Chapter 351
Kkuwoooo!
Along with the Human-faced Dogs and Ghouls, several Drowned Corpses appeared.
Were they freshly made? With the heavy rain from a few days ago, it was entirely possible. For a Demon beast, whether it was born an hour ago or a week ago made little difference. Sometimes older ones grew more dangerous, but there was no such thing as a newborn toddling around. Either way, it didn’t matter.
Only the number mattered.
“Many.”
The Whip Bodyguard spoke. The number was indeed large.
But the types were also an issue.
Among them was a Demon beast far more dangerous than the three they had seen earlier.
Typically, Demon beasts were less dangerous than true Demons, but exceptions existed everywhere.
The simplest example was the bear Demon beast.
Bears were already dangerous animals even without being Demon beasts. If such a creature became corrupted, it was naturally more threatening.
Two such bears raised their heads among the horde—one noticeably larger.
Keureureureureuung.
A bear Demon beast with bloodshot eyes and drool dripping from its jaws stood out immediately.
Rem muttered,
“The religious bastard has a friend.”
“Indeed.”
Ragna replied.
If Audin had been here, he would’ve smiled and asked to stand by his god’s side, as always. But the bear was different from Audin.
He did not smile.
Keuheoheoheong!
Instead, he roared and pounded his chest.
A vibration rippled outward—a cry meant to stiffen the bodies of prey.
A signal.
“They’re coming,” Dunbakel said.
The Demon beasts surged like a breaking wave.
Human-faced Dogs kicked off the ground, their bellies splattered with mud. Drowned Corpses flailed their arms as they ran. Ghouls stretched their claws, digging into the earth as they pushed forward.
The number exceeded a hundred.
The ground trembled with every charge of the horde and with every step of the bear Demon beasts.
If the people here were ordinary, they would have been overwhelmed with fear.
But the gathered humans were anything but ordinary.
If they were prey, the bear’s roar would have frozen them in place—but none of them were prey.
Hoong, ppeok!
A beam of light struck the head of one charging bear Demon beast. A throwing axe.
The beast made a deflating snort. Its head snapped back, then forward again—thick neck muscles keeping it upright. But the result did not change.
Losing momentum, the bear toppled forward, rolling as its massive body crushed several Human-faced Dogs beneath it.
Kkweeeek!
The dogs screamed. That was the end. No Demon beast survived with its head split open—unless it was a Hydra.
And Hydras had multiple heads.
Naturally, this bear Demon beast died on the spot.
“Ah, that was mine!” Dunbakel complained.
Kkuwoooo!
Ghoul screams echoed.
Ragna and Jaxson moved casually, cutting off heads and severing limbs as if pulling weeds. Clean, efficient movements. They took only the steps needed and cut down everything that came near.
Encrid also stepped forward.
Didn’t they say three trained spearmen were needed for one Ghoul? Yet well-trained soldiers could kill a Ghoul alone.
Even if a thousand came, Encrid could survive.
‘Hit and run.’
If he were alone, that’s exactly what he would do. Even while escorting Krang, he could fight with the boy on his back.
But he wasn’t alone now—his squad was here. No need to avoid anything.
He pushed forward.
In an instant he struck, killed, and sliced. Black Demon beast blood seeped into the rain-soaked ground.
“It’s a Demon beast toss,” Jaxson said after the chaos ended.
Someone had driven the Demon beasts toward them.
Tossing, pushing, lifting—a variety of methods existed for herding Demon beasts.
“This isn’t the end,” Jaxson added, wiping his sword and throwing the cloth aside.
He knew. This wasn’t merely ignoring or luring Demon beasts passing through the territory—this was someone intentionally sending a pack their way. These enemies wouldn’t stop.
“Let them come,” Dunbakel said, puffing out her chest. Demon beasts didn’t scare her.
Even One-Eyed snorted and kicked the head of a Human-faced Dog charging at him. More than five corpses with crushed skulls lay around him. (T/N : One Eyed is the name of Encrid’s Demon beast horse. That was the horse he befriended when they saved Dunbakel in that centaur arc)
Hiiing.
One-Eyed shook his head as if unimpressed.
“Dirty tricks will keep coming,” Jaxson said. It was certainty, drawn from experience.
‘They’ve gathered.’
This wasn’t the work of one or two guilds. The scale was too large.
Yes—Naurilia had assassination guilds. But for all of them to unite?
A simple guess, but he was convinced.
Such scale, such audacity—to target a royal family. No single guild could attempt this.
‘Why unite?’
He reasoned it out. The client wanted a hunting dog. The chosen dog preferred to eat together and live rather than eat alone and die.
Jaxson’s conclusion was nearly perfect.
And that was exactly how things were unfolding.
—
In Azpen, the Monter’s Swamp assassination guild dominated the field. But Naurilia was different.
There, guilds competed and coexisted. Their numbers were not small.
The domestic situation was chaotic, wars had erupted here and there, and some nobles had taken the opportunity to form guilds. Others took jobs from commoners, using their talent for killing.
Twelve guilds had survived in this ecosystem.
Now they united into a single large organization: the Twelve Daggers.
“We hired dozens of mercenaries and sent our own people, but all failed.”
“Because their opponents were that crazy squad.”
Information was a matter of survival for assassins. Of course they knew the moment their plans failed.
They gathered in a renovated mansion in the city closest to the capital, maintaining strict defenses.
“Are we just going to let this go?”
“You know what a failed request means.”
Among them, the most influential guild leader—formerly the strongest—spoke.
“We do everything we can.”
Giving up meant death.
The client was inside the Royal Palace. Failure or surrender would yield the same fate.
They had only two options.
Run away and abandon everything they built.
Or succeed.
Naturally, they dreamed of the rewards awaiting success.
Abandon everything? Impossible.
Forcing the job to succeed was the only path.
This was a matter of changing the owner of the country. Rewards would follow.
They had already abandoned their pride and united—no backing out now.
The leading woman declared,
“We can’t win by fighting them head-on. Our opponents earned their name on the battlefield. So we fight in our arena—in our way.”
“That’s right,” her right-hand man said first.
“Obviously,” another guild leader nodded with jealousy in his eyes.
This was their specialty. They would strike in ways unknown to the enemy—ways that would work at least once.
And once was enough.
Some had experience in bounty hunting, but none could identify every trap assassins prepared.
Their judgment was sound.
—
“Please save me!”
A voice called out from the roadside.
A young man lay sprawled on the ground, caught in a trap. When he spotted Encrid’s group, he desperately cried out, bleeding heavily.
“Please save me! My father is a landowner—he has tenant farmers! I’ll repay you! I’ll reward you!”
He sobbed.
“How did you get trapped?” Jaxson asked before Encrid could.
His tone was different—gentler, like when he imitated Krys.
“I—I was on my way to sell wheat, and when I woke up…”
He didn’t know what happened.
“Are you going to help?” the Whip Bodyguard asked. Something about this felt wrong to her.
Encrid looked at the young man. He seemed sincere.
“Please… pleathe…”
He slurred the last word, as if he’d bitten his tongue.
“It’s a trap. They’ve set up traps everywhere,” Jaxson said, scanning the area.
Collapsed trap plates, and the faint smell of poison.
“Will he die if we leave him?”
“He’ll die. They trapped him for that purpose.”
A trap that could be ignored—but also designed so ignoring it would create bigger problems.
“If we walk away, they’ll claim we killed him.”
“It’s a double trap,” Encrid said.
Jaxson explained what would happen once they reached the next city.
An unavoidable choice.
Try to save him—and risk the trap.
Ignore him—and get framed as murderers.
“The ones who killed my son are over there!”
Whether through actors, threats, or coercion, the landowner would accuse them.
‘Stir trouble in the city.’
If they panicked, assassins would strike from behind.
Sneaky.
Jaxson thought so, and Encrid made a decision.
“Dunbakel.”
“Huh?”
“Pick him up.”
As shown earlier, Dunbakel was fast enough to bypass any trap.
“Okay.”
She didn’t ask why. If Encrid told her, she did it.
The trap was designed to detonate everything on the ground when someone approached the captive.
Dunbakel ignored it all with sheer speed.
Bang!
The not-yet-muddied ground exploded under her step. She flew across the trap zone and landed heavily.
She forced the trap open—iron clamps snapped.
The young man sobbed and clung to her.
Holding him in a princess carry, Dunbakel ran back and leapt over the trap in one bound—thanks to beastkin leg strength.
“Uwoooo!”
Only the rescued man’s scream echoed in the air.
He became part of the group.
Encrid tended his wound, using powder to stop the bleeding and wrapping a bandage.
“Th… thank you…”
He was an ordinary civilian. Innocent. Both Encrid’s intuition and Jaxson’s experience agreed.
Had they left him, they would have been labeled murderers. But saving him required them to dig through the trap.
All of it was overcome thanks to Dunbakel’s legs and Jaxson’s insight.
Assassination attempts continued after that.
“Please save me!”
A group of merchants came running, bleeding, claiming Demon beasts were chasing them.
Encrid frowned.
Were they truly merchants?
Their concealed hostility, hidden postures—the basics of assassins.
He wasn’t certain… until he spotted three or four Ghouls behind them.
Evidence supporting their story. Yet something still felt off.
His intuition tugged at him.
‘The wounds.’
None had leg injuries.
And their breathing—far too steady for men fleeing in terror.
It clicked instantly.
“They’re enemies.”
Jaxson nodded, confirming.
Encrid flicked his wrist—the Flicking Blade Technique Jaxson taught him—sending a dagger flying toward the pot-bellied merchant’s neck.
Just before impact, the man sidestepped.
If he hadn’t, the dagger would’ve merely stabbed his thigh. But he dodged—and with agility that didn’t match his body.
He was trained.
“You heartless bastard.”
The pot-bellied assassin snarled—an odd thing for an assassin to say.
Encrid clicked his tongue and struck first.
“Are you pregnant?”
The assassin’s brow twitched—masculinity wounded.
Years of trained composure couldn’t stop the brief irritation.
He slowed for just a moment.
And that was it.
By the time he sensed the Whistle Dagger slicing toward him, it was already over.
Thwack.
The dagger embedded in his neck.
He clutched it, but bright red blood poured through his fingers.