Chapter 352: A Sense of Peace
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 352: A Sense of Peace
Krang found it to be a novel experience.
Is this what it feels like to be escorted by a knight?
It was a sense of peace he had never once encountered during all his wanderings across the continent. This was true despite the fact that he had faced more assassination attempts on this single journey than in all his years prior.
The ambush by the assassins disguised as merchants had been crushed before it could even begin, but that was only the start.
Soon after, they entered the city of Midpool.
"Thank you. Thank you so much!"
The son of a wealthy landowner wept with joy. Despite the agonizing pain in his ankle—which had been utterly shattered by a trap—he looked as if he were ready to kiss the very ground they walked on.
Of course, he didn't actually press his face into the filth-covered dirt, but his reaction was a testament to his overwhelming gratitude. Having narrowly escaped death and followed the group in a state of constant, bone-chilling tension, his outburst was only natural.
"Even if that man had been an assassin, no one would have fallen for it," one of Krang’s guards remarked, watching the scene.
"I agree," Krang whispered, nodding.
They had been warned that if they harmed the landowner's son or simply ignored him, the assassin guild would frame them for his murder. Therefore, the young man was likely an innocent pawn, completely unrelated to the killers.
Even so, no one let their guard down.
That was the essence of what the guard meant. Throughout the journey, the landowner's son had been kept at the very center of the formation. He was positioned so that if he tried to pull any tricks, he would be neutralized instantly. At the same time, they maintained a strict distance between him and Krang. While treating the young man’s wound, Encrid had even searched his robes.
His touch had been incredibly meticulous, yet the youth hadn't even realized he was being frisked. When your ankle is nearly severed and you’re blinded by pain, how can you possibly think straight?
Indeed, it would have been stranger if he had remained composed. A normal person simply cannot maintain their cool while suffering such an injury. If he were weak-willed, he’d be throwing a fit; even if he were strong, remaining calm during his first experience of such trauma was a distant prospect.
Keeping a close eye on their "guest" the entire time, Encrid’s group finally passed through the gates of Midpool.
Midpool was famous for its bizarre city walls, constructed from stones of various colors through centuries of modifications and repairs. This was a common trend in Naurilia, where local lords considered it a virtue to mimic the magnificent grandeur of the capital’s fortifications.
On a continent where monsters and demonic beasts ran rampant, even bandits traveled in large numbers. Consequently, isolated houses and small villages were non-existent. Humans had to build massive, fortified cities to survive. As a byproduct of this necessity, construction techniques had advanced exponentially, and the traces of that high-level masonry were clearly visible in Midpool. Even now, workers were stacking stones to raise a new barrier in front of an existing section of the wall.
"Thank you so much!"
Since the city was built upon vast agricultural land, the position of Castellan had been held by wealthy landowners for generations. The supreme ruler of the region, who owned the most land in the kingdom, was known as the Marquis of Okto.
There was a brief exchange as the landowner, a vassal of the Marquis, expressed his gratitude and tried to invite them to his estate.
But then, Encrid spoke.
"What if we were the ones who lured your son into that trap just to put on this little performance? Why would you invite us so readily?"
With that single remark, the landowner backed down. Men of his stature were far from naive. At those words, he realized that these people had no intention of accepting his hospitality. Perhaps, in his heart, he even agreed with Encrid’s cold logic.
"I shall repay this debt in the future," the landowner said, withdrawing.
He would undoubtedly hunt down the group that had targeted his son and anyone associated with them, even if it meant borrowing the power of the Marquis. It was none of Encrid’s concern.
Afterward, the group secured lodging at an inn. When food was served, it arrived laced with poison powder.
"It’s poison."
The attempt was thwarted instantly when the man named Sachsen detected it.
Later, as they headed down an alley toward a different restaurant, someone threw a dagger. It was a poisoned blade, but Encrid caught it with his gloved hand and hurled it back. It flew with twice the speed of the original throw.
"Gack!"
A death rattle echoed from the shadows of the alley.
"Why do they even bother when they can't even dodge their own daggers?" Rem grumbled. He seemed thoroughly annoyed by the pests lunging at them from all directions.
Whenever the streets grew quiet, the assassins would strike. Rem assembled his short spear, rested it over his shoulders, and draped his arms over the shaft. His posture looked sloppy, but it was anything but. When a poisoned dart whistled toward him, he simply tilted his waist and deflected the projectile with the butt of his spear without breaking his stride.
The rat-like assassins repeatedly threw weapons and vanished. Rem found it too tedious to chase every single one of them. The harassment was relentless—poisoned daggers, crossbow bolts, and darts rained from various angles. They didn't even target Krang exclusively; they aimed at the entire group.
It was utterly pointless.
Occasionally, bands of vagrants would leap out at them. These weren't skilled assassins, just desperate thugs. Because people were forced to crowd into cities for safety, large populations of vagrants were a common issue in every major hub.
Thud. Crack. Whack.
Ragna stepped forward, sending the vagrants packing with a few well-placed fists and kicks.
"He’s a monster!" one of the thugs screamed as he fled. No one in the group bothered to give chase.
"They were probably hired for a few kronas. The poison was likely slipped in the same way," Sachsen noted.
He pointed out that it was the inn’s maid who had poisoned the food, but Encrid didn't bother interrogating her. Sachsen had advised against it.
"It’s a common trick. They deceive them into sprinkling it, claiming it’s medicine. They usually claim to be a family member or a worried fiancée secretly following the group. They tell the maid, 'I'm worried about their fatigue, so please put this medicine in their food. But do it secretly—they mustn't know we're here.'"
It was a pathetic trick, but highly effective. The assassin guilds didn't care if the maid or innkeeper accidentally consumed it themselves. Instead of a fast-acting toxin, they usually provided a slow poison that triggered symptoms a day later.
Fortunately, the innkeeper and the maid were honest. They hadn't stolen any of the "medicine" and had sprinkled all of it onto the food. This explained why the maid had been casting such furtive, nervous glances at them.
Of course, the striking appearances of Encrid and his companions also drew attention. Since keeping their hoods up inside the inn would only attract more suspicion, they had revealed their faces. Their blatant disregard for their pursuers seemed to prick the pride of the watching assassins.
As a result...
"Above," Sachsen warned.
In a secluded spot on their way to a new restaurant, an ambush dropped from the rooftops. By this point, the number of daggers thrown at them was enough to stock a market stall.
Rem, Encrid, and Ragna moved as one. Their three weapons flashed through the air. The elven assassin who had pounced from above was sliced into six clean pieces before he even hit the ground.
Blood sprayed like rain. Entrails and severed limbs thudded onto the alley floor. Had they brandished their weapons like this on a main street, the guards would have rushed over to witness the carnage.
"Gark..."
A choked gasp was the assassin's final breath. His face, pale as moonlight, slammed into the filth. A few more ambushes followed, but they were equally futile.
"They are all falling before they can even begin," Krang’s guard remarked.
It looked that way to Krang as well. And then, Sachsen stepped away for a brief moment. When he returned, the attacks decreased dramatically.
In the meantime, Encrid found a restaurant.
"I hear the roast chicken here is excellent."
"Hmm?" Krang tilted his head. Was this really the time to be looking for a gourmet meal?
"Do you not like chicken?" Encrid asked.
Of course he did. It was just that it had been so long since he had eaten a proper meal. Having suffered so much from poisoned food in the past, he had grown accustomed to eating solely for survival, disregarding taste entirely.
"Please be careful," his guard cautioned, though he didn't stop him. Even in the guard's eyes, this place seemed safe.
For the first time in a long while, Krang ate until he had to loosen his belt. The establishment served only roast chicken, but the recipe was superb. A whole chicken was skewered on a long spit and roasted over a wood fire for half a day, slowly rotated until the skin was perfect.
"It’s a recipe passed down from my grandfather. It is my pride and joy," the owner beamed.
He had every right to be proud. The meat practically melted in the mouth. A thin glaze of salt, pepper, and secret spices blended with the crispy skin to create a meal superior to what most lords dined on.
"Have you been starving for days? You're certainly eating well," the owner remarked, serving them a tart fruit juice. It was exquisite, the sweet and sour flavors cleansing the palate of any greasiness.
In cities like Midpool, where regional goods gathered and agriculture flourished, culinary arts thrived. Livestock was raised inside the city walls for safety, meaning chicken was plentiful.
"Let's kidnap that cook," Rem offered as his ultimate praise, causing the owner to pale in fright.
"What? This restaurant is backed by the local landowner! Don't try anything funny!"
Encrid calmed him down, assuring him it was only a joke. Sachsen soon returned and began tearing into a chicken leg.
"Hey, wildcat. Must you always sneak around?" Rem asked.
"You're just slow," Sachsen retorted.
Outside, the wild horse, Odd-Eye, was crunching on chicken bones despite being a horse.
"That’s... not a demonic beast, right?" the freckled server boy asked, trembling.
"He doesn't bite," Encrid said, though the boy wisely stayed far away from the bone-crunching stallion.
"Let's have a drink," Rem suggested.
"A bit now, and pack the rest," Encrid agreed.
Scattered across different tables, the group looked like a disorganized mess with zero military discipline. On the surface, perhaps—but not a single one of them was off guard.
Watching them, Krang felt a profound sense of peace. It was their nonchalant confidence that put him at ease. He enjoyed his chicken and a glass of fragrant cherry liquor. Had he been alone, he would have suspected poison. Here, there was none.
The group eventually returned to the inn.
"Sleep well."
After brief greetings, Krang washed up and collapsed onto a bed stuffed with soft cotton rather than scratchy straw. To spend a night on a bed that was neither hard nor prickly was a luxury he hadn't realized he missed.
"Unbelievable," his guard remarked, and Krang fully agreed.
Miraculously, the night passed without a single ambush.
It’s because that red-haired fellow disappeared earlier.
Krang’s insight allowed him to see the truth. Ever since Sachsen had vanished for those few minutes, the attacks had ceased. He was curious about what the man had done, but he didn't ask. Sachsen didn't seem like the type to give an answer anyway.
Even after they left the city the next morning, the assassin guild’s desperate struggles continued, though they felt like nothing more than death throes.
"You shall not pass!" a man claiming to be a former arena champion roared, lunging at them.
"Allow me," Dunchabel, the beastwoman, stepped forward.
She deflected the man's spear with her scimitar and drove her knee into his face with a sickening crunch. It was a magnificent display of martial prowess. The champion collapsed, his face caved in.
"Where is this arena of yours? Do they only train fledglings?" she asked, her cold glare scattering the remaining thugs.
The weather was clear, the previous storms a distant memory. The group rode at a moderate pace to preserve the horses' stamina—the true secret to fast travel.
Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air. It was aimed precisely at Krang’s heart.
Thwack.
Encrid snatched it out of the air. Krang stared at the vibrating arrow shaft held inches from his face, but he wasn't startled. Since it had been blocked, there was nothing to fear.
Encrid looked into the distance.
"Now, this seems like the real deal."
The clumsy tricks were over. The enemy’s final resort was a professional sniper. Encrid spotted a mounted archer fleeing in the far distance.
Could they catch him? On normal horses, it would be difficult. But they didn't need to. They would simply deflect every arrow until the archer ran out of breath or bolts.
The mounted archer was a nuisance, but not a threat. That was Krang’s conclusion. As long as Encrid stood by his side, he would not die.
Neighhh!
Odd-Eye trotted over to Encrid, letting out a sharp whinny.
"You want to go catch him?" Encrid asked the horse.
It seemed they had no intention of letting the archer escape, either.