Chapter 265: Misconceptions Are Sometimes Like the Grim Reaper
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 265: Misconceptions Are Sometimes Like the Grim Reaper
It was utter chaos.
People shoved and trampled one another. A construction worker, swept up in the stampede, was knocked to the ground and rolled toward Encrid. The man curled into a ball, desperately shielding his head in a frantic bid for survival.
Whoosh!
"Shut up and move!"
A few patrol soldiers appeared beyond the crowd, swinging their spear shafts and roaring in anger.
Encrid's senses were sharper than they had ever been. A perfect fusion of heightened sensitivity and focus sharpened his edge to a razor’s point.
How had he felt when he fought the Centaur Leader?
Back then, everything around him had felt within arm's reach. He had seen exactly how to use his surroundings, where to step, and what to do. Encrid stood perfectly still, frozen in that transcendent state. With his eyes half-closed, he quietly regulated his breathing.
"Boss?"
Perhaps finding the sight unsettling, Krais called out to him.
Aside from the worker rolling on the ground, a middle-aged woman and a young boy had also been knocked down by the surging crowd. No one wanted to be caught near Encrid and end up caught in the crossfire, so the crowd scrambled to get away. As a result, the worker, the woman, and the boy were left stranded in the clearing.
As the civilians distanced themselves from Encrid, an empty circle naturally formed around him, leaving only those three inside it.
The boy was deathly pale, trembling violently. The sleeve covering his arm was torn, and blood dripped from his elbow, likely scraped when he hit the ground.
"He's hurt," Krais said, glancing at the boy.
But he didn't step forward. It might have been different if the child were a girl, but he was a boy. More importantly, Krais knew that making a rash move right now was a recipe for disaster. He might not be much of a fighter, but he knew his role. Now was the time to trust his boss and hold his ground.
With his head bowed, the boy couldn't even bring himself to sob, his terrified eyes darting around.
Encrid, mid-breath, suddenly flicked the dart he had been holding.
His arm moved so fast it was a blur. The moment his limb whipped through the air, the dart was already flying, aiming straight for the worker's thigh.
The worker pivoted on his heel to dodge.
Zip! The dart grazed the thick cloth of his trousers and embedded itself in the ground.
In a way, it could have been dismissed as a lucky fluke. The movement had been that subtle. But could such a dodge in a moment like this really be a coincidence? It was a reflexive, instinctive evasion—but by doing so, he had essentially confessed his identity.
Though one might expect him to be flustered by the sudden projectile, the worker immediately flicked his wrists. Six darts flew from his hands. Three aimed for Encrid's chest and abdomen. The other three flew toward Krais's forehead, chest, and thigh.
Cheap tricks.
Even before the darts could fully leave the worker's hands, the gladius in Encrid's left hand was already in motion.
Cl-cl-cl-cl-clang!
All six darts were effortlessly deflected into the air.
Right then, the boy, who had slipped behind him unnoticed, suddenly thrust a sword forward. His steps had been so silent and swift that it was impossible to tell when he had gotten so close. Where on his small body had he hidden such a weapon? Where had that forearm-length shortsword even come from?
Gripping the hilt with both hands, the boy thrust with all his might. It was a fierce strike aimed precisely at an opening.
The moment Encrid deflected the darts, he smoothly spun around. His posture was so fluid it was as if he had anticipated the ambush from the start. As he turned and extended his sword, the tip caught the shortsword. With a sharp ting, the short blade was swept aside. Having parried the strike, Encrid's gladius slammed directly into the boy's chest.
Thud!
He must have been wearing sturdy leather armor underneath, as the blade didn't cut through immediately. However, just because the movement was smooth didn't mean it lacked raw power. The single blow, delivered right after parrying the shortsword, crushed the boy's breastbone.
Encrid's physical strength had reached a level where he could go toe-to-toe in an arm-wrestling match with Frok; even a glancing blow was now fatal.
"Ack..."
Having taken a direct hit, the boy let out a strained cough. Yet, he still reached into his shirt. He was persistent. But the boy would not get to fulfill his intent.
Esther, the small panther, moved in a flash. She lashed out with a forepaw, striking his chest once more.
Crack!
The sickening sound of breaking bones echoed loudly. The boy gasped, his movements grinding to a halt. The panther's strike had broken the boy's wrist and delivered a decisive second blow to his chest. With his hand still tucked inside his shirt, the boy drew his last breath.
And then.
"You miserable bastard."
Only then did the final assassin speak. It was the one disguised as a middle-aged noblewoman.
Encrid heard her, but he was already in motion. No—he had already completed his intended sequence of actions. He had executed three distinct actions in a single breath: deflecting the darts, parrying and striking the assassin behind him, and extending his right hand.
His fingertips pointed directly at the worker who had thrown the darts.
Thunk!
A knife embedded itself deep into the forehead of the man who was just about to draw another weapon. His head snapped back violently from the impact, and the worker collapsed to his knees before his head slumped forward.
Instant death.
"What did you say?"
Only then did Encrid reply, prompting the woman dressed in fine clothes to throw something at her feet.
Puff!
A smoke bomb. Thick, greyish-white smoke erupted from the ground, rapidly spreading in all directions.
"Esther."
With just a word, Encrid entrusted Krais to Esther's care and listened closely. Relying on his sixth sense and auditory training, he read his opponent's movements. He could tell she was running fiercely in one direction, likely heading out of the territory.
At the same time, he realized she wasn't alone.
How many of them are there?
Unbidden, the memory of the half-elf who had come before surfaced—the assassin who had left him a whistle dagger as a gift. Just like that elf, these assassins surely possessed hidden weapons, secret techniques, and various tools designed for killing.
When fighting that half-elf assassin, he had seen countless versions of "today."
What about today?
Encrid was confident. He had gauged his opponents' level and was fully aware of his current capabilities. Besides, they weren't the type to just pack up and go home if left alone. Letting a blade aimed at his throat slip away simply wasn't in his nature.
Encrid moved immediately.
"Krais, clean this up."
He left behind only that abrupt command.
"Huh?"
A dumbfounded response drifted from behind, but that big-eyed squad member was quick-witted enough to handle it. Encrid gave chase to the fleeing assassins.
*
Clean up this mess?
Krais stood dazed amidst the screaming crowd as the smoke swirled around him. Are all the assassins really gone? Hadn't one of them just thrown darts at me a moment ago?
As he stood still, a breeze blew through, beginning to clear the smoke. It didn't seem to be laced with poison. If it were poisoned, things wouldn't have ended this easily.
"Damn it! Everyone shut your mouths and get your heads down!"
An uncontrolled crowd was no different from a mob. And the only way to suppress a mob was through violence. Amidst the shoving crowd, a patrol soldier struck the head of a struggling man with the shaft of his spear.
Thwack!
Hit hard enough to draw blood, the fellow staggered sideways.
"Argh!"
The scream was only natural. The resident who had been struck was shoved aside. Veins bulged on the patrol soldier's neck. Public security was one of the things Marcus prioritized. The soldiers did their jobs.
An assassination here? An ambush? This absolute bullshit? If they handled this poorly, they would all end up dead.
That's more like it.
The soldiers would take care of quelling the chaos. Krais mapped out his next steps and turned his gaze. He saw the dead boy. Looking closely, it wasn't a child. The face was heavily aged, with deep wrinkles visible around the eyes and mouth. Just like the hunchback, every single one of them had a peculiar appearance.
Krais's eyes drifted to the shortsword the imposter had been holding. The blade lying on the ground gleamed with a dark coating.
Poison.
He had already anticipated this. What was the Black Sword trying to do?
Coercion. If that failed, the next step was intimidation. What forms would that intimidation take? The first had been the ambush on their return journey. Only after sending mercenaries—swordsmen bought with gold rather than their own men—would they have realized the truth.
Neither Swallow Blade nor a band of mercenaries could do it?
But would they give up? If it were me? I wouldn't. If they backed down now, the reputation of the Black Sword would hit rock bottom. It was as if they were asking: Did you really think we'd just let you go?
Still, he hadn't expected them to launch an assassination attempt on such a large scale. Krais raised a hand and scratched his head. He looked around at the crowd, which had grown significantly quieter.
"Esther, I'm counting on you," he muttered. If there were any remaining assassins, he was a dead man. Even so, he couldn't just abandon the task his boss had given him.
He could vaguely grasp the enemy's intentions. There wouldn't be any assassins left here. The one they were targeting was Encrid. If this had been an attack on the territory itself, it would be a completely different story. Slaughtering the citizens of a kingdom's territory on purpose? If so, the knights would get involved. No matter how distracted or overwhelmed they were, the knights were more than capable of mobilizing to slaughter a few bandits.
A clean way to handle it without going that far. Target just one person.
Therefore, what they had just done was a lure. Could Encrid have gone after them without realizing that?
Not a chance.
"Alright, everyone calm down. You there, don't step on other people's things. Those who set up stalls, pack up your goods for now. Workers, gather to one side and keep your heads down. You, patrol soldier, which unit are you with?"
"Under the 2nd Company, 2nd Platoon, sir."
Vengeance's men.
Krais nodded and spoke to the two of them. "Stop beating them and let's clean this up."
The patrol soldiers and other nearby troops gathered. With more than a squad's worth of forces combined with Krais's sharp eye, the situation was quickly brought under control.
"Because of this, my goods, my goods..."
"Come on, you were only selling a few wooden arrows. What's all this fuss about 'your goods'? Only a handful of them are even broken."
"You saw that?"
The merchant, who had been whimpering as if his world had ended, instantly changed his expression. Krais shut down a few shameless merchants with his words and comforted the rest who had suffered actual losses.
"Do you know what our battalion commander's greatest strength is? He has gold coins to burn. While we can't compensate you for your lost goods right now, there are plenty of places that need hands. Work as a laborer for a month or two. The pay is generous. It'll probably earn you more than selling whatever junk you brought here."
Krais knew how to turn a crisis into an opportunity. After all, they had to widen the main road and build watchtowers anyway. And weren't they supposed to finish digging the moat? Then they'd have to build a drawbridge, too.
They needed plenty of hands. The more manpower, the better. And they had plenty of Krona to afford them.
"Alright, those of you with construction experience, step forward and let us know."
Since he was at it, he decided to steer things in a direction that would benefit the territory. People adapted quickly to sudden changes. An ambush was an ambush, smoke was smoke, the cold was the cold, and Krona was Krona.
At a nod from Krais, who had instantly transformed the scene into a labor market, two soldiers began clearing away the corpses.
With the crowd gathered, Krais shouted: "Raise your hand if you've got some building experience!"
*
You couldn't bribe them with Krona. You couldn't gently coax them to step aside. When there was someone blocking your path, and all it took was pressing a piece of iron into a passerby's hand and saying, "Go stab him," to solve the problem—what would you do?
It was a simple yet clear-cut method. That was exactly what the Black Sword had done.
Encrid knew this was a lure. As he ran, he was showered with darts more than five times. And amidst that...
Screeech!
He heard a familiar, welcome sound. Assassins who used whistle daggers weren't exactly common. Encrid reflexively pinpointed the location of the one using the weapon.
Since hiding and stalking wasn't his forte, he simply ran straight ahead. Naturally, this made him an easy target. All sorts of projectiles flew from the hands of the fleeing assassins. By deflecting every single projectile with the sword in his left hand, he personally proved that it served as an excellent substitute for a shield.
Some of the assassins gasped in horror at the sight of him.
What the hell is that guy?
Didn't they say the people around him were the problem?
Why isn't even a single one grazing him?
Every single projectile was coated in poison; a mere scratch would have sufficed. Yet, not a single one even touched him. What's more, when a whistle dagger was thrown, he casually snatched it out of the air and tucked it into his shirt. It was the only weapon not coated in poison—did he do that knowing this?
But how on earth did he do that? Catching a whistle dagger mid-air? There were several renowned assassins within the Black Sword, but even they didn't have the confidence to pull off such a stunt.
As he deflected incoming bolts with his sword, his gaze swept around, locking precisely onto their hidden positions. Still, the group of assassins headed toward their designated rendezvous point: the waist-high reed field located to the northeast of the territory, situated between the upper camp and the town.
The Black Sword didn't know. Or rather, they didn't know the full truth. They knew there were many dangerous individuals around Encrid, but they had no idea that Encrid himself was the true threat.
Misconceptions can be dangerous. At least for them, misconceptions, misunderstandings, and a lack of information were synonymous with the Grim Reaper.