Chapter 349
“Diligent in this weather.”
Kwarururung!
The moment Encrid muttered, lightning struck.
“Did something come?”
Krang asked. Encrid nodded.
The weather had gone insane. A sudden storm had erupted.
It had been raining since they set off, but who could have predicted it would turn this wild?
At this point, it felt like traveling with Ragna. The sky was behaving like a crazy, directionally challenged bastard.
A sunny spring day until yesterday, and now this.
“Seven in front, ten on the left, eight on the right, six behind,” Jaxson said.
Dudududududu!
The rain showed no sign of stopping.
It was pounding hard enough to dig into the ground.
Even with an oiled robe, the wind-curved rain slapped his face. His cheeks were numb.
The wind was fierce too—strong enough that opening his eyes was difficult.
The rain hitting his clothes felt like arrows without fletching.
Attacking in this weather?
That went beyond diligence.
The enemy had either an extreme sense of duty… or someone was forcing them.
“Are your families being held hostage or something? Is that why?”
Encrid raised his voice toward the front.
As he moved, the mud swallowed half his boot. Every step was a nuisance on a day like this.
Ambushing in this weather?
Wouldn’t they catch a cold?
He was genuinely curious.
Calling this a road was generous. It was just a path lined with big, flat stones.
Someone in Krang’s ancestry, nicknamed the Wise King, had laid it—or so the story went.
That’s why it was called the Royal Blessing.
A road stretching from the outskirts to the Royal Palace. Follow it, and you’d reach the palace.
Cities built along this road formed the framework of the Naurilia Royal Palace.
And that raised a question.
How could Ragna get lost even on a road like this?
Just then, the genius who got lost at any moment turned around.
The ones at the rear were approaching slowly.
And the ones blocking the front were the same.
He narrowed his eyes through the rain, securing just enough vision to see.
Three or four men in armor with short swords. A few others with their hands lowered.
The one in front shouted. His voice boomed through the storm.
“Mercenaries? Or standing army? You don’t need to risk your lives. We’re only after one man!”
Nonsense.
Except for that one speaker, their momentum had shifted.
Talking while attacking—wasn’t that a Valen-Style mercenary trick?
The enemy was pulling the same move.
Encrid tried to read their steps through the downpour, but gave up.
He needed lighter rain for that.
With wind this strong, it was impossible to distinguish anything by sound.
“Who?”
Encrid asked, already knowing. As he spoke, he lifted his right hand to his ear and let his left hand hang.
“That’s…”
The man hesitated—dragging out the silence, drawing attention.
Kwarururururu.
The rain above his head shifted shape.
‘Ah.’
Encrid was impressed.
They brought a mage?
A troublesome opponent.
He was impressed. That was it. He neither dodged nor drew his blade.
He didn’t need to.
Because they also had something similar to a mage.
“Hmph.”
Esther stepped forward in human form and waved her hand.
The rain, gathered into a sphere, collapsed and scattered in every direction.
It was a sight to behold.
Bang!
The bursting rain shook everyone’s ears.
For a moment, the downpour halted overhead.
Then a wind three or four times stronger than before erupted outward from the clashing spells.
Encrid dug his feet into the mud. Whoo-oong! The wind nearly threw him back, but he held firm, tightening his core and bending slightly.
Everyone braced on their own.
The assassins crouched quickly.
“Mage!”
One of the enemies shouted.
They were wearing oiled robes too.
But the violent wind had blown many of them off.
The hood of the shouting man was ripped back, revealing a middle-aged man in his late fifties.
He stared to the side, stunned.
He didn’t even think to pull the hood up again.
He was staring at Esther, who stood dignified against the falling rain.
Her upright robe repelled raindrops, and even the wind weakened near her.
It was uncanny.
Esther raised a hand through the refracting droplets.
She shaped her fingers into a loose frame, aimed at the screaming man, and whispered:
“Dmueller’s Arrow.”
The word was swallowed by the storm. The spell, shaped from gathered wind, formed and shot forward.
“It—”
The enemy mage made a sound.
Bang!
His head exploded.
“Die.”
Esther’s voice followed, clear.
Encrid thought she should have said “He’s dead” instead of “Die.”
“……What.”
That wasn’t the assassin leader—it was the whip bodyguard muttering.
Were they surprised?
Encrid was too.
He knew Esther was a mage, but he didn’t know she was *this* overwhelming.
“Why are you so good at fighting?” Rem asked her flatly.
“I’m always good at fighting,” Esther replied without hesitation.
“Nice.”
Rem nodded.
“Kill them all!”
The assassin leader snapped back to reality. Only then did the others charge.
They didn’t panic after the failed spell. They were professionals.
What did professionalism mean?
Doing what must be done at the moment it must be done.
They fired poisoned daggers and crossbows while maintaining formation. No reckless rush.
“Ah—.”
Encrid had escaped military encirclements, traps, shamans, and mage attacks before.
Compared to that, this wasn’t even an encirclement.
And now he had Rem, Jaxson, Ragna, Dunbakel, and Esther with him.
And the enemy mage’s head had already burst.
‘We could break through with force.’
Encrid swung. Five bolts aimed at Krang were deflected by the silver longsword.
The whip bodyguard raised a shield and blocked a flank.
Daggers struck the shield with sharp pabak sounds. The long shield did its job.
Rem rushed into the assassins like a furious beast.
The assassins scattered.
But too late.
Arms and legs flew—Rem reached them faster than they escaped.
His axe—a modified piece the blacksmith had lengthened—swept through them.
A silent arc severed limbs and heads.
Its range far exceeded expectations.
“Did you dodge?”
Rem turned.
An assassin had barely dodged the full-force swing.
Armor was impossible in this weather. He wore thin leather and studded plates, dual-wielding short swords.
He stripped off his soaked cloak and yelled:
“You crazy bastard!”
He looked more like a confident mercenary than an assassin.
“Do you know who I am!?”
Rem replied with a weapon.
He wasn’t carrying only one axe.
Two throwing axes hung from his waist, a collapsible short spear on his back, plus several daggers.
One flew through the rain.
The moment Rem’s left hand flashed, the spinning throwing axe pierced the man’s skull.
The mercenary’s legs kicked backward, his crossed blades falling uselessly as he collapsed.
The axe stayed lodged in his head like a stump.
Rain washed the blood away.
Encrid realized something.
It wasn’t just a matter of brute forcing through.
‘They don’t know.’
That much was clear.
These assassins aimed for Krang’s head—but they had no idea who was protecting him.
They made a fast decision and moved immediately, too focused on blocking the road to consider anything else.
Of course—it was a trick.
That was why Krys said running fast on the road was advantageous.
Encrid hadn’t expected them to fall for it ‘this’ perfectly.
“Ugh!”
“Ugh!”
Screams erupted from the rear.
Ragna was rampaging. Each swipe of his thick sword sent blood spraying.
Not some flashy medium swordsmanship—just precise posture and fatal stabs.
Rem rampaged. Ragna held the rear.
And the most excited of them burst forward.
“Here, here! Here!”
Dunbakel charged, swinging her scimitar. She kicked off the ground and sprinted.
Three assassins spun slings overhead and flung carved stone bullets.
Dunbakel’s eyes widened.
“Who keeps throwing these cursed things!”
Her pent-up frustration exploded.
The speed wasn’t anywhere near Rem’s throws.
Dunbakel twisted her wrist, catching each bullet with the flat of her blade.
No explosive sound.
Not because of the storm—
But because she absorbed the impact and flicked them away.
Tidididing.
Exquisite angle. Perfect control.
A blend of delicacy and ferocity.
‘Dunbakel too?’
Another genius?
Maybe that’s why Rem trained her.
She deflected the bullets and leapt in.
If Rem was like an enraged beast, Dunbakel was a real one.
Being a beastkin, her soaked fur didn’t slow her. She was incredibly fast.
She drove enemies back with wild swings, slicing careless ones and rending helmets with her claws.
“Where did these monsters come from!”
An assassin shouted.
Encrid deflected bolts and daggers aimed at Krang, scooped one from the ground with his foot, caught it, and threw it.
It struck the shouting man in the forehead.
“Ah, sorry. You were saying?”
The man made no reply. He lay trembling on the ground as rain poured endlessly.
Swaaaaaaaaa.
Lightning flashed again. Thunder followed.
Encrid spoke casually:
“Were you always this popular?”
A question for Krang.
“I’ve become more popular recently,” Krang replied.
“You’re more enviable than the best bard on the continent.”
“It’s just fleeting popularity.”
Krang accepted the joke calmly.
The whip bodyguard wanted to say this wasn’t the time for jokes but stayed quiet.
Understandable.
The battle had ended as quickly as it began.
Esther, who killed the mage, stood unfazed beside Encrid.
Rem had wiped out the front line with a single thrown axe.
The presumed leader died instantly, head split on Rem’s first charge.
Ragna was no different.
The six blocking the rear thought one hit would kill him.
Ragna merely let them think so.
Had they noticed his true skill, they would’ve known on sight.
They only realized the difference as they died one by one to clean, practiced stabs—too late.
Jaxson occasionally intercepted an enemy seeking an opening with a quick stab and returned to formation.
The rest fell to Dunbakel.
“Hey, where are you going!”
She shouted after a fleeing enemy.
“They’re running away,” Encrid noted.
“Ah.”
Dunbakel sighed regretfully.
‘Crazy woman.’
The escort finally understood what she was.
But crazy or not, her strength was undeniable.
She hadn’t been slacking all this time.
A beastkin trained under Rem was nothing like when she first fought Encrid.
Yet what shocked the escort most was the man before him.
Encrid.
The man cracking jokes while deflecting daggers, bolts, and bullets in a storm.
A near-miracle.
He did it without much thought—an astounding talent.
Encrid himself knew his senses had sharpened dramatically.
‘Is it because of all those experiences trapped behind enemy lines?’
His intuition was sharper than ever.
Even unseen attacks were easy to block.
“You’re really good at fighting,” Krang said in genuine awe. Bodies lay scattered everywhere.
Whether they’d become ghouls or drowners—creatures born from rivers or storms—was irrelevant now.
“Then let’s get moving.”
Encrid led the group forward. The fight was over; time to go.