Tinno looked as though he might collapse at any moment, overwhelmed by a trial so different from anything he was used to.
Ever since that night in Elan, Tinno had barely been able to sleep, day or night. Before being dragged along by his Master, he had already been spending sleepless nights thanks to the Mask business, and while the physical stamina he had built through relentless training was one thing, his mental energy was nearly depleted. The only time he had lost consciousness recently was when he was struck by lightning as part of a training exercise.
Every step he took made his footing waver, and his field of vision swayed gently, as though he were dreaming. Contrasting sharply with the storm two days prior, the intense sunlight pouring down was blinding to eyes that hadn't rested through the night. Even without the order to cease training, the vigilance of those around him would have been sloppy.
His condition was abysmal. He still had enough judgment left to recognize that it was bad, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The cause of his insomnia was anxiety and tension.
With absolutely no information—under conditions different from the norm—he was racked with unease about what might happen, and the tension of knowing he could not afford to look pathetic in front of Mastaa and his Master. For Tinno, who had always prioritized physical training, these were feelings he had rarely experienced.
Still, relying on sheer willpower alone, he maintained his posture and followed, keeping his eyes fixed only on the back walking ahead of him—Mastaa's back.
Mastaa and his big sister were nothing like the mentally exhausted and worn-down Tinno. They were virtually unchanged from their usual selves.
The composure they showed while walking through a town where the red flag for monster alert had been raised was unmistakably that of the absolute strongest. Under normal circumstances, Tinno would have gazed at them with admiration, but in his current state, that could only serve to break his spirit.
He knew about the red flag for monster alerts as a piece of knowledge, but this was his first time seeing one with his own eyes.
It wasn't just that Tinno had rarely left the Imperial Capital—flags indicating a city in crisis were rarely raised in the first place.
It affected the city's reputation, and depending on the situation, it could invite exploitation by foreign nations or criminals. The frequency of flags being raised was inversely proportional to the size of the city, and he had heard that in the Imperial Capital of Zebuldia—the most prosperous of all—flags had been raised only a handful of times in all of recorded history.
The town of Gra was far smaller compared to the Imperial Capital, but even so, for a town prosperous enough to be known for its famous specialty products to raise a flag—something tremendously dire would have to be happening.
The number of knights lined up near the gate and the mages preparing their magic spoke to the high level of alertness in the city.
Mobilizing that many soldiers would require an enormous budget. This wasn't the kind of vigilance mounted over a minor concern. In other words, the city was treating the orcs' attack—having built a fortress—as a highly credible threat.
The words the inspection soldiers had told him upon entering the town were nothing more than empty reassurance.
Tinno had not believed Mastaa's words since this vacation had begun.
Of course, he didn't think Mastaa was lying. But based on everything he had experienced so far, when Mastaa said something was "no big deal," it only meant "no big deal for Mastaa," while for Tinno it was a moment in hell.
In the first place, if there wasn't going to be any fighting, there was no need to come to this particular town. Raising hopes only to dash them was a classic Thousand Transformations tactic known to everyone in the clan. When Mastaa had learned of the flag's existence was beyond Tinno's ability to even imagine, but if she hadn't known, there would be no reason to come to this specific town among countless others.
I know, Mastaa. For you, a battle against a horde of orcs doesn't even count as a real battle. But... I can't do it.
The Tinno of old could certainly have annihilated a few orcs without issue, and even an elite one could be handled one-on-one.
But the Tinno of now was utterly exhausted. It was all because he hadn't been able to rest his mind during the time he'd had—a sign of his own immaturity. But challenging a swarm of orcs in this state would be suicide.
Thieves were fundamentally ill-suited for fighting multiple opponents at once. Watching his Master could almost make him forget that, but sneaking attacks from behind, scouting, and disarming traps were a thief's bread and butter.
Mastaa, you're planning to teach me the essence of the one-versus-many combat that I'm worst at... I can't do it.
He envied his big sister and the others for their cheerful conversation. With his sleep-deprived brain, his thoughts wouldn't coalesce, and it looked like even planning a strategy would be difficult. As always, the absurdly Spartan conditions made him want to cry out to the back in front of him, but he barely managed to hold on with pride alone.
In the town of Elan, some high-level Hunter had apparently defeated the thunder spirit, but a miracle like that wouldn't happen twice.
He had to fight. The fact that Mastaa was imposing this trial meant that she believed Tinno could overcome it. That she had expectations of him. And it was for the sake of meeting those expectations that he had endured training that was nothing short of hell.
Mastaa had said that when the time came, she would protect him. Those words had made him incredibly happy, but he couldn't remain a helpless junior who was forever shielded by others. Tinno's goal was not to be protected—it was to stand shoulder to shoulder.
He didn't know how many orcs there were in the swarm, but judging from the trials he had experienced so far, there was no chance it would be too few. If anything, there was a high probability it would be too many. Perhaps—there was even the possibility it could be infinite.
............Mastaa, this is really too much.
"Huh? You've got a hideout in Gra too?"
"Of course. You never know what might happen."
Citry nodded with a satisfied expression at Mastaa's words. In that moment, Tinno felt as though he finally understood why Citry was so excessively well-prepared.
If there was a next time—he would make sure to be prepared so that he was ready for anything, no matter what. Through the haze of fatigue, he steeled his resolve.
But in order to make use of that resolve, he had to get through today first.
Right. Unlike Mastaa, who handled everything with brute force, Citry was skilled in the art of entanglement and trickery. She might even teach him how to fight against multiple opponents.
Tinno found Citry difficult, but they certainly weren't on bad terms. She was someone he needed to be wary of, and he knew she wasn't someone to let his guard down around, but as long as they had Mastaa in common, she was an ally. She would occasionally touch him all over, but it wasn't frequent, and even then, it seemed she never crossed a certain line.
If he asked, she would probably help. What kind of price she would demand—he had no idea.
When would the decisive battle come? Would it be at night? Or in an hour? Would they attack, or would the group set out for a hunt as though going for a leisurely stroll? Would he be given some time to rest? Would he get time to prepare? Or would he be expected to make do with his current strength?
Looking at the order to cease training, the last option seemed the most brutal. Or rather, Mastaa's trials were almost always the most brutal.
...Mastaa, I can't do this.
Tinno was desperately spinning his brain, which refused to cooperate due to sleep deprivation and fatigue, when Mastaa suddenly turned around.
Looking into those black eyes that resembled his own, he was struck with the illusion that his innermost thoughts were being read, and his heart skipped a beat. Contrary to Tinno's anxiety, her expression was calm, showing not a trace of worry.
"All right, then. Since Tinno looks pretty tired too, why don't we have a nice meal today and take it easy?"
"...Is this... the last supper?"
Perhaps the attack would come during the meal?
He tried to suppress his trembling, but the shaking wouldn't stop.
Big sister was smiling broadly, intimidating Tinno. It was a smile as though she was barely restraining her exasperation, wondering if he couldn't even control his own body.
§ § § The first thing he noticed was—a stench so foul it could bend his nose.
Carried on the wind, the strong smell of beasts first caused the horse pulling the carriage to neigh violently and come to a halt.
Inside the carriage, Arnold, who had been resting his body from the damage sustained in the fight against the thunder spirit, stuck his head out of the driver's seat, looking cramped.
"What happened?"
"Whoa... suddenly—a weird smell—what is that smell?"
"...Damn it. I've got a bad feeling about this."
It was a smell he had barely ever encountered in Nebulnes, where the rainy season lasted year-round.
No, more fundamentally—this wasn't the kind of smell you'd encounter in open plains like the ones they were currently crossing.
For Treasure Hunters, intuition was something worth trusting. Sometimes it was valued even more than logical thinking.
There were no people in sight. No sign of monsters either. Their destination, Gra, was still far away.
The view was open, with almost nothing obscuring the horizon. He couldn't find anything unusual.
But Arnold's expression remained grim. No matter how confident he was in his own abilities, he never neglected his vigilance. Those who let their guard down could never become high-level Hunters.
"We're downwind... the smell of agitated beasts—it smells like battle."
At Arnold's words, the expressions of his companions grew tense.
The fatigue from the thunder spirit fight hadn't faded, and their supplies hadn't been replenished. They weren't unable to fight, but they were far from in peak condition. They should avoid combat if possible.
"What do we do? Take a wide detour?"
"...No, we're heading in. The scale is considerable—right in the middle of the trade route, it'll definitely affect the towns nearby. No Level 8 Hunter would avoid a battlefield like that. Prepare your weapons."
"Yes, sir."
At Arnold's words, his companions responded in voices that betrayed no fatigue.
Even in the open plains, the smell was strong enough to be overwhelming. The enemy was an enormous swarm—and a swarm of that size couldn't have appeared in just a few hours.
It was close... close, Thousand Transformations. Perhaps he could even observe that completely enigmatic fighting style.
With a premonition that events were about to unfold, Arnold of the Mighty Thunder Flash let a feral grin spread across his face.