Chapter 197

Bansento had devised what he thought was the best plan under the circumstances. No—he had devised it.

After killing off that bastard Encrid and the rest of his escort party, he intended to seize this opportunity to ally with Martai and overthrow the city.

He had even added that it should have been done this way from the beginning.

That same Bansento could no longer speak.

A man buried in the dirt with a split skull had nothing left to say.

“Let’s go.”

Encrid rummaged through the corpses and the carriage, gathered what he needed, then dug the ground and buried the bodies.

‘Not bad.’

A generous pouch of gold coins, a few gems—

And a handful of black stones with unknown use.

The black stones didn’t seem like jewels, but there was a strange aura to them the moment he laid eyes on them.

Could they be sold? Maybe they could be converted to gold, so he took them just in case.

He dumped the coins and valuables into his pack, even taking the black daggers the escort had used—everything worth taking had been taken.

He felt like he had thoroughly looted them.

“I feel like a bandit.”

Encrid said.

“The Encrid Bandits—how about starting one when the army disbands?”

Rem joked, without much seriousness. He might speak that way, but he wasn’t the type to steal from commoners.

Without taking a break, Encrid and his companions set off again. Naturally, Dunbakel had no choice but to follow, tied to a rope.

There was no chance to escape.

Even after she told them about the ambush site—

Even after she said key forces from the Black Sword would likely be there—these people remained entirely unfazed.

“Rough wilderness, black sun, shattered earth, broken sky.”

That guy Rem started singing some song you’d expect to hear in a western frontier town.

It wasn’t particularly good, but Rem’s voice was surprisingly rich.

“Piercing the sky, charging to bring it down.”

While half-listening to that voice, Dunbakel also caught snippets of a conversation between the other two up front.

“How did you learn the sword techniques?”

“I memorized them all.”

A complicated question, answered with clarity.

The blond one who asked hesitated for a long while, seemingly picking his words. Then he dropped a comment.

“Extending your left hand is meant to guide the opponent to your right. You shouldn’t ignore the meaning behind the movements.”

“Yeah. Got it.”

Their leader, Encrid, nodded.

‘Got it?’

Dunbakel was baffled. What were they even talking about?

Encrid continued speaking.

“Steps have meaning, and so does the hand holding the sword, right?”

The blond nodded lightly, briskly.

“Correct. Every movement has meaning.”

She didn’t quite understand what they were discussing—but one thing was clear.

‘It’s about swordsmanship.’

Dunbakel was still baffled. Why were they so relaxed?

Something tickled at her chest. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but one thing stood out.

A surge of curiosity.

What were these people?

* * *

As he listened to Ragna, Encrid had a small epiphany.

It was exactly what he needed to hear at that moment.

Ragna had understood that after just one battle and brought it up.

He had poor verbal skills, so the way he put it was messy—

‘But it’s enough if I understood it properly.’

So there was no problem.

Encrid repeated and organized the lesson himself to reinforce it.

‘Every movement in swordsmanship has meaning.’

You had to understand each one of them.

He had felt something similar when fighting that beastkin the other day.

The harmony between Valen-Style mercenary swordsmanship and his own techniques.

After all, swinging the sword is the wielder’s role.

‘Understanding and internalizing it.’

Once he understood everything, he’d be able to break it apart and use it at will—pulling out the right motion at the right time.

Ragna’s point began with the meaning of a single motion, but for Encrid, it returned to the attitude one must have to truly learn swordsmanship.

“Once I understand the sword I’ve just learned, then I’ll begin with middle-sword techniques.”

Ragna said at his side.

“After internalizing what I’ve got now.”

Encrid added.

They both nodded as they looked forward.

“There’s an ambush ahead, you know?”

Rem had just finished singing and the chat with Ragna had ended. From behind, the beastkin spoke up—no, asked.

There was strength in her voice. She didn’t bother hiding her disbelief.

“What was your name again?”

Encrid turned his head slightly and asked.

She thought, How many times is he going to ask that?—but still answered with a look that said, What does my name matter?

“Dunbakel.”

“Right. Dunbakel.”

Encrid tried to explain.

Why they were heading straight into the ambush. Why they were taking the risk.

Encrid didn’t consider the upcoming ambush a threat.

Why?

Who would’ve informed the other side of their current strength?

It had to be the dead noble and his escort.

All the Black Sword attackers had been killed. The only survivor was the beastkin.

If she had secretly relayed information, things would be different.

‘But there’s no sign of that.’

He hadn’t given her the chance either, but sometimes you could sense things just by observing.

Those golden eyes mixed with confusion, curiosity, and longing.

This beastkin named Dunbakel was just asking.

Why head straight into the ambush?

The answer was simple.

If a small elite force was waiting, unaware of their true strength—

‘Then it’s not really an ambush at all.’

Of course, if all these calculations were wrong, they could be in danger. That risk always existed.

If the Black Sword was crazy enough to invest more than half their force here—

‘No way.’

That chance was extremely low.

According to Krys, Encrid wasn’t dumb—he just didn’t bother using his head. But if he did, he could think pretty decently.

The phrasing was annoying, but not wrong. Encrid knew that too.

‘If it were me—’

If he were the commander of the Black Sword, he’d send twice the force they did last time.

That would be enough.

If there was still cause for concern, he’d add a specialist more suited for killing than fighting.

In that case—

Their formation would already be flawed. Because Encrid wasn’t alone—Rem and Ragna were here, too.

Ragna, yawning with his mouth wide open, mumbled about being sleepy.

Rem kicked rocks along the path as he walked.

There wasn’t a hint of tension in either of them.

For now, both were overwhelmingly stronger than Encrid.

That’s why the enemy’s miscalculation of power made sense.

This was what Encrid believed.

Dunbakel’s repeated insistence about the ambush up ahead was essentially asking, Why are we just walking into it?

There was an answer to that, but explaining it all would take too long, and there was no need to convince the golden-eyed beastkin in front of them.

“If you’re asking why we’re walking into an ambush… no real reason.”

He paused briefly, then added one more thing as he met her longing gaze.

“I just want to swing my sword more.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had calculated the risk, but it was also a genuine desire burning in his chest.

At those words, Dunbakel’s golden pupils trembled wildly.

“…Why.”

Why would he do that—for such a reason?

But precisely because of that reason… it made sense.

The teachings of Krimhart surged from the depths of her heart and struck her mind like a bell.

Ding— like someone had rung a chime right beside her ear.

‘In the end, bloom and perish on the battlefield.’

Krimhart—her god—had commanded her to bloom and fall on the battlefield.

And the man in front of her was about to do exactly that.

At the same time, she remembered the fortune-telling hag’s words from when she’d been exiled from her village.

“When the day comes that you wish for death, a guide will stand beside you.”

She had thought it was a line spoken out of pity, but now it felt different.

Dunbakel had braced herself for death—and yet, she lived.

Whose whim had spared her?

The man in front of her.

Amidst her envy, jealousy, and admiration, a quiet wind began to stir in her heart.

‘I want to have that man’s child.’ (T/N: WTF. HAHAHA. Enki is a lowkey rizzler lol.)

It was likely impossible.

Beastkin-human hybrids were rarely born.

But that wasn’t her only wish.

‘I want to remain inside his world.’

She wanted to stay beside him. To learn how he lived. To die by his side.

These complex, delicate desires set her heart ablaze.

Encrid glanced at her eyes and thought,

‘What’s up with her eyes now?’

He thought he’d gotten used to people with wild eyes lately, but this was new.

There was something strangely intense and suggestive about them.

“So why didn’t Esther come with you?”

Rem suddenly asked while looking at Dunbakel’s expression.

Encrid turned his gaze away from her and replied to Rem.

“How would I know? Our Esther’s a moody one.”

He said it as a joke, and Rem chuckled.

“If Esther heard that, she’d probably carve music sheets on your face. But yeah… not exactly wrong.”

At times, she acted like she’d never leave his side—and then she’d vanish from the inn and disappear for days.

Her behavior made “moody” seem like the perfect word.

They continued walking leisurely and climbed a small hill.

A few scattered trees turned into a forest thick enough to block the view on both sides.

The path became uneven. Rocks jutted out of the dirt here and there.

Between them, ants were marching in lines, carrying the corpses of dead insects. So industrious.

It wasn’t an easy path to walk.

As they went on, it felt less like a hill and more like a small wooded rise.

Once they crossed this, the agreed rendezvous point was about a two-day walk away.

Where the envoy was supposed to meet the Black Sword.

Of course, that promise meant nothing now.

Rustle.

The wind rustled the leaves, and sunlight filtered through.

The weather was good. The breeze was refreshing, and the sunlight softened by the leaves wasn’t too hot.

As they stepped further, a clearing came into view. Behind it, dense foliage and thorny shrubs.

It was a dead end. The path ended here.

“This is it.”

Roughly ten people stood in the clearing. One of them spoke.

Three women, seven men.

Among them was a guy wielding an axe, another standing slack-armed and staring, one seated on a rock with a tidy expression, and one perched on a tree branch above.

All different types.

A cold air passed between them. The speaker glared, and Encrid’s group stopped walking.

Now then—what next?

Tension loomed. In the midst of it, Encrid opened his mouth.

“Whoa, it’s an ambush.”

He said it in a theatrical tone—with terrible acting.

“Whoa, we’ve been caught.”

Rem added.

“What a shock.”

Ragna chimed in, rubbing sleep from his eyes—making it look like he really was surprised.

Dunbakel was still dumbfounded.

Are they seriously putting on a play right now?

“To think you’d be waiting for us here. You guys are thorough.”

Encrid said, cleaning his ear as he spoke of their meticulousness.

“Never saw it coming. I’m shaking in my boots.”

Rem added while picking his nose.

Even while doing that, his good looks remained intact.

“I was so startled I nearly bit my tongue.”

Encrid said as he crunched a candy in his mouth.

Crunch.

Must be sweet. But where’d he get that candy?

Dunbakel couldn’t help but wonder.

“Ooh, I wanna run away.”

Encrid’s comment was met by Rem playing along, as always ready to mock their enemies.

What else were they doing?

Provocation.

Just hearing them would make anyone’s blood boil. Even Dunbakel was starting to get irritated.

So how about the enemy?

“Are they insane?”

Said one, bewildered.

“Must have a death wish, all of you.”

Said the woman feigning composure.

“Dead men walking.”

Muttered one who clearly didn’t care.

“You motherfuckers.”

Spat the angry one.

Encrid, seeing the reactions, nodded and looked at Rem. Rem met his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and nodded back.

They looked pleased with the responses.

“Don’t run. Stay right here.”

Said Ragna, his crimson eyes and blond hair catching the light as he stepped in front of her and moved her back.

If there was ever a moment to escape—

This was it.

But Dunbakel chose to watch rather than run.

She wanted to know. She wanted to see.

Just what exactly did those three believe in that let them walk straight into this?

Their opponents were recognized as elite even within the Black Sword.

Dunbakel still didn’t fully grasp the abilities of Encrid, Rem, or Ragna.

“I’ve never met bastards like you in my life. If Bansento’s not here, I’m guessing he’s already dead. And you came knowing we were waiting for you?”

The one who stepped forward was a burly man with a thick beard. His weapon was a bec de corbin.

The tip was sharp, and a hatchet-like blade was attached to the side, about the size of a palm.

Even just the way he held it diagonally was enough to tell—this wasn’t an opponent to take lightly.

If that axe blade struck, a skull would split like an overripe fruit.

“How’d you know?”

Encrid asked.

“…You’ve got a damn natural talent for getting under people’s skin, don’t you?”

The bec de corbin user narrowed his eyes and spoke.

Rem chuckled.

“Bingo! I swear I’ve never met a guy whose words sting as much as his.”

Encrid looked genuinely wronged.

“I was just being honest.”

Sure, he’d meant to provoke a little—but wasn’t that kind of remark normal in this kind of situation?

“How’d you know?” It had been the perfect line.

“So don’t try to win with words—come at us with blades.”

Rem said, as if to bring the scene to a close.

The bearded man furrowed his brow.

He hesitated, but only for the briefest moment.

‘They came even knowing it was an ambush?’

There was no time for drawn-out thoughts.

“What’s there to think about?!”

The brawler moved first. Both fists wore knuckle dusters with flat metal plates.

Encrid had provoked them intentionally, hoping they would act without second-guessing.

This was exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.

Once the brawler charged, the man with the bec de corbin had no choice but to follow.

‘We kill them first.’

The Black Sword members gathered here were top-tier within this regional branch.

Aside from the branch leader, they were known as the “Ten Blades.”

The ten of them, gathered together, never felt like they could lose—not to anyone in this region.

At least not unless it was the Red Cloak Order.

But there was no chance the Red Cloaks would show up now. With that certainty, the man with the bec de corbin thought victory was in the bag.

Yes. That’s what he thought. That’s what he had believed.

Right up until the moment the brawler and the axe-wielding man exchanged the first blows.