Chapter 56

People who make a living out of fighting possess a certain kind of “switch.”

From the mundane to the extraordinary, from standby to combat mode. This switch isn’t physical, of course, but psychological. When it’s flipped, a man who was talking nonsense just moments ago can suddenly start making pinpoint tactical decisions the second he hears word of an Orc raid.

In Nonoka-san’s research institute, they call it the “Motivation Switch.” When one learns to trigger it at will, they transcend their former self. Though, in the case of our Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights, learning to use the switch often results in a rather alarming gap between “on” and “off.”

With my own switch flipped to “on,” I stole a glance through a gap in the several-meter-high snow walls. Instantly, countless shadows flew from the other side, whistling past my face. The sheer precision of the aim made me gasp; if I hadn’t been in a combat mindset, I definitely would have been hit.

“How was it!?”

“Dammit, he dodged at the last second!”

“Stay calm and corner them! They can’t move freely in this setup anyway!”

The projectiles were, of course, clumps of snow. I’d like to think they wouldn’t hurt that much, but pressed by the sheer intensity packed into those snowballs, I found myself dodging with more vigor than necessary. As I slid behind a snow pillar—a designated safe zone—my companion greeted me with a trembling voice.

“H-how did it look, Senior!?”

“They know we only have three people left. They’re all leaning out and gunning for us. This is bad.”

I wanted to give Calme, who was busy mass-producing snowballs at my feet, some good news, but unfortunately, the situation was dire. As expected, Calme let out a pathetic “No way…” Just then, the face of one of our senior knights, who had tried to lob a snowball back from a few meters away, was met with a direct hit.

“Oof!? How are they hitting us so consistently!? Sorry Varna, I’m leaving the rest to you!!”

“Skirmish Squad hitter number four, eliminated by snowball! Please exit the field immediately!!”

“Heh! No matter how elite you knights are, you’re outmatched against us—we know everything there is to know about playing in the snow!!”

“Wait, shouldn’t that be ‘under-matched’?”

“Actually, the village is mostly just under-supplied on sugar… but move that aside, the enemy only has two left! Don’t aim for a points victory, go for the total wipeout!!”

“YEAAAAAH! That Berg Vodka is OURS!!”

With the referee’s call, one of our few remaining allies was gone, and the enemy’s morale was skyrocketing.

To think we knights would be toyed with so easily—academic abilities aside, their prowess was the real deal. With likely nothing else to do for entertainment, they must have spent year-round obsessing over this. Their sophisticated tactics had pushed them to the level of masters in this very specific field.

“With Senior Melan gone, the squad is wiped out except for us! The ‘Snow-Play Unit DD (Diamond Dust)’… what a terrifying foe!”

“Waaaaah!! I don’t care if the timer runs out or whatever, just make it stop already!!”

How did we end up in this mess?

To answer that, we have to go back about an hour.

“The First Annual Knight Order Snowball Fight Tournament is now in session!!”

The energetic voice of the Cooking Squad’s Vice-Captain rang out, followed by a roar of cheers.

Once the snow had settled, the members of the Cooking Squad (the hunting specialists) and a portion of the Engineering Squad had headed into the mountains with local hunters. This left the younger knights with some temporary free time, and thus the festivities began. While it lacked the usual tension of a mission, it was technically justified as “acclimatizing to the cold.”

“The winner will receive one of Isberg’s local specialties—the top-shelf ‘Berg Vodka,’ a luxury item even the locals rarely get to buy!!”

“A local will explain the rules! They’ll also be acting as referees, so be on your best behavior!”

The knights, ranging from their teens to early thirties, cheered again. Most were excited because it was their first time having a “pro” snowball fight with such powdery snow. In contrast, those who had already lost to the cold were huddled inside the magic-driven carriage to watch, while the Engineering Squad members were pouring their souls into snow sculptures.

…For some reason, they were all making snow statues of Veera, which was a bit surreal.

The rules were simple:

If you get hit by a snowball, you’re out. The team that eliminates the other first wins. Each side has a base with several snow pillars; leaving the base is forbidden for anyone still in the game. To prevent “camping,” there’s a time limit and a technical point system—essentially, points are added for contributions to victory or “super plays,” and deducted for lack of movement. It was unnecessarily professional.

A four-team tournament with ten members per team.

The Skirmish Squad, the Cooking Squad, a joint Engineering and Retrieval team, and finally, the local team. The grand tournament had opened an hour ago.

And now, an hour later—having defeated the joint team to reach the finals—I was facing the onslaught of the self-proclaimed “Snow-Play Unit DD.”

Initially, DD was strong, but they only seemed “practiced.” However, our Skirmish Squad’s assumptions were quickly overturned.

The members of DD are all men. Their first match was against the young, beautiful ladies of the Cooking Squad (average age: early twenties). To the rural DD members, these “city girls” were incredibly intriguing.

To put it bluntly, the DD members were so distracted by the women’s charm—and their own chivalrous notion that “going all out against girls is uncool”—that they held back. They were subsequently pelted by high-speed snowballs launched with cute “Eiii~♪” shouts, paying the price for their condescension.

But in this match, their opponents were the Skirmish Squad, composed entirely of men (—wait, that’s right… isn’t it?). DD had no reason or need to hold back anymore.

Thus, the two survivors of the Skirmish Squad—us—were being subjected to an unprecedented barrage. The moment a head popped out, snow shattered against the pillars like a hailstorm of arrows on a battlefield.

“How many did we lose in the first volley!?”

“Four! Then the people who tried to peek out to thin their numbers got picked off one by one! Now the only ones left are you, Senior—dodging on pure reflex—and me, who’s been pinned down here from the start by concentrated fire!!”

“Well, I can’t tell if that’s lucky or unlucky!”

Actually, the reason he was being targeted so heavily was likely because the local women of Isberg had surrounded him between matches, cooing things like “Oh, aren’t you cute!”, “How old are you?”, and “Wow, look at that hair quality!”

The killing intent directed at Calme—who had been smothered and screaming “Save meeee!”—came not only from DD but even from a few members of our own Order. But that’s business as usual, so I’ll ignore it.

The problem was what the two of us could do in a situation that looked very much like a defeat.

“Alright, what’s the move…! I don’t even care about the prize, but getting shut out like this would be a stain on a knight’s honor…!”

“No, no, no! There’s nothing we can do! It’s eight against two!?”

Calme, having discarded illogical “spirit-over-matter” grit, shouted with teary eyes. It was true that the power gap was hard to bridge, but we had taken out two of them. If we showed some final resistance, we might win on technical points.

“I can’t give up if there’s a sliver of a chance… Hey, Calme, can’t you snipe them from here somehow? Like an indirect lob!?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!! This is totally different from a crossbow! Besides, in this barrage, I can’t even see where they are… waah!?”

A snowball grazed the top of his head, and Calme fell back on his tailbone. He looked nothing like the young man who had recently vowed to “become someone great.” Also, stop looking up at me from that “maiden-in-distress” sitting position and get up. I’ll lend you a hand.

“Ugh, I was crouching and it still almost hit me…”

The DD members, unable to see Calme as he stood up rubbing his head, looked to the referee for a ruling.

“Hey, Ref!! What about that one!?”

“No hit!! It didn’t touch! The match continues!!”

“Tch… Hey, ‘Knights’! You gonna hide there like chickens for the last three minutes!? Fight like men!!”

The men trying to gank us were running their mouths, but Calme, ignoring the taunts, was muttering to himself as if he’d realized something.

“A lob is a feasible skill… but even if I try to lob it, I won’t know where the ball lands unless… That’s it! Senior! Be my spotter!!”

“Spotter? What’s that? Something I can do?”

“Probably! I’m going to try to mimic their lobbing technique. You check where the ball lands and tell me the distance between the impact and the enemy! If I peek out from the pillar, I’ll be sniped instantly, but you can manage it. I’ll hit them using your eyes!!”

“That’s a lot of responsibility… well, I’m the one who suggested it, so I’ll do my best.”

In moments like these, Calme shows a surprisingly dignified face.
Eyes full of determination, eyes that have found hope.
When someone looks at me like that, I feel like I have to live up to their expectations.

“Alright, let’s start the counterattack!!”

“First shot, going up!! Senior, watch it!!”

A reversal from the brink—the opening move that would serve as the signal for our comeback.

The opponents were skilled and held the numbers. But for the Knight Order, that isn’t a reason to give up or a reason to lose. Our job is to laugh and flip the script, saying, “Is that all you’ve got?”

Now, Snow-Play Unit DD.

I’ll have you engrave into your very souls just how stubborn and persistent the Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights can be!!

…Though, a part of me was thinking I shouldn’t get this worked up over a game for some vodka. But hey, even I want to pour my soul into a pointless competition once in a while.

Hunting Orcs is a duty.

And sometimes, you burn brightest when it’s not a duty.

I justified my foolishness to myself while watching Calme’s first throw.

At first, a weak, last-ditch effort of a snowball just went plop and landed several meters behind a snow pillar.

The DD members couldn’t help but snort at such a pathetic, desperate counterattack. It was a snowball that seemed to carry a plea for mercy, as if saying, we can’t fight anymore, please forgive us. It was likely thrown by that effeminate knight they’d been focusing their fire on from the start.

By now, the only real threat was the agile knight who had been sniping them whenever he saw an opening.

They had to admit his physical ability was impressive—navigating a field where non-locals usually struggled—but it was impossible to win a fight alone.

All that remained was to use their collective technique to target those hiding behind the pillars and finish them off with a coordinated volley of indirect fire—.

“Two meters right of the target… and seven and a half meters deep.”

“Height of the snow pillar?”

“About two meters.”

“Two right, seven-plus deep. Adjusting launch angle, calibrating force… Second shot, going up!”

—The moment a voice drifted over, a tiny thwack struck the head of a DD member hiding behind a snow pillar.

“DD Team, Number One—Eliminated!!”

“Eh…?”

For a moment, he didn’t understand what had been said.

He’d been certain that with a pathetic wild throw like the first one, they wouldn’t hit anything in a hundred tries.

And yet, what was that impact and the referee’s declaration?

What was this cold sensation on his head?

“Hey, Number One! You lost, so get off the field! If you stand around dazing, your TP (Technical Points) will go negative!!”

“I-it was a fluke! Don’t sweat it! The rest of us will make up for it—”

The man next to him patted the shoulder of the dejected Number One to encourage him.

At that exact moment, a snowball went thwack, hitting his hand and tumbling down his coat.

“DD Team, Number Five is also eliminated!! The Skirmish Squad is showing incredible marksman skills at the final hour!!”

“Crap, did they find our position!? Move, fast…!!”

The faces of the remaining members finally paled as they saw what happened to Number One and Number Five. Another man hiding behind the same pillar scrambled to leap toward a different one.

As if piercing that split-second path, a snowball flew in at the speed of a bullet and slammed into the man’s side. The blow from the hard-packed snowball was enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Guh…!?”

“DD Team, Number Two is out as well!! A magnificent snipe following a flushing-out lob by Skirmish Squad numbers four and ten! A knight only shines when overcoming adversity! These two haven’t given up on victory yet!!”

“Dammit, they got us!! A ‘flush-and-snipe’ play… that’s our own playbook!!”

“This is bad! Everyone, press your bodies tighter against the pillars!!”

“But we’ll lose TP for that!?”

“If we lose any more people, the point gap will only grow! We’ll take the win even if we have to play dirty!!”

As he barked orders, Number Four, the team’s strategist, gnashed his teeth inwardly.

Because they assumed there would be no counterattack, the team’s movement and judgment had dulled after that first hit. The eliminations of Number Five and Number Two were “rookie mistakes” by veteran standards. They had been picked apart greedily.

Snow novices or not, a knight was still a knight.

The moment they cracked the tactic, they struck every opening with precision.

There was nothing left but to play it safe.

Our numbers are down to five. With those snipes, the enemy probably earned TP for both… with four survival points plus a high TP estimate, they might reach seven or eight? Meanwhile, we have ten survival points. Even with some TP deductions, we were dominant at the start, so five points is a safe bet. Assuming two survival points and one TP point per member, as long as no one else gets hit, we’re guaranteed to win on points!!

TP starts at one and fluctuates up to five based on performance.

While unsportsmanlike conduct can lead to negative ratings, DD—having dominated since the start—should have at least two or three points for controlling the match. If someone is eliminated, their individual TP vanishes, but if everyone else survives, they’ll secure at least five points collectively even if they get penalized for “camping.”

In a sense, it was a cowardly tactic, but the match was nearly over. From the perspective of someone playing to win, this was a perfectly valid “flesh-for-bone” strategy. As if completely unaware of DD’s plan, the voices of the knights could be heard through their swift movements.

“Alright! Keep it up, let’s thin them out! Next is behind the pillar 3.2 meters to the left!”

“Understood!! Fourth shot, going up!!”

…Heh, talk about generous. You’re calling out your targets right in front of the enemy?

“Still amateurs, I guess,” Number Four thought with a smirk.

Come to think of it, since the first attack, the pretty-boy hiding behind the snow had been calling out directions, using them to aim. But if you know a lob is coming, you won’t get hit as long as you stay pressed against the snow.

Furthermore, Number Four made eye contact with his remaining teammates to coordinate.

Once we weather the next shot, we all attack at once. The members at pillar three charge toward the empty pillar two, and the rest of you just keep throwing from safety even if you don’t aim!

Got it!

Heh, bring it on, Mr. Knight!!

In Isberg-style snowball fights, strategy matters more than technique. Their defense was perfect. All that was left was to win safely. After a few seconds of silence, a snowball was launched from the pillar. Everyone pressed themselves firmly against the snow to avoid being hit.

Once they confirmed it had hit the ground, the entire DD squad launched a concentrated barrage at the pillar where the knights were.

“A miss! It’s our turn now!!”

“Take this!! You’re finished!!”

“We’ll keep you pinned until time runs—blegh!?”

He thought their victory was unshakable—but hope crumbled in an instant.

“And—a direct hit to the face of DD Number Ten!! And there’s the whistle—the match is over!!”

With one more elimination, Number Four’s calculated “guaranteed victory” collapsed.

Still, depending on the judgment, there was a chance they could win by a hair.

As the DD members watched with bated breath, the referee loudly announced the results.

“The Skirmish Squad seemed helpless against DD’s onslaught at first, but the final two managed a massive counterattack, taking out four people in one go! With ‘extremely cowardly’ traps, certain sniping ability, and trust and teamwork, the winner is… with a score of 12 to 13, the Skirmish Squad!!”

In an instant, the spectators leaped to their feet with a roar of cheers.

It meant the defeat of “Snow-Play Unit DD,” the self-proclaimed strongest in the region, and the victory of the veteran warriors of the Knight Order.

At the start, they had absolute confidence in their victory.

Being an all-male team made things easy, and morale was high because they had a clear target in the “hated” Calme. In fact, the match had been one-sided until the very end; when they had the enemy down to two, they had inwardly gloated that the win was in the bag.

And yet, the formation they thought was rock-solid had been pierced and broken. Even after switching to a safe play, they had been outsmarted for a come-from-behind loss. It wasn’t that they had underestimated the knights, but the reality left the DD members more confused than frustrated.

Number Ten, still unable to accept reality, brushed the snow off his face and let out a protest that sounded more like a scream.

“What was that!? When, how, and why did I get hit in the face!?”

“We don’t get it either! We definitely weathered the shot!!”

“Want to know the secret?”

“Eh? —Whoa!? You’re the Skirmish Squad’s Number Four!?”

Standing there was one of their opponents—Varna, the one they had been most wary of.

Several members of the Skirmish Squad stood behind him. Calme, however, had already been caught by the local women and was being smothered once again. Varna stood there with a cool expression while Calme was surrounded… it was a very clear picture of winners and losers.

Number Four, the leader of DD, instinctively shouted with a hint of jealousy.

“W-what!? You come here to laugh at us!?”

“I’m not that rotten. Instead, how about we have a drink and a chat? …That’s the idea. Besides, we don’t really know the ‘proper’ way to drink vodka.”

Varna gave a wry smile, looking a bit sheepish as he sloshed the prize bottle of Berg Vodka.

“Just a glass or two. I didn’t do anything complicated with the snowballs. Even if the alcohol makes you a bit fuzzy, I doubt you’ll forget the explanation.”

“Wait… you’re sharing it with us? That Berg Vodka that even we locals almost never get to drink!?”

“There are a few bottles for the winners, and I think there’s enough for everyone here to have a taste. If we run out, I’ll bring some wine.”

The best way to understand and be understood by a new person is over a drink.

“Do you dislike alcohol?”

“I LOVE IT!!”

Lured by the promise of Berg Vodka, the Snow-Play Unit DD quickly accepted Varna’s casual invitation—a lesson he had learned back in Kliffia.