Chapter 267

The first thing he saw upon opening his eyes was a stone ceiling covered in mold.

Maelrun recalled the moment before he lost consciousness, and Frok’s resilient mind retained it all with perfect clarity.

That’s how he realized—crudely put—he was royally screwed.

“Give me some water. And while you’re at it, bring me something to eat. I like fruit.”

Maelrun sat halfway up as he spoke.

His arms had regenerated, but manacles bound both his wrists and ankles, secured to pillars by chains.

Even for Frok, breaking out with strength alone was impossible.

Then what was left?

Just waiting. The final desperate drug he took left his head feeling like it was about to split, and his heart throbbed.

‘Can I get out of here?’

Like most Frok, he regretted more the loss of his desires than death itself.

‘Freaking weirdo.’

Naturally, he thought of the guy who knocked him down.

‘He looked so weak.’

Why hadn’t he been? He should’ve been manageable. He was clearly weaker. At least, that’s how it seemed.

‘Why though?’

Frok’s combat instinct could instantly assess the tides of battle.

He fought guided by intuition honed through combat.

So they should’ve at least been even—why had he been thrashed so one-sidedly?

Their instinct was an extension of their talent-recognition sense.

From that angle, Encrid was the most incomprehensible type of person to Frok.

A man with negligible talent who crawled his way upward.

This was the result of never giving up, forged through repeating today over and over.

Encrid was unreadable by Frok’s combat sense.

Especially since Maelrun wasn’t exactly confident in his ability to assess talent in the first place.

Even among Frok, some were better at evaluating talent, others more focused on combat.

Maelrun belonged to the latter. He was good at footwork.

‘He went for the joints with scary precision.’

His regenerated forearm still ached faintly.

He’d lost an arm before. This time too.

No—this time he got stabbed in the eye as well.

‘He knows how to fight.’

Swinging a sword well and knowing how to fight were two different things.

The pampered fools locked in their noble houses only knew how to wield their swords prettily.

Didn’t the continent mock them as practitioners of noble fencing?

The guy who took him down was nothing like that.

He understood Frok’s slippery skin weakness well.

He’d stabbed and slashed at the eyes and joints.

Was he like this before? Had he always been this good?

Honestly, Maelrun didn’t remember. He’d seemed decent back then, but he thought he’d dominate him easily this time.

‘What a letdown.’

No energy. Hungry.

“Here’s water and dried fruit. It’s winter now, so fresh fruit’s hard to come by.”

The guard obediently brought him food. Surprisingly kind?

Maelrun sipped the water and chewed the dried fruit. There was well-baked bread and marmalade too.

“Hey, this is good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The guard replied without a smile. He seemed a bit tense but wasn’t stiff.

‘Trained well.’

As a Frok, Maelrun could see it clearly.

Though his talent sense wasn’t exceptional—

‘Still, that guy is weird.’

That was what all the talent appraisers said about Encrid too.

Two days passed.

Maelrun realized brute-forcing his way out wasn’t going to work and tried to bribe the guard. That didn’t work either.

“If I let you go, I’ll be dead.”

“I doubt they’d execute a guard over one mistake.”

He tried to tempt him, but the guard wore a bitter, almost resentful expression.

Of course, Maelrun didn’t notice that himself. He just found the guard’s next words odd.

“I’d get kicked from guard duty and dumped into eternal training hell. Might as well die.”

What the hell did that mean?

Anyway, the guard wasn’t uptight, but he didn’t seem like the type who could be bribed. Even a gold bar probably wouldn’t make him budge.

“If I get caught, I’d actually die. And it’s not like I’m unhappy with the pay. Not worth dying for more coin when I’ve got rabbit-like kids to raise.”

“You’re married?”

“Not yet.”

“……Then what rabbit-like kids?”

“My future kids, obviously.”

Even the guards in this domain had razor-sharp tongues?

That crossed his mind as another day passed. Maelrun started to wonder if they’d forgotten about him entirely.

Stuck underground, unsure whether it was day or night, he felt a twinge of melancholy.

‘Should’ve stayed out of that mess.’

Two more days passed.

Maelrun grew anxious.

If this went on, he might really rot in here forever.

What if he tore off his limbs to escape?

Sure, he might be able to tear through the shackles, but even Frok couldn’t smash through the iron bars while bleeding out from severed limbs.

‘What the hell is this?’

Panic took over. Every day was agony. A Frok loyal to his desires—when do they die?

When beheaded? When incurably ill? When an arrow pierces their heart?

Sure, if your heart bursts you die—but there are crueller ways.

Frok couldn’t bear being left to wither.

They lived bound to their curiosity and cravings.

“Hey, did you guys forget about me?”

Waking from a nap—maybe day, maybe night—Maelrun asked the guard outside the bars.

As he glanced toward the small table with two chairs, he saw it wasn’t the guard anymore.

There were four people now.

The guy who beat him down, a big-eyed, frail-looking human, another standing half in shadow with only half his face lit by torchlight.

The guard was gone. Finally, someone had come. Even if he died, he needed something to change—so Maelrun was inwardly relieved.

“Where did you get the powder?”

He nearly died after ingesting that crap.

They weren’t even asking about his identity first, so Maelrun answered honestly. He’d waited so long—he didn’t want to waste time and have them leave.

“Picked it up somewhere.”

“Where?”

“A small village.”

The one asking was the Elf. Her face was blank, her tone cold. Clearly not beneath him.

‘This place is full of monsters, huh?’

Why were there so many like this in a borderland domain?

Maelrun went on. He had no intention of hiding anything.

“If you go west from here, you’ll reach it. Two days on foot, maybe a day and a half by horse. It’s a small village with a fence on a plateau. Don’t know the name. The village chief was young and pretty. Name was Kaisella.”

Frok had a thing for pretty people.

“Did the Black Blade Bandits send you?”

“Thieves? Black Blade? No?”

He’d been imprisoned for days—and to a Frok, that was worse than having fingernails or eyeballs ripped out.

If he stayed here forever, he’d die slowly, suppressing all his urges.

Ah, to a Frok, there was no greater torment.

“So it works.”

Encrid muttered. Behind him, Krys chattered.

“Worked better than I expected.”

Seated in his chair, Encrid nodded.

After spending time with Rua, he’d gotten a sense of what the Frok were like. But Krys was something else entirely.

‘That brain of his is fascinating.’

He remembered what Krys had said:

“Frok follow their urges. A wandering Frok like him? Just lock him up. He might talk easier than you’d think.”

Krys hadn’t been fully sure, but just having the thought set him apart.

He said a few days in isolation might eliminate the need for interrogation—so they tried it.

It worked. (T/N: Krys’ brain is something else. I’m glad the author is giving him more screen time than before and it’s very appropriate in the scenario.)

Though—

“Do you know a merchant named Promshell? He plants ears across the continent. I was hired by him. Basically, he runs an intelligence guild.”

They didn’t expect him to say everything. Frok’s expression was unreadable, but the words were clearly true.

Frok didn’t lie in situations like this.

So this had nothing to do with the Black Blade Bandits.

The powder was obtained by chance. A merchant had hired him.

A guy who ran an intelligence guild.

It sounded plausible—memorable even.

‘Promshell, Promshell.’

Encrid repeated the name a few times.

“A noble?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“That all?”

“If there’s any lie in what I said, may the gods of Impulse and Waves punish me.”

“You can make a pact too?”

“Of course.”

To a Frok, a pact was a promise—a vow that must be upheld.

“I was tricked too. By that damn Promshell.”

Maelrun snorted. Encrid figured he’d heard enough.

More than enough, in fact.

He now knew the village where the powder came from.

“All that trouble and they were hiding it inside the village.”

The Elf muttered.

“How many combat-ready?”

She asked. With nothing to hide now, Maelrun answered freely.

“From what I saw, most of the village.”

“All of them?”

“More than fifty at least.”

Frok answered, and Encrid nodded.

“Are you letting me go now?”

Encrid nodded again, stood, and approached the cell.

“We’ll see.”

“What?”

“I’ll let you go… maybe.”

“You bastard, what about your promise!”

No such promise had been made. Encrid was planning to release him, but before they came here, Krys had made a heartfelt request.

“Could you leave him to me?”

Encrid agreed.

“Wait, wait—let’s talk a bit.”

Just as Frok was about to lash out with his long tongue at Encrid, Krys stepped in.

His big eyes and looks might’ve been Frok’s type—but Maelrun had no interest in men.

Still, those big eyes weren’t bad.

Frok tended to equate large eyes with attractiveness.

“So, Maelrun?”

Krys smiled with innocent sincerity. Encrid looked at that smile and knew Maelrun was doomed.

Krys only smiled like that when he was about to fleece someone.

* * *

They left the underground cell and headed to Markus’s office.

They’d bundled the interrogation with the rest to report all at once.

Commander Markus had that much on his plate.

From the way the territory ran, he could’ve used three or four bodies.

Something about a cultist being caught, too?

Apparently, a lot happened while Encrid was away.

The cell was tucked in a corner of the barracks. As soon as they exited, Encrid spoke.

“I’d like an explanation.”

The Elf Commander was involved. She’d hinted enough over time—something about finding a village.

He let it slide back then, but now that Frok wasn’t around, he asked.

“It was a secret mission.”

The Elf turned, her green eyes locking with his.

Then he’d have to hear it from Markus.

Just as he thought that, she added—

“But what meaning do secrets have between us?”

“They have a lot of meaning. Keep it secret.”

Encrid replied hastily.

“No, it’s fine. It’s about the Black Blade Bandits and beasts rooted in the kingdom.”

“Let’s keep it secret.”

Encrid repeated, but the Elf ignored him.

“They kidnapped alchemists to make the drug.”

“You’re ignoring me now?”

“Naturally, it’s not a normal drug. It’s banned by the kingdom, opposed even by the Alchemy Guild—though they might still use the research behind the scenes.”

Encrid gave up.

So it wasn’t just any drug. Frok had gone berserk after taking it.

A normal person might gain immense strength for a moment—but would die once the effect wore off.

The Elf had been on many outside missions to find the source. She recently brought Finn for a similar reason.

Apparently, there was something fitting for her.

Encrid quietly listened, then turned to Jaxson.

He seemed to know something too.

“You?”

“I was looking for something and figured it might be tied to the Black Blade Bandits. While investigating, I found traces of alchemy in the drug that messenger used in Martai.”

His answer lined up with what Encrid expected.

Which meant—

‘He’s hiding something.’

He only said what Encrid wanted to hear. It was just a hunch, but it felt true.

Still, Encrid didn’t press him.

He let it go. It wasn’t something Jaxson would answer if pressed anyway.

If Jaxson ever did backstab him over this, Encrid was willing to take one hit.

Maybe not full trust—but he owed Jaxson that much.

Especially since the [Fluid Sword Technique] he’d recently acquired had been built on Jaxson’s [Sensory Art].

“Alright. Let’s go with that.”

“Doesn’t sound like you believe me.”

Jaxson said flatly.

“I do.”

Encrid replied, thinking of Audin. In other words, he said it with conviction.

“Really?”

Jaxson asked again.

“Yeah.”

By then, they arrived at Markus’s office and entered. The guards saluted.

Two company commanders—one of them an Elf Commander, the other the head of the Independent Platoon.

Markus’s guards stiffened and stepped aside.

Inside, buried under documents and scrolls, Markus looked up and asked—

“How does it feel to be nearly assassinated in your own domain?”

Encrid replied with all sincerity:

“Like shit.”

“Same here.”

They hadn’t said much, but something passed between them.

While facing the assassins, Encrid had taken their belongings.

And ever since interrogating Frok, a thought had circled in his mind.

‘Why are we the only ones getting hit?’

So he had asked Krys—

“If you were the leader of the Black Blade Bandits, where would it hurt most to be hit?”

“Getting your gold pouch snatched hurts the most.”

Wouldn’t someone like you be unaffected?

“Any group hurts when its pockets are empty.”

The answer made sense.

Then maybe there was a way.

Half of this was reporting, the other half was to discuss a related idea with Commander Markus.

“This isn’t a request or retaliation. It’s an order from the person responsible for this domain.”

After a brief report, Markus’s eyes gleamed.

Then came the order from the commander and lord of the domain.

“Crush them.”

Encrid decided to follow that command faithfully.

So—let’s crush the Black Blade Bandits.

Why should they be the only ones who get to strike?

That thought kept ringing in his head.

“I’m granting temporary independent command. Sinar, you too.”

“Understood.”

The Elf Commander replied with a tone far colder than when she spoke to Encrid.

That felt oddly unfamiliar to him.

A sudden thought crossed his mind.

‘Why only me?’

Who knows. Maybe he just had the kind of face that was fun to tease. He’d heard that before back when he was among mercenaries.

Either way, Encrid planned to make sure the Black Blade Bandits got the message—

You’re not the only ones who can strike.