Chapter 373: Ill Fates, One by One
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 373: Ill Fates, One by One
By the time Ropode’s group reached the western wall, Viscount Mernes’s allied forces had already blockaded the front of the castle gate.
There are so many of them.
Even a brief glance revealed their numbers were far from small. He could even see siege engines being positioned.
Furthermore, the ten individuals who stepped out in front of the army to look up at the wall all appeared formidable. Though their armaments varied, their presence was extraordinary.
Worse yet, Ropode recognized one of their faces.
"The deserter."
It was the bastard who had caused a scandal within the order before fleeing.
Looking up at the wall, the traitor spotted Ropode and smirked.
Dumbass.
Seeing him mouth the word, Ropode felt a wave of nausea. That man was his senior, and his skills were far superior. Though he hadn't quite reached the level of an Associate Knight, he was the type who stopped at nothing to win, making him the most terrifying opponent in a life-or-death struggle.
If he was like that, how formidable must the other nine standing with him be?
Moreover, the single figure standing behind the nine seemed to hold an even higher rank. He wore a helmet adorned with a sharp horn. Along with his One-Horned Helmet, he had also attached horns to his shoulder pauldrons. Regardless of his skill, his tastes were certainly eccentric.
The ten standing at the front were threatening enough, but how were they supposed to stop the entire army lined up behind them?
Just as a sense of defeat began to seep into his chest—
"There are plenty of interesting-looking bastards here."
A beastman's voice drifted over.
Immediately after, the Lost Swordsman’s voice followed.
"At least one of them looks decent. The rest are just mediocre."
Ropode was dumbfounded. Even in this dire situation, neither of them showed the slightest hint of tension.
"Open the gates! We are Viscount Mernes’s army, here to capture the traitors!" the enemy commander shouted. He was an unfamiliar face, neat in appearance, carrying his helmet under his left arm. A sword dangled from his waist, and he held a shield in one hand that reflected the sunlight with a blinding glare.
The soldiers atop the wall were struck with fear. If they faltered here, they would lose before the battle even began.
My will.
Ropode recalled his realization once more. There was a wall. There was a heart. Because he wished to protect.
Ropode took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"We cannot! The Queen has issued no such command!" Ropode shouted, praying he didn't sound like a frightened dog.
"Why don't you just open it nicely?"
Feeling no need to mince words, the deserter squire spoke with a sickening smirk. His tone suggested it was a foregone conclusion—what could they possibly do to stop them?
"...Withdraw," Ropode said, gritting his teeth.
Now was the time to block their impending onslaught.
Though there were only ten of them at the front, their mere presence seemed to crush the morale of the soldiers atop the wall.
Ragna was not a commander who led with words. He was far more comfortable using his sword than his tongue. So, he decided to do just that.
The same went for Dunchabel. With a light tap, she simply patted the scimitars resting quietly on either side of her waist. Since speaking was a difficult task for both of them, it was time to start the conversation with something else.
*
Right after Ragna left, Encrid spotted Odd-Eye. The creature seemed to have been looking inward at the commotion.
Encrid spoke without hesitation.
"Give me a ride."
Odd-Eye was a friend. Asking for a favor was simple enough. Encrid was currently mapping out the path to the royal palace in his head—the fastest way to get there.
He needed a mount. Galloping along the path he had previously taken by carriage would be the quickest route. It was with this thought in mind that he spoke to Odd-Eye.
Odd-Eye blinked once and turned his body to the side. Taking it as a sign of permission, Encrid began to move, but then—ping!—an arrow flew toward him.
Encrid snapped his head back. A short bolt whizzed past his face.
Beyond the wall, atop the ramparts, familiar figures appeared. Though the sun had not yet set, they were a masked crowd. There were over thirty of them. Their attire and aura were those of people he had encountered several times before.
"Aren't you guys tired of this?" Encrid asked.
Why would they go to such lengths? Because of a contract? No, they wouldn't risk everything just for a contract. He could tell just by looking at them.
He had already dealt with mages and all kinds of assassins. Yet, for them to still field a force of this size meant they had poured in everything they had. It seemed they, too, were risking their lives to be here.
"Just because we're tired of it doesn't mean we don't do the job. We do it out of duty," said the one on the far left.
He was a man whose drooping arms looked twice as long as anyone else's. Yet, he didn't look limp; he was simply letting them hang.
Among them, there was one who did not wear a mask. He stood right in the middle, alone in the center of the wall. The others were either crouching or hunched over.
The man standing in the center was the White-Haired Man with a Monocle, the only one properly dressed in a shirt and jacket. Tapping his cane sword against the top of the wall, he spoke.
"I told you to stab him, but you didn't listen. Do you hold our contract so cheap?"
His gaze shifted behind Encrid. It was directed at Sachsen.
So he's the one who brought up the contract to Sachsen.
Encrid didn't bother looking back.
Not refusing on the spot was as good as accepting the contract. Yet, Sachsen had broken it. He hadn't kept his word. He was told to kill, but Encrid was standing here perfectly fine.
"No, he kept his word. So you must tell us everything you know."
Encrid stepped in on Sachsen's behalf. His tone was firm.
Sachsen bit his lip slightly. He even averted his eyes. His attitude made it clear he wanted to stay out of this conversation.
"What are you talking about? You're perfectly alive."
The white-haired cane swordsman was one of the pillars of the Assassin Union. In fact, the entire Union seemed to have gathered.
The Union Leader concealed her position, catching her breath off to the side while observing the situation. Disguising herself as an ordinary assassin to deliver a fatal blow was her specialty.
"He stabbed me," Encrid replied. There was not a shred of hesitation in his voice.
"What?"
"He stabbed me. Right here—poke. If you don't believe me, I can let him stab me again right now."
Encrid pointed to his left arm as he spoke. The wound was already gone. There was a scar left behind, but that would only be visible from up close. Moreover, it was covered by his guard. There was no way they could see it.
So, what on earth is this bastard talking about?
The female assassin, the Union Leader, pondered deeply as a sudden doubt crossed her mind.
Following the same train of thought, the white-haired assassin asked, "...You were stabbed?"
"You said to stab me, didn't you?" Encrid replied without even catching his breath.
A brief silence fell.
Since he was told to stab, and he did stab, the contract was fulfilled. It couldn't be helped that he didn't die. But he was stabbed, seriously! Encrid pointed to his left arm, his expression repeating the claim over and over.
The sheer cheekiness of it made the white-haired assassin's cheek twitch.
Some of the Union's leaders who understood Encrid's words gaped in sheer disbelief, while the rest flared with murderous intent.
This bastard is looking down on us and mocking us.
Behind him, Sachsen let out a silent sigh.
He's actually doing it.
"You said to stab. So he stabbed."
"No, that's not what it meant!"
It was a conversation from when they had sparred. Yes, it wasn't that Encrid didn't understand the implication.
Encrid replied with a bright smile.
"Yeah, you said to stab."
He simply repeated the same words, refusing to listen to anything else. He was clearly angry. Was it because they had tried to play tricks on him?
He was a truly strange man. He was returning that anger to the opponent in a smooth, roundabout way.
"I got a boo-boo. It hurt," Encrid added, finally snapping the opponent's patience.
"This bastard is a complete lunatic," the white-haired assassin muttered, shaking his head.
Sachsen felt a bit embarrassed. There were things you could argue your way out of, and things you couldn't. This was a blatant disregard for jargon and subtext.
Of course, Encrid didn't actually expect them to accept his argument. It was purely a provocation to get under their skin and let them know just how annoyed he was. And because of that, an opening was created. Several assassins were already faltering, wondering what kind of nonsense they were hearing.
Encrid's hands were faster than the eye. Just as the opponent uttered the word "lunatic," he thrust his hands forward.
The end of the sentence was drowned out by the sharp screeech! of a whistle.
Encrid extended both hands, throwing two Whistle Daggers. The two blades embedded themselves squarely in the foreheads of two assassins.
Thwack!
With the daggers planted in their skulls, the two fell backward, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Even before the sound echoed, Encrid and Sachsen were already on the move.
"You can go ahead," Sachsen said, and Encrid nodded.
The two split left and right. As Sachsen pulled away, he flipped up his hooded robe and adjusted his belt. Then, he threw himself into the shadows near the wall.
Encrid glanced at Sachsen, took a deep breath, and roared, "Come at me, all of you!"
Along with his shout, he slammed his left foot onto the ground.
Boom!
Activating his Heart of Monstrous Strength, the stomp cracked the earth wide open. It was a display of sheer, monstrous power.
Naturally, all the assassins were startled.
Drawn by the aura-infused shout and the earth-shaking stomp, the gaze of every assassin perched on the wall locked onto Encrid. His earlier nonsense, which had rattled their composure, also played a part in drawing their attention. He had made them wonder what kind of crazy bastard they were dealing with.
Yet, the assassins were not easily suppressed by mere momentum. Instead of being cowed, one of the more impatient enemies pulled out a vial containing a poison called Ten Breaths.
It was modified to release a green smoke upon shattering—a lethal concoction that required only a single inhalation to take effect. It was named Ten Breaths because it killed in the time it took to take ten breaths.
Just as he drew his hand back to throw it—
Squelch.
He felt a burning sensation in his throat. Before the pain could even register, heat surged through his entire body, and his eyes closed. The world turned black, and the sound of a rushing river echoed in his ears. He died right then and there.
Sachsen had concealed his presence and silenced his movements within the shadows. The artifacts he possessed were of great help—relics he had obtained during the raid on the Black Sword Bandits' village. The robe blocked his outward vitality, and the belt was enchanted with magic that muffled sound.
Having masked his presence so thoroughly, he had thrust his longsword straight into the nape of the man holding the poison vial from directly beneath him.
As the tip of the longsword pierced through the neck, a stream of blood spilled onto the ground. In response, four nearby assassins quickly backed away. At the same time, poisoned darts flew toward him.
The darts struck the spot where Sachsen had just been standing. He had already evaded them, pressing his body flat against the wall.
"Find him!" the white-haired swordsman shouted. The target had vanished in an instant, escaping even his senses.
Remaining unseen, Sachsen clung to the wall and threw three Silent Throwing Daggers. Two of the silently flying blades slit the throats of two assassins, embedding themselves deep, while the third was blocked.
The one who blocked it was the man with the drooping arms. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light—a prosthetic eye implanted with a tracking spell.
"Over there!" he shouted, pinpointing Sachsen as he ran along the base of the wall.
Silencing his presence and sound didn't mean he was invisible. Sachsen was simply running along the base of the wall, utilizing their blind spots.
Whether he was spotted or not, Sachsen leaped lightly upward, raising his longsword and swinging it in a wide arc. To those atop the wall, it must have felt as if a guillotine blade was flying up from below.
With a sharp whoosh, the vertically swinging blade caught the wrist of a man holding a modified crossbow.
Thud!
Because he hadn't swung with full force, he couldn't sever the bone in a single blow. The blade lodged halfway into the wrist of the assassin. He had been trying to aim his crossbow at Encrid when he was forced to react to the sudden incoming blade.
"Argh!" a scream erupted.
"He's over there!" another assassin shouted.
At that, another assassin leaped backward off the wall, throwing daggers.
Screeech! Screeech!
They were Whistle Daggers.
Sachsen abruptly halted his run, evading the daggers. The blades thudded into the stone wall. Resuming his run, Sachsen plucked the daggers from the wall, throwing one upward and another to the side. The one thrown upward was dodged by an agile assassin, while the other was blocked by someone who had pulled out a shield from somewhere.
One might wonder what kind of assassin carried a shield, but preparing one's equipment to counter the opponent was a basic skill any professional should possess.
Daggers won't work easily.
With that thought, Sachsen leaped up onto the section of the wall the assassins had left vacant. Kicking off the stone to ascend, his wall-climbing skill was easily on par with Esther's.
Standing atop the wall, Sachsen scanned his surroundings and said, "If you don't want to die, don't follow me."
With that, he dropped down the other side of the wall and ran.
"If we let our guard down, we'll be done for."
"That's why we came together."
Watching him go, two leaders of the Assassin Union exchanged words.
Meanwhile, the assassin with the drooping arms searched for Encrid, but he had already vanished. He was a swift bastard. Or perhaps this had been their plan from the very beginning.
Of course, it wasn't. While Encrid drew their attention, Sachsen hid, and while Sachsen drew their attention again, Encrid simply did what he had to do. It was a result they had roughly coordinated the moment Sachsen said, "You can go ahead."
They were companions who sparred and trained together every single day. This level of coordination was second nature to them.
"Him first," the white-haired cane swordsman said, pointing in the direction Sachsen had gone. In the first place, their objective was to eliminate the assassin who originated from the Dagger of Geor.
Above all, even if a bastard like Encrid made it to the royal palace, nothing would change. For that place was crawling with monsters incomparable to the likes of them.