ACT 5
Gashina was the territory where, approximately one month earlier, the Wolf Clan had fought a fierce battle against the allied forces of the Panther and Lightning Clans.
The Wolf Clan had fielded 12,000 troops against the 18,000 combined from the Panther and Lightning Clans. It had been a grand battle on a larger scale than ever before in Yggdrasil’s history, and it had ended with the Wolf Clan army defeated and fleeing, having lost both the battle and Yuuto, their commander-in-chief.
That being said, for the first half of the battle, the Wolf Clan had been winning. The series of engagements had been just as fiercely taxing for the Panther and Lightning Clans, and their losses significant.
They had thus chosen to keep their armies at Fort Gashina as a home base, to rest their soldiers and restore their health and morale.
That was now fully accomplished. It was all done: Burials and funeral rites for the dead, treatment for injuries, sending home those who were too injured, and replenishing the ranks and food stocks.
After one month, all of the preparations were in order, and all that remained was to await the order to resume their invasion.
“So, in accordance with the original plan, we of the Lightning Clan will attack eastward, and Uncle’s Panther Clan forces will take the north. Is that all correct?” Þjálfi, the Lightning Clan’s assistant second-in-command, indicated the appropriate location of the map spread out on the desk in front of him.
In contrast to his abnormally large frame, this man had a sharp eye for small details and was skilled at paying attention to the concerns of those around him. That was why he was acting in his patriarch Steinþórr’s stead to handle troop organization and oversee management of their supplies himself. He was the type of man who accomplished great things from behind the scenes.
The clans had decided on the proper day for their attack based on the fortune telling rites of Sigyn, the Witch of Miðgarðr, who had studied the cracks in a heated tortoise shell. This was their final planning meeting in the fortress courtyard, to confirm the details one last time.
As always, Steinþórr had said, “I don’t care about the details,” and left his subordinate to once again sit in for him in the negotiations.
“I have no objections,” the Panther Clan patriarch, Hveðrungr, said tersely, seeming a little bit upset.
Clearly the man wanted very badly to invade Iárnviðr, of course.
In fact, at first he had come up with a plan where he was the one to go along with the Lightning Clan to attack eastward — in other words, into Wolf Clan territory toward their capital, Iárnviðr.
However, from the perspective of the Panther Clan as a whole, there was too little merit in that.
The Panther Clan’s territory already stretched from a large section of the Miðgarðr region all the way down the coast and through the western parts of Álfheimr. Even if the Panther Clan were to conquer the Wolf Clan’s homeland in the western part of the Bifröst region, it would be a detached territory separated from the rest of what they controlled, and very difficult to administrate or defend.
In that case, the most realistic option was for the Lightning Clan to conquer their eastern neighbor and greatly expand their territory, and for the Panther Clan to receive large amounts of food, supplies, valuables and the like, as compensation for their assistance and cooperation in the war. That was the most likely scenario that would occur.
Certainly, that would be an enormous prize in terms of wealth. But within Iárnviðr was a mountain of extremely valuable glasswares, as well as a veritable mountain of inventions and knowledge introduced by Yuuto, still unknown even to Hveðrungr. Compared to that potential wealth of knowledge, the tribute payments seemed like a pittance.
In addition to gaining all of that for themselves, the Lightning Clan would thus greatly expand their territory, power, and population, so this wasn’t at all pleasing to Hveðrungr.
Now that his hated nemesis Yuuto was banished to a place he could not be reached, the flames in Hveðrungr’s heart had cooled, and he no longer felt the same sense of obsession toward the Wolf Clan that he once had.
And so Hveðrungr had decided to prioritize what was profitable, and elected to follow a plan where he attacked northward — into Horn Clan territory, which currently shared a border with the Panther Clan.
“However.” Hveðrungr glared at Þjálfi.
The sharp light in his eyes would have pierced through an average soldier and left him shaking, but Þjálfi was a seasoned veteran, a warrior known by the alias Járnglófi, the Iron Gauntlet.
jálfi met Hveðrungr’s gaze head-on and acknowledged him with a nod. “I understand. Both Felicia the Wise Wolf and the master craftsman Ingrid, they are to be captured and kept alive, yes?”
“Indeed. You will hand them over to me without fail. That is my price for all of the aid we have given you.”
Felicia had once been Hveðrungr’s beloved younger sister in his former life as Loptr, and even now, she was his only surviving blood relative.
He desperately wanted to retrieve her and return her to his side.
And then there was the master craftsman, the girl Ingrid.
When it came to the development of the Wolf Clan’s various new weapons and tools, their patriarch Yuuto had been the one most publicly celebrated for all of it, but Hveðrungr suspected that it was actually Ingrid who had been making everything. Her high position in the Wolf Clan ranks pointed to that conclusion, as well.
In other words, if Hveðrungr could get his hands on her, he could have the Wolf Clan’s technologies for himself.
She was a living treasure.
Hveðrungr was only able to make this analysis because of his close familiarity with the Wolf Clan’s domestic affairs. If by chance the Lightning Clan were to figure out Ingrid’s importance, they would surely not be as eager to agree to capture and give her to him.
The current era was such that normally, one could know very few details about the inner workings of another nation. And so, as far as the Lightning Clan understood, Ingrid was “a famously talented blacksmith” and nothing more.
“We, of course, have no desire to face the Horn Clan at the moment,” Þjálfi said. “Our last battle left a lasting impression on us, you see. So your price is quite a bargain for us.”
jálfi’s phrase “a lasting impression” probably referred to when Sigrún had led a breakaway force of soldiers to Fort Gashina back from the Lightning Clan.
Having the fortress they’d seized get captured from them again had broken the spirits of the Lightning Clan, and they had nearly fallen apart from the loss of morale.
Thankfully, Steinþórr had taken the position of leading the rearguard as they retreated, keeping casualties low, but for Þjálfi, it had been a chilling experience.
If the Lightning Clan was putting all of their military force into destroying the Wolf Clan, that necessarily meant they would be leaving their border with the Horn Clan thinly defended.
And so, if the Horn Clan were to push across the border and harass Lightning Clan territory, it would be just like what happened with the fortress. Having their home lands attacked would leave the men in no state to care about the capture of Iárnviðr.
Hveðrungr’s invasion of the Horn Clan served to eliminate that fear for the Lightning Clan, and so it was the perfect proposal for them.
“Fine, then,” Hveðrungr said shortly. “Is there anything else that the Lightning Clan wants to check with me on?”
“No, sir, nothing.”
“I see. Then I’ll take my leave to rest in preparation for tomorrow’s advance.”
“Yes, sir. May you fare well in battle!”
“You, as well.” With a single nod, Hveðrungr turned, his mantle momentarily catching the wind in a flourish, and he made his way quickly out of the room.
With each step he took, the corners of Hveðrungr’s mouth twisted into an ever more menacing grin. The flames of vengeance within him had grown weaker. But they had not disappeared completely.
“Heh... I hear that the Horn patriarch Linnea has gotten a lot of special attention from Yuuto as his dear younger sister. I’ll be sure to satisfy my grudge a bit by torturing her long and well.”
A messenger brought news of the start of a new war to Linnea just as she was ending her midday break and returning to her office for her afternoon work.
“I... I have news to report! The Panther Clan forces stationed at Fort Gashina have left marching northward, and have begun an invasion! Their numbers are estimated to be around ten thousand!”
Linnea was patriarch of the Horn Clan, and her nation controlled the fertile lands between the Körmt and Örmt Rivers.
She was a young girl with a delicate physique, but even Yuuto placed his full praise and trust in her skills at administration and governance.
“So they’ve made their move at last,” Linnea said grimly. “Is it just the Panther Clan? Tell me what the Lightning Clan is doing!”
“Yes, ma’am! The Lightning Clan’s eight thousand troops are advancing to the east!”
“Eight thousand...” Linnea grimaced bitterly, as if she’d swallowed a bug. She sighed and leaned against the back of her chair.
The Wolf Clan, after their huge loss at the Battle of Gashina, didn’t have even ten thousand troops to field at this point. They weren’t in any shape to lend the Horn Clan any spare soldiers for defense. In other words, she couldn’t expect any aid from allies here.
“Send a dispatch to all troops stationed near the border,” she ordered. “Don’t let them cross the Körmt River! Fight them to the death at the water’s edge, if it comes to that!”
“Yes, ma’am!” The army messenger snapped to attention, and turned to fly out of Linnea’s office at a run.
Linnea had been wary of the possibility that the enemy armies concentrated in Gashina might attack her, and so she already had three thousand soldiers positioned along the northern bank of the Körmt River.
It was one of the usual strategies of battle: Form ranks at the water’s edge facing the river, and pound the enemy with force as they attempt to cross from the other side.
While enemies attempted to cross, they would be hindered by the current and lose their footing, and their movements and reactions would be slowed. It made them perfect targets for archers.
And for those enemies who made it through the hail of arrow fire and up onto the bank, they would be outnumbered by the allied forces waiting there for them.
Furthermore, the Körmt River in particular was wide with a deep bottom for almost every region of its territory that it ran through. It was a natural defense more effective than any plain old fortress at halting enemy advances.
With any normal enemy army, the Horn Clan should be able to repel them at the river with ease.
However...
Only after Linnea was sure the messenger’s footsteps were far distant, she allowed herself a long, bitter sigh. “I gave the order easily enough, but this doesn’t look good...”
The enemy army was at least three times the size of her own. And to make matters worse, that huge force was all armed cavalry, every soldier skilled at combat and archery from horseback. They were an army of elite soldiers.
The western border needed to be maintained with a necessary minimum of defensive troops, as well. Gathering every able man they could for the fight would still limit the Horn Clan to perhaps three thousand at the very maximum.
That wasn’t nearly enough to be sure of holding the enemy back.
“For now, I’ll just have to send out requests for aid to the Mountain Dog and Wheat Clans... even if I can’t expect a favorable reply.”
Around the time of the New Year’s Festival, Yuuto had arranged for those clans to exchange the Oath of the Sibling Chalice with hers, becoming her sister clans.
She had already sent them messages many times now, requesting that they send her aid in the event that the Panther or Lightning Clans attacked, but she had yet to receive a definitive reply from either of them.
They were weaker clans than hers in terms of size and strength, so the oath sworn between them placed Linnea and her clan as the “older sibling.”
According to the sacred custom of the Chalice, the younger siblings had a duty to listen to the requests or demands of the older, but when it came to the vows between patriarchs of entire clans, pragmatism entered into it somewhat.
One had to consider one’s duty to protect the “children” of their own clan, after all. They were hardly going to consider committing their people to a war they felt certain to lose.
Rasmus, her former second-in-command and current senior advisor, had once suggested to her that now was the time to seize control of the alliance with the Wolf Clan, since they were losing their uniting influence. And yet, this was the current situation of the Horn Clan.
“Now, what should I do?” Linnea pondered.
Yuuto’s sudden return to his homeland beyond the heavens had been due to Sigyn’s magic; she’d already learned as much from reports from the Wolf Clan.
For a short time, information had been spotty and confused, and so there had been reports of Yuuto having died in battle at Gashina. Linnea had leapt for joy when she’d learned the truth of his survival.
On the other hand, as clan patriarch, Linnea was unsure of how best to interpret this new information and deal with it. It was honestly quite frustrating.
A ruling lord’s death always created uncertainty and instability, an opening into which it was easy for neighboring nations to insert themselves. And so it was an all too common story in history that a ruler’s death might be kept secret for a time, until the next ruler with solid support and authority was established.
Thinking about this situation normally, it seemed more likely that this was one more example of such deception.
The explanation that he had come from a land beyond the heavens, and that he was alive there but had failed to return, might be nothing more than attempts to put on an appearance of strength to other nations.
The reports that the summoning rite in Iárnviðr the previous night had simply ended in failure only served to add fuel to such suspicions.
“But I still believe in you,” she whispered. “I believe in you, Big Brother.”
A person like him, who was practically a god of warfare reborn, could not possibly just up and die like that!
Linnea still remembered the time in Gimlé when Yuuto had told her his story about coming to Yggdrasil from another world.
And she still believed that Yuuto was the kind of man who would never abandon his family when they had fallen into danger.
The next full moon was in twenty days.
She could hold out that long, somehow.
She would hold out.
With renewed resolve in her heart, Linnea turned back to her desk.
She would do what she could, and she would make every last effort.
At around the same time that Linnea received her report, the same information reached Jörgen.
“Sir, I have unpleasant news to report,” Kristina said, waving a piece of paper in her hand. “The Lightning and Panther Clan armies that were at Fort Gashina have both started advancing.”
She held out the paper to Jörgen. It contained detailed notes on the two armies’ movements and their number of soldiers.
“I would have liked them to stay put for just a little while longer, if I’m being honest,” Jörgen grumbled.
Their last attempt to summon Yuuto had failed, after all, and there was no sure plan to guarantee success of the next one. As the saying went, “Misfortune never arrives alone.”
Of course, he knew the enemy wasn’t about to spare them any mercy on account of their situation.
He glanced back at Kristina. “Has the same information reached Skáviðr in Gimlé?”
“Yes, naturally,” she replied.
The governor of Gimlé, Olof, had chosen to lead the rearguard after the Battle of Gashina. He had performed that duty with excellence, and had died an honorable warrior’s death.
After consulting with Yuuto, the one chosen to replace him in that position was Skáviðr, the Wolf Clan’s assistant second-in-command.
Skáviðr had previously been stationed in Myrkviðr, the walled city at the western edge of Horn Clan territory. But, if the enemy were able to capture Gimlé, the Wolf Clan capital Iárnviðr would be within arm’s reach.
Skáviðr had been chosen because of his reputation as a master of fighting defensive battles.
Kristina furrowed her brow. “Still, even with the assistant second in charge, I wonder if they will really be capable of holding off the enemy’s advance?”
Back when the Wolf Clan was being led by its previous patriarch, Fárbauti, Skáviðr had repelled numerous invasion attempts by the Claw Clan.
As the daughter by birth of the Claw Clan’s patriarch, Kristina knew well how capable Skáviðr was.
Even so, anyone would have to admit that this time, he was outmatched.
There were only about four thousand soldiers stationed in Gimlé, and no more than two thousand at the very most could be sent there as reinforcements.
Six thousand men.
Currently, this was the upper limit of what the Wolf Clan could mobilize.
But their enemy was the Lightning Clan army, led by the inhumanly powerful Steinþórr. It would be an uneasy contest even with equal troop strengths.
Not even being able to gather the same number of soldiers was going to make this extremely tough, to say the least.
“That’s exactly why I’ve sent requests to your birth father to send us some damn men already, three times now,” Jörgen said. “And he’s somehow managed to slither his way out of giving a response each time.”
He glared sharply at Kristina, but it wasn’t enough to frighten someone like her. She met his eyes and calmly shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, I shouldn’t think he would commit himself to anything in this situation. He is not the type to join a battle on the side that he knows will lose.”
“That’s a pretty blunt way to put it.”
“My responsibility is gathering and organizing information. If you would prefer to hear comforting fairy tales instead, please feel free to call upon someone else.”
“Such an unpleasant girl. You really do take after your birth father.” Jörgen spat out the words with a look of annoyance on his face, but in a sense it was also meant as a compliment.
In a crisis like this, there were few outcomes more terrible than trusting and relying on reinforcements, only to have them not show up.
This blunt assessment was far more helpful than a response playing up the relationship with the Claw Clan and trying to sway him with false reassurances.
“Then let me ask a different question,” Jörgen said. “If Father returns, will the Claw Clan join us?”
“Yes, without a doubt.” Kristina nodded firmly.
Jörgen decided that he would have to be content with that.
Considering these circumstances, it was an improvement just knowing that they’d lend their aid if Yuuto returned. And this was likely thanks to the fact that the Claw Clan patriarch Botvid was receiving accurate information from Kristina.
After the huge loss at Gashina, the Wolf Clan’s ability to unite and solidify the greater region was, unfortunately, in sharp decline.
The Ash, Mountain Dog, and Wheat Clans, which had all only recently become subsidiary allies to the Wolf Clan, were all still sitting on the fence in this conflict.
And unlike with the Claw Clan, it was uncertain if they’d change their stance even if Yuuto returned.
Technically speaking, Yuuto had never lost a battle in command, but in these circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange for other clans to see the previous defeat as having happened under Yuuto’s command, despite the truth of his absence.
Of course, this one instance of defeat wouldn’t be enough to completely destroy Yuuto’s reputation, but it was safe to assume that he would no longer project the same god-like charisma.
So it was more than likely those clans wouldn’t make any move to aid the Wolf Clan unless the momentum shifted, with a clear-cut Wolf Clan victory.
Presently the only ones who would be steadfast allies were the earnest and dutiful Linnea and her Horn Clan. But they were dealing with the Panther Clan army, and so were likely just as desperate for reinforcements from the Wolf Clan.
This was a truly dire, even hopeless situation. And yet...
“Ha ha ha, then your birth father really is a clever man,” Jörgen responded a hearty laugh. “That’s right, if Father comes back, the Wolf Clan cannot lose!”
Strangely enough, Jörgen felt a sense of certainty deep down: That somehow, Yuuto would figure out a way to fix this.
He was the man who had devised a way to produce the divine metal iron, who had turned the sun black on cue, who had made rocks fall from the heavens onto his foes, who had unleashed a raging flood.
He was a worker of miracles, and he would surely bring about more of them.
“If we hold out until the next full moon, we’ll win.” Jörgen’s lips curled up into a grin full of confidence. “I have every hope in Father’s chosen bride. She will find a way to help us, I’m sure of it.”
Three days after having begun their advance, the Lightning Clan troops were beset by fierce rainstorms.
Yggdrasil had already seen the advent of basic straw raincoats, but the climate was such that there wasn’t a particularly huge amount of rainfall on average, and so it wasn’t customary for armies on the march to take raincoats with them.
Because of that, when heavy rains beset a moving army, they would temporarily call a halt and take shelter under trees or rocks, or take over local residences if there were any nearby, and wait out the storm. They would also make use of large tarps made from cloth coated in oil.
As luck would have it, there was a farming village close by, so the Lightning Clan had driven out the residents and occupied their buildings.
It was a cruel and villainous act, but one that was completely normal and common for this era.
Inside the village chief’s house, the Lightning Clan second-in-command Þjálfi was trying to explain the current situation to his patriarch Steinþórr.
“According to reports from our lookouts, the Wolf Clan has around six thousand troops, all told,” Þjálfi reported. “At present they are formed up on the eastern bank of the Élivágar River, waiting for us. Their flags and insignias indicate the commander is the assistant second-in-command Skáviðr. No sighting was made of anyone resembling Patriarch Suoh-Yuuto.”
jálfi’s freewheeling patriarch was always more likely than not to respond to reports with his customary, “Who cares about the details.” That was why condensing and reporting the essential info to him was Þjálfi’s role.
Once Þjálfi finished, Steinþórr scoffed, looking completely bored. “Hmph, so he’s not there. So he really did get taken down at Gashina, then?”
“We still haven’t heard of any funeral for him being held in Iárnviðr, but that’s what’s likely,” Þjálfi replied.
It was a common strategy throughout history to try to hide the death of a powerful and influential ruler. On the other hand, it was very rare for such attempts to see any real success.
People will talk, and word will travel.
There were merchants who visited the palace in Iárnviðr for business, and servants who worked on the grounds. A little bribe here and there was enough to learn the fact that no one in Iárnviðr had seen Yuuto in the past month.
Several people also said that Suoh-Yuuto had come from the heavens, and that they were holding rites to pray for his second coming; it was downright laughable hearing someone exalted to this extent.
It was likely part of a calculated bit of propaganda aimed at people both inside the Wolf Clan and out, meant to claim Suoh-Yuuto was still alive and well somewhere, and to buy the clan some extra time politically.
Honestly, it was a poor excuse for a story.
But whatever the truth might be, the Wolf Clan lacked Suoh-Yuuto, and with only six thousand troops, they no longer posed any real threat.
“Tch. Sounds to me like this battle’s gonna be boring as hell,” Steinþórr griped.
“I would consider that a matter worth celebrating, personally.”
“Well, they do have that scraggly wolf commanding them. I hope that at least gives me something to sink my teeth into, even just a bit. ...But with this rain, you think we’ll still be stuck here through tomorrow?”
“Possibly, yes. We’re at the mercy of the heavens, unfortunately.”
“Aaaughh, I feel like I’m gonna die of boredom!” Steinþórr groaned.
After spending more than half a day cooped up in this cramped house, Steinþórr looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Incidentally, this was the largest building, and the tiny farming village only had a population of a few dozen people. It was never going to be able to contain an army of eight thousand.
So the only ones permitted to stay in the buildings were those of high status, and the vast majority of the soldiers were camping out in the area surrounding the village. Even this cramped building was a great luxury.
“Hey, Þjálfi,” Steinþórr put in. “If you’re done with the reports, help me fight off this boredom. Let’s have a bit of arm wrestling.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There is absolutely no way I could possibly win against you.”
“No worries; of course I’ll give you a handicap. How about I use just my pinky finger, and you can use both arms?” Steinþórr got down on the floor and stood one arm up by the elbow, wiggling his pinky.
If it were anyone else doing this, it would unmistakably be taken as a deliberate insult.
jálfi sighed, unable to hide his weary body language. “Try that with someone else, if you please. I don’t want to get injured right before a major battle.”
“Aw, man, you’re no fun.”
“Please don’t look to me for your...”
Bwooooh! Bwooooh! Bwooooh! All of a sudden, blaring warhorns were ringing out.
“Heh, looks like things are getting good, after all!” Steinþórr broke into a grin.
“This is not in any way ‘good’!” Þjálfi immediately scolded his patriarch.
Indeed, this was not good at all.
Weren’t the Wolf Clan troops supposed to be on the east bank of the river?! Þjálfi thought in a panic.
This village was two days’ march away from the Élivágar River, and there was this heavy storm going on. It had been completely out of the question to consider that the enemy might attack them. They’d been caught completely by surprise.
“Ha! Don’t you worry about the details!” Steinþórr picked up his trusty iron warhammer, kicked open (and broke) the front door of the house with a Bam! and practically leapt out through the doorway.
The sky was totally gray, and the rain was coming down fast in large, pelting drops that made it quite hard to see anything.
The roar of the wind and rain snuffed out any other sound.
Even so, Steinþórr’s beast-like sense of smell was able to pick up on the trace scent of a nearby battle.
“...Over that way!” he shouted.
He ran nonstop until he reached the outskirts of the village, where he could hear the splashes of people running through water and the screams of confused and fleeing soldiers.
It seemed the fighters had fallen into a complete state of panic.
That was not a totally unthinkable reaction. They had been camping out here in the cold, huddled close together for warmth, when they were suddenly attacked in that state of vulnerability.
“Mounted soldiers?!” Steinþórr caught sight of a group of soldiers on horseback chasing down his Lightning Clan fighters, and clicked his tongue in irritation. “Tch, that’s right, the Wolf Clan had some of those, too.”
So that was their game: By clearly placing their formation on the east bank of the Élivágar, it had drawn attention there. Because of the distance, it had encouraged the Lightning Clan to lower their guard. That was letting the Wolf Clan send out a small force of highly-mobile cavalry to stage a surprise attack.
Steinþórr caught sight of one fighter in particular: A girl with a slender frame that looked out of place on the field of battle. “These guys are pretty good. That silver-haired one leading them... I think her name’s Sigrún or something.”
His grip on his warhammer tightened.
It was quite rare for this man to remember the names of his foes. Steinþórr only took an interest in the very strong. Those who failed to draw his interest by those standards would never get him to remember even their names.
At the very least, this girl he saw fighting now, whirling her spear this way and that, was one of the chosen strong who remained in his memory.
The instant Sigrún made eye contact with Steinþórr, she turned to call out an order to her men in a voice that rang out clear as a bell even amongst all the commotion. “Ah! Steinþórr! Tch, it’s time to go, then. Retreat!”
“You think I’ll just let you get away?!” Steinþórr kicked into a run, and with his inhuman leg strength he closed the distance between them, aiming an upward swing of his hammer right at Sigrún’s face.
The attack contained the pure divine might of Steinþórr’s rune, Mjǫlnir, the Shatterer, making it impossible to block.
And yet—
“Wha?!” Steinþórr let out a shocked voice as the enemy’s spear attack also arced up from underneath, as if scooping up his hammer; his attack was thus pushed off-target.
His hammer swung uselessly through empty air.
Sigrún attacked in that tiny opening, bringing her spear blade back down.
“Gaah!” Steinþórr hurriedly sprang backward.
As soon as that distance opened up between the two of them, Sigrún turned her horse around, and in no time flat, she disappeared into the rain.
“I can’t believe I let her get away,” Steinþórr grumbled. “I must be losing my touch. Still, that technique she used... that’s the one that scraggly wolf uses. Heh heh, looks like she’s gotten better.”
The other riders had also completely vanished by this point.
They’d delivered casualties to his side without suffering any of their own.
Enemy or not, Steinþórr could appreciate how well they’d managed both the surprise attack and the retreat.
“I was pretty disappointed that Suoh-Yuuto’s not around anymore, but maybe I can still have some fun.” Steinþórr licked his lips and sneered, looking like a hungry tiger that had just caught sight of its prey.
The Körmt River was long and wide, and it nourished the lands from the Bifröst region all the way west to Álfheimr and Vanaheimr.
Water was necessary for human survival, and for the survival of crops. So for the people of western Yggdrasil, this great river supplied so much that it was like the source of life itself. Many referred to the Körmt River as “the Mother Körmt” or “the Great Mother.”
Hveðrungr was currently the patriarch of the Panther Clan, nomads from the lands of Miðgarðr north of the Himinbjörg Mountains, but originally he had been a Bifröst man, born and raised in Iárnviðr.
He had resolved to abandon his ties to his homeland, and yet faced with the sight of the river flowing before him, he could not deny the nostalgic feelings that rose within him.
“Hmph, acting as sentimental as a girl. I’m disgusted with myself.” Hveðrungr bitterly spat out his self-derision, and steered his thoughts elsewhere.
He wasn’t some bard; right now he was a proud general here to command a legion of soldiers. He needed to be cold and dispassionate for this.
“Still, I am sure they won’t simply let us cross for nothing.” Staring out at the Horn Clan flags presented on the distant opposite riverbank, Hveðrungr pondered his options.
After first deciding that he’d attack the Horn Clan, he had spent half a month researching the geography of this area. According to information gleaned from the locals, this area was where the river was relatively more shallow and easier to cross.
Naturally, the Horn Clan also knew that, which was exactly why they had positioned such a large formation on the opposite bank here.
If he were to move toward them carelessly, he would assuredly be met with a storm of arrows.
“We’ve had one kind of rain coming down already,” Hveðrungr mused. “For now, let’s watch and wait for another couple of days.”
The rain had cleared up by now, but it had been raining steadily until that morning, so the river level should be higher. There was no point in trying to cross now, when it would be much more difficult.
The nomadic Panther Clan’s basic battle strategy was hit-and-run, pulling back after each attack, so that they wouldn’t receive any counterattacks from their enemies. When things seemed dangerous, they fled immediately.
To those cultures who lived in and defended permanent settlements, this might have come across as cowardly. But if one considered how warfare was essentially a struggle of life and death, any tactics which only sacrificed the life of the enemy were extremely logical. One should not fight a reckless battle.
“Mm?” Hveðrungr noticed a single man standing on the opposite riverbank, drawing a bow.
In order to avoid taking arrow attacks, the Panther Clan had set themselves up around one hundred meters back from the near river bank.
Taking the width of the river itself into account, that meant it was at least two hundred meters to the opposite shore...
An arrow shot perfectly into the ground at his very feet with a dull shunk.
“Ah! Oho...” Hveðrungr let out an impressed gasp, a rarity for him.
That man had incredible strength with the bow to have shot this far. His aim was impeccable, as well.
If Hveðrungr had not jumped backward at the last minute, the arrow would have pierced right through him.
“Hear me!” the man called. “I am Haugspori, the proud son of my patriarch Lady Linnea, and assistant to the second-in-command of the Horn Clan! These words are likely wasted on the ears of you barbaric fiends of the Panther Clan, but I will tell you that this land has been entrusted to us of the Horn Clan by our most sacred Divine Empress, and we have long guarded it. We will not suffer you to take one step onto its soil! If you persist on coming, then be prepared to feast on the hail of arrows we have ready for you!”
The man’s booming voice carried to Hveðrungr’s ears even across the distance. Apparently his voice was as powerful as his bow arm.
As soon as he finished speaking, the other Horn Clan soldiers broke out into a chorus of war cries.
His speech was serving to motivate his allies before the battle, pronouncing loudly and clearly their justification for fighting. Such pre-battle speeches were not uncommon.
“Well now, that was pretty smartly played.” Hveðrungr’s lips curled into a grin.
As stated before, such speeches were not uncommon, but shooting an arrow from such an incredibly far distance to visibly score a point against him like this was impressive.
That man was probably their clan’s greatest master of the bow, and so there was no need to think that any of the other fighters could replicate his feat.
However, it had still planted a seed of fear in the Panther Clan’s rank and file, fear that perhaps the Horn Clan could fire upon them even from that great distance.
“I’ve got no choice but to give him a good reply.” Hveðrungr readied his own bow, and stepped forward.
Until recently, he would have assigned this role to the Panther Clan’s greatest archer, Váli, but unfortunately Váli had been killed by the Wolf Clan during the Battle of Gashina. It was a bit of an annoyance, but Hveðrungr would have to do it himself instead.
“ᚹᛁᛜᛞ.” As he finished pulling taut his trusty bow, he spoke the word of power which wove together the magical energy within him.
Hveðrungr’s rune was Alþiófr, Jester of a Thousand Illusions, and it allowed him to steal any and all techniques. Obtaining skill with a bow was child’s play.
However, that didn’t mean he had the raw physical strength necessary to power an arrow shot that would cover the whole distance.
Of course, if he failed to shoot as far, it would show him to be weaker than his opponent, and his troops would lose morale.
And so he used the power of galdr song magic.
A sudden, powerful gust of wind blew from behind Hveðrungr. He released his arrow with exquisite timing, and it rode that wind.
The arrow drew a long, gentle arc across the air above the river, and fell directly toward the center of Haugspori’s chest, as if being pulled straight to its target.
Of course, the man easily struck the arrow aside, but what was important was that this was sufficient for the Panther Clan to save face.
Hveðrungr set his voice upon the summoned wind, to be carried across to his enemies.
“I am the patriarch of the Panther Clan, ruler of the great grasslands, Hveðrungr! You manage to bark loudly enough for weaklings whom we toyed with so easily last year! Your precious friends the Wolf Clan won’t be coming to your aid this time! Go ahead and flee now, if you value your lives!”
His voices echoed much louder and more powerfully in their ears than to even his own men nearby.
This was how the curtain opened onto what was to be called the Battle of Körmt River.
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