Chapter 274: Was That All You Had to Show?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 274: Was That All You Had to Show?
"I don't think it'll be a problem," Finn replied.
Things had become a bit complicated, but was it truly an issue? She doubted it.
After all, look who had come with them.
It was Encrid and Sachsen.
With Encrid's absurdly brutal swordsmanship, he could likely carve through half the bandits here without breaking a sweat. And it wasn't as if a pack of thieves possessed enough loyalty to stand their ground and die for one another. Once the bodies started piling up, half of them would probably bolt.
Was it dangerous? Not really. Finn could easily foresee how a crowd of humans—especially a band of outlaws—would react. It was entirely predictable. Even in the worst-case scenario, where every single one of them lunged at once, this was Encrid they were talking about. He wasn't the type to just stand there and take it.
"I smell a spell," Sinar the elf said, her senses sharp and clear.
Finn frowned. A mage. That was indeed a bit of a headache. There was no telling what kind of variable a magic user might introduce.
Even so...
I don't think he'll be beaten.
Especially since Encrid wasn't alone. Finn had a history with the Mad Company; she knew that Sachsen was far from ordinary as well.
That was why she spoke up. "That may be, but it looks like there's less attention on us right now."
Her intention was to leave the men to handle the chaos while they focused on their objective. Her eyes swept over the village center, where Encrid was currently causing a ruckus. Even in the dead of night, the central square was illuminated by a sea of torches. She could see the bandits gathering there, one after another, drawn to the noise.
"Indeed."
"Shouldn't we investigate what we came for first?"
Finn reasoned that no matter how dangerous it got, Encrid would know how to save his own skin. Sinar nodded. Despite the potential problem, she recognized what took priority.
In the center of the village, the bandits had dug a den. Checking what was happening inside was their primary mission. Sinar and Finn had been chasing those traces all this way, after all.
*
It had only been a month since he joined this village. His name was Bond.
He had been working as a mediocre mercenary when greed got the better of him, leading him to stab his comrade in the back. It was a common story—the desire to pocket the entire reward for himself. His only mistake was that the man he stabbed didn't die quietly, and the victim's "brother-in-arms" happened to be a guard for a high-ranking noble.
Bond had been chased by the authorities immediately and had to run for his life.
Talk about a string of rotten luck.
His mother had been a prostitute. "Just go die already, die!" she used to scream. His life had been twisted ever since he ran away, unable to bear her nagging, and began wandering the back alleys of the territory. He eventually became known as "Backstabbing Bond" and transitioned into mercenary work, but old habits died hard.
He had betrayed his comrade, and the situation had backed him into a corner. Where else could someone like him go? He had managed to find refuge with the Black Sword, and he was just starting to adapt.
The two most important things he had learned during his month here were:
First, if you crossed the ruler of the village, you would burn to death before you could even realize what was happening.
Second, you must never pick a fight with the guard who never finished his sentences or the woman who used claws.
After seeing a man get his tongue cut out just for making a sarcastic remark, Bond had made sure never to even look at that woman's thighs. He avoided eye contact as much as possible. But he still knew their faces; he had to, if he wanted to survive. To Bond, those two were the symbols of the military might protecting this village.
And now, those two symbols had truly become statues—immovable and silent. Of course, they hadn't been left in a very pretty state.
"Grrrk..."
In truth, all Bond had seen was a flash of movement.
Among the bandits, some were just staring blankly like him, clutching rusted shortswords, hammers, slings, blackjacks, or spiked clubs. Others, reading the room, threw daggers or darts, and there were over ten archers holding crossbows.
Regardless, none of them had time to react. All eyes were drawn to the two "symbols," who were now letting out sounds that were half-screams, half-groans.
The guard who never finished his sentences used a short spear about the length of a forearm. He was said to be a former mercenary who had made quite a name for himself, but the moment his spear tip met the opponent's sword, his throat was slashed.
It was true. The instant they touched—huh?—his throat was already open. It was incomprehensible to Bond’s eyes. All he saw was that as soon as their weapons met, the black-haired man's blade struck the opponent's neck.
Wait, shouldn't there be a clashing sound when swords meet?
There wasn't. The Soft Sword style, the swordsmanship Encrid had forged, utterly toyed with the opponent. Just because the strike was "soft" didn't mean the blade was a cotton ball; its razor-sharp edge had struck the enemy with perfect precision.
Immediately after, the woman with the claws tried to scratch his back, but something swept upward from below with a whoosh, and she was split in two.
Thus, the second symbol was divided into two pieces. That was it.
What on earth had he done? Bond had heard rumors of swordsmen with ghostly skills, but this felt like witnessing actual witchcraft. An absurd difference in skill had a way of making swordsmanship look like magic.
Bond froze. Should he attack? He’d die instantly. His instincts screamed at him to run, to flee immediately.
"Huh?"
One of the crossbowmen let out a dumbfounded gasp.
"Move."
The true ruler of the village stepped forward through the crowd of bandits. Bond flinched, about to step back, but stopped. The moment the woman appeared, she commanded the attention of the entire square. Her name was Kaisella, a woman distinguished by her curly brown hair, gently curved eyes, thick lips, and a voluptuous figure.
With one hand resting on her slender waist, Kaisella frowned as she looked at the two corpses.
The moment she appeared, the monster who had sliced the two symbols of might flicked his hand. In the blink of an eye, he drew and threw a knife. Of course, Bond couldn't follow the movement. It was too fast. He only saw the result and deduced what had happened.
The thrown blade bounced off a transparent barrier with a dull thud.
The crease between Kaisella's brows deepened. Whenever she made that face, a villager would disappear, or an entire group that had stumbled into the village would vanish without a trace. Or someone would die.
"You don't hesitate," she said, her voice clear and resonant.
Beside her, the panther's eyes began to glow a deep blue, but Bond didn't notice that. He still had no idea what was going on, but he knew something big was about to happen. He didn't even think of running away anymore; he was frozen in place as if his legs were rooted to the ground.
Kaisella pointed her fingertip at Encrid. Her opponent didn't budge. He simply stood there, sword in his right hand, facing her pointed finger.
"Strike down."
At Kaisella's command, the world exploded.
KRA-BOOM!
There was no warning. With a deafening roar that tore the sky apart, a blue bolt of lightning struck down directly onto the man's head.
Bond was blinded by the sudden flash. Then, the shockwave blasted him backward. His body went flying, but he didn't even have time to feel the sensation of weightlessness. When Bond regained consciousness, all he could see was the dirt.
"Groaaan..."
He heard a groan nearby. It wasn't his own voice, but he soon realized he was making the same sound. Bond twisted his body, struggling to get up. In his blurred vision, he saw charred bodies. Some of his comrades had been reduced to blackened lumps of coal.
What was that? What just happened?
His body hadn't even fully registered the pain yet; the shock was too immense. Bond forced himself to move. He was in relatively better shape than the others, but the moment he became aware of his state, a searing pain shot up from his right arm.
Grit.
He clenched his teeth. He looked down. From his right arm to his thigh, his skin was blackened and charred. The burning pain made it hard to keep his senses.
It was lightning. Actual lightning.
He had seen lightning strike nearby when he was a child—a white fire, a strike of invisible light. The memory of that flash came rushing back. His mind was still dazed, which was a blessing; otherwise, he would have been screaming from the agony. Just being near the strike had singed most of his hair, and it felt as if someone had shoved a ball of fire down his throat.
Bond blinked. His eyes were fine. As his mind cleared, the pain intensified.
Gasp.
Screaming internally, Bond broke into a cold sweat, staggering. It felt as if rats were swarming over him, gnawing at his flesh. He thought he was standing, but he was actually crawling on his rear. His back hit a wall. The cold touch of the stone seemed to dull the pain slightly. Only then could he look forward.
The distance between him and the black-haired intruder was easily over fifteen paces, and yet he was in this state. What must have happened to the man who was the direct target? He had to be dead. Even if he had been turned to ash where he stood, it would have made sense.
Yet, in Bond's eyes, a perfectly intact figure appeared.
How?
And beside the man stood a new person—a woman with long, straight black hair, wearing a gray robe. With one hand raised in the air, she spoke.
"A lightning strike spell. Quite decent."
The tone of her voice was... patronizing. It was like an adult watching a child perform a cute little trick. She was looking down on her, ruthlessly judging the opponent's level. Even while gasping from the lightning strike, Bond could feel the sheer arrogance in her tone. There was no way the caster would fail to notice it.
"A crazy man and a crazy woman," Kaisella spoke again, her fingers moving. Incomprehensible words began to flow from her mouth. It was the start of a spell.
Yet, for a moment, Bond forgot his pain and couldn't take his eyes off the black-haired woman. She was a beauty with a unique charm that commanded the perception of everyone around her. Her black hair was as smooth as silk, her lips were red, and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was a vision of mystery.
If Kaisella possessed a body that aroused lust, this woman possessed an appearance that inspired awe. Bond idly thought this, even as he cursed himself for being an idiot whose eyes were wandering in the middle of a massacre.
Of course, he wasn't the only one staring.
*
The moment Encrid recognized the presence of a mage, he tensed his muscles. Since his thrown blade had been blocked, his only option was to close the distance and cut her down.
At that moment, something fell from above at a speed no human body could match. The instant he perceived the destructive flash, his body reacted. Splitting time, he prepared to brace himself, shielding his head with both arms.
At that exact moment, a whisper reached him.
"Let me."
To be precise, she had spoken before the light flashed, but Encrid’s mind registered the light first and her voice a moment later. Before he knew it, Esther had transformed into her human form, draped in a gray robe. She held out her right hand, palm facing forward.
That was all it took.
In Encrid's sixth sense, which transcended his physical limits, he felt two magics clash. An invisible barrier formed above his head before the lightning could reach him.
KRA-BOOM!
The lightning struck. The resulting shockwave sent the surrounding bandits flying. Encrid saw the barrier that had blocked the burst of light—a translucent shield glowing with a faint blue hue. When it met the lightning, it scattered the energy. The rays of light ricocheted outward, burning and piercing the bodies of those nearby. It was the result of Esther blocking half the strike and deflecting the rest.
"The Mirror of Banna?" her opponent murmured, her eyes wide with surprise.
Esther didn't even shrug. Her attitude made it clear she couldn't care less about the other woman. She was haughty, yet it didn't feel out of place. It felt as though it was only natural for her to be this way.
Encrid noticed the mysterious aura of Esther's appearance, but it wasn't enough to shake his composure. After all, if he were the type to be swayed by a woman's looks, he would never have been able to walk his path so single-mindedly.
The opponent chanted again, and Esther muttered her own incomprehensible words. A shrill chirping sound echoed, and blue light gathered in Kaisella's hand, turning into a jagged bolt of lightning. Instead of striking from above, it shot forward in a zigzag pattern from her fingers.
Esther raised her hand. The lightning arrived, hit the transparent barrier, and was reflected straight back. The flashing light left searing afterimages on their retinas.
"Disperse!" Kaisella shouted. For some reason, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
"Tsk, tsk. Silly child. Why would you reflect a spell you barely managed to draw out? You can't even handle the backlash of your own mana."
At Esther's lecturing tone, Kaisella's face stiffened. She was flustered, and with good reason. If her opponent were a swordsman, she wouldn't lose; she had prepared defenses in this village. A prepared mage could kill a hundred men and block a thousand. But against a mage of a higher tier, she was helpless. This was an absolute truth of magic.
Kaisella glared at the woman who had appeared from the panther. "Who are you?"
Esther did not reveal her name. She simply looked down on her opponent. She had the right to do so; there was a difference of at least three tiers between her own "spell world" and that of the curly-haired woman.
"This is impossible," Kaisella muttered. How could a mage of that caliber appear in a backwater place like this? What could there possibly be to gain here?
Kaisella began to mutter again, a spell to manifest her spell world into reality. Esther watched her quietly, then took a step forward, chanting as she advanced. Every eye was drawn to her. No one dared to fire a crossbow or attack. Even the surviving archers stood frozen.
Encrid, too, had become a spectator. She's pretty good, he thought. He knew Esther was a mage, but he hadn't known her actual level. She seemed far superior to Kaisella.
That was enough. He had never expected anything from Esther in the first place. In truth, Encrid never expected anything from anyone. He simply walked his own path, and because it was such a wondrous sight, others chose to follow him.
"How dare you!" Kaisella shouted.
Encrid couldn't tell exactly what was happening. No flashy spells manifested. He only perceived that the air between them was trembling, something invisible taking place.
Soon, Esther stood directly in front of Kaisella. Kaisella was taller, her figure more voluptuous, making Esther look slender in comparison. However, Encrid had already seen that she was naked under her robe. Through the gaps that parted whenever she moved, he had caught glimpses. His extraordinary senses allowed him to reconstruct the whole picture; Esther’s body was by no means inferior to her opponent's.
"Was that all you had to show on the outside?" Esther said, standing before Kaisella.
Her gaze and tone were a direct insult to both the woman's magic and her form.