Chapter 392: Knowing Exactly What You Have
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 392: Knowing Exactly What You Have
"I am a sinner."
Aisia had to admit her wrongdoing.
Even if Encrid shielded her and kept his silence, her actions wouldn't simply vanish. She didn't believe her guilt would evaporate just because her younger brother had been held hostage. Everything was an excuse—a mere justification.
At least, that was how Aisia saw it, and in her own eyes, that made her a criminal.
When she spoke, Krang replied nonchalantly.
"How about offsetting your crimes with achievements? As I said, we're so desperate we'll take any help we can get."
His tone was casual, almost excessively so. Was it because the situation was so urgent he had no other choice? Or did he simply not care who served him as long as they were useful?
No, that wasn't it. She felt something akin to trust directed toward her.
Could he really trust me? she wondered. When I stood with those who betrayed him just half a day ago?
She didn't even notice the gazes of the two Marquises watching them. Aisia opened her mouth, struggling to understand.
"How can you trust me?"
Was it because she was a member of the Red Cloak Knights? Was he truly that short-handed? Did he need one of the few remaining martial forces in the royal palace, even if she was only an Associate Knight?
Aisia stared at Krang, and he gave her a bright smile.
"I trust this fellow's judgment. That’s enough for me."
Krang pointed a finger at someone. That was his only reason. The person he referred to as "this fellow" was Encrid.
"There's a mountain of work to clean up. See you around."
Krang left with those parting words. In his wake, Encrid stepped forward and asked a blunt question.
"Want me to set your nose?"
He didn't seem to care about her betrayal at all.
"I already did," she replied, looking straight at him.
A thought crossed her mind: Does he actually know me?
They had only associated briefly. She didn't think he knew the circumstances that had forced her hand, nor did she want to plead her case—to tell him she had only blocked his path to protect her brother.
"See you later," she whispered, at a loss for words.
*
Aisia hurried away, desperate to check on her brother. Fortunately, he was safe.
Though she had moved immediately, her face was still a mess. Her nose was swollen, and purple bruises mottled her skin. She clutched her side with one hand; a throbbing pain flared in her chest with every step.
In that state, Aisia explained the situation to her brother.
"I owe them a debt of gratitude," she concluded.
Whatever their underlying reasons, they had shielded her and offered her their trust. While she couldn't say everything had ended perfectly, for Aisia, it was the best possible outcome.
"Smashing your face like that counts as a favor?" her brother asked.
He had been kidnapped, bewildered, and driven to the brink of despair, but he seemed fine now—at least on the surface. It was a calm front maintained specifically to keep her from worrying. She was deeply grateful for his strength.
"Yes."
"If he hits you a second time, he’ll probably ask for your hand in marriage."
"I’ll have to consider it then."
It was a silly joke, but it lightened the air. Her brother didn't resent her, even though his life had been threatened because of her choices. He had grown up well.
Aisia would break her own sword for her brother’s sake. She did not regret her choice; if the same situation arose tomorrow, she would choose him again.
For some reason, she wanted to ask Encrid: What would you do if I did it again?
Somehow, the answer seemed easy to guess. Though she didn't know him well and had only been on the receiving end of his blunt goodwill, she felt as if she could already hear his voice.
“Just don't let that situation happen in the first place.”
That was the right answer. In fact, Encrid was currently moving with that exact mindset.
After she had rescued her brother and returned home, she washed up and tended to her injuries as the sun set.
"Be grateful for their generosity. An opportunity to stand on the right side, to fight and prove yourself, won't come again."
The Marquis of Okto had sent a messenger to deliver those words. She had intended to do exactly that, even without the reminder. She had already begun investigating who was behind the bastard who took her brother hostage. Viscount Mernes had been the face of it, but who was pulling his strings?
Grit.
Her teeth ground together, her jaw clenching tight. Her injuries would take a fortnight to heal. She needed to rest without moving a muscle for two weeks. After that, she would beg to be placed on the battlefield.
There, she would show them who she was. She would make them pay the price for touching her family. Anticipating that moment, Aisia gently stroked her brother's hair.
*
I will surely avenge you, Lycanos.
Lycanos had been a comrade and a brother, a man who shared the dream of starting the Black Sword Bandits. Though they shared no blood, they were family.
It was the deep blue hour before dawn. A man slipped out of the castle and headed toward the northern gate. Escaping the castle had been the difficult part; from here on, it would be easy. No one would suspect him, especially since the "Tax Collector" had already died while posing as the leader of the Black Sword.
A well-used tool to the very end.
The man walked briskly, nursing his thoughts of revenge. He had a plan. He knew the location of the secret vault—a place where wealth had been accumulated for over a decade.
He had been the Tax Collector's attendant, but in reality, he was the true brain behind the Black Sword. He was the man who had once raised a sword alongside Lycanos for the sake of the persecuted. While Lycanos had proven himself through martial might, this man had led the bandits with his intellect and convictions.
Of course, power and wealth change a person. Because he had changed, he had reached this point. Because he had changed, Lycanos was dead. And because he had changed, all he truly cared about now was the wealth in his grasp, even if he hadn't fully admitted it to himself yet.
I will have my revenge. Without fail.
He repeated the vow internally, but deep down, he knew it was a lie. It was realistically impossible. How could he accomplish what had failed even with a noble's backing and accumulated power, now that he was fleeing with nothing but his life?
He knew the truth, but the vow of vengeance was a perfect mask to rationalize his cowardice. In truth, while he felt the sting of Lycanos's death, he felt no genuine sorrow. He was a different person now.
Once I get out of here...
He would likely forget his vow within days. He would seek asylum in another country and live off the riches in his vault. He could pose as a noble, start a merchant guild, or simply live as a wealthy man in a quiet city. His mind was already painting a comfortable future.
The man shook his head violently.
No, I will have my revenge.
He continued to deceive himself until the very end. Dawn broke gently, the blue air giving way to a tranquil warmth. He walked with his back to the rising sun, disguised as a common hunter in a dirty cloak and gaiters.
Fucking idiots.
They would never find him. When that bastard Sachsen had been chasing him, he felt like a blade was pressed against his throat. But now?
I survived.
He hadn't just run away, either. He had caused havoc on his way out, ordering the remaining members of the Black Sword Bandits to set fire to the royal palace. It was about time for the flames to rise.
He turned his head back, expecting to see smoke. It was quiet. It was the hour when the diligent were just waking up, though many were already out due to the previous night's chaos. The city gates were in an uproar, and the commotion at the palace had planted seeds of anxiety in the populace.
However, the flames that were supposed to mark his grand finale were nowhere to be seen.
Why?
His doubt lasted only a moment. Regardless of the answer, he had to move. He slipped through the alleys and reached the North Gate.
"Hold on a moment there."
A soldier leaning against the side gate with a crooked helmet called out. The voice was thin and slender—a woman’s voice.
"What is it?" the man replied.
The soldier took off the helmet, letting long blonde hair tumble down.
"Why do you keep glancing back as you walk?"
Was she really picking a fight over that? The man felt an ominous premonition. Where was the North Gate Guard Captain? Why was there only a single soldier? His heart pounded.
He looked past the female soldier and saw a few other guards sitting quietly, dozing off.
Dozing?
He realized the strangeness immediately. After the chaos of last night, it made no sense for the guards to be napping on duty.
"Sorry, but there won't be any fire," the female soldier said.
"...Who are you?"
"Dagger of Geor," she replied, crossing her arms with an air of total ease.
A cold sweat trickled down the man's back.
"You're late," she added, looking past him.
The man spun around. Standing behind him was a man with striking reddish-brown eyes that held no emotion whatsoever.
"Nice to meet you," the man said.
The leader of the Black Sword Bandits realized he was utterly finished. He cursed his own complacency for not carrying an escape scroll, though he knew he never could have smuggled one past the palace's detection spells anyway.
All he had was a single sword. He knew he couldn't reason with this opponent. He had seen how the Tax Collector died. His hands trembled.
"You've had your fun all this time, haven't you? Now, I think it's my turn."
Sachsen had felt something was off when he killed the Tax Collector. How could someone who had hidden their identity so thoroughly die so easily?
Fortunately, Encrid had ordered an internal cleanup. With a civil war on the horizon, the highest priority was clearing the surroundings. If a blade flew from behind, they would lose before the war even began. Krang and the two Marquises had agreed.
Sachsen had spent the night hunting down the remnants. A member of the Dagger of Geor had followed him. He told her she didn't need to involve herself, but she had refused.
"Master," the woman said. She was Sachsen's lover and a high-ranking member of the guild. It was only natural for her to address him that way. Sachsen was, after all, the Master of the Dagger of Geor—the greatest assassin guild on the continent.
"Are you returning once this is finished?"
In her judgment, their business here was done.
"We'll talk later," Sachsen replied. For now, the hunt came first.
*
Count Molsen did not bluff, nor did he lie. He had sent troops to the Border Guard. Among them were over fifty Lycanthropes—monsters that transformed from humans into wolves.
The one leading them was a bastard who had been a cannibal even when he was human. Back then, he had been an Associate Knight; now, he possessed the raw power of a monster.
"Let's go chew on some tender flesh," he cackled, leading the charge. No one can stop us.
He was certain of victory. He believed the Lycanthrope unit would become a name of terror that ruled the entire region. The man who had been a dog in human skin had finally become a beast, raising his snout to howl.
Awooooo!
Fifty Lycanthropes howled in unison behind him. A monster's howl was designed to instill primal terror, a fear engraved into human instinct.
Yet, the troops lined up before the Border Guard gates remained calm. Anything becomes dull if repeated enough, and the Border Guard standing army had fought a sickening number of battles. Azpen, monsters, cultists, territorial armies—a diverse cast of bastards had targeted them with relentless intensity.
The hearts of the standing army were solid, and the city itself had gained a sense of composure. In the past, news of a battle would have stopped merchant caravans and thinned out support. Now, the Lockfried merchant guild stood at the center of logistics. As soon as the enemy was spotted, they secured supply routes.
Count Molsen had tried to isolate the Border Guard by pressuring surrounding nobles, warning them they would be next if they helped. Even so, Martai and the city Encrid had saved from the Gnoll Colony sent aid. The reputation of the Lockfried guild was not to be underestimated.
Watching the fifty charging Lycanthropes from atop the wall, Krais felt like he was going to piss himself.
Ugh, terrifying.
Even so, he had a job to do. If they lost the first battle, their support would be cut off.
"The one who seizes the initiative wins," Krais muttered. "If all else fails, we'll take hostages."
He was already keeping watch on Count Molsen's two children. He didn't expect hostages to work against a man like the Count, but he couldn't leave them unaccounted for. He already had thirty-six ways to escape if things went wrong—and a hundred and seventy ways to win before it came to that.
"Will it be alright?" Vengeance, now the leader of the archers, asked from beside him.
Krais looked down at the figure standing before the troops—a man two heads taller than any other soldier.
"What do you think is the very first thing to consider in strategy, tactics, or the art of war?"
Vengeance thought for a moment. "...Morale?"
"Knowing exactly what you have."
It sounded vague, but it was simple. It meant properly utilizing what you already possessed. How could you fight without knowing your own strength?
Krais knew Audin. He knew Audin was not the kind of man to back down against fifty Lycanthropes. Beside him stood Teresa, one of the "Bear Siblings."
That was why Krais had ordered the archers to hold their fire. They had to give the enemy a bloody nose in the very first clash. Only then would Count Molsen realize this wouldn't be an easy conquest.
Krais's mind finished its calculations. And Audin, the spearhead of those calculations, raised his fist toward the drooling Lycanthrope charging directly at him.