Long after a great war, the land lies ravaged. Iron is precious, and decent weapons come only from traveling merchants or ancient battlefields. Each settlement keeps a few self-defense warriors, scraping by.
Orvan, a silent warrior, saves his comrade Puyis from a superior monster by deflecting its attack with his weapon. The weapon shatters, but Puyis survives.
Thus it begins. Each deflection costs him something. The more he protects, the more vanishes from his hands. Orvan seeks things to def
Parry of the Void - The First Thing He Protected —The Shattering Iron Sword—
The air before dawn was cold enough to sting the skin.
In front of the self-defense corps' station in the settlement of Ordith. Warriors of the subjugation force were gathering in the stone-paved plaza. Their number was about thirty. Each carried whatever weapon they favored. Rusted swords, wooden spears, stone axes. Those with iron weapons could be counted on one hand. About eighty years had passed since the end of the Ash-Iron War. Quality iron had long since vanished from the continent. Weapons could only be obtained from relics recovered from the old battlefield of Valgrein, or from goods brought by traveling merchants. The warriors' equipment told the story of that poverty all too clearly.
Orvan stood in a corner of the plaza. His soot-colored black hair was damp with night dew, his bangs stuck to his forehead. His gray eyes quietly tracked the movements of the warriors passing by. A leather armor covered in patches. The chest plate and shoulder guards didn't even match in color. Thick cloth was wrapped without gaps around his forearms, and an old bandage was wound around his right wrist. A bandage he never removed. From his waist belt hung numerous pieces of wood and stone fragments tied with string. He hadn't held a proper weapon in a long time.
The warriors were aware of Orvan's presence. But no one approached him. No one even met his gaze. Only around him was there a gaping empty space. That was Orvan's standing in this settlement.
"—Form up."
A sharp woman's voice rang across the plaza.
It was Azmariya. The mainstay of Ordith's self-defense corps. A female warrior rumored to be the strongest in the settlement. Short-cropped black hair. Sun-bronzed skin. Her taut physique had been forged through years of combat. On her back, she carried an iron sword—a rarity in this settlement. As she walked, the warriors naturally parted to make way.
"As reported yesterday, a horde of monsters is approaching from the north. Their number is at least fifty. Humanoid monsters make up the main force. Today's subjugation will strike the vanguard of the horde. Listen well—follow my orders."
The warriors nodded. Azmariya's voice carried a force that allowed no argument. She began organizing the formation. Veterans in the front line. Younger warriors in the middle. The rear guard was assigned to transporting the wounded and supplies.
"...Orvan, you're in the rear."
Azmariya glanced at Orvan. In her eyes was a clear color of contempt.
"I don't know if you're the oddball who deflects things or whatever, but rather than getting in the way up front, stay in the back and carry some luggage. You don't even have a proper weapon anyway, do you?"
The surrounding warriors glanced at Orvan's waist belt. Wood fragments and stone shards. Not a single proper weapon. Someone gave a small snort.
Orvan said nothing. He simply walked to the rear position as Azmariya instructed. No objection. No intention of objecting. Front line or rear, what he did wouldn't change.
(I'll just protect what I can protect.)
He touched the bandage on his right wrist. Beneath the old bandage, an old wound pulsed quietly. Then he glanced at the fragments on his waist belt. A shattered blade fragment tied with string. The remnant of a short sword that had shattered three years ago, on the night he first protected something.
"...We depart."
The subjugation force moved out. Thirty warriors began walking northward.
Orvan walked at the very rear. Watching the backs of the warriors ahead, he quietly exhaled. The sky was still dark. In the east, the sky was just beginning to pale.
At the edge of the formation was a woman with long auburn hair tied back. The guide, Shizukurei. Twenty-eight years old. Her amber eyes quietly watched the subjugation force as it departed. Her gaze caught Orvan for a moment.
Orvan also looked at Shizukurei.
Their eyes met. But no words were exchanged. Shizukurei said nothing. Only, her amber eyes narrowed as if wanting to say something.
Orvan looked away and faced forward.
(If it's a warning, I've already heard it.)
He remembered Shizukurei's words. "Your way of fighting will someday leave you alone"—she had said that to him before. Orvan didn't answer. There was no need to answer.
He gripped the bandage on his right wrist tightly, one more time.
---
The subjugation force was heading toward the outskirts of the old battlefield, Valgrein.
The Ash-Iron Plains spread north of the settlement of Ordith. The old battlefield at its center had been the main theater of the Ash-Iron War about eighty years ago. A land where both sides exhausted their iron resources and hundreds of thousands of soldiers died. Now countless relics lay buried in the soil, and at the same time it had become a nest of monsters. Danger rank B. A plain of death where humanoid monsters, shadow wolves, and rock-eating insects prowled.
The air was changing. From the dry scent of the settlement's soil to the smell of rusted iron and decay. Here and there, remnants of the old war jutted from the ground. Broken swords. Shattered shields. Skeletal fingers. The warriors of the subjugation force stepped over them as they advanced.
"...Hey, the numbers really are off, aren't they? From what the watch said yesterday, it's over fifty, right? Are we really okay with just thirty of us?"
"Shut up and walk. If we hit the vanguard, the main force will turn back. It's always like this."
"But still, I heard monsters have been strangely coordinated lately. Like they're being commanded by someone."
"Don't think about unnecessary things. Don't stop your feet!"
Azmariya's reprimand flew. The warriors fell silent and quickened their pace.
From the very rear, Orvan listened to the warriors' conversation. The coordination of the monsters. The anomaly of the horde. The "abnormal number of shadows" the watch had reported last night. And Shizukurei's words. "A horde is coming. A scale unlike anything before"—
(It's not just a horde.)
Orvan's intuition told him. But he didn't say it aloud. No one asked for his opinion.
---
The subjugation force stopped before a hill at the outskirts of the old battlefield.
Azmariya named a scout.
"Puisu, go. Scout beyond the hill. Confirm the exact number and position of the monsters."
"Understood! Leave it to me!"
A cheerful voice rang out. Flaxen hair that stuck up. Blue-gray eyes. A sixteen-year-old scout apprentice, Puisu. He was the youngest boy in this subjugation force. On his left eyebrow was a small scar he'd gotten from falling during his apprenticeship. A boy with a bright face who got dimples when he smiled.
Puisu, with only a single short wooden spear in hand, dashed off. His steps were light. He was like the sun of this settlement, never losing his smile even in this desolate land.
Orvan watched that small back as it departed.
(That kid sticks his neck out too far.)
Orvan knew Puisu's personality. Bright and talkative. The conversation partner who compensated for Orvan's silence. But inwardly he was timid, and in dangerous situations his legs froze. Even so, he continued as a scout from the single-minded desire to be useful to someone. That was exactly why he overextended himself.
Orvan reached for the wood fragment on his waist belt and quietly gripped it.
---
Puisu pushed through the bushes and ran up the slope of the hill.
His heart was pounding like a bell. He was scared. Honestly, he was terribly scared. At the outskirts of the old battlefield, it wouldn't be strange for a monster to leap out at any moment. He'd heard stories of traveling merchants attacked by packs of shadow wolves. Two guards had been devoured, they said.
(But I have to do it. I have to do what only I can do.)
Puisu gripped his wooden spear and, holding his breath, crawled up to the top of the hill. From between the grass, he peered at the other side.
—There was nothing.
"...What, there's nothing?"
He let out a relieved breath. The tension drained from his shoulders.
(Thank goodness. If it's like this, I can go a little further ahead—)
That was when it happened.
Behind him, he heard the sound of grass being stepped on.
Puisu's entire body froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His heart pounded violently deep in his chest.
(No way. But there was nothing just now. There was definitely nothing—)
Trembling, he turned around.
There they were.
Humanoid monsters. Two of them.
Their height was about two meters. They had human shapes, but their skin was gray and festering, their eyes clouded yellow. Their mouths were split to their ears, sharp fangs peeking out. Danger rank C. Their individual combat strength was said to be low, but that was only "if the opponent is a skilled warrior."
They were not opponents a sixteen-year-old scout apprentice could face with a single wooden spear.
"Hi—...!"
A hoarse sound escaped his throat. His legs froze. He had to run. He thought so, but his body wouldn't move. His heart pounded violently, his breathing grew shallow. His vision narrowed, and only the monsters' forms appeared grotesquely large.
A monster took a step forward.
"...Someone... Somebodyyyy!!"
Puisu's scream tore through the air of the old battlefield.
---
The scream reached the main body of the subjugation force.
"What!? Was that Puisu's voice!?"
"It's beyond the hill! Did the monsters get him!?"
The warriors were shaken. Those in the front line readied their weapons and stared toward the hill. But no one moved. They didn't know how many superior monsters there were. Two humanoid monsters would be one thing, but there might be more. Charging in and dying themselves—no thank you.
"Calm down! We confirm the situation first—"
Just as Azmariya was about to give orders—
From the rear guard, a single man had dashed out.
It was Orvan.
"Hey, wait! Don't move on your own!"
Hearing Azmariya's angry shout behind him, Orvan ran toward the hill with all his might. Ignoring the rear guard assignment, the formation orders, everything.
(Make it in time.)
In his heart, he repeated only that.
(Make it in time. Make it in time. Make it in time.)
His feet kicked off the ground. His heart pounded violently. His lungs burned hot. Even so, he didn't stop his feet. Couldn't stop them.
He pushed through the bushes and ran up the slope of the hill. Grass struck his face. Branches scratched his cheeks. The taste of blood spread in his mouth. But none of that mattered.
He burst onto the top of the hill.
The scene before his eyes seemed to unfold in slow motion.
Puisu was collapsed on the ground. His wooden spear was broken, separated from his hand. The boy's face was a mess of tears and dirt, his blue-gray eyes wide open in terror.
And two humanoid monsters.
One of them was raising its massive arm to deliver the finishing blow to Puisu.
(—I made it.)
Orvan's hand reached for the old iron sword on his waist belt.
An old iron sword. Rusted, but the blade was still alive. A relic picked up on the old battlefield, repaired with iron-forging technique. It wasn't proper iron. Its durability was less than half of normal. But it was the only proper weapon Orvan had.
The monster's arm swung down.
Orvan stood in front of Puisu.
And—he swung the iron sword from the front.
To deflect.
The monster's strike and Orvan's iron sword collided head-on.
In that instant, the world burst white.
—Gakiiiiiiiin!!!
The sound of metal shattering. The impact ran from his palm to his arm, from his arm to his shoulder, from his shoulder through his entire body. His bones creaked. His muscles screamed. But Orvan held his ground.
The monster's arm was deflected.
The humanoid monster's massive body bent backward in an impossible direction. Its clouded yellow eyes flew wide, and a death cry leaked from its split mouth. From the deflected impact, the monster staggered back several steps, losing its balance.
At the same time.
In Orvan's hand, the iron sword shattered.
Clean in two from the base. The
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