Chapter 276: The Tour
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 276: The Tour
"Listen, I... you know who I am? I’m a man named Raban," the middle-aged man stammered.
Encrid didn’t bother sorting through his thoughts.
Since when had he ever relied on logic before moving? He had reached this point simply by chasing his dreams, following wherever his heart led him.
Encrid swung his sword.
The blade rose from bottom to top, catching the flickering torchlight. A heavy, dull whoosh echoed through the air.
It was a weighty sound, lacking the high-pitched whistle of a thin blade.
The edge of the famous sword once known as Tutor—now nothing more than a razor-sharp tool of execution—severed the man’s arm. Because the strike was deliberate rather than swift, Raban was forced to feel and witness the entire process of his limb being carved away.
He could see it coming, but he couldn't dodge. He was relegated to a mere spectator of his own mutilation. Before he could even register the psychological shock of the loss, a searing, white-hot agony struck him.
"Aaargh!"
A horrific scream tore through the spacious cave.
The limb that had been attached below his shoulder, a part of his very being, hit the floor. The arm, having declared its independence from the body, twitched and flailed. It asserted its new-found autonomy by spraying blood in every direction.
The man who lost it shrieked as if protesting that claim.
"Agh! Agh!"
As he thrashed in agony, crimson spray splattered everywhere. Most of it landed on Encrid’s armor and face as he stood over him, but Encrid didn't flinch. He only stared with indifferent eyes.
The blood on his cheek trickled down, eventually dripping onto the cold floor.
Watching Raban writhe in the throes of his severed limb, Encrid spoke flatly.
"Can you stop the bleeding, Esther?"
"It’s not difficult."
As a method of hemostasis, it was extreme. Esther reached out, and flames erupted from her palm, cauterizing the raw stump.
"Aaaaargh! S-stop! Please, stop!"
Encrid wondered how many times this mad old bastard had listened to desperate screams just like his own, then decided the thought wasn't worth the effort.
"W-why... I... I only did what I was told! I was sold for a few measly gold coins!"
Having already lost a massive amount of blood before being burned—screaming in agony only to be seared under the guise of medical treatment—his voice was now a jagged, hoarse wreck.
Encrid raised his sword again.
"The leg."
With those emotionless words, he severed the limb.
With a dull thud, the leg bounced away. It, too, declared its independence, ruthlessly asserting its claim to the floor.
Under the light of the numerous torches illuminating the cave, crimson blood dyed the surroundings once more. When Esther cauterized the stump with her magical flames again, a weak, pathetic scream rang out violently.
"Aaaargh!"
Merely having an arm and a leg severed and seared made Raban weep tears of blood. His broken teeth spilled from his mouth, slick with gore. He let out one spine-chilling shriek after another.
"It seems to hurt."
"Anyone would react like that if you cooked them," Encrid remarked.
Sachsen replied with a nod. It wasn't just branding with an iron; they were lopping off limbs and searing the open marrow.
Sachsen wasn't exactly a master of torture, but he knew the craft. He understood the human anatomy and knew which nerves were most sensitive to pain. He was well aware of the classic, highly effective methods—like pulling out fingernails or driving needles beneath them.
From Sachsen's perspective, it was a miracle this alchemist bastard hadn't died of shock yet.
Their conversation was casual. It sounded like two people discussing a worthless stone found on the side of the road.
Unable to bear the onslaught of agony, the bastard—whether his name was Raban or Rados—finally rolled his eyes back. He looked to be on the verge of death.
Encrid stepped closer and poked the man's forehead with the tip of his sword.
No matter how much pain a person is in, the sense of touch remains hypersensitive to a new source of stimulus. How much more so when the sword poking him was slowly dragged downward, maximizing the torment?
"S-stop..." Raban wheezed.
Encrid asked, "Is there a way to restore the people trapped inside to normal?"
An impeccably timed question, Sachsen thought.
If a person didn't open their mouth at a moment like that, they weren't human. Even a specially trained assassin would attempt suicide before reaching this state rather than try to endure it.
Raban blinked rapidly, trembling violently, yet his eyes still darted around.
To think his brain is still functioning. He really is a bastard whose only value lies in his head.
Then came the answer.
"T-there... there is."
His pronunciation was heavily slurred, but the meaning was clear.
The moment Encrid heard those words, he split the alchemist’s skull. He swung his sword in a vertical arc, a merciless stroke that cleaved through bone and brain alike.
With a wet crack, the brain—which would have possessed extraordinary value had its owner lived—spilled out from the split cranium.
"Why?" Sachsen asked instinctively. Why ask only to kill him anyway?
"Since when did you enjoy asking questions you already know the answer to?"
Hearing Encrid’s reply, Sachsen nodded. He knew the truth as well.
The alchemist named Raban had just been spouting whatever lies came to mind to buy a second of life. There was no way to restore people who had been ruined like that. No such method existed.
Even if the greatest priest on the continent arrived, what was impossible remained impossible. Those called saints might be able to reattach a freshly severed arm, but they could not mend a shattered mind.
That was not within the domain of divinity.
The drug-addled woman was biting her own arm, and what could be done for the boy who was already dead? What about those who were neither ghouls nor humans?
If someone could reverse all of that, they might as well be called a god.
"He would have been valuable if we brought him back alive, wouldn't he?" Sinar asked.
To her rational question, a rational answer returned.
"I didn't like the look of him."
"I see. That's fair."
Seeing Sinar accept this, Esther nodded solemnly.
"He was a hideous man."
Those who walked the path of magic, mystery, and spells also walked a path beyond common humanity. Yet, at the same time, they were forced to stare directly at the real world. They could not forget their own bodies, their flesh, or their humanity.
At least, that was true for a proper mage.
Whether elf, dwarf, or dragonkin, because a physical body existed, a mage must never lose sight of reality.
But that alchemist had strayed far from that path. The atrocities he had committed were visible everywhere, and the contents of his research journal confirmed it. They were utterly rotten, foul things.
Therefore, he was hideous. That was what she meant. Of course, his physical appearance was no different.
To Esther, Encrid looked as though he hadn't lost himself to anger or any other emotion.
Then, where did the driving force behind his sword come from?
Esther was curious, but she did not ask. She would investigate, analyze, and observe to find out. That was the way to learn far more than simply asking for an answer.
In truth, there was no complex reason. Encrid had cut him down as if throwing away filth. It was like washing dirt off his hands.
Blame the wielder, not the sword? What a load of shit.
This wasn't done by a sword; it was done by a human. A human capable of being the master of his own life. He had both the ability and the will. He had simply chosen to do whatever he pleased.
The blame lay not only with the one who gave the orders, but also with the one who carried them out.
By Encrid’s standards, anyone who did such things had no right to live.
What if the opponent were the ruler of a nation? What then?
It wouldn't matter. Even if he had to spend his entire life hunted as a fugitive, treated like a walking sack of gold for bounty hunters, Encrid would still do it.
For that was how he envisioned his dream, and how he walked his path.
If anyone had known his inner thoughts, Finn, at least, would have shaken her head. It was practically the talk of a madman.
"Do you think there's only one or two bastards like that on this continent?!" she might have shouted.
That was exactly why. Encrid wanted to cut down every single one of those bastards the moment he saw them. That was why he held a sword.
After all, the Knight of the End of War did not refer only to a knight who fought well.
Of course, Finn couldn't crawl inside Encrid’s head to read his thoughts.
"Well, he deserved to die. Some foolish alchemist was here, and now he’s dead. What can you do about someone who’s already dead?"
She spoke plausibly. It was her way of saying they didn't need to take any responsibility for the loss of a high-value prisoner.
Encrid didn't think much of it, and Sachsen silently respected his captain’s choice. In any case, he had gotten everything he wanted.
And to be completely honest...
I might have killed him myself.
He hadn't wanted to leave him alive. It wasn't a calculated decision, but a feeling. An emotion. For the first time in a very long while, it was a visceral, emotional reaction.
But this isn't the place to waste it.
He couldn't unleash his worn-down, eroded emotions here. His emotions were a prepared blade, and those destined to receive it had already been decided.
"The company commander’s troops have entered the perimeter. Let’s bring them in to clean up. Also, it would be best to keep some of the survivors locked up like this."
Since they were drugged, they would surely run amok if released.
"Let’s do that," Sinar said, looking over a few sheets of paper in her hand. Staring at the common tongue written on the thin parchment, she spoke. "There are a few more villages like this. It looks like it’s going to be a rather long outing. What do you think?"
It was a question loaded with implications, but Encrid managed to understand. Sachsen would follow whatever he said, and Finn would obey Sinar’s orders.
"One of the villages is even raising demonic beasts."
Through Sinar’s words, Encrid realized something.
It wasn't that they hadn't found out anything all this time.
There were simply too many targets. So many that they had to painstakingly invest time to uncover them all.
Encrid’s mind naturally assessed the current situation.
If we don't strike with a small elite force, all the experiments and research data will be lost and destroyed. Then, we'll gain nothing from the battle. And we'll give the bastards who need to die a chance to escape.
This was an opponent that required a company-sized operation. In this village alone, there had been a witch who summoned lightning. They had to prepare for that as well.
Black Sword, that bandit group, was truly a formidable organization.
Encrid had been slightly mistaken, though. The dens prepared by Black Sword were of various kinds. Some were places where slaves were sold. Others were places where demonic beasts were tamed with drugs.
Because this place was the most important among them, a rare mage had been stationed here. Even for Black Sword, mages were not common.
His thoughts concluded. It wasn't something to agonize over.
"Let’s go," Encrid replied.
If there were more places like this, they had to be cleared out. A small elite group, specifically those whose specialty was covert operations, had gathered. There was also a mage. Even if Esther didn't step forward again, she would at least warn them if she sensed anything.
It was a good opportunity in many ways. Above all, if they didn't strike them all now, they would just go into hiding again.
"Aren't you curious about who the leader of Black Sword is?" Sinar asked, without any preamble.
"Do you know?"
"I've discovered that he is one of the kingdom’s nobles."
Sachsen was also listening to their conversation. He had an objective. The information he had intentionally leaked to certain parts of the kingdom was finally showing its effect.
For Sachsen, too, desperately wanted to meet the leader of Black Sword. Even if he had a wife from whom he had been separated by war, he wanted to see this leader more than her.
After leaving the cleanup of the village to the entering allies, the group moved out.
"How dreadful."
The platoon leader who entered shook his head at the horrific sight inside the cave. A few inexperienced soldiers couldn't hold back their nausea and threw up. The foul stench of vomit spread through the cave.
Leaving such things alive was one of the reasons Encrid held his sword.
Having departed, the group traversed the mountains. Taking the rough path often meant taking a shortcut. Finn was an excellent guide in this regard.
*
In one of the Black Sword villages, four chiefs moved as one. They were four men who had been together since childhood, and everyone called them the Bolun Brothers.
Bald, with fierce expressions, they were typical bandit types. They were skilled enough to base themselves in the village while committing banditry all over the region. After all, wasn't the Black Sword Bandits originally a group that doubled as highwaymen?
Before the four of them stood a black-haired man. It was broad daylight.
"How did you get in here?" the eldest brother asked, rubbing his shaved head.
It was a cloudy day, but it wasn't snowing.
The second brother narrowed his eyes. For some reason, the village was quiet. There were dozens of members here, so why was it so silent by the time this bastard arrived?
The man silently adjusted his sword belt, placed his hand on the grip of his sword, and asked:
"If you have any grievances, you'd better speak up now. I'm a bit busy."
Busy? The third brother rolled his large eyes.
The fourth brother was quick-witted. Already sensing danger, he stealthily slipped backward and grabbed the edge of a hidden net. He intended to throw it if things went south.
The net, weighted at the corners, was the fourth brother’s prized weapon. Indeed, the brothers had benefited greatly from using nets in combat.
The third brother was a master of throwing darts. Stroking the tip of a poisoned dart, he too finished his preparations.
The second and eldest brothers were masters of hand-to-hand combat.
No words were spoken. A silent staring contest ensued between Encrid and the four. Tension filled the space between them.
The bald brothers felt the mansion hall, which they usually used like a palace, suddenly grow cramped.
Who the hell is this bastard?
After a brief moment of calculation, the fourth brother threw the net.
Standing calmly, Encrid perceived the falling net and the two bald men as mere points in space. Drawing a mental line connecting those points, he moved his feet, swinging his sword along the path of that mental line with his body and hands.
The sword, moving in such a manner, struck the weights at the edge of the net, causing it to tangle in midair, before leaving a long gash across the necks of the fourth and third brothers who had thrown it.
Since it was a wound left by a sword, a massive torrent of blood gushed from the cuts.
Seeing the blood pouring out, the second brother completely lost his mind.
"You son of a bitch!"
The fight wasn't particularly messy. That is to say, it ended in an instant. He deflected the incoming enemy’s thick blade using the Soft Sword Style and struck.
Evasion and attack occurred simultaneously. As he deflected, his blade pierced the edge of the enemy’s forehead. The tip of the sword struck and dug deep.
"You bastard!"
The eldest brother’s axe flew in with desperate speed. It was a thick, heavy weapon, and the man wielding it boasted monstrous strength. The eldest brother put every ounce of his power into the swing.
Encrid, having punched a hole in the second brother’s forehead, spun on his left foot to meet the strike.
Clang!
A deafening roar erupted. And then...
"...What are you?" the eldest brother gasped, both of his arms broken from failing to withstand the force. He spoke in a hollow, disbelieving voice.
Encrid took a deep breath, deactivating his Heart of Monstrous Strength, and replied:
"What’s it to you?"
Since you’re about to die anyway.
Encrid’s sword showed not a shred of forgiveness or mercy.
That was the end of it.
There was no mage here, and Sachsen, having somehow acquired an artifact and thrown it on, was absolutely running wild. Sachsen had swiftly and silently dispatched the five bandits guarding the center of the village, and Encrid had simply walked in after him.
However, even after searching every corner of the village, they couldn't find anything hidden.
What is this place? Just a troop assembly point?
While Encrid was wondering, Finn stepped forward.