Chapter 396

The stink of burning lamp oil made Edin Molsen’s head throb.

If this went on any longer, he’d die from the lack of fresh air before anything else.

Even without being tortured or beaten.

‘Damn it.’

After cursing inwardly, worry for his brother stabbed through him.

He raised his head and saw the man sitting right in front of him, legs crossed. He was handsome, with big eyes—enough to make even men look twice. Krys of the Madman Company, a face Edin knew all too well.

He’d never imagined this bastard would post a watchman beside him and his brother. Resenting it wouldn’t change anything, so he asked the only practical question.

“Where’s my brother?”

“He’s perfectly fine. His portions are a bit small, but I guess that’s the secret to maintaining his figure.”

His smooth way of speaking was annoying.

“If you’d run right before the civil war broke out, none of this would’ve happened.”

Edin almost snapped that he’d wanted to, too, but stopped himself.

If he knew, he could’ve avoided it.

That his father—the King of the Borderlands—was planning a civil war and putting it into motion? He might have suspected it, but he couldn’t say it out loud.

Whatever anyone said, that was still his father.

Treason meant joint beheading.

Siding against his father?

Absolutely not.

Edin knew the power his father held. He wasn’t a man to fight a losing battle against.

Edin Molsen only wanted to hide away somewhere quiet with his brother.

East or north, it didn’t matter.

That was why he endured even while Encrid beat him.

His brother even persuaded their father, saying he could seduce Encrid.

Looking back, it felt like his father hadn’t cared about him at all.

‘But he wouldn’t have let me run away either.’

“Kill me.”

Edin said it plainly. They were his father’s enemies. They wouldn’t keep him alive.

A hostage?

Not a chance.

That father of his?

Dean Molsen had stopped seeming human at some point. His coldness was like permafrost—an eternally frozen land.

It didn’t show on the surface, but if you watched him closely, there was something inhumanly cold about him.

‘When did it start?’

He didn’t know. It was beyond him. Somewhere along the way, his father had changed.

“Kill what?”

Krys shook his head and slapped his thigh with a loud smack.

“Now, let’s do this.”

Krys knew how to handle people. He was quick-witted and sharp at reading situations.

He already knew Edin Molsen had no value as a hostage.

Count Molsen didn’t care about the son in front of him in the slightest.

Nor did he care about the daughter he’d brought in disguised as a man.

Krys didn’t care about other people’s family affairs, but one thing was certain.

‘Edin Molsen is trying to run away.’

What Edin wanted was obvious. There was no need for torture.

“Tell me everything you know, then go to Martai. I’ll arrange a new identity and a house for you. You were probably planning to sell the jewels and accessories you brought to set yourself up, but do you really think you can suddenly move that kind of stuff without trouble? You’ll be lucky if you don’t get stabbed by a robber in the middle of the night.”

Krys had hidden people before—and had even made Krong before. He’d been resourceful enough that he once considered making a living off it.

But the odds of getting stabbed—or thrown in a cell—were too high, so he quit. Still, he hadn’t lost the knack.

It was work that could be done through the Gilpin Guild, so it wasn’t difficult.

“…You’ll let me live?”

Suspicion filled Edin’s eyes.

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t believe it easily either if I were him.’

Krys gave him something he could at least accept in name.

“I swear on the Captain’s honor.”

The Captain was Encrid. In the Border Guards, the weight of the name Encrid was incomparable.

Even if you didn’t know the lord’s name, even passing kids knew Encrid.

“If this is a lie?”

“Do you have another choice?”

Edin had no choice. Believe it and talk, or die.

“Hah, damn it. I’ve been caught badly.”

Edin Molsen told him what he knew. It wasn’t important to him, anyway.

He didn’t know the details.

“There are five weapons in the Count’s territory.”

“Weapons, not dogs?”

Krys’s unit of reference seemed off.

“It’s what they call five warriors who each use different weapons.”

The explanation was simple.

The Count’s forces were divided into four branches, each led by a commander called a general.

And then there were the warriors who guarded the Count—those were the five weapons Molsen had raised.

They sounded like five monsters proven by brute force.

Malten, the mute warrior who wielded a hammer.

Benukt, the giant who used his body as a weapon.

Zalban, who wielded two spears with acrobatic skill.

Banat, the fairy of the Leaf Blade.

Lierbart, the guard warrior from a fallen noble family.

“Any of them could’ve gone to the Royal Guard. And they’re all loyal to the Count.”

Just thinking of them dried Edin’s mouth.

They were all inhuman bastards.

Count Molsen was tenacious and insidious. That was why no one knew how much power he’d hidden.

“Perhaps he’s in league with the cultists?”

That was why Krys asked. He wondered if the Count would bring in Azpen and another group.

“There’s no need for that. He has the territorial army.”

Edin said, and Krys’s relaxed expression disappeared.

No long explanation was needed.

“He’s built a formidable army.”

While the Border Guards were stopping Azpen.

While the kingdom was holding back the Sanctum of the Demon Sanctuary and the south.

Count Molsen stayed quiet. He didn’t stir up big trouble. Even though people called him the King of the Borderlands, he didn’t cause major incidents.

That was how he gathered strength.

But was that all?

That insidious bastard?

There had to be more hidden cards. Suspicion hardened into conviction.

Thud!

Krys kicked back his chair. It toppled over with a crash.

Edin closed his eyes.

The die had been cast, and Edin already seemed to know the outcome.

Krys burst outside and shouted with all the force in his lungs.

“Audin! Elf Commander Sinar! Battalion Commander Graham! We need to organize a support force immediately!”

—

“Knocking down the Chief of Public Order like that was a mistake.”

That was what the man calling himself the guild master said beside Encrid. It was annoying, but Encrid let it go.

The man had approached him with something like affection.

He’d supported Encrid with all kinds of weapons and equipment, and even followed him to the Nauril Plains.

He also claimed he’d used a sword a bit when he was young.

So it was his way of showing he intended to fight in the king’s army.

“A mistake?”

Andrew, walking behind them, reacted as if he’d been insulted.

“I know you’re skilled, but don’t you know? Reputation matters just as much.”

The guild master spoke as if making excuses, and Andrew snorted. Seeing that, the guild master frowned—then quickly smoothed his expression.

The other man was a rising new noble, the head of the Gardner family.

He’d heard the five trainees behind him were all highly skilled.

Encrid didn’t care what the guild master said.

He understood why the man was talking like this without needing to think.

None of the people who had truly seen what Encrid did had spread it around.

Aisia, who roughly knew the situation, wasn’t the type to run her mouth.

Would Rem say it? Gossip was his specialty, but there was no one here to gossip with. Ragna and Jaxson didn’t need mentioning.

Would Esther step forward and say, “This is the one who saved your king”?

Not likely.

Of course, there were people who had seen Encrid.

They were the ones he’d faced when he saved Krang. They’d seen the swordsmanship that instantly cut down a squire—then they fled as they were.

They had no chance to talk.

Krang didn’t say much either, and neither did Matthew. The same was true of the trident-wielding guard.

But if someone started spouting nonsense, both Matthew and the trident-wielding guard would be the first to get angry.

It wasn’t that no rumors had spread.

There was Squire Roford, the Royal Palace maid, and others.

Thanks to them, word had begun to leak out.

Rumors that the hero of the Border Guards, Encrid, was the real thing.

The old talk of him being a braggart or a dud was slowly fading.

But not every noble had fully acknowledged it yet.

So what?

Encrid didn’t care in the slightest. None of the people around him cared, either.

Unless someone came to mock him.

If not, why bother?

Encrid had more important things to think about—and more to do.

All the way to the Nauril Plains, Encrid kept recalling the past.

“I’m Ingis of the Red Cloak Order. I think we’ll see each other again.”

Before leaving, the Royal Guard, Ingis, had come to find Encrid separately.

“I hope we can spar next time.”

Even though Encrid hadn’t done anything special, Ingis’s interest had been fixed on him.

To Encrid, the man seemed like a uniquely strange sort of human.

“But why does he want to fight the Captain?”

Rem, walking beside him, asked as if genuinely curious.

Usually Encrid was the one who asked first, so the reverse was rare.

“I can tell because I have a good sense, but you’re an interesting person.”

Ingis swept his hair back and spoke with a straight face.

“Then, goodbye.”

He said there were many troublesome matters in the south and left. He repeated “Let’s meet again in the future” a couple more times.

“You’re becoming a man worth falling for more and more every day.”

After that, Ruagarne came. After swinging her sword a few times, she said:

“It’s impossible with my skills now.”

Her ankle wasn’t fully healed yet. No matter how good Frok was, an ankle wouldn’t grow back in a day.

Even so, the gap in skill was clear.

“But it seems there’s still something to teach.”

Ruagarne revised the Proper Sword Style techniques for five days.

Encrid learned them faithfully, without resistance.

He marched while moving his hand back and forth in a hand-blade motion, recalling his swordsmanship. It had become routine. People watched and thought nothing of it.

In truth, he had no soldiers under his command, so the ones watching were obvious.

Ragna, Jaxson, Dunbakel, Rem, and Andrew.

Except for Andrew, all of them had originally belonged to the Border Guards’ standing army, so it was natural they didn’t have soldiers under their command either.

The road to the Nauril Plains was smooth. There were no ambushes, no attacks.

Scouts were constantly moving, relaying the enemy’s movements.

Until then, Encrid simply kept turning over what he’d refined for a month.

A month could be called short.

But this month was different.

“You’ve improved a lot.”

Ragna’s eyes changed.

“Hoo, come on. I’ll do it with half my heart.”

He drew out Rem’s seriousness.

“It’s ridiculous.”

Aisia, partially recovered and coming by to visit, shook her head. How could someone improve this much in just a few days?

“It’s getting harder to find your old self.”

Jaxson said it like that. It was high praise. Encrid nodded.

For a month, Encrid hardly spoke.

He moved forward, swinging his sword alone.

Was it because of the stimulation the ferryman gave him?

Not only that.

The Junior Knight who had cut off Mac inside Encrid kept resurfacing.

Encrid kept asking the same questions inwardly, again and again.

‘What if I’d fought to the end?’

What would’ve happened then?

He got answers from repeated questions.

No—he’d already known the answers.

Experience gained through today, repeated several times.

A vision that only opened now, after walking and walking again.

Three times at most. That was enough.

Then he could’ve crossed it.

That was why it hadn’t been a wall.

It was a fresh experience.

A month could be called short.

But compared to repeated today—

This month had a different density, a different concentration.

Encrid changed day by day. He was digesting what he’d gained from accumulated today, but to others it only looked strange.

“Now, he probably won’t die easily.”

That was Rem’s conclusion.

And so they arrived at the Nauril Plains.

With summer came enemy troops beyond the fields, where green sprouts were growing taller.

The lines of soldiers were so numerous it made you dizzy just looking at them.

“There are a damn lot of them.”

Rem spoke first. Ragna nodded, and Jaxson crossed his arms, only lifting his chin slightly.

Dunbakel swept her gaze left and right.

“There must be three times as many?”

As she said, the numbers were different.

The commanders in Krang’s army had thought the Count might bring in cultists or pull some trick.

It was a misjudgment.

This was simply a difference in manpower.

Nearly ten thousand trained territorial troops.

Just seeing them halted and lined up was enough to sap momentum.

The allies preparing for the civil war numbered about three thousand.

They were worse trained and badly outnumbered.

It was a losing battle.

Ahead of them, the five weapons took their places. Two adjutants stood with each of them, and even they gave off an unusual aura.

The sky was clear, but it felt like dark clouds were gathering.

Black clouds that only hung over the allies’ heads.

And—

“I’m just going to say hello.”

There was a man who had come all the way here with nothing but his sword in his mind.

He wanted to test it. Instinctively, he also meant to flip the current atmosphere.

It was the sense of timing he’d gained from fighting Azpen, cutting through strategy and tactics alike.

“One-Eye.”

Encrid called One-Eye—who now often gave him a ride—and climbed up.

Pwooooooo!

A horn blared.

Doom! Doom! Doom!

Drums rolled.

Amid the spreading drumbeat, one rider went forward.

“Someone come out.”

He shouted. While everyone stared, dumbfounded, one of Zalban’s adjutants stepped out.

“I’ll bring his head.”

If the opponent wanted a duel, all he had to do was grant it.

The adjutant leveled his long spear and rode out.

The opponent dismounted.

Getting off his horse like that was suicidal.

Neigh!

The adjutant’s horse screamed.

“Ha!”

With the shout, he spurred forward, and the ground began to tremble.

A heavy warhorse. A spear-wielding warrior atop it.

One man on foot would be carved apart—or skewered like meat.

“Uh… uh… uh…”

Someone in the royal army pointed forward, mouth hanging open.

Shouldn’t he dodge?

That was the question.

But most could only watch blankly.

It wasn’t that everything happened in an instant, but what could they do?

All they could do was watch.

Those with eyes judged the man would be run through.

Those who didn’t know Encrid believed it even more.

Only a handful remained calm.

They were the ones who knew who had stepped forward.

Doom doom doom doom doom!

The horse closed the distance in a heartbeat. Dust erupted.

Grass flattened under the hooves and sprayed backward.

Compared to the allies’ soft advance—almost like running on clouds—this charge was violent.

Whoosh!

The spear tore through the air.

Zalban’s adjutant thrust, and horse and rider swept past the opponent.

Splat!

Blood burst into the air like paint thrown across a canvas.

The horse had passed—but the rider left half his body behind.

The upper half of the man with the spear lifted as if yanked by an invisible thread, then crashed to the ground.

Blood and intestines soaked the grass and soil.

The first casualty.

Encrid murmured, too quietly to be heard.

“Next.”

(T/N: This is fun. I hope each member gets to have a 1v1 with the Five Weapons. As always, Enki has the coldest line.)