Lance Charge on the Arkship, but No Mount

Standing in the clearing atop the mountain, Claude looked at the magnificent yet vicious longsword in his hand. His wrist began to turn, and the blade let out a shriek as it tore through the air. A flower of death made of sharp blades bloomed in the air. The next second, the flower drew together, becoming a slender blade.

"What kind of sword is that?" The girl stood beside him, looking very interested.

"Mercy. I call it Mercy."

Claude's voice was as cold and hard as steel.

A New Beginning: Execution

Claude sighed, stopped, and turned around to look at the figure following behind him.

"Miss, why are you following me? I'm going back."

The petite blond girl stood three meters behind him, staring at him eagerly. She had been following him ever since earlier. When they had first come down from the mountaintop together, Claude had not thought much of it, since there had only been one path. But now, he was nearly back in the village, and the child was still following him.

When Claude turned around and questioned her, the blond girl seemed a little flustered.

"Go back, miss. Go back. I gave you all the food left in that bundle." Claude looked at her somewhat helplessly.

But to Claude's frustration, the girl seemed unable to understand him and continued to follow. Nothing he said worked, and so he ended up bringing her all the way into the village.

"Claude, you're back... Who's this girl?" His companion naturally noticed her.

"To be honest, I don't know either. This child can't even figure out who she is herself."

The two of them came before the blond girl. After staring at one another for a while, Claude spoke first.

"Miss, now that I'm here, you should tell me why you've been following me."

The blond girl hugged the weapon in her arms and, unusually, looked somewhat hesitant. Still, she spoke.

"I want to go with you. I want to find my name."

"Then why follow me? I don't know your name, miss."

"This is my name, but I can't read it, so I want to find someone who can. You're very strong, so you'll definitely be able to find them." As she spoke, she pulled a battle axe from her bag.

Claude took the battle axe from her in surprise. There really were several words carved into it. Unfortunately, he could not read them either. They looked unfamiliar; he had never seen writing with such a structure in his previous memories. But the battle axe was indeed an excellent weapon, looking both sharp and sturdy.

Beside him, Centaurea frowned as she studied the writing on the weapon. After looking for quite a while, she finally said hesitantly, "This looks like Minos writing."

"Really?" Claude turned to look at her.

"It should be. I've seen it once, and it looks very similar." Seeing the girl's hopeful expression, she added, "Of course, I can't read it either. I don't know what it means. I've only seen this kind of writing before."

Seeing the girl's disappointed expression, Claude felt somewhat reluctant, but he still reminded her, "We don't know what these words mean either. Are you sure you still want to come with us?" As he spoke, Claude had already made up his mind. If she agreed, he would bring her along. After thinking it over, he still could not leave a child so lacking in common sense in a place like this. No matter how capable she was in a fight.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" The girl hurriedly nodded.

"It's very dangerous to travel with us."

"I'm not afraid. When the time comes, I'll help you beat up the bad guys. I'm really strong. To deal with them, I only need to go 'bam, smack' twice, and they'll be done for!" As she spoke, the girl pulled out her weapon and waved it around.

Claude could not help smiling at the lively, adorable girl.

"All right, then I'll be counting on you."

"Where did you get that sword?"

The Mercy in Claude's hand had, unsurprisingly, caught Centaurea's attention. She curiously examined the gorgeous longsword. Forget the material—judging from the craftsmanship alone, it was clearly a very expensive sword.

"You could say I got it because someone entrusted me with something." Claude hesitated, but he still took the little booklet from his clothes and handed it to his companion.

Centaurea flipped through the booklet. As she read, her expression gradually darkened. After finishing the final page, she looked up at Claude.

"You'll definitely go, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I'm going too." She did not hesitate in the slightest.

"Me, me, me, and me too! I'll help you beat up the bad guys!"

"All right. Come help me." Claude's expression involuntarily softened.

Outside the mobile cities, there was never any shortage of desperadoes. The natural environment was so harsh that anyone who could survive in such conditions—even a scavenger—was a vicious person willing to risk their life. Under certain circumstances, some of them could grow powerful enough to form an organization, or rather, a gang.

Such organizations rose and fell across the wilderness. They could be wiped out at any time by a sudden catastrophe. But whenever one organization fell, another would emerge, because mobile cities could never hold everyone. There would always be people struggling to survive in the wilderness who joined them.

Tire was one such person. He was the leader of this gang of one hundred and thirty people. Tire had no idea what his parents looked like. Ever since he could remember, he had struggled through the ruins. His life was like a tire—hard and resilient, impossible to kill—so an old man had given him that name.

Their small settlement of several dozen people had barely scraped by until, a few years ago, they suddenly stumbled into good fortune. A well-dressed, respectable man from who knew where needed them to do some dirty work. In return, he gave them excellent weapons and equipment. Every person had at least armor and a standard-issue long blade. Following his instructions, they attacked a transport convoy. Nearly half of them died before they could hand over a large black iron box from inside to him. No one came to investigate them afterward. After all, anything could happen on this wasteland, and they kept the equipment for themselves. Relying on gear far superior to that of other settlements, they quickly swallowed up the other scavengers in the region.

They produced nothing. Whatever they needed, they stole. Through this method of feeding war with war, they quickly became the strongest gang around. A few days ago, some of his men had gone out for a stroll and had some fun somewhere. When they came back, they did not dare hide it from him, but he did nothing to them. After all, he often did such things himself. To them, it was nothing more than an ordinary little matter.

Sitting in a crude shack made of sheet metal, he scratched at his damaged armor. His original armor had long since fallen into ruin from extended use, so now he could only weld rusty iron plates onto it and barely maintain some protection.

He was very strong. Of course, he had not been strong since childhood. He had killed that old man—well, he was probably supposed to call him Father. Only after killing him and becoming the leader had he been able to eat good food, which was how he had grown strong. The stronger he was, the more things he could seize. The more things he seized, the stronger he could become. This was the simple truth in his mind.

He took a strip of meat from the iron plate before him and gnawed on it in huge bites. He had to eat more. If he ate more, he would be stronger than everyone else, and they would not think about killing him and replacing him as leader. The meat he ate here was every kind of meat. After all, sometimes when there was nothing else to eat, that was simply how it was. He had long since become used to it.

The noise outside suddenly grew louder. He frowned in displeasure, wondering which fool had the death wish to disturb him while he was eating. He reached for the heavy battle axe beside him. This axe was the best weapon in the entire settlement, so naturally, it belonged to him.

He kicked the door open and had just stepped outside, intending to curse loudly. He had already decided that if some brat had done this on purpose, he would split him in two with one swing of his axe. But what he saw made him involuntarily shut his mouth.

A tall black knight stood there, clad from head to toe in airtight armor, staring at him through the visor slit of his helmet. On the blade of the spear in his hand, one of Tire's men was impaled and held high in the air. Blood ran down the spearhead, while the man pierced upon it had long stopped struggling.

Seeing the uninvited guest holding a man aloft on a spear with one hand, Tire wisely stopped and let his men rush forward.

The knight's blood-stained visor tilted slightly, as if he found it amusing. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the corpse impaled on his spear aside, knocking over two people. Then he split the spear into two sections and put it away. His movements were so calm and unhurried that it was as though the scavengers about to bury machetes and axes in his face did not exist.

Without making a sound, arrows as black as night pierced through the two fastest men, pinning them together to the ground. Before the others could react, arrows trailing black streams of light flew in one after another. Every strike brought down at least one person; sometimes they skewered two or three together, sending them flying off the ground and pinning them to the walls.

The knight's black gauntlet suddenly rose and steadily caught the great axe swinging toward his helmet.

Tire watched as the knight across from him began bending his axe sideways. He tried to resist, but that terrifying strength made even his tendons feel as though they were tearing apart. Gritting his teeth, his eyes began to glow red, and a layer of red mist enveloped his body. His strength more than doubled in that instant, but it still changed nothing.

The black gauntlet seized his fist, then began to squeeze.

Crack! Pop! Crack...

A bone-chilling sound rang out. Unbearable pain surged from his hands as his finger bones were crushed segment by segment, his flesh and blood kneaded into a pulp.

"Aaaah!!!"

He finally began screaming. He no longer wanted to fight. He only wanted to live. He wanted to leave, but his hands were held tightly in place.

Snap!! Crack!!

Claude's iron boot slammed heavily into the knee of the enemy before him, producing the crisp sound of bone and tendon tearing apart. The entire right leg bent forward backward. He reached out, grabbed the man by the hair, then drove up his knee and smashed the man's face into it. Another crisp crack rang out as his entire nose bridge caved in. Snot, blood, and fluids of various colors mixed together across his face.

Satisfied as he looked at the enemy who could no longer move at all, Claude drew an evil yet gorgeous longsword from his waist. Or perhaps it should be called Mercy. And he would grant this man mercy—by destroying his pitiful existence.

He took two steps around to the man's back, raised the sword in his hand, and watched it reflect the moonlight. The bloodstains upon it appeared especially glaring. It trembled excitedly, awakened by the scent of blood all around. The surrounding enemies had already been slaughtered, while the rest had fled through the rear entrance. But Claude was not worried in the slightest, as though he had no concern that they might escape.

He raised Mercy high and aimed it at the sinner's exposed nape. Just before he brought it down, he suddenly felt the sword's center of gravity shift violently. The blade tore through the air with a sharp shriek and cleanly severed the neck before him without the slightest resistance.

The massive, bloated head fell from the neck, and blood sprayed from the cavity, staining a large stretch of ground red. Yet before much blood could spill, it turned into a crimson mist and was absorbed into the blade, giving its silver-white surface a faint tint of red. The corpse before him suddenly turned pale, causing Claude to look at the sword in his hand.

The slender, sharp knight's sword had become an executioner's sword with a fan-shaped tip and a broad, thick blade. It had suddenly become much heavier. He truly did not know where all that extra mass had come from. Claude looked at the sword, which had fallen silent again, and his heart stirred slightly. The silver metal on it visibly turned fluid-like, changing shape according to his will.

Claude's attention was immediately drawn to it. He directed the metal, constantly altering its form, making it wider and longer, or thinner and shorter.

After some testing, Claude discovered that the sword's ability to change form was not limitless. The amount of mass it could gain was limited. Beyond a certain point, it could not become any heavier; below another point, it could not become any lighter. Even so, this was an unexpected delight to Claude.

With a slight thought, the longsword in his hand returned to its original form, and Claude sheathed it.

He walked out through the camp's rear entrance. Before him lay corpses scattered all along the way. They seemed to have been struck by powerful projectiles and killed in a single blow, their bodies left in horrific condition.

Seeing the blond figure running toward him in the distance, waving and bouncing as she came, Claude wiped the blood from himself and headed straight toward her.

A New Beginning: Kazimierz

He eased his right foot off the accelerator, lightly pressed the brake to slow the vehicle, then gradually stopped it beside a massive boulder. Driving through the wilderness beneath skies filled with yellow sand had left the vehicle covered in a thick layer of dust. The moment a black gauntlet touched it, it left behind a clear palm print.

Claude got out of the vehicle and vigorously brushed the dust from his hands. Raising his head, he looked at the mobile city in the distance, as imposing as a mountain. Its black silhouette beneath the setting sun remained clearly visible even from so far away. The enormous mobile city was currently stationary. Since operating it consumed enormous amounts of energy, it was generally kept still.

"It's really incredible, being able to power something like that."

Claude could not help sighing in admiration. This was something that had truly opened his eyes. What kind of incredible energy source could power such a behemoth? Originium was practically omnipotent in this world, becoming the industrial pillar that supported it. He could not imagine whether the people here could maintain their civilization if all Originium in the world disappeared one day.

"It's not as incredible as you think. Mobile cities are very cumbersome. It takes several full weeks to warm one up before it can move. So without advance warnings from catastrophe messengers, even mobile cities can't avoid catastrophes."

Centaurea got out of the vehicle as well, untied the scarf wrapped around her head, and vigorously shook the sand and dust from it. Their other companion was still lying in the back seat, sleeping soundly beneath a blanket wrapped tightly around her body. Only her blond hair and pointed ears were exposed.

"We're finally almost there. I wonder what Kazimierz looks like now."

After taking one last look at the enormous mobile city, Claude began tidying up. Night would be here soon, and it was time to eat and sleep. With roads in such terrible condition, it was better not to travel at night.

A bonfire rose beside the vehicle, and Claude set a pot of water over it. Then he greeted Centaurea, grabbed his throwing spear, and headed out. Thanks to someone's enormous appetite, their food had long been exhausted. They had basically relied on hunting to survive each day.

These days, they ate nothing but meat, jerky, and a very small amount of dry bread. Fortunately, they would not have to keep living so miserably tomorrow. Once they reached the Great Knight Territory, they could have a proper meal.

He strode across the plains at an unhurried pace, watching the little black dots on the distant horizon to see whether they were prey.

He soon found his target: a group of herbivores that looked much like deer, pawing through what remained of the withered grass. Claude crouched downwind of them and slowly approached. But he did not need to get too close. When he was around seventy meters away, he stood up. The animals were startled at once and warily looked around, but it was already too late.

His body tensed like a powerful bow as he hurled the throwing spear with all his strength. The spear struck one animal like a heavy crossbow bolt, pinning its body to the ground. The other animals immediately scattered, fleeing at top speed on their four long, powerful legs.

Claude quickly came before the prey wailing on the ground, drew the longsword at his waist, and swiftly killed it. The instant the blade left the prey's body, not a single drop of blood seeped out. It was all absorbed into the sword.

Claude smiled faintly at the wound, which did not bleed at all.

"At least I don't need to drain the blood."

He hoisted the sizable prey over his shoulder. He had inspected it carefully earlier. This herd showed basically no signs of Originium infection, and it would be enough to feed the three of them for two days.

He put some of the meat into the pot and added leftover vegetables found in the village to make a pot of meat soup. The rest was set over the fire to make roasted meat. Their seasonings consisted of little more than some remaining salt. Meat from wild animals, cooked so simply, could not be called delicious, but it was at least edible. Still, none of them had been raised delicately. Even after eating it for nearly a month, they could still enjoy it.

Especially the girl Claude had met on the road. Her appetite was unexpectedly enormous. It seemed that as long as something was not poisonous, it was a feast to her. Now, she held a cooked leg of meat in one hand and a bowl of meat soup in the other, taking a bite of meat followed by a sip of soup as she ate at an incredible pace. Her mouth and chin were covered in grease, gleaming in the firelight.

Soon, she had eaten nearly half of the entire prey. Of the remaining half, Claude ate seventy percent. What was left belonged to Centaurea.

They threw the remaining organs and bones far from camp to avoid attracting anything else.

After the girl joined them, the most obvious benefit was that she could take turns keeping watch with them, allowing everyone to sleep an extra hour or two. But Claude was in no hurry to sleep. He removed his bracer again and painted on it.

Though they had not been formidable enemies, the event had left a deep impression on Claude, and he wanted to record it. A fine brush traced lines along the inside of his forearm. Before long, a longsword had been painted there—the very Mercy hanging from his waist.

After waiting a little longer for the paint to dry, he put the bracer back on. It was his turn to keep watch. He did not know whether danger might come, so it was better to be cautious. He liked the sound of firewood crackling in the bonfire. It made him feel that everything around him was quiet. That sort of quiet made people feel safe; it meant there was no danger.

Amid the crackling of the bonfire, the horizon gradually began to brighten.

At the entrance to the mobile city, armored soldiers stood guard with heavy crossbows. Everyone entering the city had to be inspected. There were two lines: one for people, and the other for vehicles. The lines moved slowly because everyone was questioned carefully, and doctors conducted a simple physical examination to prevent the Infected from slipping inside.

Claude's vehicle was in the middle of the line, moving forward along with the vehicles ahead. Music played through the car speakers. Near the mobile city, they had successfully connected to the network. The music in the vehicle had a beautiful, soothing melody, giving them the relaxed feeling of walking in a spring breeze. Under such circumstances, they were in no hurry. They watched the scenery as they slowly inched the vehicle forward.

Just then, Claude, who was driving, suddenly saw a man being pushed out by the guards. The man loudly tried to explain something to them, gesturing wildly with his hands, but the guards were unmoved and merely shook their heads. Seeing that there was truly nothing he could do, the man turned and left with his head hanging.

Claude's ears atop his head twitched slightly, clearly catching the discussion of people in the neighboring line.

"That person seems to be Infected! Stay away from him."

"Is that Infected person crazy? He knows he's infected, yet he still wants to enter the city."

"Exactly, exactly! Is he trying to harm other people too?..."

Claude suddenly seemed to realize something. He hurriedly turned to the blond girl lying on her stomach in the back seat, staring blankly ahead.

"Miss, are you Infected? They won't let the Infected enter here."

"What are the Infected?"

Seeing the child's baffled expression, Claude thought for a moment.

"Do you have anything like stones growing on your body? If you do, you're Infected."

"Oh, I have those! They hurt a lot when they first grew out, but they can make me stronger!" The child spoke with a proud expression, as though it were something worth being happy about.