Chapter 276
“Hey, me? The name’s Laban.”
The middle-aged man spoke. Encrid didn’t bother to collect his thoughts.
Since when had he moved by thinking things through?
He’d reached this point by chasing his dreams wherever his heart led him.
Encrid swung his sword.
The blade rose from below, catching and reflecting the torchlight.
A dull ‘whoosh’ rang out.
Yes—dull. Not sharp.
Though once called Tutor, the blade of this once razor-edged masterpiece cut into the man’s arm.
Because it was slow, heavy, and unhurried, Laban could feel and witness the process of his arm being severed.
He could see it, but he couldn’t avoid it. All he could do was watch, and instead of the sense of loss from losing one of his limbs, the first thing he felt was a searing, boiling pain.
“Aaagh!”
A terrible scream echoed through the wide cavern.
The part of his body attached below the shoulder fell to the ground.
The arm, declaring independence from the human body, flopped and twitched. Blood sprayed as if to assert its own point.
The man who had lost it screamed in opposition.
“Argh! Argh!”
His movements sprayed red blood in every direction.
Most of it splattered across the armor and face of the man standing before him, but Encrid didn’t dodge—he simply watched indifferently.
The blood trailing down his cheek dripped to the ground.
Encrid, silently watching Laban thrash from the pain of losing an arm, casually spoke.
“Can you stop the bleeding, Esther?”
“Not hard.”
Her method was rather brutal.
Esther reached out, flames flaring from her hand to cauterize the wound.
“GYAAAAH! S–Stop! P–Please stop!”
Encrid wondered briefly how many times this deranged old bastard had heard such desperate screams himself, then dropped the thought.
“Why, why?! I–I just did what I was told! Sold for a handful of gold coins!”
He’d already lost quite a bit of blood before the burning, and now, cauterized under the guise of stopping the bleeding, his voice was hoarse. Encrid lifted his sword.
“The leg.”
With an emotionless remark, he severed it.
‘Thud’—the cut leg bounced aside. That leg, too, now independent from the body, asserted itself without restraint.
Under the glow of countless torches, crimson blood once again drenched the surroundings. Esther’s flames seared the stump, and another weakened, pitiful scream rang out.
“GYAAAAH!”
With both arm and leg gone and cauterized, Laban wept blood. His teeth broke, mixing blood with saliva as he screamed in horror.
“Looks like it hurts.”
“Burning with fire always does that.”
Encrid spoke, and Jaxson replied.
It wasn’t branding with an iron—this was amputation and burning of the stumps.
Jaxson wasn’t exactly a master torturer, but he knew enough. He understood human anatomy and where pain was most intense.
He was well aware of exquisite methods—like pulling out nails and sticking needles beneath them.
For someone like him, it was remarkable the alchemist was still alive.
Their conversation was detached.
It was like talking about a worthless stone lying in the road.
And then, unable to bear the pain, the man—whether Laban or Ladol—rolled his eyes back.
Looked like he might die soon.
Encrid stepped forward and poked his forehead with the tip of his sword.
No matter how much you hurt, the body reacts sharply to new pain.
Especially when the sword, after poking, slowly carved downward to maximize it.
“S–stop.”
Laban rasped. Encrid asked:
“Is there a way to return the people trapped inside back to normal?”
Jaxson thought it was a hell of a question for such a moment.
If your mouth doesn’t open then, you’re not human.
Even trained assassins would rather kill themselves before ending up like this.
Laban blinked repeatedly, trembling, but his eyes turned.
Still thinking in that state—typical of a man whose only worth was in his head.
Then came his answer.
“I–It’ssss possib–ble.”
The pronunciation slurred heavily, but it was easy enough to understand.
Upon hearing it, Encrid—
Split the alchemist’s head in half.
His sword came down vertically without hesitation.
With a ‘thwack’, the skull split and the brain—valuable if alive—spilled out.
“Why?”
Why ask then kill? Jaxson reflexively questioned.
“What kind of hobby is asking when you already know?”
Hearing Encrid’s answer, Jaxson nodded. He knew too.
The man called Laban had just blurted something out. There was no way to reverse someone that broken. No such method existed.
Even the continent’s greatest priest couldn’t do it. Saints could reattach a freshly severed arm, but they couldn’t repair a ruined head.
That wasn’t within the realm of the divine.
A drugged woman biting her own arm, a boy already dead—what could be done for them?
And what about something neither ghoul nor human?
If someone could reverse that, they might as well be called a god.
“Would’ve been worth taking him alive.”
Sinar asked. The answer matched the logic of her question.
“Didn’t like the look of him.”
“Fair enough.”
Seeing her agree, Esther gave a solemn nod.
“He was foul.”
Those who walk the path of magic and mystery still keep their eyes on the real world.
They don’t forget their body and flesh, their humanity.
A true mage does not.
Whether elf, dwarf, or dragonkin, the existence of a tangible body means a mage must not forget it.
But that alchemist had strayed far from the path.
His deeds, scattered everywhere, and his research notes reeked of rot.
So yes—foul. Both in that sense and in appearance.
Esther felt Encrid looked as though he’d lost nothing—not even to anger.
Then where was the drive for his sword coming from?
She wondered, but didn’t ask.
She’d find out by observing, not by asking. That way, she’d learn more.
In truth, there was no complicated reason.
Encrid cut him down like throwing away filth—washing dirt off his hands.
Punish the hand holding the sword instead of the sword itself?
What nonsense.
It wasn’t the sword—it was a person’s doing.
A person capable of controlling their own life.
They had the means and the will.
They simply chose to do as they pleased.
The one who ordered it was at fault, but so was the one who carried it out.
By Encrid’s standard, such a person wasn’t worth letting live.
If his opponent had been a king?
It wouldn’t have mattered.
Even if it meant a lifetime as a fugitive, treated like a bounty hunter’s gold pouch, Encrid would still have done it.
That was his way of dreaming and walking his path.
If Finn knew his thoughts, she would have shaken her head.
It was outright madness.
She might have even shouted, “Do you think he’s the only one like that on this continent?!”
That’s why—Encrid wanted to cut down every one of them he saw. That was why he held a sword.
A true knight wasn’t only one who fought well.
Of course, Finn couldn’t read his mind.
“Well, he’s good and dead now. There was some stupid alchemist here, and he’s gone. What’s done is done.”
She spoke the reasonable truth—it meant there was no need to shoulder any responsibility.
Encrid didn’t dwell on it, and Jaxson silently respected his commander’s choice.
He’d gotten everything he wanted anyway.
And truth be told—
‘I might have killed him myself.’
He hadn’t wanted to keep the man alive. That wasn’t calculation—it was feeling. Emotion.
For the first time in a long while, an emotional response.
‘Not the place to use it.’
He wouldn’t waste worn and weathered emotions here.
His emotions were a prepared blade, meant for certain people only.
“Captain’s troops have entered outside. Let’s bring them in to clean up. And it’d be best to keep some of the survivors locked up for now.”
Those drugged up would obviously cause trouble if freed.
“Do it.”
Sinar said, looking over a few sheets of paper in her hand. As she read the common tongue scrawled on them, she spoke.
“There are more villages like this. Seems like we’ll be out for quite a while. Thoughts?”
Though much was packed into the question, Encrid understood.
Jaxson would follow his lead, Finn would follow Sinar’s orders.
“One of the villages was raising monsters.”
From Sinar’s words, Encrid could tell—
‘It’s not that we’ve found nothing.’
The enemy was simply too numerous to dig into thoroughly.
His mind quickly grasped the situation.
‘If we don’t hit them with a small elite force, their experiments and research materials will be destroyed.’
‘Then we’d gain nothing after the fight.’
‘And we’d give the ones who need killing a chance to escape.’
This was an opponent to engage with a platoon at least.
Even this village had a lightning-wielding witch.
They’d have to prepare for that.
The Black Blade Bandits were no small threat.
Encrid had been mistaken about one thing, though.
They had many kinds of dens prepared—
Some sold slaves.
Some tamed monsters with drugs.
This one was the most important, hence the valuable mage.
Even for the Black Blade Bandits, mages weren’t common.
His thoughts concluded—there was nothing to debate.
“Let’s go.”
If there were more like this, they had to be cleared out.
An elite force, with specialists in stealth, was gathering.
They had a mage too.
Even if Esther didn’t step in again, she’d at least warn them if trouble arose.
A good opportunity in many ways.
Above all, if they didn’t strike now, the enemy would hide again.
“Aren’t you curious who leads the Black Blade Bandits?”
Sinar asked without pressing.
“Do you know?”
“I’ve found out it’s one of the kingdom’s nobles.”
Jaxson heard that too.
There was intent behind it—
The information they’d leaked to part of the kingdom was only now bearing fruit.
He himself wanted to see the bandit leader—enough to place them above even a wife separated by war.
Leaving the village cleanup to the arriving troops, they moved out.
“Horrible.”
The lieutenant who’d come in shook his head at the cavern’s scene.
A few inexperienced soldiers couldn’t hold back their nausea and vomited. The stench filled the air.
This was one of the reasons Encrid held his sword—to ensure such things were never left alive.
The group moved on, climbing the mountains.
A rough path could be the shortest way.
Finn was an excellent guide in such terrain.
—
One of the Black Blade Bandits’ villages was run by four chiefs who acted as one.
They’d grown up together, and everyone called them the Volun Brothers.
Bald, rough-faced—typical bandit types. Skilled enough to raid far and wide.
The Black Blade Bandits had always done a bit of banditry on the side.
A black-haired man stood before the four now.
It was broad daylight.
“How’d you get in here?”
The eldest asked, rubbing his shaved head.
It was cloudy, but not snowing.
The second narrowed his eyes.
The village seemed oddly quiet. There were dozens of members here—so why so silent as this man arrived?
The man adjusted his sword belt in silence, resting his hand on the hilt, and asked:
“If you’ve got any complaints, say them now. I’m busy.”
Busy? The third rolled his big eyes.
The youngest was quick on the uptake. Sensing danger, he quietly moved back and grabbed the end of a hidden net.
Weighted at the corners, it was his prized weapon.
They’d used it to great effect in fights.
The third was a master of throwing darts—poison-tipped. He stroked the dart’s point, ready.
The first and second were hand-to-hand specialists.
No words were exchanged.
A staring contest began between Encrid and the four.
Tension filled the space.
The bald brothers found their hall—usually like a palace—felt suddenly small.
‘What’s with this guy?’
A short thought, then—the youngest threw his net.
Standing still, Encrid saw the falling net and the two bald men as points.
He drew an imaginary line connecting them in his mind, moved his feet, and swung his sword along that line.
The blade struck the net’s weight, tangling it in the air, then left a long mark across the throats of the youngest and the third.
Being sword marks, blood poured freely.
Seeing it gush, the second’s eyes went wild.
“You bastard!”
The fight wasn’t fierce.
It ended in an instant. Deflecting the thick blade of an oncoming foe with [Tutor Blade], he redirected and struck the forehead.
The sword tip pierced the brow.
“You!”
The eldest’s axe came flying—a thick, heavy weapon, wielded by a man of great strength.
The eldest gave it everything.
Encrid left a hole in the second’s forehead, pivoted on his left foot, and met it head-on.
‘Bang!’
A thunderous crash.
Then—
“…What are you?”
Unable to withstand the force, the eldest’s arms snapped. His tone was drained.
Encrid inhaled slowly, released [Heart of Monstrous Strength], and answered:
“What’s it to you?”
Soon to be dead.
Encrid’s sword showed neither mercy nor hesitation.
That was the end of it.
There was no mage here, and Jaxson—wearing some artifact he’d found somewhere—was in a frenzy.
The five bandits guarding the center of the village died at his hands before they even realized it, leaving Encrid to enter.
But searching the village turned up nothing hidden.
What was this place? Just a troop gathering point?
While Encrid was still wondering, Finn stepped forward.