Chapter 195: Handling It (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 195: Handling It (3)
Immediately after Encrid left, Marcus secretly summoned the Border Guard Captain.
"Are the preparations in order?" Marcus asked.
He leaned back in his chair with a relaxed posture, but his eyes were those of a predator stalking its prey.
"They are veterans when it comes to this sort of work, sir."
"Good. Then we proceed as planned."
"Are you not going to inform the Independent Company Commander?"
"I gave him a nudge."
It was a subtle hint, but Marcus knew the man would handle it on his own. Besides, there was no need to burden him with the explicit task of killing a noble.
Marcus’s intention was simple: take the noble bastard who had lined his pockets with the Black Sword’s gold and run him ragged. Conveniently, they were also taking a prisoner along. They could use the captured beastman to pull all sorts of tricks.
Encrid had already read between the lines. There was no need for further explanation.
‘A talent who can humor that lunatic’s whims without lacking the skill to back it up.’
How many people in the unit actually fit that description?
Although Encrid had been promoted to Independent Company Commander, he wasn't yet fully recognized by the hierarchy, so his rank was perceived as lower than that of the 1st Company Commander or the Border Guard Captain. Yet, his skills were more reliable than anyone else's.
He was the perfect fit.
On top of that, Marcus had sent Encrid with a strange sense of anticipation. But that wasn't his only goal; he had many angles to consider.
Marcus also intended to keep Encrid’s true strength hidden. Keeping him within the unit wouldn't necessarily draw discerning eyes, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Since those Martai bastards were constantly sending spies, he planned to keep Encrid out of sight through various means. He absolutely did not want their core forces exposed through some unnecessary display of heroics.
Encrid was a vital asset—one of their elite few. He possessed outstanding personal skill and was capable of commanding. Though obsessed with training, his actions showed his character was solid. And to top it off, he even knew how to cater to a worthless noble’s whims.
‘My, my.’
With all this, how could he not be a coveted talent? Moreover, he was the very man who had reignited the fire in Marcus’s own chest.
For the first time in a long while, Marcus felt like he was truly living. It was a life of conquering new challenges rather than repeating meaningless days.
‘I’m thrilled to death.’
Contrary to his inner thoughts, Marcus maintained a solemn expression as he focused on his work. These tasks hardly suited his self-proclaimed moniker of "Warmonger."
It had always been that way. The title of Warmonger was a mask—a deception for his enemies.
In truth, Marcus was not particularly gifted in personal combat or the direct art of war, and he knew it. However, a lack of natural talent didn't mean he was incompetent. Marcus knew exactly how to utilize people. He knew how to trust them. He placed heavy responsibilities on the shoulders of his men.
The 1st Company Commander, the Border Guard Captain, the Elf Company Commander, and now Encrid. His hand was overflowing with jokers. He even had aces.
With so many cards to play, taking the stakes from the man sitting across from him was easier than expected. Since there was no need for complexity, Marcus moved simply and directly. He merely waited for the perfect moment to defy his opponent’s expectations.
‘Those Black Sword bastards, always sticking their snouts in to see what scraps they can scavenge.’
They were beasts. Demonic beasts drooling over the territory he was sworn to protect. Should he just stand by and watch?
"Then, I shall take my leave."
The Guard Captain saluted, and Marcus spoke to the back of his head.
"Kill them all."
"Of course, sir."
The Border Guard was a fortress territory, a land of soldiers. It was a place that had shed a gruesome amount of blood in the war with Azpen. If they dared to underestimate it and strike, it was time to mete out the appropriate punishment.
*
"Not even a platoon? Just three?"
The moment Baronet Vansento saw Encrid, Rem, and Ragna, he glared at them, harsh words spilling from his mouth.
"A commoner and two savages? What a wretched combination. You reek. Don't come near me."
Those were the first words out of his mouth upon meeting them at the castle gates.
Rem’s hand smoothly gripped the handle of his axe. Encrid reached out with his right hand and grabbed Rem’s wrist, while using his other hand to press down on Ragna’s left thigh. He shook his head at both of them.
"What is this? How dare you look upon a noble and not even show proper etiquette!"
Vansento was practically begging the heavens to be killed as quickly as possible. He was praying for it.
Encrid had expected this, so handling it was no issue.
"Yes, sir."
He offered a military salute and physically shielded Rem and Ragna with his body.
"Like captain, like soldiers, I see," Vansento sneered one last time.
"My axe is crying out, and I'm starting to itch. Let’s not make my axe sad," Rem growled, his voice deadly serious.
"Don't."
At least not within the territory. Assaulting a superior was one thing, but murdering a noble was an offense so grave that even if the royal palace dispatched an execution squad, they would have no grounds to complain. Judging by their current behavior, it wouldn't end with just a beating, either.
"Ragna, you too. Don't."
Ragna was the same. His red eyes gleamed ominously beneath his blonde hair.
"Let us go."
Perhaps it was a stroke of luck, but the noble’s guard—clad in a black cloak over leather armor—ushered the man along. Only the noble and his guard boarded the carriage; Encrid and his companions decided to walk.
And their party had grown by one.
"Why are we bringing this along?" Ragna asked, tugging at the end of the rope in his hand.
The beastman named Dunchabel was dragged forward by the motion. Her wrists were bound tightly with thick cords, and her arms and torso were wrapped as well. Ragna held the trailing end of the leash.
Blood seeped from where the cords chafed her skin. Given that a beastman’s hide was tougher than a human's, the fact that she was bleeding meant she likely hadn't been untied once since her capture. Not that anyone had any intention of freeing her.
"She's our guide."
Encrid did not trust the worthless noble traveling with them. Nor did he trust the prisoner, Dunchabel, in the slightest.
‘But she wants to live.’
Encrid had taken a simple approach. He had requested custody of the prisoner from the Battalion Commander, then went straight to her and asked:
"Do one job for me, and I'll let you live. Think of it as a commission."
Since she had described herself as a mercenary, a commission was fitting. The reward was her life; the choice was hers.
"...You're going to let me live?"
Her eyes were filled with suspicion. But the more he looked, the more fascinating those eyes were. A beastman with a golden tint in her pupils.
‘Isn't there some legend about golden eyes over there?’
Encrid recalled rumors he had heard during his days as a mercenary. Yet, looking at her now, she resembled a drenched puppy that had been cast out and kicked around.
He noticed, but he didn't ask. What would he even do with that information? A transaction was enough. Once this task was over, they would have no further business. The beastman’s role would end with either her death or her departure.
"Are you in or out? To trust or not, to do it or not—that's your choice."
Encrid spoke, then shook his head and corrected himself.
"Actually, you don't really have a choice. Just do it. Doing something is better than being executed. Once we're outside, you might even get a chance to escape."
"Why go through the trouble?"
Encrid did not answer. He couldn't. How could he put it into words? That her eyes—her desperate craving for life—resembled his own when he had struggled frantically to chase his dreams.
While Frok was driven by desire, beastmen clung to reproduction and instinct. It was only natural for a beastman to want to live. Humans were no different.
But the look she had shown was different. It wasn't just a plea for mercy. It was the look of someone so desperately craving survival that they would do absolutely anything. It was purely a matter of intuition, but he didn't want to ignore it.
"Do you have a thing for beastmen?"
The Battalion Commander had started with a joke, then added:
"It's just a single beastman. Do as you please."
Whether he freed her, killed her, or kept her as a slave because of his "tastes," he was told to handle it himself. The Battalion Commander was incredibly easygoing in these matters.
Encrid intended to let her go once she cooperated. Was attacking them a sin in itself? If so, when war broke out, would everyone have to die for it to end?
He didn't care to know her story. It was a mere whim. And if he could make use of her, all the better. That was why he assigned the role of guide to her instead of the half-witted noble. He could also cross-reference her directions to see if she was playing tricks.
After a brief train of thought following Ragna’s question, Encrid weighed whether he could explain this.
Not a chance. Even if he did, would Ragna even listen?
"She looks like she's good at finding paths."
He gave a condensed, simplified answer. Ragna looked strangely hurt.
"I might not be good at finding paths, but I am good with a sword."
As if anyone didn't know that.
"I know," Encrid said flatly, then stepped out of the castle gates.
Watching all of this, Dunchabel found the situation bizarre. The axe-wielding bastard who had tormented her wasn't even looking at her now. He treated her as if she didn't exist. He merely stroked his axe handle, his gaze fixed on the target they were escorting.
Her beastman instincts screamed a warning.
‘If left alone, he'll probably chop that man into six pieces.’
The man named Encrid seemed to know this as well, repeatedly warning him.
"Tone down your bloodlust."
"Stop."
"I said, stop."
"Rem."
Yet, Rem did not easily take his hand off his weapon.
‘He's a lunatic.’
Dunchabel sized up Rem in an instant. Her assessment was spot on.
"If you take a wrong turn, I'll cut you down."
The same went for the guy holding her leash. There wasn't a shred of emotion in Ragna's threat. He spoke as if it were a simple fact, something inevitable, as natural as the sun rising tomorrow morning.
‘Even if I run, I'll die.’
Above all, the ropes binding her were a problem.
‘What a bizarre taste.’
The rope wrapped once below her chest, then around her upper arms, and finally secured her neck and wrists. It wasn't just uncomfortable; it rendered any movement other than walking completely impossible.
They had barely taken a few steps when the noble opened the carriage window. The walls of the Border Guard were still visible behind them. A sharp-eyed patrol soldier would still be able to make out who they were.
The noble spoke.
"You look interesting. You, beastman—come to my carriage tonight."
Seeing his nostrils flaring made her wonder what it would feel like to shove her fingernails up them.
"Will you untie me then?"
"It'd be more fun with them on."
Seeing the raw lust radiating from him, she felt more than disgust—she realized this guy was an incredibly easy target. At least, he was far easier to handle than the guy holding her rope, the axe-wielder, or the one who had captured her.
Hearing the noble’s words, a smile crept onto Rem’s lips. She could tell his bloodlust was reaching a dangerous level.
Ragna remained silent, but he quietly added:
"If you move without permission, I'll cut you down."
This, too, was delivered in the same tone as "the moon rises at night."
‘Does he mean he'll kill me if I do what the noble says?’
Amidst all this, Dunchabel looked at the calmest human in the group. Encrid.
The moment the carriage started moving, he drew his sword and began to swing.
‘What on earth is he doing?’
Whoosh, whoosh.
The blade sliced through the air. Training while walking? Seeing him shift his feet this way and that as he moved, he seemed to be practicing his footwork as well.
The noble’s guard, who was also acting as the driver, sneered.
"Wriggling around won't turn a grub into a butterfly."
Did he even know what he was talking about? Dunchabel had fought Encrid. That man possessed terrifying skill. Yet, seeing what he was doing now, curiosity flared within her rather than fear.
Glancing back, she saw Ragna watching his captain intently. Unable to contain her curiosity, Dunchabel asked:
"With that kind of skill, why does he train so excessively...?"
She trailed off, unsure of how he would react, but Ragna answered more readily than expected.
"The captain was originally terrible. He couldn't even handle a single ghoul properly."
A single ghoul? No way. Dunchabel had faced Encrid. She knew his skill better than anyone.
"Yet, he swung his sword like that every single day. Even when it only meant his palms grew slightly tougher and he gained a tiny bit of muscle, he kept doing it. Every day was the same. Always, constantly. How could anyone be like that?"
At first, Ragna seemed to be answering her, but by the end, he was practically talking to himself.
Dunchabel stared at Ragna. His eyes seemed to burn with a strange intensity. It was the gaze of someone utterly captivated.
‘He couldn't even handle a ghoul?’
Yet he swung his sword? Every day? In the exact same way?
"That's just the kind of guy he is. Originally, it was a miracle he was even alive. I couldn't understand why he was trying to make a living with a sword. I have no idea when he got so good."
Rem chimed in as well. Though he had shown no interest before, the moment they started talking about Encrid, he joined the conversation. In his tone, there was no trace of the man who had mocked her while gouging at her wounds.
Still, he was a lunatic, so Dunchabel quietly took a step to the side. Then, she looked back at Encrid, who was still swinging his sword as he walked.
Dunchabel thought to herself.
‘When did I stop?’
After being cast out by the beastmen, she had struggled desperately just to survive. Then, she realized she was only a half-breed. Believing she would never be able to learn the beastmen’s techniques, she had concluded that further progress was impossible.
Seeing no more room for improvement, she had stopped training altogether.
‘That man couldn't even handle a single ghoul at one point?’
Beside her, she heard Rem muttering, "It didn't even take a year. Was that guy actually a genius? No, definitely not."
One year? Could someone transform like that in just a year?
Without realizing it, Dunchabel stared at Encrid’s back. He was a strange man. He hadn't risen to this height through extraordinary talent, but by swinging his sword day in and day out with mediocre talent?
They had no reason to lie to her. To Dunchabel, this was nothing short of fascinating.
Amidst that fascination, a sudden wave of envy welled up. Along with a pang of regret, wondering what her life would have been like if she had lived that way.
Ending her brief moment of reflection, Dunchabel cast her gaze left and right.
‘Hmm.’
Though she didn't let it show on her face, she spotted a mark of the Black Sword.
A choice had to be made. Should she speak up, or should she just let it pass?
She was at a crossroads.
While Dunchabel was agonizing over her choice, the carriage came to a halt.
"We'll take a break here," the driver announced.
And Encrid stopped swinging his sword.