WeTried Translations
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 852
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Centaur.
Half human, half horse, the lower body of a horse, the upper body shaped like a man's.
But they were Demon Creatures, so their eyes were solid black, and while their skin fell short of Iron Body, it was hard enough to give you real trouble.
He had fought them before. They had occupied the plains south of the Border Guard's forest, if he recalled correctly.
The memory was hazy. So much had happened since then. Even with a good memory, some things were bound to fade. That said, he had not forgotten everything. Enkrid searched his recollection.
General-type Colony.
The way the one with the Glaive had moved came back to him. So did the tactics it had used to lead the pack.
They called it the Three-Wave Formation.
The first wave draws the eye, the second delivers the blow, and the third breaks through.
Simple, but effective when you held a clear advantage in strength.
And back then he had weathered the killing intent those Demon Creatures put out.
The murderous pressure from Demon Creatures, similar to a knight's Pressure, had been blocked with Refusal.
Pulling together scattered fragments one by one, more memories surfaced. Some were sharp, others dim.
He might have forgotten the names of people he met back then, but he had not forgotten the combat itself, nor what he had learned and drilled into his body from those encounters.
"These ones are different from before," Enkrid said.
No killing intent, none of that reckless aggression. The General-type Colony he had faced before had been a war chariot driving straight at him. These felt more like nimble light infantry, clever and slippery.
"I feel sick every time I see those bastards," Dunbakel muttered.
Back during that fight with the General-type Colony, Dunbakel had drawn the Centaur pack's attention and fled into the forest as bait, if he remembered right.
"Time to pay them back for that. Guardian of the stench," Rem said, needling her.
The creatures came charging and loosed bone arrows as they closed in, but nobody flinched. Nothing in this group was going to be stopped by that kind of attack.
Ragna climbed back into his saddle with half-lidded eyes.
"Annoying," he said.
That was all. Chasing them would be a headache. They had already shrunk to dots in the distance, too far for even a knight's eyes to track.
A few horses stamped and snorted uneasily. Then Odd-Eye let out a long whinny and they all settled down.
"Should I go after them?" Ropord asked. His own mount was not fast enough to give chase, but if he could close part of the gap he could dismount and cover the rest on foot.
He knew nobody would actually send him. The offer came from the role he had carved out for himself in the Madman Knights. He was the one who always handled the tedious business.
"Not worth it," Enkrid said, gauging the speed of the retreating pack.
A knight's strength could beat a horse over a short sprint, but these Demon Creatures were fast even accounting for that. Running them down on horseback? Not a chance.
"Fair enough," Ropord agreed with a nod. He had known it was impossible. Saying it out loud was for everyone's benefit. That was what made it tedious, too.
"This bastard always has to open his mouth about something everyone already knows. Shut it, you stuffy little prick," Fell sneered.
"How many times have I told you that this kind of exchange is what keeps a group from losing its bearings? So many I've lost count. That's why soldiers don't line up to serve under you. Your face being a disaster is only the second reason."
Click.
Fell unlatched his sword. Maybe it was time to carve a few lines into that face.
Ropord's eyes narrowed. One less person picking fights at every turn would not exactly cripple the southern front.
Cutting him somewhere and leaving him to limp back on his own was starting to sound reasonable.
"Hey, idiots. We're busy. You want to fight, go fight," Rem said, stepping between them. A different approach from Enkrid's, but it worked. Both hands went still.
When a feral barbarian stared at you like he was about to split your skull with an axe, the urge to brawl had a way of evaporating.
The group moved out again. The Centaur pack had hit and run, and that seemed to be the whole of it.
Enkrid and a few others wondered whether it was safe to just let them go. Then Ruagarne spoke from beside Enkrid, and what she said made sense.
"That kind of pack is easiest to handle with numbers. Send out part of the standing army to box them in and run them down."
Too troublesome to chase with a small, elite group. Not impossible if they committed to it, but a waste of time.
Enkrid studied the arrows the creatures had fired. Poison, distance, arrows. Put all three together and the intent behind it was almost clear. He was still turning it over when the pack appeared again, just as the group finished preparing to move out.
"Well, look at that," Rem said, mouth curling. He did not sound pleased.
"Ha. It seems the Lord desires some sport," Audin said.
Send that Centaur company up to the heavens and the Lord would split them in two and play with the pieces to his heart's content.
Whether the Lord truly desired any of this, no one could say, but Audin believed all things fell within the Lord's will.
To him, those creatures were simply the Lord's toys.
"Sister Teresa, let's get ready," Audin said.
"Yes," she answered.
The bear beastfolk siblings took hold of their reins and stopped. Everyone else did the same.
They halted and waited for the Demon Creatures to charge in. If the pack closed the distance this time, they would crush them in one go.
The Madman Knights were of one mind.
Swish swish swish.
Bone arrows came flying in from a distance. Enkrid watched and waited. Just a little closer and they would move.
The Centaur pack seemed to laugh at the idea. They accelerated, loosed their arrows, then wheeled around and bolted.
They were already at full gallop. Running them down was not going to work.
Can't catch them.
Fast. Three or four times faster than a war horse at full sprint, even a thoroughbred.
If the distance ever closed, most of the knight order could meet those creatures up close where their weapons could reach. But the creatures were not about to give that distance up.
Enkrid could see that clearly.
Three days passed like that. Rem said the creatures were simply waiting for the group to tire out. Ruagarne rolled her eyes and fell into thought.
Morning, noon, evening, regular as clockwork, arrows would arc in and the pack would vanish. The group's marching speed had fallen off badly.
Demon Creatures that survive inside the Cursed Ground undergo a change.
He had already learned that in Thousand Bricks, the city now renamed Aoara. Ghoul Jerix had been a Demon Creature that had watched and learned from humans.
Humans had looked at the killing intent of Demon Creatures and developed Pressure from it.
Pressure had begun as an imitation of that creature-born murderous aura, and Will had grown from watching Demon Creatures of enormous size produce strength that defied all logic.
That knowledge had come from his conversation with Valmund, the Empire's knight. Valmund had also said this:
"Just as humans steal techniques from Demon Creatures, I think the time has come for Demon Creatures to learn from human systems. Both sides have been learning from each other."
So were those creatures firing arrows from a distance out there learning strategy and tactics from intelligent beings?
"That tracks," Ruagarne said, nodding when Enkrid brought it up.
"If we leave things like this, the southern battle will be long over before we get there. Twenty-five years from now, more like. Let me go handle it," Rem said.
Rem was a born hunter. He went after the Centaur pack. He left in the night and came back in the morning. Nothing to show for it.
"These bastards have sentries posted all the way out there?"
The conditions were bad in every way. In a forest, getting close would have been simple. But this was open plain. With dozens of Demon Creatures scanning left and right, a silent approach was impossible.
"Should have brought that wildcat," Rem muttered. That alone said something.
"You've got me, Dunbakel, right here."
Hunting was part of daily life in the East. Playing tag with Demon Creatures especially.
"I'll go."
Nobody tried to stop her. Dunbakel came back in less than half a day.
"They shoot arrows before I can even get close, then run."
"Boss, somehow she seems even dumber after coming back from the East," Rem said, shaking his head.
Dunbakel's nose was exceptional, even among the Beastfolk. Still, out on a plain where everyone could see in every direction, that nose could not do much. It was excellent for tracking quarry that hid or fled, but silent approach was not her specialty.
What the enemy was doing was not hiding. They moved their legs to keep their distance and fired arrows. Dunbakel had an idea, though.
If I transform and charge them, I could probably take them.
Her beastfolk transformation had grown and changed during her time in the East. With her second change, if she sprinted at full speed ,
I can catch them.
The problem was that the creatures simply refused to let her get close enough. They pulled back, then circled around and fired more arrows.
Swish swish swish. Thud thud thud.
Rem tied a cord to his Throwing Axe and spun it overhead. The arcing blade became a roof over the whole group and batted away the incoming arrows.
A few slipped through the gaps. Ruagarne knocked those aside with her whip.
A threat? Not remotely. But their feet were tied. Nobody was going to get hit by accident, but the arrows were coated in poison.
A graze on one of the horses would be enough to make it a burden. Equipment hanging from the saddle would have to be carried by people, pace would drop, and the south was still far. Walking was not impossible, but arriving late was already becoming a certainty.
Should they leave the camp gear behind?
Enkrid thought about it for a moment.
"If it were me, I would split the group," Ruagarne offered, practical as always.
What could you say. The moment they got close enough, this pack would be finished in seconds. But there was no way to make that happen.
Like Ruagarne said, if they committed, split the group, and chased them off the plain, catching them was doable.
We'd probably need three.
But should they? The enemy's aim was obvious. If the Demon Creatures had learned strategy and what they wanted was to tie the group's legs, doing exactly that would be playing right into their hands.
What if we just ignore them and keep moving?
Leaving the horses behind would work, but ,
A whinny.
Odd-Eye shoved Enkrid in the back while he was thinking. He turned. Odd-Eye had pushed his head forward, and the look in those mismatched eyes was ferocious.
Killing intent and Pressure, if those words even fit a horse.
While Enkrid had been repeating days and cutting down Balroks, what had this wild horse been doing?
Another whinny.
He did not know. But this horse had not been idly grazing. That was just how Odd-Eye was.
"So, Indomitable. You have something to say?"
Enkrid used the name he had given him a long time ago. Odd-Eye frowned, and horses were not supposed to frown like that. The look said: what kind of nonsense is that. Enkrid ignored it and pressed the question anyway. That sort of shamelessness had been drilled into him back in his mercenary days.
What was that mercenary captain's name again? Tom? Something like that. Maybe longer. Too long ago to be sure.
"So, why?"
A snort.
Enkrid and Odd-Eye could communicate, after a fashion. But holding a fine-grained conversation, talking through strategy, that was not possible.
No matter how extraordinary Odd-Eye was, he did not use language.
But in this group there was a member of a race that could read the hearts of humans, giants, elves, witches, and beasts alike. For the Dragonkin, language was a secondary tool.
"He says to ride on his back," the Dragonkin said.
"What?"
"He says he will catch them."
The Dragonkin had grown curious about the wild horse following Enkrid. The creature burned with Will, with fervor. What had filled that inner world?
The Dragonkin read Odd-Eye's heart in detail.
Faster than me?
A wild horse that had spent its whole life running over rough plains, mountains, stone paths, mud, and rocky slopes did not accept anything faster than itself.
A snort.
Odd-Eye's determination was plain. Enkrid felt that resolve precisely, without needing it translated.
Odd-Eye carried no load on his back. He had never intended to carry any, and he had never let anyone try to put one there either.
Instead, Enkrid had been wearing his own pack, with the other gear distributed among the group. He undid his pack now and tossed it to Fell.
"Hold this."
Then he mounted Odd-Eye.
The moment he was in the saddle, heat hit him. The dark bruise on Odd-Eye's back had deepened in color, and the whole body was alive with warmth.
"You're saying there's no horse faster than you?" Enkrid asked.
Odd-Eye reared up on his hind legs in answer.
A great whinny rang out.
"That's right," the Dragonkin said.
And out in the distance, the Centaur pack loosed another volley.
Poison-coated bone arrows. A pack of Demon Creatures that had learned human systems and strategy. Toward them, a wild horse with mismatched eyes, a horse that had overcome the blood of Demon Creatures, carried the Balrok Slayer on its back and ran.
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