Chapter 174

The emergency bell rang, but no one woke up.

After all, one cannot wake up again if they were never asleep.

Everyone had stayed up through the night, their eyes wide open. The rumor that the gnoll horde would return had left them in a state of anxious vigilance.

And so, the monstrous creatures and beasts had returned.

This time, it was different.

The horde surged forward from one side of the wasteland. Among them were unfamiliar objects—things they hadn’t seen before.

Groups of two or three carried long objects under their arms as they advanced.

Long, perforated tools.

Unlike before, their assault was not a mindless rush. There was order in their formation.

Clusters of such groups numbered in the dozens.

Deutsch Pullman, recalling what he had learned from a former military mercenary when he first entered the trade, quickly estimated their numbers.

He curled his fingers into a ring and peered through it to count the gnolls, then calculated how many such rings would fit across the battlefield.

‘Twenty.’

About twenty per ring, with roughly fifty such rings? That seemed about right.

Among the gnolls and hyena beasts, ghouls slithered and lurked.

A horrifying number. Worse than yesterday. And yesterday had already been a nightmare.

Everything about this situation was dreadful, but the worst part was what those creatures held in their hands.

The long, hole-riddled tools.

“Ladders?”

The words slipped out of his mouth.

Deutsch Pullman felt a chill run down his spine.

The gnolls had brought ladders.

Gnolls already wielded weapons. It was only natural that they would learn to use tools.

The most alarming part was that, at a glance, these ladders appeared hastily constructed—improvised.

‘They made ladders?’

No, what the hell? Gnolls made ladders?

Someone was pulling the strings behind them.

‘The cultists.’

The thought alone made his stomach churn. But for now, the immediate problem was the ladders.

Whether hastily crafted or meticulously made, it wouldn’t matter once they were hooked onto the walls.

“Boiling oil!”

Deutsch instinctively shouted.

“You think we have any?!”

The village chief’s response shot back.

They still had some stones left to throw, but not nearly enough. There were arrows, sure, but could they fend off a horde of nearly a thousand with just that?

Hitting them while they were clustered beneath the walls was one thing.

But there were only twenty archers.

They couldn’t just pour boiling oil like a proper siege defense.

Should they gather filth and dump it on them?

Would gnolls or hyena beasts retreat just because they were drenched in excrement?

Not a chance.

Reinforcements were coming in seven days, but could they even last that long?

‘If only we had more stones.’

If the twenty archers and every villager joined in, could they hold out?

But once the stone supply ran dry, the villagers wouldn’t be of much use as fighters.

Sending untrained civilians into melee combat would be no different from offering gnolls a platter of rare steak.

They couldn’t haul stones from the quarry in a single day. They lacked the manpower and resources.

They could try carrying whatever they could, but that alone wouldn’t be enough.

‘No chance.’

If the ladders reached the walls, it was over. Arrows and falling rocks wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

And if the cultist meddled further—if they cast a curse—what then?

If everyone collapsed from some foul magic, that would be the end.

Even Deutsch himself had no real means of resisting such curses.

This was just a pioneer village. A mere former mercenary leader wasn’t enough to fend off an army like this.

If he were being honest, he wanted to run.

Yesterday’s victory had already faded from his mind.

The stonemason who had been brought in for the wall’s construction had joked about naming it after the Mad Encrid Wall, hadn’t he?

What a laughable idea. They hadn’t even set the foundation stones.

At this rate, the place would become a gnoll colony. Their village.

A gnoll village. The thought alone was absurd.

Eventually, a large-scale extermination force would be assembled, and the gnoll village would be burned to the ground.

But by then, how many people would have died? How many would have lost their homes?

Deutsch had poured his entire fortune into this pioneer settlement. If it was taken, he’d be left with nothing. He’d have to start from scratch, wielding his sword once more to scrape out a living.

So was running the right choice? Was it really the only option?

‘If I run, where to?’

There was nowhere to go. Even if he took the mercenaries and fled through the quarry, what then?

Would they have to cross the border?

And how would they even make it? A journey without preparation was as good as suicide.

Yet, his mercenary instincts told him that running would give him a better chance of survival.

“Shit.”

The curse left his lips before he could stop it.

And then—

“What was that guy’s name again?”

“Deutsch.”

A voice beside him.

The hero of the previous night. The mad platoon leader with black hair and piercing blue eyes.

The lunatic who had charged into the gnoll horde alone and slit the leader’s throat.

“Deutsch, let’s crack the gate open a little.”

It was Encrid speaking.

Deutsch’s brow furrowed as his thoughts surged like crashing waves.

And beside him, Krys spoke with a clear, unwavering voice.

“You haven’t forgotten that operational command belongs to my platoon leader, have you? Follow orders immediately, Captain of the Pioneer Village Guard.”

He was merely stating the obvious—what needed to be done—but the effect was undeniable.

Krys’s words weren’t arrogant or overbearing.

But the timing was perfect.

Because what other choice did they have?

Look at the ladders. This situation was worse than when they first arrived. What about the cultist? Did they have any means to deal with that?

They had no options.

This was their way out.

By relinquishing command, Deutsch could also shed responsibility.

From Krys’s perspective, Deutsch Pullman was stubborn but admirable.

‘He should’ve just given up earlier.’

A village militia? A security force? What good was that?

Planning for the future? This was just a gamble. How many pioneer villages had already fallen to ruin?

And in this kind of situation?

If it were Krys, he would’ve long since had his mercenaries loot the village and taken off.

And he would have meant it.

Of course, that was impossible.

Because if he did try that—

Encrid’s sword, or worse, their dagger, might just find his throat.

Well, the platoon leader was always sincere when it came to saving people.

Thinking about it made Krys’ blood boil. He always chose the strangest things to do.

And look at him now—continuing with another bizarre act.

It was right after the emergency bell rang.

“Just me, Ruagarne, and Esther are going out.”

“Where to?”

“Outside the walls.”

That was what Encrid said as the alarm blared.

Krys seriously wondered if Encrid had suffered a head injury in yesterday’s battle.

“You do realize you almost died yesterday, right?”

Encrid nodded.

“It was a close one.”

Does this bastard not care about his own life?

“Look me in the eye.”

Encrid’s mouth opened the moment Krys had the thought. Not wanting to get smacked, Krys quickly averted his gaze.

“And what if today goes worse?”

“Ruagarne is with me.”

What? Sure, Frok was powerful, but was Ruagarne a knight? No, she wasn’t.

So this was dangerous.

“Find something to do.”

That was all Encrid said. That was the end of the conversation. Krys had to figure the rest out on his own.

‘So, a full-frontal fight with just one human, one Frok, and a panther.’

What could the rest of them do?

They could cheer.

‘And provide covering fire with arrows.’

Krys tossed aside the brief thought. Now was the time to focus on what needed to be done.

“Then, as the one assuming command, I say—open the gate.”

Krys’ words carried finality.

Encrid had already descended to the front of the gates, chatting with Ruagarne.

Esther trotted along beside them.

‘Don’t die.’

Krys muttered inwardly. If the platoon leader died, Krys himself wouldn’t have much chance of survival either.

But Krys didn’t think Encrid was a fool.

‘He must have something in mind.’

It was an absurd plan, but Krys believed in him. He recalled the time Encrid had shielded him in the middle of a battlefield.

Barely surviving back then.

The Encrid of today was incomparable to back then.

It wasn’t just about getting promoted from squad leader to platoon leader.

His skills had improved. He claimed to aspire to knighthood, and at the rate he was improving, it was actually terrifyingly plausible.

“I said open it. Disobedience is punished by beheading, Deutsch Pullman!”

Krys’ voice carried weight now—an authority he hadn’t used earlier.

He wasn’t a mercenary captain or Encrid himself.

He was just a frail human. Which meant he had to wield power where he could.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Deutsch responded. A former captain of the village guard, now stripped of duty and responsibility.

“Cut down anyone who disobeys.”

Krys spoke to Deutsch, though he hardly expected him to follow through.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

With a heavy clank, the pulley groaned, and the massive wooden gate creaked open.

Beyond it, Encrid, Ruagarne, and Esther stepped out.

This wasn’t a reckless charge like before.

The gnolls and hyena beasts had formed an awkward but structured formation, while ghouls clustered together as they advanced.

Somewhere among them, the cultist lurked.

Facing a force large enough to be called an army, just three figures stood before them.

Seeing that, Krys’ throat went dry. He gulped, hoping no one noticed.

Whatever they were planning, he had to support them.

“Gather every soldier skilled in archery.”

That meant the archer unit.

“Stack stones nearby so we can throw them at any moment.”

That meant the villagers.

Everyone began moving according to Krys’ orders.

With wooden barricades serving as makeshift walls, they prepared once more to face an overwhelming enemy.

—

Encrid was relieved that Krys handled things on his own. It meant he didn’t have to micromanage.

‘If it weren’t for the treasure, I’d be the one breaking my back doing all this.’

If not for some map guiding them through all this madness, Krys wouldn’t even be here.

And if that were the case, Encrid wouldn’t have brought him along either.

The small, annoying details of command—if not for Krys, Encrid would’ve had to handle them himself.

As for Deutsch Pullman, the one-eyed—or whatever he was—looked like a man who had lost all will to live.

‘That’s the face of someone barely hanging on until death takes them.’

He’d seen that look many times before.

Encrid took one last glance before shutting him out of his thoughts.

Now, all that remained was his sword, himself, and the insights he had gained.

It was time.

Standing before the great wooden gate, a dream from the previous night resurfaced.

A conversation with the ferryman, burned into his mind like a brand. The ferryman’s reaction. The events that followed.

“You used a loophole.”

There was no emotion in the ferryman’s words.

‘It just happened that way.’

Encrid thought to himself.

The ferryman understood.

Even though there were no waves, the boat rocked gently up and down.

It was as if the motion reflected the ferryman’s emotions.

You? Using tricks? Deception?

And yet, Encrid felt at peace.

“You will wander, bound by rules, lost in time, and filled with regret. This is not the end.”

The ferryman spoke in riddles, as if reciting poetry. Encrid simply accepted it.

There was no point in dwelling on words he didn’t understand.

Whether in dreams or in reality, he only looked toward tomorrow.

That was the end of it. The ferryman vanished, and what followed was a nightmare.

He was trapped in a well. He could see the moon shining above, yet he couldn’t climb out. The same day repeated, again and again.

In the dream, he clawed at the walls, his nails breaking, tearing, peeling—yet he never made it out.

That was why he had been thrashing in his sleep.

“What kind of dream was it?”

Ruagarne asked as the wooden gate creaked open.

“A dream with a beautiful moon.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Even from the bottom of the well, the moon’s glow had been breathtaking.

So radiant, he could have drowned in it, intoxicated without a single drop of alcohol.

“Doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“Is that so?”

They exchanged casual words.

“Kyah.”

Esther let out a cry as the gate fully opened.

Glancing down, Encrid noticed Esther staring at him.

“Let’s do well today.”

Esther was no ordinary panther.

That was already a fact he had accepted.

Then, what about himself?

“Huuuu.”

He steadied his breathing, recalling everything he had learned.

Ah, there was something to check first—he had nearly forgotten.

“Ruagarne.”

“Speak.”

“Let’s see what you can do.”

How well would a provoked Frok fight? A fact worth reminding himself of.

Grrrrr.

Ruagarne’s cheeks puffed out dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll show you.”

The Frok who had been provoked went first.

Boom!

She kicked off the ground, sending dirt exploding into the air like a fountain as she surged forward.

It was a reassuring sight.

He was curious.

Just how well would a provoked Frok fight?