy’s arrows are piercing through our shields, sir!” a lookout reported. 

“What?!” Steinðórr scowled in response. 

While many clans in Yggdrasil relied on wooden shields, the Lightning Clan was blessed with plentiful supplies of copper, and so equipped their soldiers with bronze shields. If it were an attack from a heavy weapon like an ax or warhammer, it might be understandable for a bronze shield to break, but from mere arrows? Steinðórr had no idea what in the world was going on. 

“...It’s iron.” Þjálfi spat out the words in an almost hateful tone, grimacing. “Lord Alexis said that during the war with the Hoof Clan, the Wolf Clan had their soldiers equipped with spears of iron. To think they would use it in arrows, as well...” 

“Wait, iron, seriously man? You’re saying they got enough of that stuff to just shoot it at us?!” Steinðórr couldn’t help going wide-eyed in shock at the idea. 

In a way, that was a natural and justified reaction. In Yggdrasil, iron was something rare and only obtained from meteorites, thought of as literally a gift from the heavens. Arrows were meant to be nothing more than disposable ammunition. To take something whose value far outshone that of gold or silver, and just throw it away like it was nothing, seemed outside the realm of sanity. 

“Perhaps from their perspective, it is no longer an especially rare or precious commodity,” Þjálfi’s murmured. 

His words had hit the mark precisely. The Wolf Clan had access within their own territory to all the iron sand they could want. Due to its relative density, the iron sand had accumulated in riverbank sediments in what was called a longshore drift mineral deposit. 

Those deposits had been yet untouched by human hands, and the mountainous lands of the Wolf Clan were also abundant with the lumber necessary for iron production. 

If it were for something like forging a proper nihontou, higher-quality iron sand from the mountains would be better, but river iron sand was more than good enough to make iron equipment for their common soldiers. 

With the continuous wars with the Claw and Horn Clans leading right into their rushed battle with the Hoof Clan, the Wolf Clan had never had the chance to prepare enough of it, but this time around, they had come fully prepared. 

“Dammit! You think I’ll stop now?! They’re using some petty trick or something to make their arrows fly farther and faster, but it looks like that’s making the gap between one volley and the next longer, too. Don’t flinch! Now’s the time to press forward! Faster! Go faster!” 

Human nature is such that, when faced with something completely unforeseen, a person often momentarily freezes up, or their mind goes blank. An average commander would have surely been shaken by the overwhelming effectiveness of the enemy’s attacks and fallen into a panic. 

However, Steinðórr quickly saw through to their weakness, the fact that they couldn’t fire in quick succession, and made the swift decision to charge relentlessly forward without the slightest hesitation. 

This was indeed the man who, despite his youth, had won battle after battle as commander, and within a scant three years had come to rule over all of northern Vanaheimr. 

However, even someone as great as he could not begin to imagine that the fusillade of iron arrows was, to the Wolf Clan, really and truly exactly as he had said: a petty trick. The Lightning Clan soldiers were about to experience the true terror of the Wolf Clan army.

“The enemy forces aren’t stopping! They’re charging this way!” the lookout reported. 

“As expected of the Lightning Clan,” Yuuto nodded with his chin in his hand. “They’re known for dauntless courage in battle, after all. Not even crossbows could stop them, huh?” 

The crossbow was a type of bow that had been used extensively in China as early as the 5th century BCE. It was made to be held horizontally instead of vertically. The arrow was placed on a wooden base called a stock, and could be fired by pulling a trigger. 

Pulling the bowstring back required more time and effort than a normal bow, and so it lacked the capacity to fire in quick succession. While an expert archer might be able to fire ten or more arrows in one minute, a crossbow wielder might only manage two. 

In exchange, it boasted range and penetrating power the likes of which bows of this era could not hope to compare to. And the arrowheads were iron, not bronze. That hardness complementing the arrows’ flight speed made for a mighty weapon. 

Furthermore, in Yggdrasil, the vast majority of soldiers were peasant farmers. Learning to use a bow effectively required a lot of time and training, but a crossbow only required a fraction of that to obtain a base level of accuracy, and it provided the same strength of firing power no matter the user. It was the ideal weapon for peasant soldiers, provided to them centuries ahead of its time. 

“All right, it should be time now,” Yuuto said. “Have the crossbowmen fall back.” 

Yuuto could see that the Lightning Clan soldiers were making their way through the rain of iron arrows, closing the distance, and would soon be within range to attack the Wolf Clan army. 

After they’d desperately withstood that assault and made it all the way to this point, he felt a little bad for them, but this was a battle of life and death for everyone. As the one entrusted with the lives of his own soldiers, he couldn’t afford to show any mercy. 

He inhaled deeply, then threw out his arm and shouted in a thunderous voice. 

“Phalanx spearmen, charge!!” 

In response to Yuuto’s command, his personal guardsmen rang the signal gongs, and waved the banners of his headquarters up and down. That ensured that the orders would instantly reach allies fighting a distance away from him. 

Both visual and audio signals were used simultaneously, so even if a soldier didn’t catch one of the signals, there was a good chance he might catch the other. And, because the Wolf Clan was so consistent in the enforcement of their laws, their soldiers had a much more thorough culture of discipline trained into them. His army’s swift response to orders and well-controlled movements wasn’t something showy, but in this type of era, it was a standout sign of excellence. 

“Yeaaaaaaaah!!” With a roaring war cry, the phalanx troops began their advance, and a mere moment later met the Lightning Clan infantry head-on. 

The spears they were carrying were more than twice as long as those of the Lightning Clan, and they, too, were made with iron. By thrusting those weapons forward all at once, the enemy could neither evade nor block them, and for their part the enemy’s attacks could not reach the phalanx. It was a completely one-sided fight. 

This had been the driving force behind the Wolf Clan’s victories against the Claw, Horn, and Hoof Clans, their consistently unbeatable tactic. And even now against the Lightning Clan, it was once again providing results. Even with their superior numbers, the Lightning Clan warriors were no match for it. They fell dead, one after another, in the face of the Wolf Clan’s assault. 

“They’re putting up less resistance than I thought they would.” Yuuto knit his brow, suspicious. 

He had been fairly certain the enemy would struggle against him, but it had gone so well that it was almost anticlimactic. These were the soldiers of the Lightning Clan, renowned for being daring and resolute, yet he was sure the Hoof Clan had been more tenacious. 

“Could it be that we of the Wolf Clan have become just that much stronger?” Felicia asked. 

“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Yuuto shook his head slowly at her suggestion. 

There was less of a difference in numbers than when they’d fought the Hoof Clan. And unlike the previous war, the Wolf Clan soldiers hadn’t had to make a sudden forced march, they’d gotten the necessary training, and they’d received plenty of food and rest before the battle. They’d also been able to fire far more arrows this time around. 

With the full and complete preparations they’d been able to make before engaging in battle, one could say that this outcome was natural enough, but to Yuuto it still felt like there was too much of a lack of resistance from the enemy. 

The Hoof Clan troops responded to their master’s orders quickly and with a level of cohesion that didn’t break down even when they were cornered by Yuuto’s tactics. Looking at the Lightning Clan soldiers by comparison, they certainly were bold and daring enough to push forward through the crossbow barrage and into the wall of longspears, but they seemed to lack coordination somehow. 

This was a large-scale battle, of thousands versus thousands, and it was plain to see which kind of force would be more of a threat. 

“Well, maybe I should just be giving more credit to Yngvi,” Yuuto said. 

Yuuto was a ruler his army had defeated, the late patriarch of the Hoof Clan who had built up his nation into a great power in the span of one generation. In the end, Yngvi had been no match for Yuuto’s modern-era knowledge and tactics, but he had still been a rare breed of warrior and general, and a hero to his people. 

Their individual strengths as fighters aside, as generals, the younger Steinðórr was just not as skilled as the much more mature Yngvi had been. 

That’s all there was to it— 

“...No, there’s no way that’s it.” Yuuto just couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had. 

Everything was going his way. Yuuto had already learned that things don’t just work out that easily in life. Times like this were exactly when one might unexpectedly fall into a trap. 

Three years ago, that same Yngvi had been handily repelled by Steinðórr. And that was at a time when the Lightning Clan had been much smaller in size and strength than it was now. Yuuto couldn’t forget that overwhelming aura he’d seen at the Horn Clan’s victory ceremony. 

There was something more to the man, for sure. Yuuto got the impression that Steinðórr, true to his alias, was watching him like a crouching tiger even as he withstood the Wolf Clan’s attacks, waiting for the chance to strike. 

If he was merely overthinking things, that was fine. Yuuto made an effort to suppress his excited emotions, and renewed his focus. 

“A battle maniac like him would first get his opponents to bring out their full strength before smashing them to pieces, but this isn’t a game to me. I’m not gonna give him the chance to strike back.”

“Ah! All right, men, that’s the signal from Father,” Sigrún said. “Everyone, show me your fighting spirit!” 

Confirming the signal banner from her position in the left flank, where she had been waiting excitedly for her chance to sortie, Sigrún called her subordinates to attention. 

This time, they weren’t going to be using the type of hit-and-run surprise attacks they’d used against the Hoof Clan. Back when they’d been fighting in the territory of their allied nation the Horn Clan, they’d had plenty of information about the geography, and supplies and assistance from the citizens. This time they were in enemy territory, and needed to avoid any high risk maneuvers. 

Thanks to that, both the people and horses had energy to spare, and they’d been ready and waiting for their signal to head into the fight. 

“Múspell unit, forward!” Sigrún unsheathed her nihontou as she shouted the command. 

Her clear and gallant voice was brimming with fighting spirit, and it stoked the flames of excitement within her men. 

Her elegant and beautiful figure resembled how one might imagine one of those mythological warrior maidens who guided souls in the afterlife. It was a far cry from the image one might imagine from her warrior title. 

Under her leadership, it was said her men did not fear even death, and the Múspell unit charged ferociously into their enemies. 

“Distant foes, hear my voice! Those nearby, come and look upon me! I am the Mánagarmr, Sigrún of the Wolf Clan! If you have no more use for your life, then come at me!” 

As she announced her name, Sigrún cut her way into the rear of the Lightning Clan troop formation. She swung her spear, quickly lopping the head of a chariot rider clean off and sending it flying. 

It was the “Hammer and Anvil” tactic. By using troops with low mobility but high defense and endurance to stop the enemy’s advance and hold them in place, one could send a more highly mobile group around to the enemy’s rear or sides, and catch them in a pincer attack. 

The famous Alexander the Great had been fond of using this tactic, and it was said he’d defeated the far more-numerous Persian army multiple times with it. It was the Wolf Clan’s trump card, and it had brought them victory in battle against both the Horn Clan and the Hoof Clan. 

Fundamentally, troop formations are constructed assuming that they’ll be fighting an enemy force in front of them, and so they are especially vulnerable to attacks from the sides and rear. 

And the Múspell unit was a cavalry unit, unprecedented in the world of Yggdrasil, boasting the fastest and most powerful assault capabilities heretofore known. 

Caught by the furious attack from both sides, the Lighting Clan soldiers suddenly fell into a state of panic. They completely lost control, and in the midst of the pandemonium that followed, they were scattered without any resistance. 

“Hah!” As Sigrún continued striking down her foes left and right, her ears picked up the whinny of an excited horse, accompanied by the sound of wheels rumbling heavily against the ground. 

What appeared before her, pushing aside the nearby foot soldiers, was what was considered the strongest military weapon known to Yggdrasil, whose number in battle was said to be equivalent to an army’s power: a chariot! 

“Hmph, so you’ve shown yourself.” Sigrún gripped her spear more tightly. 

Yngvi of the Hoof Clan had favored a logical, ordered construction to his military formations, and had created a large chariot-only squad to emphasize their overwhelming power and mobility. The Lightning Clan was more traditional, having constructed mixed squads with both infantry and chariots. 

Those of a high status would ride the chariot and fight from on top of it, commanding a force of followers as infantry alongside them. It was more difficult to be hit by enemy attacks atop a chariot, and being raised higher up made it easier to read the battlefield and give orders to subordinates. And more than anything, it allowed superior officers to stroke their egos. That was the most standard way of utilizing chariots, not just in Yggdrasil but throughout their use in Earth’s history. 

This also matched up with the intel they’d gotten from Kristina. 

“I’ll put a stop to your antics here and now, wolf girl!” the large man atop the chariot platform shouted, and readied his spear and shield. 

He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and far from being shaken by the earlier attack from behind, the hunger for combat was written on his face. 

It was a fine expression. Sigrún felt the warrior’s flame within her spark again. Fighting so many weaklings who couldn’t give her a challenge had started to make her bored. 

“Ha! Then stop me if you think you can!” Sigrún answered his bold words with her own, and spurred her horse toward him, thrusting her spear toward him the instant he was within her reach. 

Clang! 

“Augh!” 

The man’s weapon easily stopped Sigrún’s killing blow, and the strain of the impact rushed across her face for a moment. 

It had a shape like a spear combined with a sickle blade. The L-shaped portion and Sigrún’s spearhead were locked together, and they struggled for dominance. 

It was a halberd-like polearm known as a dagger-axe. It was a two-handed weapon that could be thrust at the enemy to stab them, while the sickle-like part could be used to snare and slice an enemy’s neck or other vital areas. 

There were more than a few in Yggdrasil who favored this weapon because it was easier to fight with while riding on a chariot than a normal spear. 

“A chariot, and an iron weapon,” Sigrún yelled. “You must be a man of note. Tell me your name!” 

Sigrún had noticed that the blade of the man’s weapon gleamed with the same dark luster as her own iron spear. It wasn’t a rarity for the Wolf Clan anymore, but for other clans, an iron weapon couldn’t be created without the use of meteoric iron, and so such a rare and precious item would be worth five times its weight in gold. The fact that this man was allowed to carry such a powerful and valued weapon meant that he must be a hero of some note within his clan. 

“I am Þjálfi, assistant to the second-in-command of the Lightning Clan.” 

“Kh! So you are Steinðórr’s right hand, spoken of in rumors as the ‘Iron Gauntlet’ Járnglófi! You are a worthy opponent!” 

With another clang, Sigrún flung Þjálfi’s dagger-axe aside and unleashed a horizontal sweeping attack. 

With that as their cue, a fierce battle unfolded between them. 

Though the two of them exchanged more than ten attacks in what seemed like the blink of an eye, there was no deciding blow. 

“Damn, this is going nowhere,” Sigrún growled. 

True to the iron gauntlet of his alias, Þjálfi’s defense was as solid as a wall. No matter how many attacks Sigrún threw at him, she felt no indication that she could find a way to break through it. 

That was perhaps to be expected of an Einherjar extolled for valor even within the nation ruling over all of northern Vanaheimr. It was only natural that even the Strongest Silver Wolf would not be able to defeat him easily. 

Sigrún’s main objective was taking Steinðórr’s head. In truth, she knew she couldn’t afford to be kept fighting here for too long. 

“In that case—” Sigrún released her right hand from the haft of the spear. 

Although this is so obvious a fact that it might not need mentioning, holding a weapon in both hands gives its attacks considerably more force than merely holding it one-handed. For Sigrún to deliberately switch to holding her weapon in one hand, and her non-dominant hand at that, created a gap in her defense that could be called nothing short of fatal. 

Þjálfi suspected for a moment that it might be a trap, but his warrior’s urges were stronger. Before he had a chance to think, he reflexively thrust forward his dagger-axe. 

“Haaah!” Sigrún let out a fierce cry, and there was a flash of silvery light from near her waist. 

“Wha—?!” 

The head of the weapon Þjálfi had used to overwhelm and dominate his opponents had been sliced cleanly off. The veteran Einherjar’s face twisted with shock and surprise, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. 

Just like when Yngvi’s weapon had been sliced in two, this was due to a single strike from the nihontou. 

Normally, iron can be made harder through a heating and cooling process known as “quenching.” However, meteoric iron has completely different material properties from natural iron found in underground ores, or man-made iron created through the thermite process. It cannot be made harder through quenching. 

And so, a weapon made from meteoric iron was no match for a blade folded, tempered, and hardened countless times. It was soft by comparison. 

“Prepare yourself!” 

Sigrún quickly placed the sword’s grip to her mouth and held it in her teeth to free her hand, readied her spear again in both hands, and raising her arms high she swung down— 

—and witnessed the iron spearhead being broken off. 

“Hey, this guy’s my right-hand man,” Steinðórr said. “I can’t go lettin’ somebody kill him that easily.” 

“Kh!” 

The red-haired young man whirled his massive hammer around to rest it on his shoulder, laughing boldly, and Sigrún felt a shudder run through her whole body. 

Was it from joy that her target, the Lightning Clan patriarch, had shown himself before her? Was it from anger that her favorite spear had been destroyed? Was it a warrior’s excitement at the prospect of facing such a strong enemy? 

No, it was nothing of the sort. The shudder was from pure terror. 

The energy that seemed to radiate off of him here, on the battlefield with his weapon in hand, was totally different from when she had met him in the sacred hörgr of the Horn Clan. He was like a completely different person. The power seemed to flow out of him, as if it couldn’t be contained within his physical body, and just standing before him subjected Sigrún to a crushing pressure that she had to struggle to endure. 

“So we meet again, girly. You’re pretty good, puttin’ Þjálfi up against the cliff like that. I guess you killin’ the old man wasn’t just some fluke. So then, let’s see what you’ve got!” 

“Kh!” 

The hammer created its own wind with the force of its swing as it swept down toward Sigrún, and she threw aside the now-useless spear and intercepted the attack with the nihontou. 

“Oh?” Steinðórr said. 

“Rrrgh!” 

On one side was a hammer which had smashed countless other weapons to pieces, now filled with the divine energy known as ásmegin channeled from its wielder. 

On the other, a blade tempered to the point where it could even slice through iron. 

The result of the collision between these two weapons, which had both been considered invincible until now— 

“Wow, that thing withstood my attack? That’s one nice weapon you’ve got there.” 

“So... I can’t cut it, then...!” 

—was that they were completely evenly matched. 

However, if the weapons were of equal strength, then it all came down to the difference in their reach. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Ha!” 

“Guh!... Hrgh!” Sigrún gasped. 

It was a fighter on horseback versus one on a chariot. The sword, intended for use in close-range combat, couldn’t reach its target. 

Steinðórr pelted her with incessant, one-sided attacks, and Sigrún found herself forced into a purely defensive battle. To make matters worse, Steinðórr was able to swing the iron hammer around freely without any difficulty, despite its weight and size. 

“Grrr...!” As she weathered the hail of blows, Sigrún somehow managed to take advantage of a small gap in Steinðórr’s attacks to put some distance between them, and immediately pulled on the reins and spun her horse around. 

Strength recognizes strength. For two expert fighters, a few moments in mutual combat was enough for them to each gauge the other’s relative strength to some degree. 

Sigrún understood that if she continued to fight in this situation, all that awaited her was an absolutely certain death. 

“We’re retreating!” Sigrún shouted the command as she kicked her horse. 

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but this time it wasn’t from fear. Steinðórr’s fierce attacks had left her hands so numb, it was all she could manage not to drop her sword. 

“So that’s what you meant by ‘doesn’t break and doesn’t bend,’ huh?” Sigrún murmured. “Looks like I was saved by you again, Father. If I hadn’t had this, I would have been pounded into a lump of meat by now...” 

Sigrún gritted her teeth, weighed down by the feeling of defeat. Since she had received the title of Mánagarmr, this was the first time she had been so completely and thoroughly beaten. 

She turned to look behind her. 

The Múspell unit was properly following her, urging their horses to keep up. They didn’t seem to have suffered many losses. The advantage they got from attacking the enemy’s rear had borne fruit. 

To her, that was the greatest consolation.

“The Múspell unit has begun to withdraw!” the Wolf Clan lookout called. 

“Is Rún okay?!” Yuuto shouted. 

“Sir! She is alive and well!” 

“Really?!” 

“Even at a distance, there is no mistaking Lady Sigrún’s silver hair, sir.” 

“I see.” Yuuto breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the report from his lookout. 

He admonished himself that as patriarch he shouldn’t show such favoritism. But controlling his emotions to conform to that logic was not so easily done. 

Regardless, he’d managed to confirm her safety, and that was all that mattered. His heart had regained a sense of calm, but now another problem had reared its ugly head. 

“So, he brushed off both the ‘Hammer and Anvil’ and Rún, did he?” With a hand over his mouth, Yuuto muttered to himself, puzzling over what to do. 

Up until this point, those tactics had never failed to settle a battle in his favor. Just the fact that his established winning formula had broken down was enough to make him feel things were heading in an unpleasant direction. 

“The twin rune Einherjar...” he murmured. “I told Sigrún to run if she judged that she couldn’t win against him. It looks like she listened.” 

The divine power of a rune was said to grace fewer than one in ten thousand people, and Steinðórr’s body held that power twice over. Steinðórr had overwhelmed Sigrún with his presence even during their brief meeting in the Horn Clan capital. 

Sigrún was still young, and she was someone important to the future of the Wolf Clan. Taking that into consideration, Yuuto understood that it might hurt her image, but he couldn’t allow her to do anything too reckless. More than anything, he just absolutely didn’t want to lose her, though he fully knew how naive that thinking was for a patriarch. 

“Hmm, so even for the Mánagarmr, it would seem that facing a tiger was too heavy a burden for a lone wolf to shoulder.” Skáviðr spoke dispassionately as he examined the battlefield from atop a horse nearby. 

His pale and withered frame struck an even more unsettling figure than normal here on the battlefield, but to Yuuto, his almost irritating level of deadpan calm was something dependable about him. 

“When I gave her those instructions, it looked like it hurt her feelings a bit, though,” Yuuto admitted. “I felt bad for her.” 

“It was the right decision. If you had not done that, I think that in all probability she would have put her pride as a warrior first and continued fighting, and there would be another body on the field by now. That savage hound dog only ever listens to your orders after all, master. I can just picture how frustrated she must be right now, keh heh heh... Ah, excuse me.” Skáviðr placed a hand over his mouth, but didn’t fully hide his smile. 

Harsh talk, as always. Skáviðr always played the role of the unlikeable pariah, but he had a bit of a sardonic personality to begin with. 

Yuuto cast him a sideways glance, shook his head, and got his thoughts back on track. “This is a mass battle. It doesn’t matter how strong that guy is; we just have to beat him with sheer numbers.” 

He stared out at the movements on the battlefield. Sigrún’s ambush may have failed, but the situation on the ground was still overwhelmingly in the Wolf Clan’s favor. 

If his forces kept up the push, enemy soldiers should start to flee at the realization of their heavy disadvantage, and the enemy formation should fall apart. If he struck at that vulnerable moment, no amount of valor could withstand it. 

“Raaaaaaaaahhh!!” 

Suddenly, a great war cry louder than anything so far rose up in unison from the Lightning Clan warriors. It was enough to shake the very air, and Yuuto could feel the vibrations against his skin. 

Yuuto didn’t need to wonder what was happening. He knew. His face became tense and he grit his teeth. 

“There he is!” Yuuto’s eyes spotted the shock of burning red hair, conspicuous even from far away. 

The young man drove an ornamented chariot clearly different from the others, one hand swinging around a long warhammer large enough that a grown man might struggle to lift it. He raced past his own vanguard and charged into the Wolf Clan forces. 

“That’s exactly what they call the ‘poor man’s courage.’” The corner of Yuuto’s mouth turned up in an ironic smirk. 

Facing foes no matter how strong, ignoring the odds no matter how bad, Steinðórr was simply fighting head-on without relying on any tactics or petty tricks. As a matter of fact, it was really cool. So cool that it was sickening. If the enemy was going to come at him with an idiot’s brute force courage, then that was cause for celebration. But deep down, Yuuto also found it hopelessly irritating. 

“‘The poor man’s courage: the courage of a man who hastens to rash action without thinking whenever the blood rushes to his head.’” Felicia, standing next to him, responded by easily reciting the explanation from memory. “‘A petty courage without any discretion or judgment, revolving only around physical strength.’” 

Yuuto just stared at her, wide-eyed and astonished. One time during a discussion about Steinðórr, he had brought up that old idiom and told her about it. 

“I’m surprised you remembered that,” Yuuto said. 

“That is because I always make a habit of memorizing your words of wisdom, Big Brother.” Felicia’s response was quick and matter-of-fact, and looking at her smiling face, Yuuto give a wry smile of his own. He could only admire her impressive memory. 

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to remember words that have made it across thousands of years of history.” 

“Tee hee. That is certainly true,” Felicia agreed. Then, more softly, she added, “If you are going home eventually, I at least want to be able to remember your words.” She closed her eyes tightly as she said this, clenching one hand tightly in front of her chest. 

Something about that felt a little strange to Yuuto, but thinking about the battle was more important right now. He returned his gaze to the battlefield. 

“It’s exactly as you said, Felicia. If physical strength was all it took to win a battle, military tactics would never have been invented.” He raised his voice and shouted: “Phalanx troops, victory is in sight! Put a skewer through that red-headed pig!” 

If the man was going to come charging in head-first in a chariot, then that was just what Yuuto wanted. 

The very reason Yuuto had made longspear-wielding units the central force in his army was because in Yggdrasil chariots were the main players on the fields of war. 

Just like cavalry, the use of heavily armored infantry with longspears had come about as a response to chariots. A normal spear or sword couldn’t reach an opponent riding a chariot. What had emerged as a countermeasure was the tactic of using many longspears, with their low maneuverability but long reach, to create a thrusting assault that left no gaps. 

The downside was vulnerability to attacks from the sides, but with an enemy in front; it was as one-sided as a victory in rock-paper-scissors. 

Just as Yuuto had predicted, the horse pulling Steinðórr’s chariot was taken down ruthlessly by the wall of spears, and the chariot stopped in its tracks. 

In the next instant, that red-headed young man would meet the same fate as his horse— or that was how it should have been. 

As the countless spears rushed toward him, Steinðórr swung his great hammer, and with that single swing, the whole line of spears was smashed apart. He followed with another swing as he leapt down from the carriage, and several soldiers were sent flying. He swung once more. 

The Wolf Clan soldiers tried to guard with their iron shields, but even those were smashed to bits and blown away as if they were nothing. 

It was impossible to even guess just how much strength was put into each one of those blows. It wasn’t human. One might have thought it was the work of an elephant or large bear. 

The “Belt of Strength,” Megingjörð, and the “Shatterer,” Mjǫlnir. These two abilities had brought forth all the fury of a storm cloaked in lightning. 

And into the wide gap that had been created, the Lightning Clan soldiers behind Steinðórr rushed forward, and the Wolf Clan’s hardened defensive formation was pried open by force. 

“What... what is this...” Looking down at the scene playing out before his eyes, Yuuto gasped. 

He’d controlled the war for information, acted swiftly to take the best terrain with hills protecting his rear, and set up advantageous formations. 

The power and range of the crossbows had slowed the momentum of his enemy and let him grasp the initiative. 

With Skáviðr’s assistance, he’d thoroughly established discipline and respect for the law in his troops, which had made them swift to respond to their patriarch’s orders, and cohesive in their actions as a group. It should have been one of the foremost armies in Yggdrasil in that respect. 

And as far as equipping them with hardened iron went, it should be safe to say Yuuto was ahead of all of Yggdrasil. 

Against the enemy chariots and infantry, he’d met them with the overwhelmingly superior longspear soldiers in tight formations, and having stopped their movement, he’d set his cavalry unit against them from behind, overpowering them with the “Hammer and Anvil.” 

Yuuto might have had fewer men in total, but in terms of both strategy and tactics, the Wolf Clan should have far outstripped the Lightning Clan in military might. There was no cause for defeat anywhere to be found. 

And in spite of all of that, as if all of their advantages up until now had been nothing but a lie, the Wolf Clan had begun to be slowly, gradually, yet unmistakably pushed back. 

“Come on, no matter how you look at it, this is just cheating,” Yuuto muttered. 

Battles were not something won by individuals. All else considered, in battle, numbers made the difference. Beginning with the words of Sun Tzu, numerous works on the art of war had begun with that as one of their founding principles. And yet, that underlying principle had, by the hand of one foolhardy man and his brute force, been overturned. 

The powers of an Einherjar were amazing, but they were still human. Because of that, Yuuto’s understanding had been that there were no Einherjar with such a monstrous level of power, but it would seem the holder of the twin runes was the exception. 

The genius of war Napoléon Bonaparte, who at one point held half of continental Europe under his control, once said: “An army of one hundred sheep led by a wolf is better than an army of one hundred wolves led by a sheep.” 

The most important thing on the battlefield was morale. If the supreme commander stood at the head of his own army and inspired them, of course the army would get a rush of increased morale. And so, with a valiant general who had smashed through all common sense leading the way, the morale of the Lightning Clan troops had all at once risen to a fanatic fever pitch. 

Riding that wave, they had pushed back the supposedly superior Wolf Clan forces, and were even now beginning to overpower them. 

“‘My strength can move mountains, my spirit can cover the land,’ is that what this is?” Yuuto spat out. “Seriously, this guy isn’t actually a previous incarnation of Xiang Yu or something, is he?” 

He had gone past amazement and was now simply aghast at what he was seeing. 

The quote was one part of a poem Xiang Yu had once composed and recited himself. Xiang Yu had won a great victory against an army of 500,000 with only 30,000. He’d gone up against another army of thousands with only 28 horsemen and taken the enemy general’s head, striking down hundreds on his own in the process. Whether it was greater or lesser, Steinðórr’s strength was of that same nonsensical quality. 

“Master.” 

“Skáviðr, what is it?” 

“As our strategies so far have not been effective, perhaps we should retreat for now, before it is too late.” 

“Nngh.” Yuuto glowered and gritted his teeth. 

The tide of battle had already shifted in the Lightning Clan’s favor. 

Yuuto concluded that if they continued fighting as they were, there was a strong chance that red-haired general might overtake them with his current momentum. 

The current Yuuto was not so obstinate that he would cling stubbornly to theory. However illogical it was, the reality playing out in front of his eyes was all that mattered, and he had the strength of heart to acknowledge that. 

“Tch. I had wanted to decide things here, but... knowing when to retreat is a crucial part of war too, huh?” he said. 

Fighting while retreating would result in a considerable number of casualties, but a mistake in judgment about when to withdraw would lead to vastly more. He needed to make a swift decision. 

When the time came, he had to sacrifice the few for the sake of the many. The ability to make those cold-hearted decisions was also something necessary for one who stood at the top. 

“I believe it is a wise decision, master,” Skáviðr said. “Please, leave protecting the rear guard to me.” 

“You really do always take on the worst jobs,” Yuuto sighed. “Don’t die out there.” 

“Heh. I won’t die. Didn’t you tell me once before, Master? ‘Ill weeds grow apace.’ The unlikable ones are the ones most likely to succeed.” Skáviðr’s mouth twisted into a sneer. 

Waiting at the tail end of the retreating forces in order to hold the enemy at bay, the rear guard had the most dangerous mission with the highest chance of death. Even knowing that, this man showed not the slightest change in his emotions at the prospect, and even tossed out a joke. He had considerable grit. 

With a tight, severe expression, Yuuto gave his command. 

“We’re retreating. We will withdraw methodically, carefully, and quickly!”

Steinðórr lay about with his warhammer. “Raaaaaaaaaah!” 

Blood stained his body red, which gave rise to even greater bloodlust. No matter who came at him, no matter how great the number of enemies, he couldn’t be overwhelmed. He trampled all in his path with his unmatched strength. 

“There really is no end to them,” he muttered. 

A knot of soldiers rushed forward, filling the gap he’d managed to create in their formation. Their coordination was impressive. 

Once they were in place, they rained down a deluge of spears at him. 

Even Steinðórr couldn’t dodge such a perfectly coordinated attack. He was forced to stop in his tracks and focus on striking down the weapons coming at him. 

Though the enemy lines were crushed every time he charged forward, his reckless attacks meant his allies couldn’t advance either. Nor could the Lightning Clan, which was waiting in reserve, utilize their full power. 

“Hmph, no point in worrying about the details. It’s just a test of endurance now!” 

For every foe he struck down, another came in to take their place. Still, their numbers couldn’t be infinite. 

Steinðórr’s stamina wasn’t infinite either, though. He couldn’t keep fighting forever. If he retreated, or was defeated, the Wolf Clan would overwhelm the Lightning Clan in no time at all. 

The outcome of this battle depended on him. Knowing that was enough for him. 

“Heh heh! This is finally starting to get fun!” Steinðórr wiped the blood off his forehead and grinned savagely. The tension that came with knowing victory or defeat hinged on your actions was quite invigorating. 

Steinðórr truly lived up to his title of Battle-Hungry Tiger. He seemed to be the incarnation of war itself. In his three years as patriarch, he’d spent a scant three months in his capital, Bilskírnir. The rest of the time had been spent on the battlefield. But he had never been satisfied. 

He’d thirsted for a real challenge, something his enemies had never been able to give him. The only time he’d felt even the least bit of excitement was when he’d faced Yngvi of the Hoof Clan. 

In deference to that, and to the fact that he’d been presented with a girl that was to his liking, he had sworn the Oath of the Chalice with them. Thinking back on it now, though, that had been a mistake. Because then Steinðórr had had no one worthy to fight against. 

Just as he’d been considering breaking the oath, he’d heard that Yngvi had perished in battle. Supposedly he had perished at the hands of one of the weakest clans, the Wolf Clan. He’d been thwarted by their patriarch, a young boy in his teens. The Wolf Clan had been so weak Steinðórr had forgotten they existed. 

How had their patriarch managed to defeat Yngvi, especially with such a small army? Naturally, this had piqued Steinðórr’s interest. Fortunately for him, the goði had secretly asked him to destroy the Wolf Clan, as he had suspected the clan might bring Ragnarok to Yggdrasil. 

This had to be fate. Steinðórr didn’t doubt that this young man had been sent to him by the gods as an obstacle in his path of conquest. 

Seeing his opportunity, he’d forced the goði— whose name he’d already forgotten— to let him meet with the man they wanted dead. 

He hadn’t really expected much, which was why he’d been surprised. He’d felt goosebumps for the first time in his life upon meeting this patriarch. He’d been certain that he would enjoy fighting against him. 

And now, all of his expectations had been met. 

Never in his life had he experienced such a thrilling bloodbath. 

But all good things had to come to an end. The more enjoyable something was, the faster it passed by. 

“Retreat! Retreat!” A loud voice carried across the battlefield, and a series of sonorous gongs sounded from the Wolf Clan’s camp. 

Steinðórr stopped fighting to catch his breath, and watched as the Wolf Clan retreated. “Hmph, looks like it’s my win. You’re one impudent brat, though.” 

It was a well-structured, orderly retreat. 

Steinðórr could tell the troops were well-trained. In fact, there was a thing or two his troops could learn from that. He realized now, as the dust began to settle, that it was the Wolf Clan’s impressive coordination that had given him so much trouble. 

Steinðórr spotted the enemy general shouting orders from horseback, close to the head of his forces. “Don’t panic! Maintain formation and retreat as fast as you can!” 

The enemy general was a thin, pale-faced man who unsettled Steinðórr. It appeared he was the one directing this splendid retreat. Despite the danger of his mission, he remained calm. 

Steinðórr couldn’t help but be impressed at his enemy’s composure. 

“But that means if I take him out, their formation’ll crumble.” Steinðórr’s lips curled up into a wicked grin. 

It was common sense to weaken your prey before going in for the kill. And the difficulty of the hunt made for the perfect seasoning. There was no fun in an easy victory. Victory was only rewarding if it was earned through a hard-fought battle. Only then would it taste as sweet as it should. 

Steinðórr knew this victory would be sweeter than any wine. Which was why he refused to let his prey escape. Anyone that stood in his way would be eliminated. 

“Haaaaaaaaaaah!” With a massive bellow, Steinðórr leaped forward. 

He’d learned from the earlier incident with the silver wolf. He knew a soldier on foot was at a disadvantage against a mounted foe. But something as trivial as a “disadvantage” meant nothing to him. 

He gripped his warhammer in both hands and swung with all his might. He had expected someone as weak-looking as this man to be obliterated with a single blow. However— 

“What?!” 

Until this moment, he had always wielded his hammer as proficiently as his own two arms and legs. But a strange force suddenly pulled it forward, dragging Steinðórr with it. 

“Hmph!” 

“Whoa?!” 

Steinðórr’s adversary took advantage of his surprise, and thrust at Steinðórr’s neck with his spear. Steinðórr just barely managed to dodge. 

Another three thrusts followed right after. 

Unable to withstand the onslaught, Steinðórr jumped back. 

“You’re pretty good. What’s your name?” Steinðórr licked his lips in anticipation. This was the first time he’d ever had one of his attacks deflected. Not dodged or blocked, but deflected. Battle lust flared within him. Whoever this spindly man was, he was tough. 

“They call me Skáviðr. While I am honored by your praise, I have no intention of fighting you here.” 

“What a cold guy. Come on, let’s have some fun.” 

Though the tiger was eager for blood, Skáviðr simply scoffed and turned his horse around. 

“Hey, wait!” 

“Ooh, look at that! Iron, iron, as far as the eye can see! If you take some home with you, you’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams!... Heh, farewell.” Skáviðr flashed Steinðórr a triumphant grin and galloped away. 

“Graaah!” Though they called him Dólgþrasir, there was no way Steinðórr could actually run as fast as tiger. Which meant he couldn’t chase after Skáviðr. He ground his teeth in frustration at letting his enemy escape. 

What enraged Steinðórr even more was that his opponent had sneered at him. He had dared to look down on the Battle-Hungry Tiger. There was nothing more humiliating than being looked down upon from horseback. 

“Damn you! Don’t think I’ll let you escape from...” Steinðórr trailed off as he turned around and saw what was happening. 

The soldiers of the Lightning Clan were completely ignoring the Wolf Clan, who had completed their retreat. They were focused entirely on the spoils in front of them. It was a universal rule that the winners of a battle would plunder their vanquished foe’s valuables. In fact, most soldiers participated in war only so they could share in the spoils. 

There are uncountable records of battles that were lost because soldiers stopped fighting and started looting. The most famous of which perhaps was the Battle of Gaugamela that was fought between Alexander the Great and Darius III of Persia. 

At first, the Persian army had seemed to hold the advantage. But after they had broken through the Macedonian lines, the soldiers had become more interested in plundering the enemy headquarters than cutting off Alexander’s retreat. As a result, they’d let victory slip through their fingers and suffered one of history’s greatest defeats afterwards. 

Even Julius Caesar, from whom the term “kaiser” came, suffered many humiliating defeats because his soldiers disobeyed orders and pillaged with abandon. 

All of which proved that it was nearly impossible to stop soldiers from letting greed get the better of them. 

Skáviðr had made that announcement at Yuuto’s behest precisely because Yuuto had known it would stop the enemy. 

At the moment, the battlefield was littered with arrows the Wolf Clan had fired, and shattered spears and shields that Steinðórr had destroyed. All of which were made of iron, a metal revered in Yggrasil as a gift from the heavens, far more valuable than gold or silver. Yuuto had clearly seen no reason not to make use of them to buy time for his retreat. 

“Grr, chase after them, you louts! Get going!” Steinðórr’s order rang across the battlefield, but to no avail.

“Goddamnit! I’m not satisfied yet!” Steinðórr grumbled to himself, repeatedly opening and closing his fist. 

He had never faced an opponent so tough. Yet, at the end, he’d let his prey slip through his fingers. 

Rage smoldered within him. 

“I think you’re the only person who’d still want to fight after that, Father. We may have chased them off, but we’re the ones who lost more men.” Þjálfi, Steinðórr’s right-hand man, shook his head, his expression grim. 

Steinðórr might be the one who led his clan to victory, and the one who decided who they’d would fight against. But it was Þjálfi who trained the troops, made sure they were provisioned, and kept order within the ranks. He was the de-facto quartermaster and drill master of the army. His words were not to be taken lightly. 

“Oh, is that so? Well, I guess it’s true we fell for his ruse.” 

“Indeed. Loathe though I am to admit it, his troops are far better-trained. You saved us from quite a bind, Father.” Þjálfi smiled bitterly. 

The difference in their armies’ strengths had been made abundantly clear in this battle, and the Wolf Clan had had the advantage. Even for a genius commander, overcoming that advantage would have been impossibly difficult. The Wolf Clan had even managed to defeat Yngvi, one of the craftiest and skilled commanders Þjálfi knew, with an army half the Hoof Clan’s size. And yet, the Lightning Clan had overcome the overwhelming distance in strength between themselves and the Wolf Clan, all thanks to a single warrior. 

“But it seems even the Wolf Clan’s Patriarch has discovered he cannot take us head-on,” Þjálfi said. 

Though he sounded calm, Þjálfi’s mind was a whirl of emotions. 

Who else in the world but Steinðórr could have pulled off such a feat? This man was sent from heaven to quell Yggdrasil’s conflicts, and would be the next ruler of the world. Of that Þjálfi was certain. He was also certain he’d been born in order to aid in that quest. 

“Hmph, but that doesn’t mean we can just let them run away like that,” Steinðórr grumbled. 

“Indeed. Our army has far lighter equipment than theirs. If we chase after them now, we should be able to catch up easily. If we let them escape here, they will just return with another clever trick up their sleeves. Crushing them now would be for the best.” 

“That sounds pretty fun in its own way.” Steinðórr cracked his knuckles. 

While he would have preferred fighting them again after they’d regained their strength, the thought of facing them head-on right now had more than enough appeal. 

Especially since his side had been the loser in terms of the number of casualties suffered, striking now would be the perfect opportunity to get back at them and make up the difference. 

Steinðórr shouldered his warhammer and made to follow his men. “All right, let’s go into pursuit! Everyone, follow...” 

“Please wait,” said a cautious voice. “You can send your men to pursue, but you should stay here and rest.” 

The owner of that voice was, of course, Þjálfi. 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” said Steinðórr. “I haven’t had enough fun yet.” 

“I know better than anyone how bottomless your stamina is, but... war is won through keeping soldiers rested and fed. You haven’t eaten anything since you started fighting, have you?” 

“Mrrghh...” 

Grooooooooowl! At Þjálfi’s words, Steinðórr’s stomach let out a loud roar. 

Though Steinðórr possessed monstrous strength, he was still human. After fighting for so long, it was only natural that he would be hungry. 

“I’ll prepare you a fresh chariot and a change of clothes,” said Þjálfi. “I doubt their patriarch will have retreated on foot, so you’ll need it anyway.” 

Steinðórr couldn’t refute that logic, so he just frowned silently. 

His old chariot was too damaged to ride now. He could have just taken one from one of his officers, but it would have reflected badly on him as a patriarch. 

His clothes were so stained with blood that they were as red as his hair. Worse, the blood had started to dry and make his clothes stiff. He hadn’t even noticed until Þjálfi had pointed it out, but now they felt uncomfortable to wear. 

The Lightning Clan’s greatest weapon was the morale of their troops. And Steinðórr instinctively understood that he was the one who inspired them. He knew if he looked shoddy, it would dishearten his men. 

“Tch, I guess you’re right.” 

“I’m glad you understand. Fear not, our foe this time is quite tough. The fight’s only just begun. We will need your strength again soon enough.” 

Steinðórr sat cross-legged on the ground. “Hmph, if you say so. I’ll let Ving take charge of the pursuit. Now get me some food!” 

“Yes sir, I shall bring you something right away.” Þjálfi bowed reverently and hurried to find food.

Before Yuuto’s arrival, the Wolf Clan had lost most of its battles and been forced to retreat countless times. Every time, it had been Skáviðr who had acted as the rear guard. The way he’d sneered at his enemies while cutting down ranks of soldiers had earned him the title of Níðhǫggr, the Sneering Slaughter. 

It was during their retreat, with the Lightning Clan hot on their heels, that this reaper of death had shown his true strength. 

“Keep fighting! No one is allowed to retreat until I order otherwise! If you don’t want to die, then fight for your life!” Skáviðr continued giving orders while he skewered rows of soldiers with his spear. Though his voice was soft, it struck fear into the hearts of his men. 

For an army, the best soldier was one that followed orders. A force that moved as one coordinated mass had better chances of victory, and a lowered rate of casualties. Therefore, discipline was king. 

And Skáviðr was a man who’d publicly executed dozens for disobeying orders. 

If he gave an order, it was followed to the letter. Everyone in the Wolf Clan knew the consequences of disobedience. 

“Don’t forget, the Wolf Clan rewards valor,” he called out. “Any soldier who falls in battle will have their family looked after for the rest of their lives! You know our master isn’t one to break his promises!” 

The members of the Wolf Clan knew that very well. 

Yuuto had learned from the history of Wei Yang, and had made sure that people trusted the law. The way he’d done so was by planting a tree at the southern gate, and promising enough silver to last someone a lifetime if they carried the tree over to the northern gate. 

Naturally, most of the citizens hadn’t believed him. It had sounded too good to be true, and they hadn’t even bothered trying to move the tree. But one curious man had tried it on a whim. As promised in his edict, Yuuto had granted him a pile of silver. 

He had repeated similar stunts until the people of the Wolf Clan implicitly trusted that any promise he made would be carried out. 

If one led only by threatening punishment for those who disobeyed, the people would quickly grow dissatisfied. A leader needed both the carrot and the stick if they wanted to inspire loyalty in their citizens. 

“Don’t think about anything but the enemy in front of you. Fight for your countrymen, for your country, and most importantly, for your family!” 

“Uwooooooooooooooooooh!” The men of the rear guard unleashed a desperate battle cry. 

They knew if they tried to flee, Níðhǫggr the Sneering Slaughter would end their lives. He’d been able to hold his own against Mánagarmr the Strongest Silver Wolf, so the average soldiers knew they stood no chance. They’d just die a shameful death as deserters. Worse, their family wouldn’t even be looked after. 

At least if they died fighting, their families wouldn’t go hungry, and they’d be honored by their comrades. If hell awaited them regardless, they might as well pick the one with better perks. 

They were fighting with their backs to the wall. Desperation granted them strength. They fought with such ferocity that the Lightning Clan’s soldiers, known to be the bravest troops who served a patriarch who feared nothing, faltered. 

Morale was essential to winning any fight. 

Normally when an army pursued a fleeing foe, they were the ones who had the advantage and easily cut down stragglers. The right to steal the vanquished foe’s weapons and equipment was the reward soldiers received for putting their lives on the line. 

But no one wanted to continue risking their lives after they’d already won. They just wanted to take what they’d looted and go home. It stood to reason that their morale would begin to falter as they thought back to why they were fighting. 

Just as they were about to break, a man with a warhammer plunged into the fray with a spirited yell. “Outta my waaaaay!” 

He brushed aside the spears thrust at him and charged forward on his chariot. Unlike the other Lightning Clan soldiers, he wasn’t afraid of the Wolf Clan’s resolve to fight to the death. 

“Did Steinðórr return? No, that’s not him,” Skáviðr muttered. 

This newcomer had the same blazing red hair as the Lightning Clan’s patriarch. Even his face and physique were similar. But their ages were completely different. While Steinðórr appeared to be nineteen, this foe was well into his twenties. Moreover, this man wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Steinðórr was. 

“But he’s still strong,” Skáviðr said in annoyance. 

The Wolf Clan’s elite soldiers threw themselves at this new fighter, but they were unable to even scratch him. 

Chances were he was an Einherjar. Normal soldiers wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“Get away from that man! I’ll handle him!” Skáviðr called. He had finally managed to rouse them enough to fight to the death; he didn’t want the morale he’d worked so hard to build to be ruined by one man. 

He drove his spurs into his horse and thrust his lance at the newcomer. 

The red-haired man deflected Skáviðr’s spear and yelled, “Ngh! So you’re the general of the rear guard! You’re quite skilled. Indeed, you make for a worthy foe! I am VingeÞórr, the man who will send you to Valhalla. Carve my name into your soul!” 

“Ah, so you’re the stupid sibling. It must be tough, being ordered around by your younger brother,” Skáviðr sneered. 

VingeÞórr lashed out in rage. “You bastard!” 

It appeared Skáviðr had touched a nerve. One could see how he’d earned his title. 

“Uwooooooooooooooh!” 

“Hmph!” 

VingeÞórr rained a storm of blows down on Skáviðr. Though he’d always stood in the shadow of his younger brother, VingeÞórr was still a great hero who was known even to the remote Wolf Clan. He was the Einherjar of Grídarvöl, the Giant Club. And true to his name, his blows were the heaviest Skáviðr had ever felt. 

“When it comes to pure strength, you’ve even got our silver wolf beat,” Skáviðr said coolly. 

“Silver wolf? Oh, you mean Mánagarmr. Well, she’s just the strongest among a bunch of weaklings. If it weren’t for my brother, I’d be the strongest man... Wha?! Urgh!” A searing pain burned though VingeÞórr’s chest. 

Skáviðr’s spear had pierced his heart. 

VingeÞórr hadn’t even seen the blow coming. 

“You’re not worthy to be my foe.” 

VingeÞórr’s body slipped out of the chariot as Skáviðr pulled his spear out. He didn’t even smile as he flung the blood off his weapon. 

The Lightning Clan troops all looked at their leader’s corpse. One of their greatest heroes had just been slain, and by a man who looked like the reaper of death himself. 

While the Lightning Clan soldiers hesitated, the Wolf Clan army pressed forward. 

“U-Uwaaaaaaaaah!” One of the Lightning Clan soldiers dropped his weapon and fled. 

With that, the floodgates were open. One after another, soldiers began to flee and desert. 

“Looks like we fought them off,” Skáviðr said. “In that case, there’s no reason to remain. Let’s retreat, men!” 

“Uwooooooooooooooooh! Níðhǫggr! Níðhǫggr! Níðhǫggr!” The Wolf Clan soldiers raised their weapons and cheered, glad to have survived. 

Skáviðr had served as the rear guard for countless battles in which they had retreated. He no longer remembered how many anymore. Despite that, he’d always survived. 

This gloomy, sinister-looking man appeared to have been shunned by even death himself. But that was precisely why his soldiers found him so reliable. 

Because they knew he would get them out of any death trap imaginable.

“Ving is dead?!” Steinðórr couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

His brother was eight years older than he was, but he’d served him well, and together they’d made the Lightning Clan into what it was today. And even in Yggdrasil, where the bonds made by vows were more important than bonds of blood, losing someone he’d known ever since he was a child was still a terrible blow. 

“Aaaahh! Waaaaaah!” Steinðórr was never a man to hide his emotions, and despite the fact that there were people around him, he began to sob loudly. 

He began to use his iron hammer to crush the rocks and trees around him. He was exactly like a child throwing a tantrum, and there was nothing anybody could do to stop him. 

“Þjálfi! This is your fault! You were the one who told him to do it!” 

“I never thought for a moment that my plan would cost VingeÞórr his life... Words cannot express my sorrow.” 

“That’s right! It was your fault! Your fault!” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Your apologies won’t bring him back!” Steinðórr rammed his foot hard into Þjálfi’s stomach. 

Þjálfi landed hard on the ground and tumbled backwards several times before coming to a stop. Even after he stopped moving, though, he lay crumpled up on the ground, spitting out blood. He must’ve damaged his internal organs. 

“I-I’m sorry! Are you all right?!” Steinðórr yelped. The sight of him in so much pain seemed to bring Steinðórr back to his senses. He ran over to Þjálfi and helped him up. 

“No, compared to the pain of losing your brother, father, this is noth... gwah!” Þjálfi tried to hide his pain, but his body wouldn’t let him. He collapsed back to his knees, unable to stand. 

Þjálfi was renowned for his strong body, but even he could barely move. Steinðórr had used a kick, not his hammer, but his strikes were still unbelievably powerful. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steinðórr moaned. “I was the one who agreed to your plan, and I was the one who sent Ving out there...” 

“Hahh... Hahh... D-do not concern yourself with me. Focus instead... on the battle in front of us. My uncle’s death has struck fear into the soldier’s hearts. This time, you’ll have to go out there yourself!” 

“Of... of course! You’re right!” The childlike confusion faded from Steinðórr’s face, and once against the lust for battle for burned in his eyes. 

He would have to avenge his brother. He swore to himself that he would get revenge, but first he needed to worry about his men who were still living. 

“But Þjálfi, you need to rest,” he added. 

“What?! I will always be by your side... ugah!” 

“Look at yourself. I can’t take you to the front lines like that.” 

“B-but...!” 

“If you die, what will I say to Röskva back in Bilskírnir? The bonds of the clan are important, but so are bonds of blood.” 

When he’d told Sigrún that he couldn’t afford to lose the man so easily, Steinðórr had meant it. Þjálfi’s sister Röskva was a master politician who did an excellent job of ruling the clan capital. It was only thanks to the two of them that Steinðórr was able to live his life as he chose, and focus on fighting. 

He was still young, and he wanted to keep fighting for a long time. He couldn’t afford to lose either of them. 

After his lord had just lost his own brother, Þjálfi had no choice but to obey his words. That, and he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he could fight when he was this badly injured. “...Of course, sir. Farewell, and good luck to you!” 

“Luck? I don’t need luck. The only path to victory is through power!” 

“Heh... then I will rest, and await news of your victory.” 

“Leave it to me,” Steinðórr said confidently. “I am Dólgþrasir, the Battle-Hungry Tiger, and I will devour any foe that stands in my way!” 

Steinðórr drove his army onwards. 

Simply standing at the vanguard had a huge effect on his soldiers’ morale. 

None of them could imagine him losing. There was an aura of power about him, an aura that said to the soldiers that if they followed him, their victory was assured. 

Yngvi of the Hoof Clan had used fear to keep his soldiers in line, but Steinðórr inspired frenzied loyalty by making his men think only of victory. 

The army raced on, like a tiger chasing its prey, until at last they’d succeeded in sighting the tail of the Wolf Clan. 

The Wolf Clan’s forces were in the middle of crossing the Élivágar River. 

On the banks of the river, Steinðórr saw a young boy with black hair, an extremely rare sight in Yggdrasil. 

“That’s him!” he shouted. 

Just like the indigenous people of Africa, growing up in a place with few buildings to obstruct their view gave the people of Yggdrasil vision that far exceeded that of the modern Japanese. Even from a distance, he could read the boy’s expression. 

In a battle, fording a river was one of the most dangerous things you could do. It slowed you down, and it made you an easy target for the enemy. 

The boy was letting out a big yawn. Perhaps he was relieved that he’d crossed the dangerous river successfully. If so, he’d let his guard down far too early. 

“Heh! I won’t let you get away!” Steinðórr whipped his horses and spurred his chariot to go faster. 

Many soldiers still hadn’t crossed the river. They would be the first to become his prey. He couldn’t wait to see if the boy would still be yawning after that. 

“So you did come, Dólgþrasir.” As he approached the riverside, the lanky, gloomy-looking man blocked his path again. The man was defending their rear guard, so it was inevitable that they’d meet here. 

Rage began to boil up from within Steinðórr. “Skáviðr! I’m here to avenge my brother!” 

He pointed his hammer straight ahead and ran his chariot straight for the man. 

All traces of the Lightning Clan’s easygoing patriarch were gone. Now he had the face of an angry demon, and the aura of power surging around him was more intense than it had ever been before. 

But his brother had been famous for his valor, and this foe had slain him. So this was no ordinary opponent. The man shrugged off the flames of Steinðórr’s rage with a cold smile. 

The armies of the raging Lightning Clan and desperate Wolf Clan collided. 

“Haaaaah!” With a shout, Steinðórr brought down his iron hammer on his hated foe. This strike was far more powerful than the ones he’d used in the last battle. 

But that strange force appeared again, and his hammer deviated from its mark. 

“Hah!” 

“Woah!” 

Steinðórr blocked Skáviðr’s counterattack with the head of his hammer. He’d already fought this foe once. His technique was easy to block, once you knew it was coming. 

“All right then, how about this...!” With a cry of “Orah-orah-orah!!” Steinðórr shifted to using fast attacks instead of powerful blows. 

The innate sense for battle that he was born with was telling him that this opponent was best fought with many fast attacks, instead of a single strong one. He didn’t even need to use his full power to begin with. His ásmegin contained the divine power of the Mjǫlnir, and it could crush anything in a single swing. 

Or at least, it should have. But the lanky Wolf Clan member was still standing in his way, and the spear in his hand was still unbroken. 

“He’s fast!” Steinðórr muttered. 

And what was worse, his foe’s spear would target the small openings in his attacks. It was hard to see, and harder to block. The battle had gone on for a while now, but his hammer had almost never found its mark. It was almost enough to make him think he was fighting a ghost. 

But he’d figured out the trick. 

“I get it. Your skill is to make my weapon slip.” 

“I guess you would figure it out, yes,” Skáviðr sighed as he struck at Steinðórr’s hammer from below in mid-swing, sending it flailing upwards. 

Before, he would’ve taken advantage of this opening to strike, but instead Skáviðr kicked his horse in the side and spurred it away from Steinðórr. 

Skáviðr panted. “Hahh... Hahh... Hahh...” 

Steinðórr could see that the man was exhausted. The man’s face had seemed at first to be sardonic and easygoing, but now it was dripping with sweat and exhaustion. 

He could understand why. 

Steinðórr’s attacks weren’t supposed to be blocked. Doing so would simply destroy your weapon. So instead of trying to block the attacks head-on, his opponent would deflect them in another direction, protecting his weapon. 

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Deflecting an attack in that manner was far more difficult than simply blocking it, especially against an enemy of unparalleled strength like Steinðórr. Just thinking about it was enough to make him dizzy. 

“Wait, I thought that silver-haired she-wolf was supposed to be the strongest,” Steinðórr commented. “You’re way stronger than she is.” 

“I’m not the type who enjoys the spotlight. And her style is far more beautiful than mine, isn’t it? Don’t worry. In another two years or so, she really will be stronger than me,” Skáviðr said flatly. 

There was no false glory or braggadocio in his words. He seemed to be simply stating the truth. If Sigrún were here, she might have thrown a tantrum. 

“Whew... I guess it’s about time.” Skáviðr pulled his horse’s reins and turned it in the direction of the river, then rode it forward. 

The rest of his men in the rearguard were using their longspears to keep the Lightning Clan army at bay as they began to cross the river themselves. 

“You’re running again?!” Steinðórr shouted. 

“Our army is almost done crossing the river. There’s no reason for me to stay here.” 

“I won’t keep letting you get aw... What?!” Suddenly he saw an arrow out of the corner of his eye. Instantly, he tilted his head to dodge it. 

“Haugspori is one of the Horn Clan’s finest archers. And he’s very good.” 

Skáviðr smiled as he drove his horse into the water. 

Steinðórr rushed to follow him, but then he saw a man on the other side of the river with three arrows cocked into his bow. 

“Tch!” Steinðórr used his hammer to knock them down. 

Like Skáviðr had said, only a skilled archer could play a trick like that and still be accurate over a long distance like this. 

In that short window of time, Skáviðr had already gotten a good lead on Steinðórr. He was going very fast for someone fording a river. 

The water wasn’t as deep as he’d thought, perhaps. He’d heard that the Wolf Clan patriarch had spent a lot of effort on irrigation to expand his croplands. And there hadn’t been much rain lately, either. 

“Follow me, everyone!” Steinðórr shouted, holding his hammer high. “These cowards think they’re safe on the other side of that river! Show them the true terror of the Lightning Clan!” 

Crossing a river in battle was a dangerous act, one that would bring with it many casualties. But the Wolf Clan was fleeing and had no way to stop them. If they moved now, the crossing would be easy. He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Whew. Looks like they took the bait.” As he watched the red-haired young man leap into the river, Yuuto let out a sigh of relief. 

He’d heard the story about Tokugawa Ieyasu soiling himself after Takeda Shingen had pursued him in the Battle of Mikatagahara, so he’d thought he’d been prepared. But he’d still had no idea that a fighting retreat was so nerve-wracking. This was far worse than he’d thought. 

“Great work, Yuuto!” Albertina called as she offered him a water bottle made from the dried stomach of a sheep. With Felicia gone, she had offered to guard him instead. 

Yuuto took the bottle and greedily gulped down its contents, then collapsed into a carriage. 

“I never want to go fishing again,” he sighed as he stretched out his limbs. 

They had used “the fishing hermit”— a strategy where an army’s forces were split into three parts. One would let the enemy force to them to retreat as bait, then lure them in to where the other two were waiting. Then the rest of the army would surround them and wipe them out. 

The strategy was said to be both invented and put into actual practice by Shimazu Yoshihisa during the Japan’s Warring States Period. 

There were other similar strategies from all around the world. The Mongols were said to have been masters of using fake retreats to surround and destroy the enemy. 

The strategy he’d chosen for this battle was an adaptation of that. 

The way Yuuto saw it, the key to the fishing hermit strategy lay in the bait. If they ran too soon, the enemy would sense a trap. Only after a real battle could you make the enemy feel that they’d truly beaten you. Only then would they have no idea they were falling into a carefully laid trap. 

At that point, any incongruities would just seem like a coincidence, something that could be easily ignored as you pressed in for the kill. 

It sounded easy, but a fighting retreat to lure the enemy in was extremely difficult. Any retreat could easily turn into an all-out rout. 

Only because they were being led by Skáviðr, a man who’d experienced many such retreats in his life, and because their emphasis on laws gave the Wolf Clan a degree of cohesion that was rare in these times, could they even hope to pull it off. 

“‘Never show your trump card first. And if you do, make sure you have something else up your sleeve,’” Yuuto quoted to himself. “That’s good advice.” 

That was a line from a popular manga from before Yuuto was born. It was still something you saw online a lot, and Yuuto had seen it several times. 

True, the “Hammer and Anvil” tactic was far beyond any other tactics in use right now. It was Yuuto and the Wolf Clan’s trump card. 

But there were no absolute guarantees in this world. You never knew how a battle was going to go. If he used the same tactic again and again, eventually the enemy would develop a way to counter it. 

So just in case, he’d thought up another card to put up his sleeve. 

Another reason the plan had been successful was his soldiers’ absolute confidence in him, but Yuuto still hadn’t realized this. 

“All right, I suppose it’s time to end this,” he said. “Everybody ready?” 

The Lightning Clan army was three quarters of the way across the river, and they seemed to almost have reached the other side. 

Suddenly, however, the smile on Steinðórr’s face was replaced with a look of tension. 

The enemy must have dug trenches, because light infantry appeared out of nowhere on the other side, holding strange-looking bows in their hands. Then they began to rain arrows down on the Lightning Clan forces as they crossed the river. 

“Tch!” Steinðórr grunted as he spun his hammer in a circle, blocking the rain of arrows from hitting him. 

But the horses in front of him weren’t so lucky. They’d been given horse armor to block arrows, but those couldn’t stop arrows made of iron. 

With a dying whinny, they went down into the river. 

“Gyah!” 

“Gfwah!” 

The Lightning Clan soldiers behind him were screaming in agony. 

Steinðórr gripped his hammer tightly and unconsciously gritted his teeth. 

“He set up an ambush while we chased them... It was a mistake to let my guard down against the black one. But your stale old tactics can’t stop me now!” Steinðórr shouted as he jumped forward out of his chariot, landing on the back of one of his fallen horses and then leaping forward again. 

He covered a distance as long as the height of three or four men in a single bound, landing firmly on the other side. 

“Now it’s time for you to pay for slaughtering my men from a distance like cowards! And you’re going to pay with your lives!” 

The Wolf Clan archers froze in fear at the howl of the tiger, and their arrows stopped. They were completely overwhelmed by the sheer intensity radiating from him. 

“Hmph. You don’t exactly play by the rules, do you, Dólgþrasir?” asked the lanky man, reappearing again. 

“Hmm? You’re not going to run anymore?” Steinðórr’s lips curled up into a smile. 

“Correct. My master has given me strict orders to stop you here.” 

Skáviðr lowered his spear and charged on his horse at Steinðórr. 

As he charged, his horse began to move faster and faster. That was just what Steinðórr wanted. 

“You think you can do that?” Steinðórr’s smile was that of a carnivorous beast. This foe fascinated him, but the man had already escaped twice, and he was beginning to feel frustrated. He was very happy to see his enemy coming to him. 

“Hah!” 

The spear lashed out at the speed of lightning, but Steinðórr waited until the last moment to dodge, and then grabbed it by the handle and brought his hammer down. 

Skáviðr’s spear, which had survived so many of Steinðórr’s attacks, shattered easily. 

Steinðórr tossed the remains of the spear he was holding back over his shoulder and laughed. “I’ve learned to counter your techniques. It will take more than you to stop me.” 

“Yeah, I never thought I could fight a monster like you alone.” 

“Huh?!” 

As Skáviðr smiled, Steinðórr saw a woman he recognized behind him. A silver valkyrie, holding a sword high above her head, was charging for him on a coal-black horse. 

“Steinðórr! I’ve come to pay you back for the way you mocked me!” 

“Hah! Too easy!” Steinðórr easily dodged her attack, but when he went to strike back, what looked like a black snake lashed forth and wrapped itself around his hammer. 

“Would it be all right if I joined in the game, as well?” A girl with long, golden hair and loose clothing that looked like it had no business being on a battlefield was riding a horse and holding a whip in one hand. 

He recognized her. It was the girl who’d been standing next to the Wolf Clan’s patriarch. The force that was pulling at his hammer was far greater than the thin arms of a girl could generate. She was clearly an Einherjar. 

“Gaah! Get off me!” he shouted. 

“Oh dear, how dangerous.” 

As he yanked hard at the hammer, the girl let the whip relax and fall. Perhaps she knew she couldn’t beat him in a test of strength. 

But Skáviðr took advantage of the opening this created to draw and strike with the blade at his side. And from the other side, Sigrún slashed out with her own sword. 

“Gwaaah!” Steinðórr moaned in pain as he was attacked by both the new and old Mánagarmrs at once. Even he was forced to go on the defensive against these fierce attacks. 

But then the indomitable tiger patriarch of the Lightning Clan just laughed. 

“Ha! There are three of you, and that’s the best you can do?!” 

“Who said there were only three of us?” 

“Gwah?!” Steinðórr heard the sound of something whistling through the air, and he quickly twisted his body. He felt something brush right past his cheek. 

“Don’t forget about us, either,” the young man with the bow spat. “We have a very old debt to repay to you.” 

It was the young man who’d been firing arrows at him from across the river before. Haugspori, his name was. 

Three chariots sped past the archer. 

They had spears attached to their wheels, and they tore through any Lightning Clan soldiers that had made it across the river. 

He recognized the white-haired girl in the middle chariot. It was the young patriarch of the Horn Clan. The two men at her side were muscled and tough, too. Both of them had shining runes on their left shoulder. The four Einherjar of the Horn Clan, the Brísingamen, were all here. 

“You’re up against seven Einherjar,” Skáviðr sneered. “Still want to laugh?” 

Even as he chuckled, though, Skáviðr kept attacking. 

“Ngaaaaah!” 

“Let me tell you what your greatest weakness is. You see, you’re too strong. Look, your allies behind you can’t keep up, can they?” 

Skáviðr was right. 

The water wasn’t that deep, but it still went up to a man’s waist. And they were also exposed to a hail of crossbow fire. Most of the Lightning Clan army had barely advanced at all. And anyone who did make it across the river would be faced with Einherjar chariots. 

Steinðórr was completely cut off from the rest of his forces. 

With a howl, the thin Wolf Clan launched a sideways attack. 

He was about to block it with his hammer when a chill went down his spine. That was his instincts talking. Steinðórr listened by bending his body to the side, and the blade of the silver she-Wolf Clan lunged through the space he’d made. 

He locked the blade at his side with his arm and tried throwing her off horseback by making a sharp turn, but an arrow heading for his side forced him to let go and repel it. 

A split second later, Skáviðr attacked him with a diagonal downwards slash. They didn’t allow him even a moment’s rest. 

“Hyeah!” 

A foot soldier’s greatest advantage over a horse rider was his maneuverability, so Steinðórr used it to dash away and escape their reach. But as he did so, the leader of the Horn Clan forces charged him from atop a chariot and attacked him with a pike. 

Golden hair swayed at the edge of his vision, and suddenly, a song with beauty unbefitting a battlefield resounded all around. 

The form of the leader of the Horn Clan forces was doubled. 

“Tch! A galldr!” Steinðórr clicked his tongue. 

Enchanted songs such as this one bestowed various magic effects upon their listeners. Though they weren’t significant, in battle, the slight difference they provided could mean life or death. 

“Insolence!” Guarding against the attack from the form emanating killing intent, Steinðórr roared vigorously and undid the spell. 

Skáviðr fled. Steinðórr wanted to go after him, but the man knew he wouldn’t stand a chance in single combat, and was already increasing the distance between them. If the galldr hadn’t put a lag on his reaction time, Steinðórr would’ve made short work of the aged soldier. 

As he ground his teeth in frustration, another chariot bearing the Horn Clan crest charged him head-on. 

“Hgaahh... Nh?!” He raised his hammer in preparation, but froze in shock when the driver and Einherjar both jumped out of it. 

The chariot was now empty, but the loss of weight increased the speed of its charge towards Steinðórr. Of course, the horse didn’t want to crash and be hurt, so it quickly turned around, not minding what became of the vehicle. 

With extraordinary reflexes, he jumped up, placed a leg on the chariot’s edge, and sprang forward, negating the impact. 

After he landed on the ground, but before he could fix his posture, the silver she-wolf made her steed gallop towards him. “Steinðórr! This is your end!” 

The diagonal position of the nihontou made it clear she planned to finish him off with a sideways slash. The thin man followed after her, looking hungry for blood. 

The Dólgþrasir was completely cornered. Even the Lightning Clan soldiers, who knew him well, were fully aware of it. 

However... 

“The likes of you...” The fighting spirit emanating from Steinðórr’s back grew even greater and began to distort the surrounding air like a heat haze. 

The arm holding the hammer began to swell. 

“...SHALL NEVER STRIKE ME DOWN!” 

Twisting his body, gathering rotational momentum, mustering all his strength, and channeling Mjǫlnir’s divine powers, he launched a mighty strike at Sigrún’s nihontou. 

It might’ve been the most powerful attack he’d ever unleashed. Though the blade could somehow bear it, the same couldn’t be said for Sigrún’s hand. She was forced to let go of her nihontou, letting it fly through the air. 

Steinðórr then swung his hammer sideways, breaking both front legs of Skáviðr’s horse. A whip wrapped around his right hand, but he paid it no heed. The second-in-command of the Horn Clan was drawing close, so he swung his weapon again and pulverized the man’s right shoulder. 

Not wasting a moment, he then took a nearby stone in hand and threw it towards a man preparing to launch an arrow, shattering the back of his hand. 

He finished off by jumping atop a running chariot and crushing the skull of the unknown Horn Clan Einherjar riding it. 

The shocked Einherjar watched as the Battle-Hungry Tiger leapt off, stood tall on the ground, and roared towards the skies. 

“I fell for this, you say? Ha! Don’t make me laugh! I’m the Dólgþrasir! All and any traps crumble before my might! Kyah ha ha! Ha ha ha! HAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” 

Covered in the fresh blood of his enemies, Steinðórr voiced a resounding guffaw. Neither “man” nor “beast” seemed apt for him anymore. He was more like a monster, unleashed upon the world by a capricious god. 

“This can’t be...” Felicia’s voice was hoarse, thick with disbelief. 

They were the combined elite of the Wolf and Horn Clans. As those chosen by the gods, they had powers that made them rise above the rest. And yet, they had yet to land a single strike on this man. They couldn’t even scratch him. Not only that, but their efforts had left them drained, withering their potential for further battle. 

“Not even the seven of us could beat him...” Sigrún’s expression was one of pure despair. 

She had been dedicating her life to the arts of war for as long as she could remember, and though she didn’t consider herself to be the best in Yggdrasil, she had thought she would at least make the top five. 

Despite that, the man laughing luridly in front of her was so far above her level that she couldn’t even hope to reach him. 

“Tch. He’s certainly hard to deal with,” Skáviðr spat as he brushed away the sweaty hair covering his face. Blood was dripping from his brow, thanks to the wound he’d gotten falling off his horse. The long battle was also taking its toll. His face was so thick with exhaustion, he looked like a walking corpse. 

“What? Giving up like the weaklings you are?” Steinðórr formed an indomitable grin as he lightly hit his shoulder with the handle of his hammer. His steady breathing made it clear that the ferocity of the battle so far didn’t bother him in the least. The man wasn’t just on a different level— he was in an entirely different realm. 

Skáviðr sighed and shook his head. “It truly seems like no amount of struggling could help us emerge victorious. You are indeed a man of valor, worthy of being called the overlord of the battlefield.” 

“Kyah ha ha! Well, you are all quite capable, too. This is the first time I’ve been faced with such adversity. Be proud of yourselves.” 

“Fffffff! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Skáviðr covered his face with his hand and howled with laughter while facing the sky. 

“Why the laugh? Did the fear make you lose your mind?” Steinðórr raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“How can I not laugh?” Skáviðr retorted. “Did you not find it strange that you’re only fighting us and the bowmen? Did it not strike you as odd that we don’t have our infantry here?” 

“What...?!” 

“Did I not tell you that we were ordered to stop you here? Indeed, we’re only here to hold you back. A whole seven Einherjar gathered to keep you away. Be proud of yourself.” 

As Skáviðr formed an indomitable smile similar to the one he’d had, Steinðórr realized that Sigrún and the other Einherjar were systematically retreating from the battle. 

A cold chill went down his spine as Skáviðr, having lost his beloved steed, jumped onto a passing Horn Clan chariot and raised his voice. 

“No matter how strong you are, it’s naught but the hardiness of a brute. You’re nothing compared to the might of our lord, the ruler of the three realms and master of heaven and earth! Strain your ears! You were too caught up in the battle that you failed to notice the coiling of the all-consuming Jörmungandr!” 

The low rumble Steinðórr suddenly heard made it clear that the man wasn’t merely bluffing. The sound gradually grew louder and more sinister, and soon enough, an enormous wall of water entered his vision. 

“What?! A FLOOD?!” 

“Let me end this by asking it again. Did your beastly mind finally grasp that you fell for a trap, Dólgþrasir?” 

With those words as his last, Skáviðr rode away at immense speed. 

With the violent stream fast approaching him, Steinðórr couldn’t even give chase to his escaped enemies. Though his leg strength was far above an average human’s, it was no match for a horse’s, and it was impossible to escape the jaws of the great serpent of water bearing down upon him. His hammer could shatter anything, but that was exactly why it would mean little against water. 

The sight was overwhelming, and even Steinðórr couldn’t help holding still in awe. It was something only a god could stand a chance against. 

Nature wasn’t something that mere humans could tame. They could only present offerings and prayers to their gods, hoping they would listen. Steinðórr was shocked, unable to comprehend how his enemy could have brought about something like this. 

There were hellish cries from behind him. He turned around to see the soldiers of his clan despair at the face of inescapable death. 

And a moment later, with an impact unmatched by any he’d ever experienced, his consciousness was cut off.

“Hey, nice work.” Yuuto jumped off of Albertina’s horse and spoke to Linnea, who was looking at the river, completely dumbfounded. 

The terrain upstream was too rough for chariots, so he’d had to arrive here using the elder twin’s help. 

“I have never even heard of such an amazing strategy!” Linnea exclaimed. 

“It’s just a sandbag strategy. I’m glad it worked well.” 

Upon seeing Steinðórr for the first time, Yuuto had pictured Xiang Yu and Lu Bu, and that impression had only gotten stronger the more information he gathered. 

Xiang Yu, probably the strongest general in Chinese history, had been an astoundingly valiant sort, second to none. In an era when might made right, he had been unmatched in all his military endeavors, achieving a victory for every battle he took part in. The only great failure had been given to him by the brilliant Han Xin, one of the Three Heroes of Han. And the sandbag strategy was among the most famous of the clever schemes he’d used. 

It was a splendid plan that involved damming up the upstream of a river with a simplistic weir, waiting for the opposing force to cross the water, and then breaking the construct, creating a flash flood and effectively using the water as a weapon. 

“You might be the incarnation of a war god,” Linnea said in awe. “Assisting you with this has been the greatest honor of my lifetime.” 

“Aren’t you a bit too young to be saying stuff like that?” Yuuto asked with a shrug. 

Though he was the one who’d brought this idea forward and made the final decision to execute it, Linnea was the one who’d polished it and commanded the people. She’d evacuated them from the dangers of the battle, made them build a wooden fence to place across the river, and had them throw wheat bags full of dirt into the water, creating the simple weir they’d needed. 

Of course, they hadn’t neglected to consider that a noticeable lack of flow could make the enemies suspicious, so they’d made sure to optimize how much water they let through. 

Linnea was loved by the people, excelled at commanding them, and had a knowledge of irrigation and civil engineering in general. Without her, this scheme wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly. 

“All that aside, was it really all right?” Yuuto asked. 

After a momentary stupor, his sister figure gave a reply he wasn’t quite expecting. “Eh? Oh, we made sure that the deconstruction would be safe, so we don’t have any casualties.” 

“...I see.” Rather than pointing out the obvious, Yuuto just closed his eyes and nodded. 

This plan had probably ended several thousands of lives. Though he didn’t have anyone else he could rely on for this, the fact that he’d involved her in something so dirty cast a shadow upon his heart. 

In case that fact had been worrying her, he’d been intent on making it clear that it was all his own responsibility, but she hadn’t seemed to care about it one bit. He couldn’t tell whether she’d forgotten about that due to the elation of victory, or whether she simply couldn’t feel like a killer unless she delivered a killing blow directly. 

“Oh, I would like to give my earnest thanks for giving me a chance to avenge my father!” Linnea added enthusiastically. “This also made me more confident in myself.” 

“I guess this is what’s normal in this world.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m happy for you.” 

To protect herself and her dear people, and to avenge the beloved father she had lost, Linnea hadn’t hesitated to fight and take the lives of her enemies. It wasn’t about what was right or wrong. 

Even to gentle, people-minded Linnea— or perhaps because she was like that— fighting for what she found dear came so naturally that she didn’t even stop to think about it. And to Yuuto’s mind, that was worthy of praise. 

In fact, he was the weird one here for wallowing in doubt and guilt. 

“I must say... I never expected to see something that the Dólgþrasir would be so helpless against.” Linnea’s tone was thick with astonishment as she looked at the remains of the weir. 

“I know what you mean...” Yuuto recalled the great earthquake and tsunami that had occurred back in Japan several years ago. He’d watched the news about it, and the ghastly scenes he’d seen on the TV were burned onto the back of his eyelids. 

People were extremely powerless against the threat of nature. Despite knowing this— or perhaps because he knew this— he’d used it for a deed so sinful, it made him grind his teeth. 

Hell probably had a place ready for him, but he’d decided to keep moving forward regardless. For the sake of those he wished to protect, and to return home alive. 

“Natural talent, powers borrowed from gods or from Álfkipfer...” he murmured. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.” 

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Steinðórr, Yuuto hadn’t liked him one bit. The man had annoyed him to extents he found hard to express, but he hadn’t even known why until he’d talked to Linnea in Gimlé. 

That man reminded him of how much of a fool he used to be. That was why he’d humbled himself and made sure he was prepared for this. 

Yuuto had even had a plan in case the enemies had figured out their plot. 

He placed his hand on the blade at his side and formed a self-derisive smile. “I’m not gonna lose to idiots who get all uppity just because they have a cheat or two.”

“Oh man, did I lose hard! That guy is insane!” The red-haired youth was spread out on the riverbank, looking up at the cloudless sky. 

He had no clue where he was— he’d simply woken up to this. 

He tried to get up, but the pain burning his body whole made him lie down again. He’d probably suffered many strong impacts while he was out cold, and it was clear that a number of his bones were broken. 

Despite surviving many battles without gaining as much as a scratch, he was now completely thrashed. It would definitely take a while until he was able to freely move his body again. 

Still, he was lucky he’d ended up as he had. It had definitely been a life and death situation, and even he was surprised that he was still breathing. 

It might’ve been naught but the whim of a god, but now that he’d survived, he had to make his enemies pay for this humiliation. 

“That aside, how do I get back...? Oh, whatever. Details, details...”