Wilderness Hunters Appear

At dawn, the town inn's gates remained tightly shut. It was already the fourth day of closure.

"They ran away?"

"My lord, look! That wild mage burned down your property! The stables, the roof—"

Bang!

The Viscount kicked the innkeeper to the ground.

"Enough nonsense! They ran... which direction did they go? How far have they gotten? Did you find out what was in their carriages?"

"They left four days ago... My lord, they're a caravan, they can't move quickly! The carriages are full of hides..."

"Idiot, there was something else! The hides were a cover! Pig brain! You know nothing!" The Viscount kicked him again. He steadied his breathing, then turned to the man who had remained silent behind him.

"They're headed for Valois, straight south... Leopold, can you catch them?"

"Yes."

Leopold, the Protector of Limburg and the local military authority of this region. This mountain of a man had been left with injuries all over his body during his time in an Empire cavalry regiment. His reason for joining the Return Mother was simple—Its care and compassion, Its divine arts and Consecrated Oil soothed the constant torment of his body better than alcohol ever could.

Torment existed in this world at every moment.

The Viscount vented his anger by tormenting the innkeeper. Pairs of eyes watched from the rear. Leopold knew they belonged to the attendants and maids. They were secretly laughing, secretly rejoicing.

Then one of them—or all of them—would suffer twice the torment from the innkeeper.

Pain and oppression passed down layer by layer, from the gods and the Emperor to the lowliest slaves. Each time they were passed along, they intensified. Like nerve signals traveling to the extremities—though Leopold did not know what nerves were, he could feel the world convulsing in pain, just like his own body.

Only the Mother of Earth could soothe such pain. Leopold sincerely believed that. The great being had comforted him, and would surely comfort the world. He, too, could comfort this world. Leopold was one of the World Mother's agents.

Behind him stood six young, able-bodied men in uniform. The cavalry unit had been funded by the Viscount and trained by Leopold, and every one of them was a devout believer. In name, this force was the elite guard unit of Limburg. In truth, they were the Wilderness Hunters of the Return Mother cult.

The cavalry was exceedingly strange. Anyone who saw them for the first time could spot the discordance: the riders wore light soft armor, but every horse was wrapped tightly in heavy armor. Steam rose from the gaps between metal plates and leather.

Leopold grabbed a handful of herbal powder from his satchel and held it before his mount. After the horse greedily licked it up, even more steam rose from its body, and it snorted heavily.

"Move out."

The others copied Leopold's action, then mounted together. Their steeds became restless and agitated, their front hooves pawing at the ground as their armor plates clattered. The seven riders tugged their reins, and these heavily armored warhorses burst forth even more fiercely than unarmored horses, racing toward Rorschach and his party.

Evening.

The caravan had no idea that danger was rapidly closing in from behind, and continued lumbering along. A small river blocked their path. Mr. Arle tested the depth and current, then decided they would cross first and set up camp on the opposite bank to rest.

The river was broad but shallow. The drivers pulled wooden planks from beneath the carriages and assembled them into rafts, keeping the horses' hooves and wheels from sinking into the mud on the riverbed. While the drivers held the rafts in place against the current, Sing jumped into the river to help. Rorschach helped too—with Mage Hand.

They bustled about, yet failed to notice even the closer stalkers.

"Oh, thank heavens, they're finally resting!" The caravan had made camp in a bend of the river. On a nearby hill lay two dirt-covered men disguised with bundles of grass. One of them peered through a spyglass, monitoring Rorschach's group's every move.

"I thought this would be an easy job. Who knew this little troublemaker would skip the airship and hitch a ride with a merchant caravan instead! Now we're stuck playing wilderness survival! The boss even paid his travel expenses!"

"Think long-term... I can already foresee a rising star of slacking off and milking the organization's benefits..."

"A rising star? I've watched and watched, and this kid only knows a handful of spells. Isn't the boss setting the bar too low? Is this really all he aspires to?"

The other man suddenly stopped responding. He clenched his fist to signal silence. After a long while, he lowered his voice. "Keep it down. That ranger is getting suspicious..."

"We'd have had an easier time without that pretty girl. That dwarf only knows how to drink..." The man's expression suddenly changed. He put away the spyglass. Already lying prone, he now turned his head and pressed his left ear to the ground.

"Cavalry! From these vibrations... a squad of around ten! They're charging this way!"

Bang! The air trembled. Rorschach made a finger-gun gesture and aimed at a wild rabbit, blasting it away with a bang.

"Repulsion" + "Projectile" = Rorschach's Air Cannon

Rorschach discovered that spells which did not begin with Mana Condensation generally drew directly upon his own mana to produce their effects. Decomposition Technique and the Air Cannon were examples. His personal mana output was limited, and after being converted into repulsion and momentum, their power was even more limited—the blasted rabbit came to its senses and ran away.

"Young Master Rorschach, the rabbit's even farther away from us now. Were you helping it escape?" The dwarf laughed loudly and took a sip of wine. There was not much left in his large silver flask, so he had been savoring it in small sips these past two days.

"The earth is shaking." Singlev suddenly lowered his flask, his drunkenly content expression turning grave.

"Relax, Sing. This isn't your home in the Northern Mountains. There are no earthquakes here."

The ranger dropped to one knee and pressed one hand against the ground. "No, he's right. The ground is shaking." After a moment, he added, "There's a rhythm to it. Fast stride frequency. Horses—more than one."

Mr. Arle immediately shouted, "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"

Everyone remounted or climbed back into the carriages, and the four wagons drew together.

In that brief time, a group of cavalry appeared on the horizon, charging toward the caravan.

"Limburg's stationed cavalry? Or are they connected to the Underground Cult?" It seemed too late to flee. Mr. Arle and the three guards mounted their horses and shielded the caravan behind them.

Clop! Clop! Clop!

The seven heavily armored warhorses approaching them radiated an oppressive presence. Beneath the dying light of the setting sun and the caravan's watchful eyes, the riders stopped on the opposite bank. Chilly gusts swept along the riverbank at dusk, and Rorschach smelled a stench drifting over from them.

The leading man introduced himself. "I am Leopold, Protector of Limburg, investigating an arson case. Have you stayed at an inn in a nearby town?"

Singlev let out a sigh of relief and shouted across the river in his booming voice, "Thank goodness, Protector! You have to uphold justice for us! The innkeeper was a cultist! He believed in some... 'Go Home and Find Your Mother' cult! Tell me, how can anyone believe in something like that? You should investigate them!"

Leopold showed little reaction, but the riders behind him were already furious. "Insolence!" "Blasphemy!"

That Go Home and Find Your Mother business was obviously the Return Mother cult. Rorschach reminded the dwarf, "See? You've made them furious. Don't you think they're with the Return Mother cult?"

Before he had even finished speaking, the riders drew their bows and fired. Several arrows tore through the air.

"Watch out!"