Chapter 188: The Manticore and the Bear
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 188: The Manticore and the Bear
"Even if they are nothing but bandits, we cannot ignore the military might of the Black Sword. If we bring them to our side, Martai will tuck tail and run."
Martai was a Naurilian territory with a convoluted history.
At times, it was a fief belonging to the Eastern Mercenary King; at others, it fell under Naurilia's domain. Consequently, it was a land where two peoples mingled, though it was currently a Naurilian territory ruled by a self-proclaimed general. In short, it was half Naurilian and half Eastern.
And Martai had just issued what amounted to a declaration of war against the Border Guard. That was the catalyst for the current suggestion.
The speaker was one of the Border Guard's nobles.
There were several nobles within the Border Guard. Though their power was pathetic compared to the central aristocracy, they weren't to be entirely ignored. They held significant influence within the Border Guard's territory. For instance, the fellow standing before Marcus now was one of those petty nobles.
What was his name again?
Marcus didn't even bother to remember it.
‘The bastard who lined his pockets with gold from the Black Sword.’
That was how he categorized him. He practically considered the man a member of the Black Sword itself.
He felt like cutting the man down on the spot. He wanted to slice his head off right now and wash his hands of the whole mess, but...
The Elf Company Commander was outwardly his subordinate, but she was a subordinate who didn't act like one. He felt that whatever he did, there would be a price to pay.
Marcus valued his intuition. For various reasons, he couldn't just cut the fellow down.
In the first place, Marcus wasn't some mindless brute. He wasn't the type of man who solved every problem with a blade. Above all, if he used his head a little, killing the man wouldn't even be that difficult. Narrow-minded bastards were always easy to bait.
"Martai's advance is troublesome, but we need only focus on defense," Marcus said flatly.
The Black Sword noble pouted his lips before pulling them back in. If the noble had said anything more, Marcus might have truly lost his temper and cracked his skull open.
‘I wouldn't actually go that far, though.’
But he could at least project that impression. Outwardly, wasn't Marcus's nickname the "Warmonger"? It was an image and a title he had carefully crafted for that very purpose.
Marcus stared at him with a blank expression. In a way, it was a glare; in another, it was just a steady, unblinking look, but the effect was undeniable. The Warmonger's chilling, indifferent gaze forced the noble to shut his mouth.
Once he had silenced the room, Marcus spoke. "Next agenda?"
It was a regular meeting. The Border Guard was a military territory and a fortress fief. Just because they had pushed back Azpen didn't mean they could afford to be idle.
Even now, news had arrived from the south that a massive horde of monsters was heading north. This was because some southern nobles had failed to deal with them properly, instead "inflating" the threat to secure more funding from the crown. Leaving that monster horde alone would spell disaster. It was a problem that had to be dealt with, but the fact that a monster uprising in the south was affecting the northern Border Guard was, frankly, a massive pain in the ass.
‘Truly, they are sons of bitches.’
In any case, those bastards called nobles were rotten to the core. They cared only for their own land and their own wealth. This was why people said the country was going to ruin. They were no different from that noble bastard whose name he didn't even know. He truly couldn't stand the sight of them.
Dwelling on such things would only shorten his lifespan. Thus, Marcus intentionally steered his thoughts elsewhere.
His mind eventually drifted to Encrid. While the noble was someone whose name he didn't even want to remember, Encrid was someone whose name he could never forget.
‘Jumping into a gnoll army just to save a pioneer village?’
Now that was a story that naturally commanded admiration. They said he had cut down a thousand gnolls all by himself.
There was bound to be some exaggeration, but it was certain that his skills had grown exponentially. The 4th Company Commander had confirmed as much.
"In a real battle, no one could easily guarantee a victory against him."
Marcus was one of the few who vaguely sensed the Elf Company Commander's true strength. She was superior to almost any well-known warrior, a fact she had proven through her exploits on the battlefield. And yet, that very elf acknowledged Encrid.
‘They used to say he was a terrible fighter and a brainless training addict.’
Rumors had also circulated that he was merely a lucky soldier. Nonsense. It wasn't luck; it was skill. He also possessed the character to match. Even if it didn't show on the surface, one could tell by his attitude and the results of his actions.
Above all, the image of Encrid speaking of his dream remained vividly engraved in Marcus's mind.
The battlefield, the sword, and something shining.
Could he really become a knight?
Marcus, having observed countless people over his long years, could say with absolute rational certainty: it was impossible.
But if he were to speak from the heart, based on what he felt after seeing the man named Encrid in person:
‘I don't know if he can, but I hope he does.’
Whether day turned to night or night to day, he remained the same. Even if the weather changed, he was the same. He was unwavering. Every single day was identical to the last. He was the kind of man who lived an entire year as if it were a single, focused day. A sudden desire to aid him on his path welled up within Marcus.
At that thought, a gentle smile graced Marcus's face.
Watching this, the Black Sword noble suddenly spoke up again. "I believe it is unreasonable to immediately appoint him to the position of Company Commander without even establishing a proper unit structure. In fact, even if he supposedly proved himself on that mission, rumors are rampant that the tale was highly exaggerated..."
It was about Encrid's appointment. At those words, Marcus's brow furrowed, shattering his feigned indifference. The corners of his lips turned down into a deep scowl.
"That is enough. It is my decision. If you don't like it, you take over the battalion."
Although he had left some room for negotiation when rejecting the proposal to bring in the Black Sword, he was utterly ruthless the moment Encrid's name was mentioned. His posture made it clear that he would brook no objections. He seemed fully prepared to cut down anyone who dared to oppose him on this.
The Black Sword noble found that attitude utterly infuriating. Yet, it wasn't as if he could kill Marcus.
‘Son of a bitch.’
Consequently, all of his resentment was redirected toward Encrid.
Just as one could receive cheers, trust, and love from some, they could also draw intense hatred from others. Such was the case with the Black Sword noble, one of the core power figures of the Border Guard. He loathed Encrid. He hated him for no good reason, to the point where he wanted to kill him immediately.
After the meeting adjourned and the nobles filed out, the Elf Company Commander stared at Marcus.
"Who gave you the nickname 'Warmonger'?"
The elf was sharp, and Marcus didn't bother to deny it. "I did."
"How clever of you."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
It was the literal truth. Marcus was not actually a man who loved the battlefield or was crazy about fighting. He had merely crafted that persona for the outside world.
Why? It served as an excellent excuse to avoid getting entangled in central politics, and it was perfect for catching enemies off guard.
In truth, Marcus wasn't even exceptionally talented at waging war. While he knew how to deploy troops to fight at the right time, his true talents lay elsewhere. For instance, his refined palate for finding excellent tea.
"By the way, aren't you going to try that joke on me?"
The banter between Encrid and the Elf Company Commander was quite famous within the barracks. Remembering it, he brought it up.
"I happen to detest jokes," the Elf Company Commander said, turning to leave.
Marcus pondered the true meaning behind her words before letting out a dry chuckle. "My, how difficult. An elven joke."
It had to be an elven joke. It was obvious, given how much that elf loved them.
*
The Black Sword noble's name was Vansento.
Vansento had grown up in a place known as the monster borderlands. It was a region heavily influenced by the Demon Realm, and food was always scarce. Therefore, to the young Vansento, things were not meant to be bought; they were meant to be stolen. That was only natural. A human life was worth a single loaf of bread. No, sometimes bread was far more valuable.
Having survived a brutal childhood, Vansento eventually drifted into the territory. With a stroke of luck, he managed to establish a small merchant guild. Although growing the guild required swords, blood, fists, and threats, it faced no major obstacles.
It was around then that he established ties with the Black Sword. Their power was immense, serving as a reliable backing for Vansento's expansion. After scraping by like that for ten years, he sold his merchant guild and spent a fortune to buy his way into nobility.
Just like in his childhood, his life was built entirely on taking whatever he wanted. Now, Vansento's goal was the Border Guard's territory. To be precise, he intended to swallow this place whole with the help of the Black Sword.
Since he lacked generational noble blood and held only a title bought with gold coins, there were clear limits he could never overcome. Therefore, Vansento wanted something far greater than a mere title. He wanted a territory of his own.
Such was the future Vansento envisioned. A land ruled by the Black Sword, with himself ruling over the territory. Becoming the mayor and castellan of this place would suit him perfectly.
‘Once that happens, I'll drag that elf bitch in first.’
Every time he saw the elf who served as the 4th Company Commander, his mouth watered.
"Should we kill the man named Marcus, or should we kill that reckless fool?"
"Not Marcus." If he died here, the capital would take notice. That was the last thing they wanted. "Just weed out the guy named Encrid."
At Vansento's words, his guard—a member of the Black Sword—nodded. The guard had also found Encrid to be an eyesore lately.
‘Sucking up to a nobody.’
It was a cheap trick. Sparring? Anyone could look good if they coordinated with their own platoon members. The rumors floating around were full of holes. A thousand gnolls? Ridiculous. Was he some kind of Associate Knight? Or an Order Knight?
He had actually seen the bastard's skills in person. Not recently, but he had watched him training in the barracks a few months ago.
‘He's decent, but...’
Still worse than himself. That was his judgment. Narrow-minded people always believed that what they saw was the absolute truth.
In the meantime, Encrid had changed beyond recognition, but the guard didn't bother to look closer. He simply dismissed him as a pathetic nobody and left it at that.
‘Of course, those platoon members of his...’
They were impressive. Quite. They were the kind of fighters where facing even two at once would be a struggle. Why were such skilled individuals wasting away in a frontier fortress territory?
Regardless, the plan was progressing smoothly. The kingdom of the Black Sword would begin here. The start would be small, but it would grow. Thus, Naurilia would vanish, and a new Black Sword kingdom would rise in its place.
Lost in his own delusions of grandeur, the bodyguard released a carrier pigeon. The bird would deliver the message. Even when it came to clearing away a minor eyesore, the Black Sword did not deploy its assets carelessly. That was the kind of organization they were.
Of course, they had a far greater purpose than simply killing a single man.
*
Upon receiving the message from within the territory, the Black Sword dispatched ten warriors. Every single one of them possessed formidable skills. For instance, the captain leading them was once a renowned figure in the mercenary world.
She was a beastman named Dunchabel, and contrary to her delicate appearance, the scimitar she wielded was swift and destructive. Her prowess made her a territory-class powerhouse—meaning she possessed the strength to make a name for herself across an entire province.
The remaining nine who accompanied her were of a similar caliber.
"Apply pressure? They want us to scare him a bit, right? Sure." Dunchabel nodded. Since she had been paid, she would do the job.
It was just before they crossed into the Border Guard's territory. Dunchabel's nose twitched. A smoky yet sour scent, overlaid with a dull, rotten stench. It was the smell of a demonic beast.
A human scent was mixed in as well.
Dunchabel's head snapped around. There, she saw a man clad in a black robe. Beside him stood a demonic beast with glowing, ominous eyes.
"Who are you?" Dunchabel immediately fell into a combat stance.
The opponent did the same. One of the quick-witted Black Sword bandits read the atmosphere and spoke up. "It doesn't seem like your business is with us."
Coincidentally, both parties had come targeting the Border Guard. While one side was the Black Sword, the other was an assassin sent by the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult.
The cult had already dispatched skilled assassins several times, but all had vanished without a trace. It meant something was happening inside that territory. The assassin had set out to investigate, and to cause a massive ruckus in that ignorant province.
"Who are you with?" the cultist asked. He was a monk, or perhaps someone who wielded the cult's dark arts. He was not someone to be trifled with.
The quick-witted subordinate answered in Dunchabel's stead. "The Black Sword."
"Your purpose?"
At the cultist's questioning, Dunchabel, unable to stand his arrogance any longer, was about to lunge, but a subordinate grabbed her arm from behind.
Why? Dunchabel asked with her eyes. Why not just slice the neck of this pathetic cultist? He was an eyesore.
The subordinate shook his head. She was about to shake off his grip but held back. After all, she was essentially a mercenary. Even though she was the captain, she had only obtained the position due to her raw strength.
The subordinate standing behind rolled his eyes and whispered, "This might actually be a good opportunity."
"Do whatever you want," Dunchabel muttered. She was cynical, adopting an attitude of utter indifference. She crossed her arms and looked away.
With Dunchabel stepping back, negotiations quickly opened between the cultist and one of the Black Sword bandits.
"Then, let us each pursue our own interests."
"Since our goals align."
They would remain wary of each other, but move toward the same objective.
"I shall begin," the cultist said. A twisted smile played on his lips. He reached out and stroked the fur of his demonic beast.
Grrrr.
The growl sounded like a hellhound rising from the depths of the abyss. In truth, it was not far off. It was a demonic beast that sent shivers down one's spine at a single glance. It possessed three rows of razor-sharp teeth, a tail like a scorpion's stinger, and the body and head of a lion. Its eyes gleamed with slit-like yellow pupils, and each of its claws was like a finely honed blade.
A Manticore—a high-grade monster capable of tearing an entire company to shreds.
"Go. Enjoy your feast."
At the cultist's command, the Manticore bolted. It moved with terrifying speed, leaping forward and scaling the castle wall in a single bound. It didn't even need to pass through the gates; it simply leaped over the wall. It wasn't classified as a high-grade monster for nothing.
"Roaaar!"
A roar designed to strike absolute terror into its prey, the Manticore silhouetted against the moonlight, and standing right before it...
‘A bear?’
Dunchabel narrowed her eyes. There appeared to be some sort of bear-like figure standing in front of the Manticore. It was too far away, and relying solely on the moonlight made it difficult to see clearly. Still, there was definitely something there.
*
Even if Vansento took bribes behind closed doors, he was outwardly a Naurilian noble. Thus, cutting him down would constitute the crime of murdering nobility. At the very least, it couldn't be done in front of witnesses.
‘It would be better to kill him in secret.’
Of course, that wouldn't be easy either. The noble's bodyguard looked formidable at a glance.
‘Should I try to coax the 4th Company Commander?’
Elves were born assassins, after all. With her sharp senses and stealth, wouldn't she be able to easily slice off a neck like his?
‘But that would bring its own set of complications.’