Chapter 188

“Even if they’re just a band of thieves, we can’t ignore the Black Sword group’s strength. If we bring them in, Martai will tuck its tail and back off.”

Martai was a city in Naurilia with a convoluted history.

Sometimes it belonged to the Eastern Mercenary King, other times it was Naurilia’s territory.

As a result, it had become a city where two peoples were mixed. Currently, it was part of Naurilia and governed by a self-proclaimed general.

Half Naurilian, half Eastern city—that was Martai.

And Martai had just declared something akin to a declaration of war against the Border Guards.

Hence, the current topic.

The one speaking was one of the nobles of the Border Guards.

There were several nobles among the Border Guards. Though far weaker than central nobles, they couldn’t be entirely dismissed.

They were individuals with considerable influence in the Border Guard city.

The man in front of him was one such low-ranking noble.

What was his name again?

Marcus couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

‘The guy who took gold from the Black Sword.’

That was all he remembered.

He considered the man just another member of the Black Sword bandits.

He wanted to cut him down. To lop off his head right here and walk away from the mess.

The Elf Commander might have been his subordinate on paper, but she didn’t act like one.

There was this feeling that whatever you did, you’d have to pay the price.

Marcus trusted his instincts.

For one reason or another, he couldn’t cut down the man in front of him so easily.

Besides, Marcus wasn’t some brute. He wasn’t the kind of person who solved everything with a sword.

More importantly, with a bit of cunning, it didn’t seem all that hard to get rid of him.

Narrow-minded bastards were easy to bait.

“Martai’s advance is a pain, but we just need to focus on defense.”

Marcus spoke flatly. The noble from the Black Sword group jutted out his lips, then retracted them.

Had he said anything more, Marcus might not have been able to stop himself from cracking his skull.

‘Not that I actually would.’

Still, he could at least project that kind of feeling. Wasn’t Marcus known as a war maniac?

That was the whole purpose of his reputation and nickname.

Marcus stared silently at the man. Whether it looked like a glare or just a gaze, the effect was the same.

The cold, indifferent eyes of a war maniac silenced the noble.

Once he shut him up—

“Next topic?”

This was a regular meeting. The Border Guards were both a military city and a fortress city.

Just because they’d pushed back Azpen didn’t mean they were out of work.

There were even reports from the south that a noble’s mishandling of monsters had led to a sizable monster group heading north.

Letting them run wild would become a serious issue. It had to be dealt with.

For southern monster activity to affect the northern Border Guards—what a damned headache.

‘They really are bastards.’

Nobles were rotten to the core. Only interested in their land and wealth.

No wonder people said the country was doomed.

Same with that unnamed noble bastard. Just looking at him was disgusting.

Thinking like this would probably shorten his lifespan.

So Marcus deliberately shifted his thoughts elsewhere.

Those thoughts drifted to Encrid. The noble was someone whose name Marcus didn’t even want to remember, but Encrid was someone he couldn’t forget.

‘Jumping into the gnoll legion to save a pioneer village?’

Damn, it was the kind of story that made you gasp.

They said he slew a thousand gnolls alone.

There was probably some exaggeration, but there was no doubt he’d gotten stronger. Even the 4th Company Commander had confirmed it.

“In real combat, no one could guarantee victory against her.”

Even Marcus had vaguely sensed the Elf Commander’s strength.

She was stronger than most well-known warriors. Her performance in battle proved it.

And if someone like that acknowledged Encrid…

‘He used to be a clueless grunt with awful skills.’

There were rumors that he was just a lucky soldier.

Nonsense. It wasn’t luck—it was skill.

And he had the character to match.

It might not be obvious at first glance, but his attitude, his actions—they said it all.

More than anything, the way Encrid looked when talking about his dream had seared itself into Marcus’s mind.

Battlefields, swords, and something that shone.

Could he really become a knight?

Marcus had seen countless people over the years. Rationally, he knew the answer.

It was impossible.

But if he spoke based on what he felt seeing Encrid in person—

‘Maybe he can’t, but I hope he does.’

Day or night, nothing changed.

Even if the weather changed, he remained the same.

He was consistent. Every day was the same. He lived every day like it was today. That kind of man. Marcus suddenly felt the urge to support his path.

A soft smile appeared on Marcus’s face.

Seeing that, the Black Sword noble suddenly spoke again.

“I think appointing him as a company commander without a proper structure is unreasonable. Even if he proved himself, people say that mission was exaggerated…”

He was talking about Encrid’s appointment. At those words, the expression Marcus had maintained so coldly twisted. His brows furrowed. His lips drooped. His face contorted.

“That’s enough. It’s my decision. If you don’t like it, you be the battalion commander.”

He had brushed off the Black Sword proposal, but at least left room for discussion. When it came to Encrid, he was merciless.

His tone made it clear—no objections, no opinions allowed.

The intent was obvious: rebel here, and you’ll be cut down.

The Black Sword noble hated that the most.

But he couldn’t kill Marcus, could he?

‘Fucking bastard.’

And so, all that hatred turned toward Encrid.

When someone receives cheers, trust, and love—

Someone else will inevitably hate them.

The Black Sword noble, a central figure in the Border Guard’s power circle, was just such a person.

He hated Encrid. He truly loathed him for no reason and even felt the urge to kill him on the spot.

This was after the meeting had ended and all the nobles had left.

The Elf Commander stared quietly at Marcus and spoke.

“Who gave you the nickname ‘war maniac’?”

Elves were perceptive, and Marcus didn’t bother denying it.

“I did.”

“You’re clever.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He meant it. Marcus wasn’t someone who actually loved war or was obsessed with battle.

It was all just an image he projected outwardly.

Why?

It gave him a good excuse to avoid central politics, and it made the enemy more likely to let their guard down.

In truth, Marcus wasn’t particularly gifted when it came to waging war.

He knew how to deploy troops at the right time, but his real talents lay elsewhere.

For instance, he had a keen palate for finding good tea.

“Hey, didn’t you fall for that joke of mine too?”

Encrid and the Elf Commander’s conversation had become something of a legend around the barracks. That’s what brought the memory up.

“I’m not fond of jokes.”

With that, the Elf Commander turned and left.

Marcus pondered over her words and let out a hollow laugh.

“Man, elf-style jokes are tough.”

Must’ve been an elf-style joke. Of course it was. That elf loved jokes, after all.

* * *

The Black Sword noble’s name was Bansento.

Bansento had grown up in a monster-bordering region.

It was a place heavily influenced by the Demon Realm and constantly short on food.

So for young Bansento, everything wasn’t bought—it was taken. That was normal.

A human life was worth a loaf of bread. No, sometimes bread was more valuable.

After surviving a ruthless childhood, Bansento eventually made his way to the city.

With some luck, he managed to build a small merchant company.

That company grew through blades and blood, fists and threats, but nothing too serious got in his way.

It was around that time he got involved with the Black Sword.

Their power was overwhelming, and it became a solid backbone for Bansento’s rise.

After ten years of grinding, he sold his merchant group and used the fortune to buy himself a noble title.

Just like in his childhood, he had stolen and taken everything he wanted to build this life.

Now, Bansento’s goal was the city of Border Guard.

More precisely, he aimed to swallow it whole with the help of the Black Sword.

He had no noble bloodline passed down through generations—his title was bought with gold, and there were clear limitations to that.

So Bansento wanted something greater than a title.

Like a city.

That was the future he dreamed of.

A land ruled by the Black Sword, with himself in control of a city within it.

Becoming the city’s mayor or lord would be nice.

‘When that happens, I’m dragging that elf bitch in first.’

The Elf who was the 4th Company Commander had a tantalizing allure every time he saw her.

“Shall I take care of that Marcus bastard for you, or that clueless idiot?”

“Not Marcus.”

If he died here, it would draw the central government’s attention. That wasn’t something they wanted.

“Just get rid of that Encrid guy.”

At Bansento’s words, the escort and Black Sword member gave a nod.

That escort also happened to find Encrid extremely irritating.

‘All that praise for a nobody.’

It was nothing but smoke and mirrors. A duel? That’s just a matter of syncing up with his squad.

All the rumors floating around were full of holes.

A thousand gnolls? Laughable. What is he, a Junior Knight? A knight corps member?

He had seen Encrid’s skills once, too. Not recently, but a few months ago during training at the barracks.

‘Not bad.’

But not better than himself. That was his conclusion. Narrow-minded people tend to believe only what they see.

In the meantime, Encrid had grown absurdly strong, but the man refused to acknowledge it. He simply labeled him as trash and ended the thought there.

‘Of course, those squad members…’

They were impressive. Seriously.

The kind of people you couldn’t handle alone.

Why such talent was rotting away in a pioneer fortress city was beyond him.

In any case, the plan was moving along smoothly.

The Black Sword kingdom would begin here.

Small at first, but it would grow.

Naurilia would vanish, and the Black Sword Kingdom would rise in its place.

The escort, both a bodyguard and Black Sword member, sent out a pigeon while immersed in his own dream.

The pigeon would deliver the message.

Even to remove a single annoying pebble, the Black Sword didn’t waste their people.

That’s just the kind of group they were.

Of course, the goal wasn’t just to kill someone—it was always something bigger.

* * *

The Black Sword bandits, responding to an internal message, sent ten warriors into the city.

Each one of them was highly skilled.

For example, the leader of this group was once a famed figure in the mercenary world.

A beastkin named Dunbakel—despite her elegant appearance, the scimitar she wielded was swift and destructive.

That was what made her a city-level powerhouse.

The kind of strength that made her name known in an entire city.

The other nine that came with her were nearly on her level.

“Apply pressure? You mean scare them a little? Sure.”

Dunbakel nodded. She’d been paid, so now she would do the job.

Just before entering Border Guard—

Dunbakel’s nose twitched. A smoky, sour scent mixed with a rotten stench.

The smell of a demonic beast or monster.

And the smell of a human was mixed in as well.

Snap. Dunbakel’s head turned.

She saw a man draped in a black robe.

Beside him stood a demonic beast with menacing eyes.

“And who the hell are you?”

Dunbakel instantly entered a combat stance.

So did the other party.

One of the quicker-witted Black Sword members assessed the situation and said,

“Looks like he’s not here for us.”

Coincidentally, both had come to target Border Guard.

One side was the Black Sword bandits.

The other was an assassin sent by the Cult of the Demon Realm.

They had already sent several skilled assassins, but all contact with them had been lost.

Something was happening inside the city.

They were heading in to confirm it—and to stir up some chaos in that clueless city while they were at it.

“Where is it?”

The cultist asked. He was a monk, or rather, someone who used the Cult’s arts. Not someone you could deal with carelessly.

One of the quicker subordinates answered for them.

“Black Sword.”

“The objective?”

Before the cultist could get a response, Dunbakel, annoyed beyond measure, looked ready to charge at him. But a subordinate held her back by the arm.

Why?

Dunbakel asked with her eyes. What was stopping her from slicing the throat of some lowly cultist?

She didn’t like him one bit. But the subordinate shook his head.

She was about to shake off his hand but restrained herself.

After all, she was just a glorified mercenary.

Even if she was the leader, it was a position earned through strength alone.

One of the subordinates in the back rolled his eyes and said,

“This could actually turn into a good opportunity.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Dunbakel replied coldly. She clearly didn’t care. Arms crossed, she turned away.

With Dunbakel stepping aside, a transaction between the cultist and one of the Black Sword bandits played out smoothly.

“Then we’ll each take our gains as we see fit.”

“Our goals are aligned.”

They agreed to proceed with caution, but toward the same objective.

“I’ll go first.”

The cultist said with a twisted grin. He reached out and stroked the mane of his demonic beast.

Grrrrr.

Its growl sounded like something that had clawed its way out of hell.

It wouldn’t be wrong to say it was something similar.

Just looking at the beast made your blood run cold.

Three layers of razor-sharp teeth, a tail like a scorpion’s, a body and head resembling a lion.

Its eyes glowed with a long, narrow yellow slit, and each of its claws looked like finely honed knives.

A manticore—an high-level monster said to be capable of tearing through an entire company.

“Go. Feast.”

At the cultist’s words, the manticore sprinted forward. Its speed was terrifying, and as it kicked off the ground, it scaled the fortress wall with ease.

No need for gates—it simply leapt the wall. It wasn’t called an high-leveled monster for nothing.

“Khuhuhung!”

Its roar drove fear into all who heard it. The manticore in the moonlight—looming ahead—

‘A bear?’

Dunbakel narrowed her eyes.

There seemed to be something like a bear standing in front of the manticore.

It was too far to see clearly, and with only moonlight to rely on, she couldn’t be certain.

Still, something was definitely there.

Even if that noble was propped up by outside forces, he was still a Naurilian noble on the surface.

Which meant killing him would be considered the murder of a noble. At least, not something to be done in public.

‘It’d be better to kill him in secret.’

Of course, even that wouldn’t be easy.

The one acting as the noble’s escort didn’t look like someone easy to deal with.

‘Maybe it’s time I sweet-talk the 4th Company Commander.’

Elves were natural-born assassins, after all.

With that sensitivity and stealth, she could probably slice that guy’s throat clean off.

‘Though… that comes with its own risks.’