Chapter 196

A simple fire was lit, and a pot was placed over it.

It was a field meal—nothing fancy could come out of it.

Dried meat and fruit, cheese, and water mixed with wine were all there was.

Everyone ate and drank.

Encrid was tearing off pieces of the seasoned jerky he brought when he noticed a gaze staring straight at him.

It was a beastkin.

‘Wants to eat, huh?’

Judging by the hunger in those eyes, it seemed she was starving.

Thinking back, she probably hadn’t had a proper meal since being captured.

Whether you’re going to kill her or let her go, shouldn’t you at least feed her?

Her eyes sparkled with hunger. Golden light.

‘No reason to be stingy.’

It’s just a piece of jerky—what’s the big deal?

Encrid tore off a strip and sat in front of the beastkin. As he brought it to her mouth, her eyes widened.

“Try it.”

Dunbakel chewed slowly. The salty and sweet blend that spread through her mouth triggered something in her brain.

At the same time, she looked at the man before her.

After observing and observing again, she had come to feel something beyond envy and jealousy—something close to admiration.

‘If I had lived like this man…’

She wondered how things might’ve been if she had tried her best.

Part of her simply felt jealous. It must be luck to have such extraordinary subordinates around you.

If only that luck had come to her.

Why was she born like this?

Why did she have to be born in such a state, only to be abandoned?

It would’ve been better if it had ended at mere neglect. Then she might’ve laid down her life for her village—how great it would’ve been to die that way.

If only she had departed into Krimhart’s arms like that.

Regret and jealousy, admiration and remorse.

At the end of that complex storm of emotion, jerky had already entered her mouth.

She chewed and swallowed, and a canteen was handed to her. She had expected wine-mixed water, but her mouth was filled with the refreshing scent of apples.

“It’s apple cider.”

Why is he treating her like this?

Dunbakel wondered if this was an attempt to lure her, but she couldn’t be sure.

Still, it was a moment of choice.

Should she speak, or stay silent?

It was a crossroads.

Dunbakel made her choice.

“There’s going to be a Black Sword ambush.”

With seasoning still on her lips, Dunbakel spoke.

She had been planning to talk about the markings if asked how she knew.

But Encrid simply looked her straight in the eyes and said,

“I see.”

Even after that, Dunbakel expected Encrid to pull something, but surprisingly, he remained quiet.

He simply resumed eating and exchanged a few words with the nobleman—one of the Black Sword’s pawns.

“How do you know the way?”

Being a representative of the Black Sword bandits and knowing the route were separate matters.

It was Encrid who brought up the topic that even Marcus hadn’t poked into.

Bansento twisted the corner of his mouth. With a look that anyone could see was mocking, he spoke.

“You don’t need to know. Commoner.”

Calling him “commoner” at the end of every sentence—was that a habit?

If it was, he didn’t seem all that noble himself.

Encrid, regardless of what he thought, nodded as if he understood.

It wasn’t an important matter anyway.

Encrid looked at the escort in black clothing.

All this time, he had been observing the escort’s gait, gestures, demeanor, positioning.

He had seen him a few times in the city, but now that they were out here, he could see clearly.

‘Not bad.’

Rem, Ragna, Jaxson, Audin, even the Elf Commander.

Lately, he’d had more than enough sparring partners, but none gave off a feeling like this.

Light on the feet, fast hands.

Likely favored short weapons. Probably skilled at throwing techniques too.

Part of him wanted to see the opponent’s unique technique. The rest—an unspoken thirst.

Sparring was sparring. Real combat was something else.

Seeing the guy chew a thin piece of bread and drink water, he thought:

‘I want to fight him.’

His movements and gestures stirred up genuine interest.

‘How far will swordsmanship go against him?’

What should he keep in mind when facing him?

How would he match his stride?

Encrid wasn’t a genius.

He didn’t suddenly come up with countermeasures just by watching.

But he’d had hundreds, maybe thousands of sparring sessions to draw from, and based on that experience, ideas surfaced.

‘If I slash his thigh—’

His movement would stiffen. That would seal one of his strengths.

The moment he noticed a unique habit in his opponent, Encrid wanted to fight him.

Perhaps because he felt that gaze.

“You’re irritating.”

The escort in black lifted his head and spoke. He had just swallowed some bread and water.

Encrid, who was at the end of that gaze, opened his mouth.

“Me?”

“Who else would it be?”

A strange wind passed between them. One side showed subtle fighting spirit, while the other revealed killing intent and displeasure.

The one showing killing intent—the escort in black—sat with both hands clasped over his knees.

They had gathered under the shade of a suitable tree.

The sound of two horses grazing and the surprisingly cool breeze for summer passed by when the escort spoke again.

“You must be feeling quite confident in your skills lately.”

Encrid agreed internally. He had been feeling something that could be called confidence lately.

“But you should be cautious. Pick your opponents wisely.”

That was also true.

“Aren’t you just some top-grade soldier in a cheap ranking system?”

…That part wasn’t true.

“Don’t throw your life away doing something stupid.”

Encrid wasn’t surprised. When had people not underestimated him?

It happened all the time.

Even before he left, didn’t Krys say:

“Marcus tends to hide the captain’s achievements. He seems to have an agenda.”

They had hidden and concealed things. So misunderstanding was understandable.

Still, he was disappointed.

‘Your discernment…’

He had recognized his opponent—but the opponent had not recognized him.

But that, in truth, was natural.

Encrid had clawed his way up from the very bottom to get where he was.

He didn’t carry the airs of someone who had gained strength overnight.

Arrogance and conceit were the furthest words from him.

Only the relentlessness of someone who clawed his way up, feeding on defeat, remained.

In other words, on the surface, he appeared to be just a guy with decent sword skills.

“What a damn clown.”

Rem commented after watching.

Upon hearing him, the noble Bansento also spoke up.

“You retarded savage, shut your mouth. Are you flaunting the fact you were raised without a mother?”

The line crossed the boundary and pierced Rem like a blade. Encrid figured there was no stopping him now.

In truth, he thought it was already enough.

* * *

The escort in black had been thinking of resolving things with words.

After all, they only had half a day left. Soon, they’d all be dead at the hands of the Black Sword members lying in ambush ahead.

He had originally intended to handle them himself.

‘If it were just one of them, I wouldn’t mind.’

But with both Rem and Ragna?

He wanted to avoid facing the two at once.

Encrid? Not even worth consideration. Who did he think he was? He was one of the most skilled members of the Black Sword. He had learned from an excellent teacher.

And then it happened.

“You retarded savage, shut your mouth. Are you flaunting the fact you were raised without a mother?”

Bansento spat out his usual venom.

Encrid should’ve stopped Rem again, but there was no time—no moment to do so.

Whump—CRACK!

A sound of something slicing through the wind, followed by a heavy, grotesque noise.

The escort’s head turned. He remained in that position for a moment, trying to process what had just occurred.

“Gguh… grrr…”

A person with an axe embedded in their face cannot speak properly. Naturally.

Surviving would be near impossible. If you lived on with half your face split open, you’d be a ghoul, not a human.

‘Even a ghoul would die with their face split like that.’

From between the vertically cleaved skull, something small and precious that had been inside his head dribbled out, along with a stream of blood.

One of his eyes popped out at the moment of impact and rolled to the side.

Thanks to the axe’s force, he was flung back several steps, and there lay his body, overturned and lifeless.

His name was Bansento—a member of the Black Sword, the envoy for this mission, and a noble.

“Damn, talk about a foul mouth.”

Rem, the savage, muttered while shaking his hand clean.

“What the hell is this!”

The escort finally snapped, jumping up in alarm.

Neighhh!

Startled by the chaos, the two horses tied to the carriage neighed in panic.

Even Dunbakel gasped in shock.

‘He killed a noble?’

They had just barely left the Border Guards’ patrol radius, and not even half a day had passed since the journey began. Yet the envoy and escort target had been killed.

By the very man assigned to protect him.

“Oh, he did it.”

Encrid’s impression was simple and ordinary.

“Oh, he did it? You maniacs.”

The escort wasn’t quick-witted. At least that’s what Encrid thought.

Ragna looked indifferent.

She merely asked Encrid,

“Are you going to handle it alone?”

“I’d like to.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rem strolled over and yanked out the axe he had thrown. With a pop, the axe came free from Bansento’s body. That nobleman trash who had taken gold from the Black Sword.

Why had he hesitated to kill him, even knowing he was scum?

Because he was a noble.

That title acted as a shield. Even if it wasn’t a hereditary title and merely a baronetcy.

If this got out, that man named Rem would be hunted until the day he died. A bold gamble.

The escort’s mind churned with unease.

“What’re you lookin’ at? Want me to plant something on your head too?”

Rem said, locking eyes with the escort.

“He’s mine.”

Encrid, for once, showed a hint of possessiveness.

“Oh, I know. Otherwise, I’d have already sliced him up.”

Rem wiped the blood from his axe onto Bansento’s fine noble clothes.

Watching that, the escort finally opened his mouth.

“This area’s still part of the Border Guard’s patrol zone. What if a patrol comes by?”

A reasonable concern, from his perspective.

“They won’t.”

Encrid replied flatly. He already knew exactly how and where the patrols operated. He’d heard it all from Benzense, who doubled as the patrol leader.

“They won’t?”

Only then did the escort realize this wasn’t an impulsive act.

‘So it was planned from the start?’

Encrid unsheathed his sword with a chirr. Sunlight reflected off the blade.

As its tip pointed at him, the escort also drew his weapons.

Two black daggers drawn silently.

He gripped them both in reverse, blades facing downward, and instinctively took a stance.

‘There’s a backup unit half a day away.’

Bansento was already dead—now was the time to focus on survival.

How to escape alive?

Encrid had said he would fight alone.

Rem and Ragna didn’t seem interested.

‘I’ll end it in one burst and flee.’

If it came to running, he had confidence. But he needed to set it up right.

“You knew the patrol wouldn’t come. So this was all planned?”

Encrid shrugged.

“If no one sees it, that’s all that matters.”

As he spoke, the escort began shifting his feet. He seemed to be trying to get the sun behind him. Encrid mirrored his movement.

The escort reached his desired position.

Precisely behind and to the right of the carriage.

Then, he flung one of the reverse-gripped daggers upward.

Encrid instinctively raised his sword.

While Encrid prepared for either a throw or a charge—

The escort tossed the dagger into the air and flicked his right hand. In sync with that motion, two throwing knives shot backward.

Quick hands. He used the first dagger to draw attention, then hurled knives from his waist.

The two blades flew with a sharp whoosh and struck the horses in the neck.

Prrr! Neighhhh!

The horses cried out in agony. One tilted to the side, bleeding profusely. The shrieking was loud. The knives had gone in deep—there’d be no saving them.

The escort had calculated that without the horses, they wouldn’t be able to pursue him.

Now, all that was left was to break through the one standing in his way—Encrid.

The escort caught the dagger he had tossed into the air with a tak, lowered his stance, and kicked off the ground.

He closed the distance at frightening speed. In no time, he was within sword range.

It’s commonly said that in a fight between a long weapon and a short one, the long weapon has the advantage.

But once you closed the gap like this, the short weapon prevailed.

‘Got him.’

With confidence, the escort crossed the reverse-gripped daggers and slashed.

By staggering the timing of the left and right swings, he aimed for Encrid’s wrist and the back of his neck.

Encrid deflected one blade with the guard on his wrist.

The one targeting his neck—he avoided it by leaning his head back.

It was only possible because he had accurately read and timed the movement.

From that position, he raised his knee—his opponent was already too close to dodge.

The escort quickly lifted his own knee to block.

Whump!

“Urgh!”

‘What strength is that?’

Just one hit—a single knee strike—and his shin throbbed.

But it didn’t end there.

In the blink of an eye, Encrid disappeared from view, and suddenly, he sensed killing intent from the side and ducked his head.

Ping.

At some point, Encrid had drawn a wide-bladed guard sword, and it grazed the escort’s hair.

A few strands of cut hair fluttered in the air.

Without a moment to catch his breath, the escort thrust both of his daggers forward.

Whoosh!

His extended strikes sliced through empty air.

He couldn’t even register Encrid’s next move.

A downward chop from above, using his forearm like a sickle.

Crack! Slam!

The blow struck the back of his head.

The escort, who had been crouching low, slammed his forehead into the ground.

Without hesitation, Encrid turned the tip of his sword downward and drove it in.

Thud!

He made a second mouth just below the back of the skull, then pulled it free—blood erupted from the new mouth like a fountain.

Encrid stepped back and flicked his sword in the air. The blood droplets scattered onto the ground.

“Your face doesn’t look too happy. Was it not fun?”

Rem asked after watching. Encrid answered honestly.

“It was too bland.”

His speed was slower than the Knoll’s leader.

His tactical sense was worse than the cursed sword’s wraith.

There wasn’t anything that particularly stood out.

He was better than that beastkin, but far from outstanding.

So much so that it left him with a feeling like finishing his business but forgetting to wipe.

“What’s your name?”

Still standing there, Encrid asked. Naturally, it wasn’t directed at Rem or Ragna.

The beastkin answered shortly.

“Dunbakel.”

Encrid, staring at her surprised golden eyes, asked with some disappointment,

“How many in the ambush?”

If a feast had been prepared for him, then it was only right to at least have a taste.

Encrid meant that sincerely.

Dunbakel had no choice left anymore.

These people were, without a doubt, insane bastards.

“A small elite unit. If they’ve gone to the trouble of an ambush, they wouldn’t have sent anyone weak.”

Encrid didn’t smile at her words—but his eyes lit up.

Rem grinned slyly.

That man Ragna quietly looked at Encrid and finally spoke.

“Why did you give up positioning?”

“To make him drop his guard.”

“Not a bad move.”

Even now, they were talking about swordsmanship without a hint of boredom.

No, the fact that they didn’t even care about having killed a noble was more baffling than anything.