Chapter 264: What Is the Black Sword Up To?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 264: What Is the Black Sword Up To?
"So, how was he?"
The question came from Edin Molsen's father.
Seated at his desk, the Count spoke without looking up, forcing the man who had served as Edin’s guard to address the crown of his head.
Standing at attention, the guard reported, "He has unlocked his Will. He is at least at the level of an Associate Knight."
Ascending, unlocking, reaching, awakening, achieving—there were many ways to describe the act of wielding 'Will,' but only one thing mattered here.
The man could use Will.
A man with black hair and blue eyes—someone intriguing, certainly, but not someone they needed to recruit immediately.
"His Will?"
The scratching of the quill pen came to a halt. The Count raised his head, a clear shift in emotion flickering in his eyes.
The guard noted how rare such a reaction was, while the Count repeated the words, falling into deep thought.
‘I knew he was the subject of formidable rumors, but to think he has already unlocked his Will?’
It meant he had truly reached the realm of an Associate Knight.
A true Associate Knight and someone merely 'Associate Knight-level' were worlds apart. Comparing a half-baked swordsman to someone who could manifest Will was utterly absurd.
Yet, the world often threw around the term 'Associate Knight-level.' Usually, it meant that despite lacking Will, the person could roughly hold their own against a proper Associate Knight.
The Count knew all too well how meaningless such a comparison was.
Setting his quill down entirely, the Count leaned back in his chair.
‘His Will...’
He repeated the words in his mind. It wasn't a conscious choice; it happened naturally. This was not something that could be easily overlooked.
The man had already seemed to far surpass the level of a Squire. On this continent, those called 'Associate Knight-level' were usually nothing more than Squires—those who trained their bodies and minds without ever unlocking Will.
Among them, some might live debauched lives yet somehow awaken their Will. Others might live lives of monastic poverty, knowing nothing but training, before finally becoming Associate Knights. What they all had in common was that they were, at the very least, renowned powerhouses at the territory level.
Thus, even being a Squire was synonymous with being a terrifyingly skilled swordsman.
Considering all this, the term 'Associate Knight-level' was an insult to the real thing. But this man wasn't just at that level; he had become fully equal to an Associate Knight.
The guard studied the Count's face. Aside from the initial shift in his eyes, his expression remained unchanged, masked by a practiced, indifferent stoicism.
With a faint smile, the Count spoke. "This has become interesting."
The Count mentally discarded the various schemes he had been privately formulating. "What is your assessment of him?"
He was asking for the guard's professional opinion. The guard hesitated for a moment.
How much should he reveal? There was no reading this man's mind. He was utterly untrustworthy.
‘Madman.’
Despite being a noble of Naurilia, the Count had formed a pseudo-alliance with the Hurier family of Azpen. The guard himself was living proof of that alliance. On paper, he was a guard and a guest of the Count's household, but in reality, he was a member of the Hurier family.
His true identity was an Associate Knight of Azpen. This was the result of the higher-ups twisting politics this way and that. As a mere Associate Knight lacking political acumen, it was none of his business. He only recognized one simple, clear fact: this man was plotting something, and Azpen had agreed to it.
‘Does this man possess even a shred of paternal affection?’
None was visible.
Before they knew it, the long shadows of the setting sun stretched through the window and into the office, enveloping the room in an orange glow.
The guard chose his words carefully. "He is an incredibly tricky and difficult opponent to deal with, and he exerts a strange influence over those around him."
"So he's the type to gather people and put them under his thumb?"
"No, not quite. However..." The guard paused, searching for the right words. "Even without him intending it, everyone around him seems to watch him. They appear to enjoy being by his side."
The guard thought of the half-giant. She called herself Teresa the Wanderer, but anyone who couldn't recognize her true identity must have been blind. She had originally been an enemy belonging to a different faction, yet now she stayed by his side. How was that even possible? It defied logical understanding.
And what about the others around him? Finally, the guard had also sensed a change in Edin Molsen. He was about to bring up the Count's son, but the Count spoke first.
"You said the Black Sword is targeting him?"
The sunset touched the left side of the Count's face. At that moment, the Count's face seemed split in two—divided by the line of sunlight into two completely different countenances. On neither was there any trace of worry, anxiety, or even basic concern for his son.
For a brief moment, the guard felt that the Count's phrasing—speaking as if he had already known the Black Sword was targeting him, rather than just hearing it now—was slightly off, but he held his tongue.
"That is what I heard," the guard replied.
"Indeed. This has become quite interesting."
"Yes. If you will excuse me, then."
The guard suddenly felt a wave of nausea. Dealing with this man constantly brought such thoughts to mind. How far could human malice grow? What was one willing to discard for the sake of ambition?
If someone were to open the path of a knight for him, how much would he be willing to give up?
‘My family? My children?’
Must one sacrifice everything as an offering to move forward? For ambition? Or should one stop for the sake of humanity?
The Count before him looked like he would never stop. Children, family, affection—none of those things seemed to exist in his mind.
As the guard opened the office door and stepped out, he saw the man standing guard outside. It was a man with long silver hair, wearing a low-drawn black helmet. The silver-haired man gave a slight nod, and the guard responded with a tilt of his chin before stepping into the dark corridor where the sunset could not reach.
The Count's guard in the black helmet closed the door.
Thud.
The Count rested his chin on his hand, staring at the closed door. He felt a craving. Pulling out a pipe, he placed it between his lips and snapped his fingers.
With a whoosh, a flame flared up, pushing back the orange glow of the sunset. Moving the flame from his fingertip to light the end of his pipe, the Count smiled. He took a deep drag, drawing the tobacco smoke into his lungs before exhaling, letting it bloom into a cloud around his mouth.
The smoke mingled with the sunset, appearing like an orange haze.
"Those Black Sword bastards."
This wouldn't be any fun for them. If the target wasn't just Associate Knight-level, but a true Associate Knight... and if, according to the guard's report, the people around him were all equally formidable... then they would have a terribly hard time getting what they wanted.
‘Even if they succeed, that's fine too.’
If the Black Sword managed to deal a blow to Encrid's group, he could simply weigh the scales and step in then. However, he doubted it would play out that way. It was a vague premonition, but his premonitions rarely missed the mark.
"It will certainly be entertaining, though."
The Count fell deep into thought, and nowhere in his mind was there any room for Edin Molsen.
*
The moment Encrid grabbed the wrist, his opponent yanked back with all his might.
Naturally, the wrist didn't budge an inch. It remained as still as a statue. Veins bulged on the back of the opponent's hand from the sheer tightness of the grip. Though the people around him were all monsters in their own right, Encrid's physical strength was by no means inferior to theirs.
Crack.
He pulled and twisted the wrist backward. The joint snapped, bending at an unnatural angle. Yet, not even a whimper escaped the opponent's mouth.
The market was bursting at the seams, half-filled with people and half with merchandise. Few among the surrounding crowd paid any attention to what was happening.
"Damn it! What the hell am I supposed to do if you step on that?" a street vendor shouted fiercely.
"Hey, there's no room to walk here!"
We really need to widen the streets.
Did they pour Krona into doing that as well? There were indeed signs of it. Construction to widen the main road was already underway. The territory itself was expanding.
The hunchback with the broken wrist reached out with his other hand. Encrid delivered a sharp snap strike with his right fist before the opponent's elbow could even fully extend.
It was a speed invisible to ordinary people—including Krais, who was standing right beside him. There was only the sound of rushing wind, followed immediately by a sickening crunch.
Even though Esther was cradled in Encrid's arms, she was slightly surprised by the strike, which carried almost no recoil.
‘His strikes have gotten even cleaner.’
As a witch, she couldn't pinpoint exactly what had changed about Encrid, but her primal instincts told her as much.
This was right after he shattered the hunchback's jaw. Since the attacker was wearing a thick robe, Encrid grabbed the hood and yanked it back, revealing a shaggy-haired figure with a prominent hump on his back.
The entire sequence—breaking the wrist, throwing the punch, and stripping the robe—took no longer than a few breaths. But the moment this brief sequence ended, a projectile flew toward him with a sharp whoosh.
With his Sixth Sense active, Encrid swatted his open palm toward the incoming projectile. The object was knocked down, plunging vertically into the ground with a sharp thud.
It was a dart.
"These guys are no joke," Encrid said, nudging the dart with the toe of his boot.
"...Is that really something you should say after taking him down so effortlessly?" Krais spoke with utter disbelief. What about this was "no joke"?
Esther leaped out of Encrid's arms. Seeing a panther land on the ground, several bystanders gasped in shock. Some had seen the fallen hunchback, the dagger in his hand, and the presence of Encrid and Krais. While transient merchants might not recognize their faces, there was no way the locals of the Border Guard wouldn't.
"A blade!"
"An ambush!"
"An assassin!"
The shouts only added fuel to the chaos. The surroundings descended into utter bedlam, filled with screams, the shrieks of merchants, and stall owners desperately trying to protect their wares.
Encrid kept his thoughts to himself as he expanded the range of his senses. Nothing caught his radar. This was exactly why he had said these guys were no joke.
‘I didn't sense him until he tried to stab me.’
And the one who threw the dart had vanished into the crowd the instant it left his hand; he was nowhere to be found. Their stealth techniques were deeply ingrained. If there had been fewer people, he might have been able to track them down.
Encrid focused. Where are you?
He mobilized his sight, hearing, smell, and touch. Adding his Sixth Sense to his physical perceptions, he could roughly pinpoint a direction.
A faint trace of killing intent.
The moment he focused on that direction, something flew at him from behind with a heavy whoosh. It was slower than the dart, but much heavier.
‘A thrown stone?’
Encrid spun around. His eyes caught the incoming projectile. Thanks to his rigorous training, his highly developed dynamic visual acuity allowed him to see the object with perfect clarity.
It was a leather pouch.
Encrid acted on a strange intuition—a purely instinctive urge. Drawing his gladius, he twisted his wrist so the flat of the blade faced upward, then swung it in a powerful upward slash to meet the flying pouch.
Thud! Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!
The struck pouch burst in midair, spraying iron caltrops in all directions.
‘Oh, look at that. This is a first.’
"Kyaaaah!"
Several caltrops rained down. Since it was winter and everyone was bundled up in thick clothing, few were actually pierced. However, there was no stopping the chaos from escalating.
"Damn it! Everyone, get inside a building! Anyone left outside will be treated as hostile!" the shout of a soldier patrolling the market rang out.
It was a sensible call. In situations like this, it was better to suppress the crowd with force and enforce order through sheer authority.
Encrid didn't move. He simply kept a steady, watchful eye on his surroundings. Krais looked around and, deciding that staying right here was actually safer, froze in place.
Ping!
In the meantime, two more darts flew through the air, one of them aimed straight at Krais. The incoming dart stretched into a line of trajectory. As the line extended, its destination and path became clear within Encrid's perception.
His concentration exploded. It was a Single-Point Focus.
His heightened senses, razor-sharp focus, and daring heart aligned in perfect harmony. Encrid moved as if performing a choreographed feat. He dodged the dart aimed at himself with a simple tilt of his head while reaching out to snatch the other one out of midair.
It all happened in a single motion, within the span of a single breath. Had the assassin who threw the darts witnessed this, his hair would have stood on end. He would have been trembling to his very core, desperate to flee.
And of course, he must have seen it.
Encrid caught the dart, holding it by the tip, and let it dangle casually between two fingers.
‘Look at these bastards. Targeting Krais?’
In that brief interval, another dart flew in with a slight delay. This one was aimed at Esther, but the panther had already dodged. When it came to sheer agility, how many humans could possibly best a beast? Only the dart embedding itself with a sharp thunk where the panther had stood remained as proof of the attempt.
Growl.
Esther bared her teeth in hostility, while Encrid kept his senses wide open. The assassins were highly skilled.
‘Deliberately leaking killing intent, throwing a pouch of iron caltrops...’
And did they coat them in poison? They probably did.
Traces of killing intent flared up and vanished all around them.
"Don't push! I said, don't push!"
"Don't step on me!"
"Do you have any idea who I am? Get your hands off me!"
"Help me!"
The market descended into even greater chaos.