Chapter 195

Right after Encrid left, Marcus secretly summoned the Border Guards Captain.

“Are the preparations complete?”

Marcus asked as he leaned back in his chair in a relaxed posture, but his eyes resembled those of a predator eyeing its prey.

“They’re seasoned in this kind of work.”

“Good. Then proceed as planned.”

“Shall we inform the Independent Company Captain?”

“I gave him a hint.”

It was barely more than a passing indication, but he’d figure it out.

There was no need to burden someone with the responsibility of killing a noble anyway.

That was Marcus’s intent.

Take that noble brat who’s been stuffing himself with the Black Sword’s gold coins and run him ragged.

And didn’t he take a prisoner with him too?

They could use the captured beastkin to pull a few stunts.

In other words, he understood Marcus’s intent.

There was no need to explain any further.

‘A talented man who can cater to that lunatic’s whims without falling behind in skill.’

How many people in the unit could manage that?

He had promoted him to Independent Company Captain, but he still wasn’t fully acknowledged. So compared to the 1st Company Captain or the Border Guards Captain, his rank was perceived as lower. Still, his skills were more reliable than anyone else’s.

That made him the perfect fit.

And Marcus had also sent Encrid off with an expectation he couldn’t put into words.

No, that wasn’t the only reason. There were plenty of motives.

Marcus also intended to hide Encrid’s abilities.

Leaving him in the unit wouldn’t suddenly make anyone recognize him, but it was better to be cautious.

The bastards from Martai kept sending in spies, so he intended to keep Encrid out of sight in many ways.

He absolutely didn’t want their elite force to be exposed due to pointless heroics.

He was a core member of the elite unit, with excellent individual ability, and leadership potential as well. Obsessed with training, but his behavior suggested his personality wasn’t too bad.

And he could even cater to a noble brat’s whims.

‘That’s… something.’

With all that, he was inevitably a desirable asset.

More so since he was the one who’d rekindled Marcus’s own fire.

Lately, he’d been living a lively life for the first time in ages.

Not repeating meaningless days, but living a life of seizing new things.

‘This is exciting as hell.’

Despite what he felt inside, Marcus focused silently and seriously on his duties.

Those duties were nothing like what the nickname “War Maniac” implied.

That nickname had always been a mask.

A mask to deceive his enemies.

In truth, Marcus wasn’t particularly talented in battle or war.

He was aware of that himself.

Of course, lacking talent didn’t mean he was incompetent.

Marcus knew how to employ people outright. He knew how to trust. He elevated his people.

The 1st Company Captain, the Border Guards Captain, the Elf Commander, and now even Encrid.

He had jokers in hand. Aces, too.

With this many cards to play, it wasn’t that hard to take the pot from whoever sat across the table.

Since there was no need to entangle things in a complicated web, Marcus acted in a simple and straightforward manner.

He just picked the perfect moment to defy expectations.

‘Damn Black Sword bandit bastards, what do they expect to scavenge, always sticking their snouts in?’

Like wild beasts.

There were beasts drooling at the thought of claiming the city he was supposed to protect.

Was he supposed to just sit back and watch them?

“Well then.”

The Captain of the Guard gave a salute, and Marcus spoke to the back of his head.

“Kill them all.”

“Of course.”

Border Guard was a fortress city and a military hub.

It had shed brutal blood in its wars with Azpen.

So if someone dared underestimate them and come charging in, it was time to make them pay.

—

“Not even a full squad—just three?”

Baron Bansento glared at Encrid, Rem, and Ragna the moment he saw them, and harsh words flew from his mouth.

“Two barbarians and a commoner? What a garbage lineup. You stink. Stay away from me.”

Those were his first words when they met right in front of the city gate.

Rem’s hand gently wrapped around his axe handle.

Encrid reached out his right hand to grab his wrist.

With his other hand, he pressed down on Ragna’s left thigh.

Shaking his head so both of them could see.

“What is this? You dare face a noble without even a proper greeting!”

Bansento prayed fervently to the heavens for someone to kill them. Desperately so.

Encrid had anticipated this much, so handling it wasn’t an issue.

“Yes, sir.”

He gave a military salute and physically positioned himself in front of Rem and Ragna.

“Like commander, like subordinates.”

Bansento sneered to the very end.

“My axe is weeping, my trousers are soaked. Don’t make my axe any sadder.”

Rem growled seriously.

“Don’t.”

At the very least, not inside the city. Assaulting a superior officer was one thing, but murdering a noble—there’d be no defense even if an execution squad were dispatched straight from the palace.

And by the looks of things, it wouldn’t just end with a beating.

“Ragna, you too. Stand down.”

Same deal. Those crimson eyes beneath the blonde hair were murderous.

“Let’s go.”

Thankfully, it seemed, the guardsman cloaked in black over leather armor led the noble brat away.

Only the noble and the guard boarded the carriage—Encrid’s group would walk.

And their party grew by one more.

“Why are we even taking this one?”

Ragna tugged the end of a rope in his hand as he spoke.

The beastkin named Dunbakel, standing beside him, was pulled along by the gesture.

Both wrists were bound tightly with thick cords, arms and torso wrapped as well.

The ends dangled in Ragna’s hand.

Blood seeped from the wounds where the cords had scraped her wrists. For a beastkin—whose skin was tougher than a human’s—to be in that condition likely meant the bindings had never been loosened since capture.

Not that anyone had any intention of loosening them anyway.

“Guide.”

Encrid didn’t trust the noble brat they were accompanying.

Even more so, he didn’t trust the prisoner Dunbakel.

‘Because she wants to live.’

Encrid approached it simply. He requested the prisoner’s custody from the Company Commander and immediately made the offer.

“If you do one job, I’ll let you live. Think of it as a request.”

Since she’d called herself a mercenary, making a request should suffice.

The price was her life—the choice was up to the other party.

“…You’re saying you’ll let me live?”

Suspicion filled her eyes. But they were curious eyes—the beastkin’s pupils shimmered with gold.

‘Don’t they have some kind of legend about golden eyes on that side?’

Encrid recalled something he’d heard during his time as a mercenary.

But now, the woman looked like a stray cat caught in the rain. Like she’d been driven away, beaten down, and left to survive.

She caught on to that, but didn’t ask. What would be the point of asking?

A deal was enough. Once this was over, there would be no more contact. Either the beastkin would die or leave—the matter would be closed.

“You in or not? Whether you trust me or not, whether you do it or not, that’s your choice.”

Encrid shook his head and added,

“No, let’s be real. You don’t have a choice. Just do it. Better than being executed, right? You might get a chance to escape out there.”

“Why go this far?”

Encrid didn’t answer that question. Or rather, he couldn’t.

How could he explain it?

That those eyes, that desperate craving to survive, reminded him of when he himself was madly chasing a dream?

If Frok was driven by desire, then beastkin were bound by instinct and survival.

So it made perfect sense for a beastkin to want to live.

Humans wouldn’t be any different.

But in that moment, those eyes weren’t simply pleading to be spared.

They were the eyes of someone who was willing to do anything, absolutely anything, just to survive.

It was purely instinct and intuition, but he didn’t want to ignore it.

“Got a thing for beastkin?”

The company commander had joked, but hadn’t finished his sentence.

“One beastkin? Handle it yourself.”

Whether he let her go, killed her, or kept her as a slave because he liked her—he was told to do as he pleased.

In this regard, the company commander was quite broad-minded.

If the woman talked reasonably, Encrid intended to let her go.

Attacking him was a crime?

If that were the case, then in war, everyone would have to die.

He didn’t want to know the backstory. It was just a whim. If she could be useful on top of that, all the better.

That’s why he made the beastkin a guide instead of the halfwit noble.

He could verify whether she really knew the way or had tricks up her sleeve.

At the end of this train of thought—triggered by Ragna’s earlier question of “Why bring this woman?”—Encrid came to an answer.

Could he explain this to Ragna?

Not a chance.

Even if he did, it wasn’t something Ragna would listen to.

“She just looks like she’s good at finding paths.”

He boiled it down and said it simply.

Ragna looked oddly hurt.

“I may not be good at finding paths, but I swing a sword just fine.”

Who didn’t know that?

“I know.”

Encrid answered plainly and stepped beyond the city gates.

Dunbakel, who had been watching all of this, simply found it all strange.

The one with the axe who used to torment her didn’t even look at her now. Treated her like she didn’t even exist.

He simply stroked his axe handle and stared at his escort target.

Beastkin instincts rang loud in her head.

‘If left alone, he’ll chop her into six pieces.’

Encrid, seemingly aware of this too, issued repeated warnings.

“Calm down.”

“Enough.”

“I said stop.”

“Rem.”

Even so, he wouldn’t easily let go of his axe handle.

‘He’s insane.’

Dunbakel instantly saw through Rem. And she was completely right.

“If you lead us the wrong way, I’ll cut you down.”

Same went for the guy holding her leash. He spoke those words without a hint of emotion.

It wasn’t a threat—it was just a fact. He’d do it. Of course he would.

Like saying the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

‘Even if I run, I’m dead.’

More than anything, it was a problem that she was so tightly bound.

‘What kind of kink is this?’

The rope wrapped beneath her chest, then around her arms, and up to her neck and wrists.

It wasn’t just uncomfortable—it made anything beyond walking impossible.

They had barely taken a few steps when the noble opened the carriage window. The fortress walls of Border Guard could still be seen behind them.

That meant that if a sharp-eyed patrol was watching, they could still recognize who was here.

The noble leaned out the window and spoke.

“You look amusing. You, beastkin—come to my carriage tonight.”

The way his nostrils flared made Dunbakel want to jam a fingernail right into them.

“Then, will you at least untie me?”

“It might be more fun if I don’t.”

The desire and lust radiating from the noble’s words didn’t make her feel disgusted so much as they just confirmed—this guy was an easy opponent.

At least compared to the one holding her leash or the axe wielder, or even the one who had captured her.

Rem—the crazy one—smiled.

Yep. He was dangerous, no question about it.

Ragna said nothing but spoke quietly afterward.

“If you move without permission, I’ll cut you down.”

That too was spoken like “the moon will rise tonight.”

‘So if I do what the noble says, they’ll kill me.’

In all this, Dunbakel saw the calmest person of all.

Wasn’t his name Encrid?

Once the carriage started moving, he drew his sword and began swinging it beside it.

‘What is he doing now?’

Whoosh, fwoosh.

The blade sliced through the air.

Was he training while walking? Or drilling?

He moved his feet as he swung—practicing his steps too, perhaps.

The noble’s guard, who doubled as the coachman, scoffed.

“No matter how much you squirm, a grub won’t turn into a butterfly.”

Did he even know what he was talking about?

Dunbakel had fought Encrid before. The man possessed terrifying skill.

And yet, watching him now, curiosity rose instead of fear.

Glancing back, he saw that Ragna was watching his captain closely. Unable to hold back, Dunbakel asked,

“With skills like that, why is he training so hard…?”

Not sure how the other would react, she trailed off awkwardly, but Ragna answered more easily than expected.

“Captain used to be terrible. Couldn’t even handle a single ghoul.”

A single ghoul? No way.

Dunbakel had fought Encrid. She knew his skill better than anyone. She was the one who had most recently faced him head-on.

“Even so, he kept swinging that sword every single day. Even though all it did was toughen his palms and build a little muscle, he never stopped. It was the same every day. Always, without fail. How could someone keep doing that?”

At first, Ragna seemed to be answering Dunbakel. But eventually, it turned into muttering to himself.

Or had he been talking to himself from the beginning?

Dunbakel stared into Ragna’s eyes, wondering what was going on with him.

Those eyes looked strangely lit.

The kind of eyes that were drawn into something—enthralled and absorbed.

It didn’t seem like a good time to speak to him.

‘He couldn’t even handle a ghoul?’

And yet he kept swinging his sword? Every day? The same way?

“He’s just that kind of man. A guy whose existence is a mystery, someone you couldn’t understand why he was even holding a sword. And yet—look at him now.”

Rem chimed in as well. Though he hadn’t seemed interested, he stepped forward and joined in the moment talk of Encrid came up.

His tone and expression were no longer those of someone mocking Dunbakel’s wounds.

Still, he was crazy—so Dunbakel subtly stepped away.

Then she looked again at Encrid, who continued swinging his sword as he walked.

Dunbakel thought,

‘When did I stop?’

After being cast out from the beastkin, she’d fought tooth and nail to survive.

Then she realized she was only half-beastkin.

She assumed she’d never be able to learn true beastkin techniques or abilities, so she gave up on improving altogether.

She saw no path forward, no room for growth. So she stopped training, stopped honing herself.

‘That man couldn’t even handle a single ghoul once?’

From beside her, she heard Rem—mad as ever—mutter, “Didn’t even take a year. Was he a genius all along? No way, definitely not.”

A year?

Could someone go from being unable to handle a ghoul to that in a year?

Before she realized it, Dunbakel was staring at Encrid’s back.

He was a strange and curious man. Not someone who rose on exceptional talent, but someone who lacked it—yet still swung his sword day after day?

There was no reason to lie about it, so it had to be true.

To Dunbakel, everything about this situation was simply astonishing.

Caught between that amazement and curiosity, a sudden pang of envy surged up.

What if she had lived like that too? A fleeting regret.

Dunbakel brought her brief regret to a close and turned her gaze left and right.

‘Hmm.’

She didn’t show it on the surface, but she had confirmed the mark of the Black Sword.

Now, she had to choose.

Should she speak up—or let it slide?

She stood at a crossroads.

That was the situation. Dunbakel hesitated, and just then, the carriage came to a halt.

“Let’s rest here before moving on.”

The coachman, also the guard in black, spoke.

And Encrid stopped swinging his sword.