Chapter 197: That Was Then. Or So They Thought.
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 197: That Was Then. Or So They Thought.
Baronet Vansento had devised the best plan possible given the circumstances. Or rather, he had devised one.
Kill the bastards acting as escorts—Encrid and his party—and seize the opportunity to join hands with Martai to overthrow the territory. He had even convinced himself that this was what should have been done long ago.
But that same Vansento was now in no position to speak. After all, there was nothing a man with a split skull buried in the dirt could say.
"Let's go."
Encrid searched the two corpses and the carriage, pocketing anything of value before digging a hole to bury the bodies.
Not bad.
There was a hefty pouch of gold coins along with a few gems. He also found several black stones of unknown purpose. They didn't look like jewels, but the moment he laid eyes on them, he felt a strange energy radiating from within.
Would these sell? Since they might be exchangeable for gold, he took everything. He swept the gold and items into his pack, and after claiming the black dagger the escort had used, he had stripped them completely clean.
"I feel like a bandit," Encrid remarked.
"How about starting the Encrid Bandits once we leave the army?" Rem cracked a dry joke. He talked a big game, but he wasn't the type to rob innocent commoners.
Encrid and his party set off immediately without resting. Since they were moving, Dunchabel naturally had to follow, bound by a rope. There wasn't even a sliver of a chance for her to escape.
She had warned them about the ambush. Even though she had told them that some of the Black Sword's core forces would be waiting, they remained completely unbothered.
"The harsh wilderness, the black sun, the crumbling earth, the shattering sky..."
Rem stopped walking for a moment and began to belt out a song that sounded like a folk tune from the western frontier. It wasn't a particularly great song, but Rem's voice was surprisingly good.
"Shattering the sky, running to tear it down..."
While letting Rem’s song go in one ear and out the other, Dunchabel listened to the other two chatting up ahead.
"How did you commit the swordsmanship movements to memory?"
"I memorized them all."
It seemed like a complex question, but the answer was simple and clear. The blonde who had asked the question hesitated for a long moment, seemingly choosing his words. Then, he spoke bluntly.
"Extending your left hand is meant to force the opponent to the right. You must not ignore the intent behind the movements."
"Yeah. I get it."
The leader, Encrid, nodded.
He gets it?
Dunchabel found it utterly baffling. She wondered what on earth they were talking about.
Encrid continued. "You mean there's a purpose to every step, and a purpose to the hand holding the sword, right?"
At that, the blonde nodded lightly. "Correct. Every movement has a meaning."
She couldn't understand the nuances of their conversation, but she knew one thing: they were talking about swordsmanship. Dunchabel was still dumbfounded. How could they be so relaxed?
A ticklish sensation stirred in her chest. Dunchabel couldn't tell exactly what it was, but one thing was clear—a sudden surge of curiosity welled up inside her. A curiosity about who these people actually were.
*
Listening to Ragna, Encrid gained a small realization. It was exactly what he needed to hear right now. Ragna had picked up on his flaw after just a single battle and pointed it out, even if his poor speaking skills made the explanation a bit clumsy.
Well, as long as I understand it, it doesn't matter.
Encrid reflected on the lesson by summarizing it back to him. Every movement in swordsmanship has a meaning. It was only right to grasp every single one of those meanings.
He had felt something similar when fighting the beastman earlier. The harmony between the Valen-style mercenary sword and its swordsmanship. Ultimately, swinging the sword was up to the person holding it.
To understand and internalize it.
Once he fully understood it, he would be able to deconstruct and apply it, pulling out the necessary movements at the exact moment they were needed. Ragna's words had started with the meaning of movements, but for Encrid, they ultimately pointed back to his attitude toward learning the blade.
"As for the Heavy Sword Style... once you fully understand the sword you've learned now, then we can move on to that," Ragna said from beside him.
"After I understand and internalize this one first," Encrid added.
Both of them nodded, looking straight ahead.
"I told you, there's an ambush ahead!"
Rem had finished his song, and the conversation with Ragna had wound down. The beastman spoke—or rather, pleaded—from behind. Her voice was tense, unable to hide her sheer bewilderment.
"What did you say your name was?" Encrid asked, turning his head slightly.
Though she wondered how many times he was going to ask, the beastman answered with a look that said her name hardly mattered right now. "Dunchabel."
"Right, Dunchabel."
Encrid was going to explain why they were heading straight for the ambush, why they were taking the risk. He didn't view the upcoming ambush as a crisis.
Why? Because who was the one who had informed the other side of their strength? It would have been the dead noble and his escort. The Black Sword's raiders were all dead, and the only survivor was this single beastman. If she had secretly sent word, that would be a different story.
But there isn't the slightest sign of that.
They hadn't given her the chance anyway, but there was also something he could sense just by looking at her. Her golden eyes were a mix of doubt, curiosity, and something akin to yearning.
Dunchabel was simply asking why they were heading toward the ambush. The answer was simple. If a small elite force was waiting without knowing their true strength...
...then an ambush isn't really an ambush.
Of course, all these calculations could go awry, putting them in danger. There was always a chance of that. What if the Black Sword went half-mad and deployed more than half of their entire force here?
No way.
The probability of that was far too low. As Krais had admitted, Encrid didn't use his brain often, but when he did, it worked quite well. The phrasing was a bit annoying, but it wasn't a bad thing. Encrid knew that well himself.
If it were me...
If he were the leader of the Black Sword, he would send exactly twice the strength of the previous group. That would be more than enough. If they were still worried, they would add someone whose specialty was assassination rather than open combat.
Therefore, their estimation of strength would be completely off. He wasn't alone; he had Rem and Ragna with him. Ragna, who was yawning widely and muttering about being sleepy. Rem, who was kicking pebbles on the ground as he walked. Neither showed even a shred of tension.
For now, both of them possessed overwhelming strength compared to Encrid. This was why the enemy's estimation of their strength would be a fatal mistake. This was what Encrid believed.
Dunchabel repeating that there was an ambush ahead was essentially asking why they were just walking straight into it. He had an answer, but explaining it all would take too long, and there was no need to convince the golden-eyed beastman in front of him anyway.
"If you're asking why we're going where the ambush is... it's just because." He paused for a moment, then added one more thing as he looked into her yearning eyes. "I want to swing my sword more."
It wasn't a lie. He had calculated the risks, but it was also a genuine desire deep in his heart. At those words, Dunchabel's golden pupils trembled violently.
"……Why?"
Why for such a trivial reason? Yet, precisely because it was such a reason, it felt right. Kriemhild's teachings surged from the depths of her heart like a fountain, striking her mind. It felt as if someone had struck a loud bell right next to her ear.
In the end, bloom and wither on the battlefield.
Kriemhild, the god she believed in, had told her to bloom and wither on the battlefield. The man before her was trying to do exactly that. At the same time, she recalled the words of the old fortune-teller she had heard when she was kicked out of her village.
"When you wish to die in the future, a guide shall be by your side."
Back then, she had thought it was merely a sympathetic remark offered out of pity, but now it felt different. Dunchabel had prepared for death, yet she lived. Whose whim had caused that? It was because of the man before her.
Amidst the jealousy, envy, and admiration in Dunchabel's heart, a gentle breeze began to stir.
I want to bear his child.
In reality, it would be impossible. Half-breeds between beastmen and humans were not easily born. But that wasn't her only desire.
I want to be a part of his world.
She wanted to be near him. She wanted to learn about his life. She wanted to die by his side. A complex, subtle desire burned in her chest.
Encrid glanced at her eyes. What is wrong with her eyes now? He thought he had gotten used to seeing people with crazy eyes lately, but he had never seen eyes like this before. They were... strangely sensual, yet intense.
"By the way, why didn't Esther tag along?" Rem suddenly asked.
Averting his gaze from the beastman, Encrid replied, "How should I know? Our Esther is a fickle one."
Encrid spoke jokingly, and Rem chuckled. "If Esther heard that, she'd probably carve a sheet of music onto your face, Boss. But then again, you're not wrong."
One moment she would act as if she would never leave his side, and the next she would leave their lodgings on a whim and not return for days. Looking at Esther's behavior, "fickle" seemed like a very fitting description.
Walking at a leisurely pace, they climbed a small hill. After passing a few small trees, they soon found themselves surrounded by a dense growth that blocked their view to the left and right. The path was rough, with jagged rocks protruding from the dirt. Ants marched in lines between them, carrying the carcasses of dead insects. They moved with diligent purpose.
It was not an easy path to walk. As they progressed, it felt less like a hill and more like a small mountain. Normally, crossing this area would put them two days' walk away from the agreed-upon meeting place—the place where the envoy and the Black Sword were supposed to meet. Of course, that promise was now utterly meaningless.
Rustle.
The leaves rustled in the wind, and sunlight filtered through the canopy. The weather was pleasant. The breeze was refreshing, and the sunlight, filtered by the leaves, wasn't too hot.
Stepping forward, they came upon a clearing, behind which lay a dense tangle of leaves and briars. It was a clearing with no way forward. A dead end.
"This is as far as you go."
About ten figures stood inside the clearing. One of them spoke up. Three women and seven men. Among them, there was a man wielding an axe, another staring with his arms dangling loosely, one sitting on a decently sized boulder looking clean-cut, and another perched on a tree branch right above him. They were a diverse bunch.
A chilly tension filled the air. The speaker glared, and Encrid and his party stopped in their tracks.
"Oh, wow. An ambush."
Encrid's tone was theatrical. His acting, however, was terrible.
"Oh, wow. We're trapped," Rem chimed in.
"My, what a surprise," Ragna uttered. Since he said it while wiping sleep from his eyes, he looked truly shocked indeed.
Watching this, Dunchabel was still dumbfounded. A comedy routine, right here, right now?
"To think they were waiting for us here. How meticulous," Encrid continued. His casual ear-scratching while discussing their "meticulousness" was quite a sight.
"I never expected this. My knees are shaking so hard I might die," Rem said, picking his nose. Even while picking his nose, Rem's handsome face didn't lose its charm.
"I was so startled I almost bit my tongue." As he spoke, Encrid crunched on a piece of candy.
Crunch.
Must be sweet. But where did that candy even come from? Dunchabel couldn't help but wonder.
"Ooh, I want to run away."
At Encrid's words, Rem, who was always dead serious about mocking his opponents, played along. What were the two of them doing?
Provocation.
Listening to them scrape away at the enemy's nerves from the very start, even Dunchabel felt a bit irritated. So, how would the enemy feel?
"Are these guys insane?" One of them looked utterly bewildered.
"You bastards must be dying to get killed," a woman sneered, trying to act casual.
"They're dead men anyway," said another, who had no interest in them from the start.
"These motherfuckers..." muttered one who was visibly enraged.
Seeing their reactions, Encrid nodded and looked at Rem. Rem looked back at Encrid, snorted, and nodded. The two of them seemed highly pleased with the enemy's response.
"Don't run away. Stay here." The blonde with red eyes, Ragna, spoke and pushed Dunchabel back.
If there was ever a moment to run, it was now. But instead of running, Dunchabel chose to watch. She wanted to know. She wanted to see just what kind of confidence brought these three here. Their opponents were renowned forces even within the Black Sword. Dunchabel still didn't truly know the extent of Encrid, Rem, and Ragna's abilities.
"In all my years, I've never seen bastards like you. Since Vansento is nowhere to be seen, I assume you've already dealt with him. Did you come here knowing we were waiting?"
The speaker was a heavily bearded man standing at the front. His weapon was a halberd. Its tip was sharp, and the axe blade attached to the side of the spearhead was the size of a palm. Just by looking at his stance as he held it diagonally, he seemed like a formidable opponent. If that axe blade caught someone, their skull would burst like a ripe fruit.
"How did you know?" Encrid asked.
"...You have a real talent for mocking people, don't you?" the halberd-wielder said, his eyes widening.
Rem chuckled. "Bingo! I've never met anyone with a tongue as sharp as his in my entire life."
Encrid felt wronged. "I was being completely sincere."
Of course, there was a tiny bit of intent to tease, but wasn't it a perfectly natural question to ask in this situation? How did you know? That was it. It was a perfectly reasonable question.
"So, instead of trying to win with words, it's probably better to come at us with steel, don't you think?" Rem said, wrapping up the conversation.
The halberd-wielder furrowed his brow. He hesitated for a brief, very brief moment. They came even though they knew about the ambush?
There was no time for long deliberation.
"What is there to think about?!"
A brawler took the first step. He wore knuckles with flat iron plates attached to both fists. Encrid's antics and provocations had been designed precisely to prevent the enemy from becoming suspicious and hesitating. Thus, the enemy's reaction was exactly the outcome he had hoped for.
Seeing the brawler charge, the halberd-wielder had no choice but to follow suit.
Kill them first.
He and the Black Sword forces gathered here were the elite of this branch. Excluding the branch leader, they were sometimes referred to as the Ten Swords. In this region, when the ten of them gathered, they felt they couldn't lose to anyone—as long as their opponents weren't an order of knights.
Since there was no way the Red Cloak Knights could show up in this situation, the halberd-wielder had taken on this task believing victory was guaranteed.
That was then. Or so he had thought.
Right up until the moment before the brawler and the axe-wielder exchanged their first blows, that was exactly what he had thought.