Chapter 274

“I don’t think it’s going to be a problem,” Finn replied. The situation had gone sideways, sure—but would it really be an issue? It didn’t seem like it.

After all, look who came along.

It was ‘Encrid’ and ‘Jaxson’.

With Encrid’s brute-force swordplay, he could probably mow down half the bandits here by himself.

And what kind of loyalty would a bandit mob even have? Half of them would probably run the moment things got intense.

Was it dangerous?

Probably not. Finn had a clear read on how the mob of bandits would behave. Predictable.

Even in the worst-case scenario, if every single one of them came at him—it was still Encrid.

There was no way he’d just sit back and take it.

“There’s the scent of a spell,” said Sinar, the elf.

Her senses were sharp and precise.

Finn frowned.

A mage. Now ‘that’ was troublesome.

You never knew what kind of unpredictable variable a mage would be.

That said—

‘It’s not like he’s going to lose.’

And it wasn’t like Encrid was alone.

Finn had lived among the Madman Company. She knew Jaxson was anything but ordinary.

So she spoke again.

“Anyway, it seems like they’re not drawing as much attention to us now.”

It meant: let them handle their end, and let’s do what we need to do here.

Her eyes scanned the village center. The place where Encrid had stirred up a ruckus. The square illuminated by torchlight even in the dark of night.

She saw people—more precisely, ‘bandits’—gathering.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s handle what we need to check first.”

Finn thought: no matter how dangerous, this was Encrid. He could take care of himself.

Sinar nodded.

There was one concern, but she clearly understood their priorities.

The village square—where the bandits had dug out a den.

The first thing they needed to do was find out what was happening there.

It was worth doing. They’d been chasing that trail all along.

—

He’d only joined this village a month ago. His name was Bond.

He’d worked as a mercenary for a while, then greed got the better of him and he stabbed a companion in the back.

It wasn’t uncommon.

He just wanted the reward all for himself.

His mistake? The guy he stabbed didn’t die quietly.

Turned out his “brother” was part of some noble’s guard.

Soon enough, Bond was being hunted by the guards and barely escaped with his life.

‘My luck is absolute shit.’

His mother was a prostitute.

“Just go die already!”

His life had been a mess ever since he ran away from his mother’s abuse and wandered the back alleys of the territory.

He became known for stabbing people in the back and switched to being a mercenary, but the habit didn’t die.

He betrayed his comrade again, and the situation cornered him. Where could a guy like him even go?

By sheer luck, he ended up under the Black Blade’s wing—and was just starting to settle in.

And of everything he’d learned this past month, two things stood out the most:

First, ‘don’t mess with the village’s ruler unless you want to be burned alive without a chance to react’.

Second, ‘don’t even think about getting on the bad side of the mumbling guard or the woman with the claws’.

He saw someone get their tongue cut out for mouthing off. Ever since then, he didn’t even glance at that woman’s thighs.

He tried not to make eye contact.

But of course, he knew her face. How else would he avoid her?

To Bond, the two of them were the very symbols of this village’s force.

And now, those two symbols had become ‘actual’ symbols—frozen like statues, incapable of moving.

Though not in any way you’d call “intact.”

‘Grrrk.’

What Bond saw was something blur and flash around.

Some were like him, dumbly holding rusty short swords, hammers, slingshots, weighted clubs, or spiked sticks.

Others, more alert, were tossing daggers, darts, or aiming crossbows—more than ten archers, at least.

Yet no one really had time to react.

‘Guh, guh.’

Moans—maybe screams—came from the two “symbols” everyone had looked up to.

The mumbling guard wielded a short spear, about forearm-length.

Bond had heard he was once a skilled mercenary. But in an instant, Encrid’s blade met his, and then—

His head was sliced off.

That’s it. It was real. One moment they clashed, the next—’slice’.

Bond couldn’t even comprehend it.

All he saw was the black-haired guy’s sword touching the other’s neck right after their blades clashed.

‘Wait, isn’t there supposed to be a “ching” sound when blades meet?’

Apparently not. Encrid’s [Formed Sword Technique] dismantled him.

A soft touch, yet razor-sharp. That’s how his sword had landed.

Then the clawed woman struck from behind—but something swept up from below, and she was split in half.

The second symbol, turned into two bodies.

And that was the end of it.

What the hell did he just witness?

He’d heard of swordmasters who fought like spirits, but this… this was like sorcery.

Bond froze.

Could he fight this guy? No—he’d be dead in seconds.

His instincts screamed: Run. Run now.

“Huh?”

A crossbowman dumbly muttered.

“Move.”

From between the bandits, the true ruler of this village stepped forward.

Bond reflexively stepped back—then froze.

He saw her.

Her name was ‘Kaisella’. Wavy brown hair, gently upturned eyes, full lips, and voluptuous curves.

One hand rested on her slim waist—slim only thanks to her large chest and hips—her brows furrowed.

She looked at the two corpses.

The moment Bond laid eyes on her, the monster who had split those symbols casually flicked his hand.

A knife flew—too fast for Bond to track.

He didn’t see the motions, just the outcome.

The thrown blade hit something with a ‘tung’—a transparent barrier.

Kaisella’s brow furrowed deeper.

Every time something like this happened, villagers would vanish—or entire groups of travelers would disappear.

If not that, then someone would die.

“Not the slightest hesitation,” she murmured.

Her voice rang with an eerie clarity.

Next to her, a pair of panther eyes glowed—but Bond didn’t see it.

He still had no idea what was going on—but he knew something was about to explode.

He wasn’t even thinking of running anymore.

It felt like someone had grabbed his legs—he couldn’t move.

Kaisella raised a finger and pointed at Encrid.

He didn’t move. At least not to Bond’s eyes.

He just stood there, sword in hand, staring at her finger.

“Smite him.”

Her voice echoed.

‘CRACKKKKBOOOM!’

There was no warning. No sign.

A sky-shattering roar—and a blue bolt of lightning came down.

Right above the man’s head.

A flash engulfed Bond’s vision.

Then came the force, throwing him back like a ragdoll.

There wasn’t even time to register the shockwave.

No floating sensation. Just blackout.

When Bond regained awareness, all he could see was dirt.

“Ughhhhhhh…”

He heard groans. Not his own—but he soon realized he was making similar noises.

He twisted his body halfway. A pitiful attempt to get up.

He saw others—half-charred bodies.

Some companions were charred black.

‘What… what was that?’

He couldn’t even register the pain. The impact had wiped that away.

He began crawling. Somehow, his condition was better than the rest.

He wasn’t completely burnt. As his awareness returned, pain surged up from his right arm.

‘Grrk.’

He gritted his teeth.

He looked down.

From his right arm to his thigh, his skin was blackened—burnt and seared.

The burning pain made it hard to think.

‘Lightning. That was lightning.’

He’d seen it once as a kid—lightning striking nearby.

White fire. A brutal flash of invisible power.

That memory surfaced.

His mind was still hazy. Thankfully so—if he were fully conscious, he would’ve screamed.

Just being nearby had scorched his hair and made it feel like someone shoved fire down his throat.

He blinked a few times. His eyes were still fine.

As his senses returned, the pain sharpened.

‘Guh.’

He screamed internally, drenched in cold sweat and barely able to stay upright.

It felt like rats were gnawing at him.

He thought he was standing—but he wasn’t. He had retreated, crawling backward on his butt.

His back hit a wall.

The cold touch eased the pain slightly. Only then could he look forward.

The black-haired man was over fifteen steps away.

And still—it was like this.

What about the guy who actually got hit?

He had to be dead. Burnt to ash while still standing.

Others closer to the impact? All dead, charred.

Then Bond saw someone unscathed.

‘How…?’

And next to him—a new figure.

A woman with long black hair, wearing a gray robe.

She raised one hand toward the air and spoke.

“A lightning spell? Not bad.”

The way she spoke—it felt like an adult humoring a child’s antics.

Dismissive. Mocking. Unapologetically judgmental.

Even while wheezing from the lightning’s aftermath, Bond felt it.

There was no way the caster hadn’t noticed.

“One madman and one mad bitch,” Kaisella muttered again, moving her finger.

Words—unintelligible—spilled from her lips.

A new spell was beginning.

Yet Bond, for a moment, forgot the pain and couldn’t look away from the black-haired woman.

She was stunning. Radiant.

Her black hair flowed like silk. Her lips were red, her eyes blue.

She was divine.

If Kaisella’s body sparked lust, this one stirred awe.

Bond found himself thinking that and immediately felt like an idiot.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one.

—

The moment Encrid realized there was a mage, he put strength into his thighs.

If throwing knives didn’t work, he’d just cut her down directly.

But then—something fell from above with inhuman speed.

Before he could process it, a blinding light triggered his body’s defense.

He broke time apart and readied himself.

He raised his arms to shield his head.

Simultaneously—

“I will.”

A whisper—more like a chant—came from beside him.

Or rather, it was spoken before the light hit—but Encrid processed the light first and the voice afterward.

Esther had transformed into her human form—cloaked in a gray robe.

She held her palm out in front of her.

That was it.

To Encrid’s sixth sense—beyond the five—two spells clashed.

A translucent barrier, like the one that had blocked his dagger earlier, spread above his head just before the lightning landed.

‘CRACKKBOOM!’

Lightning crashed.

The shockwave sent nearby bandits flying.

Encrid saw the invisible barrier block the light.

A faint blue shimmer ran through it.

As the lightning struck, it scattered. The refracted light flew outward, burning and piercing nearby enemies.

Esther had half-blocked and half-deflected it with her spell.

“Mirror of Vanna?”

The opponent muttered—eyes slightly widened.

Esther didn’t even shrug.

Whatever she said meant nothing to her.

Proud and aloof.

And yet it didn’t come off negatively—it was natural, as if that was how it should be.

Encrid, for a moment, registered the mystical aura in Esther’s appearance—but it didn’t shake him.

If he were the type to be swayed by looks, he’d never have stayed true to his path.

The enemy began chanting again, and Esther murmured in a tongue he couldn’t understand.

‘Zzzzz…’

A sound like crickets chirping echoed, and blue light gathered in Kaisella’s hand.

It sparked into lightning again—but not a vertical bolt.

It zigzagged forward from her fingertip.

Esther raised her hand again. The lightning struck—and bounced back off an invisible wall.

‘Flash!’ The light left afterimages on their eyes.

“Vanish!”

Kaisella screamed. For some reason, blood ran from her lips.

“Tsk, tsk. Child… why reverse your own spell? You can’t even handle the backlash of that mana.”

Esther’s words made Kaisella’s face tighten.

She was flustered. And understandably so.

If her enemy were just a swordsman, she could’ve handled it. She had things prepared in this village.

A prepared mage could kill a hundred and stop a thousand.

But against someone in a higher magical hierarchy—there was nothing to be done.

That was a universal truth.

Kaisella glared at the newcomer—the woman who was once a panther.

“Who are you?”

Esther didn’t answer.

She simply looked down on her. And rightly so.

There was at least a three-rank difference between her magical domain and that of the curly-haired woman.

“Impossible…”

Kaisella muttered.

How could a mage like that appear in this remote village?

What was there to gain?

Mages are prideful. Selfish and narrow-minded.

Kaisella began chanting again—incomprehensible words shaping her magical realm.

Esther watched silently, then stepped forward.

She, too, began chanting as she moved.

Every step drew the gaze of everyone present.

No one dared shoot or charge.

Over five crossbowmen remained functional after the lightning—but not one flinched.

Even Encrid had become a spectator.

‘She’s got some skill.’

That was his only thought.

He’d known Esther was a mage—but not at what level.

Now, it was clear she far surpassed this voluptuous woman, Kaisella.

And that was enough.

He’d never asked anything of Esther.

In truth, he never expected anything from anyone around him.

He simply walked his path—and people followed of their own accord.

“How dare you!”

Kaisella shouted.

Encrid didn’t understand what was going on between them.

There was no spell, no magic, no spectacle.

Just air trembling between them. Something had happened—he just couldn’t see it.

Soon, Esther stood right in front of Kaisella.

Kaisella was taller. Her voluptuous body made Esther seem slender by comparison.

But Encrid had already seen beneath Esther’s robe.

The parting of the fabric had revealed everything.

His senses were sharp enough to reconstruct the whole from a glimpse.

Esther, though veiled, didn’t lose out to the sensual opponent in figure.

“Was that all you had to show?”

Esther asked, standing before Kaisella.

It was a direct jab at her body—a scornful tone and gaze that made no attempt to hide it.

(T/N: Mommy Esther <3)