Chapter 271

Finn slightly lifted her head and looked in the direction Jaxson had moved.

‘Is he heading straight to the village chief’s house?’

From her perspective, this village had far too many suspicious elements.

Among the passersby, she had even seen a woman whose stride stood out.

That woman, even to Finn’s eyes, was not ordinary.

‘Typical damn bandits.’

Having worked on various things with Sinar, she knew just how deeply the Black Blade Bandits had infiltrated the kingdom.

It was likely that a central noble or a lord with a large estate was involved.

The biggest problem among them was undoubtedly…

She was walking while lost in thought, taking advantage of the darkness. Her habits as a ranger naturally made her avoid being seen.

Her steps were conscious of avoiding eyes, alert to whether someone might be tailing her.

That’s how she approached the mill on the hill. Just as she was about to arrive, something struck her in the head.

Finn reacted. She twisted away from the point of impact and minimized the shock.

Reacting just before getting hit was half luck.

And if half was luck, the other half was skill.

Ever since meeting Encrid, she had been relentlessly honing her Aile Carraz Style martial arts alongside Audin and Sinar.

Among those, she had especially focused on defense.

Not out of intent, but necessity.

“If you get hit, you’re meeting God, sister.”

A single punch from Audin could send you straight to heaven’s gate if taken wrong.

“Too many openings.”

Sinar would, without warning, jab her in the back of the head or neck from beyond her awareness.

Because of all that, Finn had grown more sensitive, her senses sharper, and her reaction speed quicker.

Thud!

The hit connected, but Finn neither fainted nor collapsed.

She had tucked her chin and tensed her trapezius, taking the blow near her ear instead of the back of her head.

Her head rang from it.

But her opponent didn’t wait.

Another strike followed immediately—this time trying to trip her.

A skilled fighter. The first ambush targeted high, the next low. A difficult tactic to counter.

Still, Finn wasn’t caught. She bent her knees and braced.

It was an Aile Carraz-style bracing technique.

As the opponent’s foot came to sweep her shin, she turned her body slightly and deflected the attack again.

‘You bastard.’

Her head was still ringing, but knowing she’d lose at this rate, she immediately drew the short sword hanging from her sword belt.

Clang!

Without looking, she slashed sideways with all her might the moment it was out.

The blade met nothing. She felt the attacker retreat from its path.

Her vision swam, and she instinctively frowned.

“Don’t move. Move and you die.”

The voice came from behind her, to the left. A metallic click followed—the sound of a crossbow being drawn.

‘Goddamn it.’

She was caught. The ambush was precise. More than anything, it felt like they had been waiting. A prepared enemy. Dangerous.

“You think we’re blind idiots or something? Bitch, maybe I’ll hack off your limbs and sell you to a brothel that won’t even pay a few coins for your sorry ass.”

The thug who struck her spoke, holding a short club. His mouth was as foul as it was crude.

Finn didn’t answer. She focused.

Sweat dripped from her temple. She didn’t even feel the winter cold.

Her head still spun. But it was better than a moment ago.

What mattered now was surviving this. To do that, she needed to understand the situation first.

“Don’t shoot.”

Finn raised her hands slightly as she spoke. The short sword she had dropped pierced the dirt at an angle.

“You crazy bitch. Do you even know where you are?”

The thug with the club twisted his lips. A sneer.

‘This isn’t good.’

By pretending to surrender, Finn got a rough grasp of the situation.

It broke down into three main things.

First, the villagers weren’t stupid or fools.

Which meant, second, they had acted like fools themselves.

And third, things don’t always go as planned.

The original plan was to observe the village for two days and then sweep in with a waiting unit.

‘Find evidence.’

Then use that to get permission from the local lord who ruled this region.

Since the Border Guards were a territory, there weren’t supposed to be any other claimants outside their domain.

Technically, this was another noble’s land.

In truth, this involved a lot of politics.

Markus planned to turn the Border Guards into a proper territory ruled by a lord and believed this was a necessary step to exert influence.

It was true he was angry after seeing the drug dealers and the Black Blade Bandits’ assassins—but behind that was calculation.

Even if he didn’t want to be, Markus was a politician whose mind naturally worked that way.

He intended to liberate the village, rebuild it with innocent people at the center, and turn it into a protectorate of the Border Guards.

A transformation from a bandit-run drug village to one protected by the Border Guards.

Officially, the noble who held claim to this land would throw a fit, but there were countless ways to deal with that.

The best was proof that the lord was connected to the bandits, though even without it, it wouldn’t matter much.

Markus knew how to wield influence and knew how to swallow a village even if it meant trampling one noble.

The start was key. Once he got one, the next would be easier.

Give up one village and it wouldn’t end there.

But who would’ve guessed they’d prepare this well in advance? The local noble was supposed to be a pig with shit in his head.

This entire background had a lot of prep and interwoven moves.

Yet it was all tangled from the start.

Of course, Finn couldn’t possibly know all that.

She simply reminded herself of her mission, a soldier through and through.

Finn thought:

Finding evidence was like water spilled on dry dirt now.

‘We got caught good.’

They had fallen into an ambush.

Sweat trickled down as Finn prepared for what came next.

Just because she got caught didn’t mean she could just give up.

Fight back. Fight back again.

She had also learned from Encrid.

Because he didn’t know how to give up, he pushed forward. And because he pushed forward, he changed.

Finn had watched such an Encrid up close.

She kicked the sword embedded in the ground.

It popped loose and shot forward.

At the same time, Finn drew two daggers, each just over a handspan, from her forearms.

It was time to fight. Even if there was no chance of winning, if it was the moment to fight, she would.

—

Jaxson had left through the window.

Encrid looked outside blankly.

‘How did he fit through that hole?’

The window was small. Yet Jaxson had slipped out like he was greased, and the way he did it was fascinating.

He hadn’t squeezed through clumsily. He gauged the window and his body, then leapt and slipped through in one fluid motion.

It was as if he had stood upright midair, as if someone pulled him from outside—he vanished like he flew.

Jaxson had an astonishing sense of spatial awareness.

‘He sees, judges, and maps his body perfectly.’

It was a feat possible only because he understood his body and its movement flawlessly.

Could Encrid do the same?

He wasn’t confident.

That was as far as his curiosity went. Encrid looked past the window Jaxson had disappeared through.

Moonlight spilled and scattered like dust beyond the frame. It was a bright night.

After watching the outside for a bit, he looked back inside.

It was winter, so the air should’ve been chilly, but a brazier with heated stones and glowing coals sat nearby, with arm-thick logs beneath.

Encrid dragged the brazier in front of the bed and stared at it.

He added another log. The red coals kissed it, and soon the bark began to blacken with hissing crackles as flames flicked up.

He watched as the log caught fire. His gaze was vacant.

He simply sat, staring into the flames, half-hunched and completely relaxed.

Sparks leapt up. The crackling of burning wood and the warmth from the brazier pushed back the cold air.

Warm air formed from the meeting of heat and chill.

Everything wrapped around him. Encrid’s body dropped onto the bed like someone had gently laid him down.

The soft straw bed supported him.

His belly was full, his back was warm.

And with the cozy air surrounding him, it felt like being held in a mother’s arms.

Though he was an orphan and had never known a mother’s embrace, this warmth felt close enough.

He curled up like a child. The warm water bath in the wooden tub, bought for six coins, had relaxed his entire body.

Encrid dreamed briefly.

In the dream, he was a child whining to his mother.

Then he left home on a long journey—and within ten days, nearly lost his life.

Barely surviving, he felt a pang of regret.

‘Why did I even leave home?’

Leaving had only brought hardship. Trouble at every turn.

Even a small mistake could cost his life.

It was like crossing a cliff on a single thin rope.

‘Would you still cross it?’

Someone asked.

He could’ve just gone home. But Encrid didn’t.

Even while enjoying peaceful, pastoral plains—he didn’t turn back.

Even though the things he loved were behind him, he didn’t.

Even though he missed his mother’s arms and father’s big hands, he didn’t.

‘I’ll cross it.’

‘Why?’

‘Do I need a reason?’

‘There’s a reason for everything, even if you don’t realize it. Why are you walking this path?’

He thought it was a question without an answer, but in the dream, Encrid answered smoothly.

‘Because it’s fun.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Do you prefer smiling or frowning? Pain or joy?’

‘What?’

He couldn’t see the face of the one asking. The last reply was spoken aloud.

“I’m walking the path I believe is fun and right.”

He had no doubt about that. Encrid didn’t even call it a conviction.

He opened his eyes.

A very short dream. The flames hadn’t even gone out yet.

They hadn’t turned fully black. It had been a very brief rest.

And yet—

His body felt light. His steps springy, his hands full of strength.

Usually, waking up didn’t instantly restore your strength—but this time, it had.

It felt like someone had filled every muscle with energy.

Then someone knocked.

Knock knock.

A voice followed. The tavern servant.

“You there?”

They asked again. Encrid quickly dressed. He wrapped his inner armor like a bandage and threw on a light leather piece.

He strapped on his sword belt.

His speed at gearing up was beyond remarkable.

No wonder.

If your sword skills were lacking, you’d be stuck doing chores. Encrid had served other mercenaries plenty.

Even while doing that, he had to suit up carefully to survive.

His speed was astounding.

As he finished gearing up—

“Sheesh, you’re in there and won’t answer.”

The servant’s tone was half amused.

“Hey, dumbass.”

Then the door clicked open. The lock meant nothing.

The light from the brazier inside clashed with the light from outside.

They didn’t fight but worked together, illuminating everything.

The inn corridor was narrow. Beyond it, Encrid saw the tavern servant, the owner, and a bearded man whose facial hair looked like a bush.

All their eyes gleamed. Their presence was overbearing.

“Three?”

Encrid skipped pleasantries and asked. He lowered his head and lifted only his eyes. While speaking, he adjusted his sword belt, pulling it slightly forward for easier access.

The servant sneered at him.

What a fool, fumbling with his gear now.

“What? Three? This crazy bastard lost it.”

The servant scoffed. Encrid kept adjusting his gear. Minor details mattered.

The angle of the dwarf’s gladius on his right hip didn’t feel right.

He grabbed and pulled it tighter.

“You’re a swordsman, right? Then what’s with the shitty acting?”

Suddenly, Krys came to mind.

His nagging about never acting passed through Encrid’s thoughts.

For a second, Encrid felt bitter that the world didn’t appreciate his acting skills.

Surely, some playwright in a noble estate would recognize his talent.

“No need for long talk, right?”

The servant sneered.

Normally, he’d exploit openings and distractions—but to him, Encrid was sloppy.

The elf beside him might be a little trickier, but—

‘They don’t know where they are.’

The servant was confident. He was sure he could take down these intruders.

“Hey, kill him already.”

Said the bearded man who had been silently watching.

This wasn’t a salon for chit-chat.

Encrid gave one last tug on his sword belt.

Now the tutor sword rested perfectly over his pelvis.

His gear finally felt right. He lifted his head and stood up straight.

In that moment, the tavern servant snapped his fingers. His lips curled smugly, and the eyes that once feigned innocence gleamed with killing intent.

Encrid saw it all. In slowed time, he read the expressions and stares.

They were only a few steps apart.

The man threw a dagger. Encrid tilted his head.

At the same time, he gripped his sword hilt. But didn’t draw it yet.

Thwack—the dagger grazed his hair and sank into the back wall.

“…So you’ve got some skill, huh!”

The servant snarled, raising both hands. Each held a dagger.

Encrid instinctively judged the man’s body, actions, and dagger-throwing form.

That flowed into a subtle preparation.

He slid his left foot forward. His leather boot scraped the floor slightly. No one noticed the small motion.

Now it was perfect. Preparations complete.

The servant twirled his blades again, confident in his throwing arm. The tavern owner behind him drew a short sword.

Each piece of metal let out a sound, as if asserting its presence.