Chapter 527: Ordinary Finn
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 527: Ordinary Finn
Finn had discovered traces of the enemy and realized they had split into three groups. She immediately pursued the group estimated to have the largest numbers.
She was currently over half a day’s travel away from Encrid’s unit. Depending on the perspective, that distance was either manageable or a death sentence. If she made up her mind to run, she could close the gap in far less than half a day—provided this wasn't the Pen-Hanil Mountains.
But this place was a cradle of demonic beasts, a wilderness as treacherous as the Demon Realm itself. Unless one was capable of sprinting at full speed while masking their presence like a ghost, half a day’s distance remained exactly that.
'Bad. This is bad.'
Was it bad luck, or had she let her guard down? She had to assume it was both. If Captain Sinar saw her later, she would probably tell her to just go die.
But Finn hadn't had much of a choice. Once the traces appeared, she had to maintain visual contact and give chase. She couldn't risk the enemy taking a different route and slipping past them. Ensuring their allies and the enemy crossed paths here was Finn's mission, and she had been faithful to that duty.
That was how she had ended up in this situation. But looking back, she realized the enemy might have left those traces on purpose.
'I got outplayed.'
She didn't want to admit it, but looking at the circumstances, it was the only logical conclusion. The enemy had left just the faintest traces, leading Finn to believe she could slip past their scouts undetected.
'We were trained by elves, after all.'
And it had been hellish training at that. After being forced to run by an elf who never cracked a single smile, it was impossible not to gain some confidence. Above all, Finn and the other scouts were survivors who had endured Audin’s basic physical training.
"Audin."
"Aaargh!"
There was a time when just hearing that name would make them bolt upright in their sleep. Having survived those days, they were people who could navigate the Pen-Hanil Mountains with ease—or at least escape with only minor injuries. Simply not dying was an achievement in itself.
Had that confidence clouded her judgment? Perhaps. Whatever the case, she didn't want to dismiss it as a mere mistake. This was her job, and if she failed, it was because her skills fell short.
But she hadn't truly lost in a test of pure skill. The enemy had pushed with sheer numbers, and unless one was among the chosen few, numbers were an overwhelming factor that guaranteed victory. Just because they stood by Encrid’s side didn't mean everyone could surpass their limits. In that regard, Finn was a very ordinary person.
At least, that was how she viewed herself. Of course, by normal standards, she was highly skilled—an excellent soldier and a formidable ranger.
'And here I thought I was being cautious.'
A bitter taste of regret filled her mouth. Knowing her own limits, she didn't engage in the kind of madness Encrid did. Because Finn was an ordinary person, she wouldn't charge at the enemy with a single sword, claiming she would protect everyone's backs.
Behind her was a gentle slope; ahead was a small clearing. Tall trees flanked her on both sides, and a canopy of conifers loomed overhead. A few broad-leaved trees rose above the needle-like foliage, their leaves catching the morning light.
The deep blue dawn had passed, and the rising sun began to illuminate the clearing. No matter how cursed people claimed the Pen-Hanil Mountains were, life still thrived here. Trees grew, insects buzzed, and mountain birds sang.
Usually, the air was filled with the chirping of insects and the cries of birds.
Suddenly, the forest went silent.
Realizing the situation had gone south, Finn dropped into a low posture, pressing herself flat against the shadow of a tree. Her concealment was so thorough that no one would spot her without a meticulous search.
'Is this where I die?'
Finn tucked her chin in, regulating her breathing with slow, deliberate inhales and exhales. She wasn't panting; she had been walking rather than running from the start. Her training had given her an instinct for the exact pace she could maintain without losing her breath.
Though her breath felt warm, she shouldn't be discovered unless there was an elf among the enemy with eyes that could sense heat. Since she wore padded boots, her footsteps were silent. With so few people, there was no commotion.
There were only ten of them in total, and three had been left further back. They were stretched in a long formation: three in the front, four in the middle, and three in the rear. Because of this, only three were at the very front.
Finn, leading the vanguard, raised her fist. Seeing the signal, her two subordinates stopped and regulated their breathing just as she did.
That was the situation just moments ago—stopping her subordinates and weighing her options. Finn assumed two possible scenarios.
One: they would face off and then part ways. If the enemy saw no need to provoke them and alert the main allied force, they might choose to slip away.
Two: a battle would break out immediately. Neither side had expected to meet here, but now that they had, they would test each other before clashing.
However, both of Finn's assumptions were wrong. The enemy was already fully prepared.
Abnayor had not sent only knights. The genius beastman was not the only asset he had gained from his policy of racial integration. Krais had predicted many things, but he was no god. He couldn't have anticipated the existence of a unit he knew nothing about.
It was impossible to predict every variable on a battlefield. In such cases, one had to make a judgment call on the fly.
Rustle, rustle.
The sound of shaking grass started beyond the clearing and spread to the left and right. The tall grass, which had served as a screen for her allies, had become a pathway for the enemy. The swaying of the grass was enough to shake Finn's composure.
'There are too many.'
It was difficult to gauge their numbers, but there were far more than she had anticipated.
'We're being surrounded.'
She had to make a choice. If she bought time, the seven left behind would live. But she would die. She would surely die. If they fought together, they would all die. Finn was a soldier; she lived by the sword. She had prepared herself countless times for the day death would find her.
People had died back when she was the scout captain for the Cross Guard. This time, it was simply her turn.
Finn gave a hand signal: Fall back. I’ll buy time.
In any military unit, obeying an order to the letter was a virtue. In Finn's mind, that was how it should be.
Peeep.
But then, an ally's signal rang out—a sound mimicking the cry of a mountain bird. Her deputy was an expert at this, capable of fooling even the birds themselves. As if responding to the deputy's signal, a sharp whistle blew from further back.
"Are you out of your minds?" Finn hissed. Since they had already blown a whistle, silence no longer mattered. Their exact location was blown.
Rustle.
The figures approaching through the grass raised their heads. Finn frowned, then forced her expression to go neutral. Sinar’s warning echoed in her mind:
"You can fight anyone, but if you encounter a group of elves in the forest, do not fight them. It is a dog's death."
No wonder their ability to hide and counter-track was so extraordinary.
"A dog's death, huh," Finn muttered, scanning her surroundings. There were at least twenty. Maybe more than twenty-five?
"Well, we couldn't just leave you, could we?" It was her deputy, closing in behind her. He meant there was no way they were retreating without their captain.
"Shut up. Disobeying orders is grounds for summary execution."
"We're going to die anyway."
Her subordinates were as cheeky as ever.
"I'm not going down without a fight," Finn said, letting her left hand hang loose. The scouts gathered around her followed suit.
'If the enemy poured in their full strength, we should have done the same.'
She wondered if they should have brought the entire force instead of just ten scouts, but she pushed the thought away. Dead men can't eat bread. Regretting stepping into the water when a massive wave was already crashing down was a fool's errand.
The elves rising from the grass had blue skin and hair with a bluish tint. This was the Moonlight Elf Tribe.
"Do you speak our language?"
"They don't."
The voice came from above. Finn looked up to see a human woman crouching on a tree branch, a leather quiver slung across her back. Her balance was so superb that she looked as stable as if she were on solid ground. She was small, holding a longbow that seemed too large for her, but she was clearly a dangerous opponent.
In that brief exchange, elves holding crescent-shaped swords rose and began to close in. Finn and her subordinates would have faced ghouls with a smile, but this was chilling. There was no emotion in the elves' eyes, and their footsteps were silent. They looked like ghosts awakening from the earth.
Finn was creeped out, but she refused to let fear paralyze her.
'At least I left markers behind.'
She had done her job. Even if she died, she had marked the enemy's location. She let out a quiet sigh. Finn knew the importance of striking first. Whether the opponent was a ghost or a god, the one who struck first held the advantage.
"So you speak, then?" Finn said, extending her left hand. Her scouts fanned out, mimicking her gesture. "You guys got way too close."
Thwip-thwip-thwip!
The twang of bowstrings echoed from the armor covering their left hands. It was equipment issued to all scouts—a small crossbow mounted on the back of the hand, modified by Krais from gear seized from bandits.
Span-long bolts sliced through the air, striking six of the approaching elves. Ten bolts had been fired, but they only hit six targets because they hadn't coordinated their aim, resulting in overlapping shots.
Even in death, the elves did not scream. A faint groan was all they uttered.
"A futile struggle."
The woman in the tree gave the word, and the horde of elves sprinted. Sharp swishing sounds filled the air as the blue ghosts swung their blades. Crescent moons seemed to rain down in torrents as the curved swords plunged toward Finn's head.
Finn threw herself backward, rolling away.
"Every man for himself! Survive!"
"Yes, ma'am!" her subordinates shouted back, using the slogan from their training.
Even in the chaos, Finn did not spare her own life. Despite her orders, she threw herself into danger the moment a subordinate was in jeopardy.
'I'm just an ordinary person.'
This was too much.
'I'm not Encrid.'
Yet, her body moved on its own.
Clang!
She deflected a blade with her shortsword and shoved back with force. Finn had the advantage in raw strength, but those curved swords were a problem; their design allowed them to parry and deflect almost any attack.
Encrid was half a day away. Even if he was rushing, he wouldn't make it. This was the Pen-Hanil Mountains. Even Sinar couldn't bridge that distance in an instant.
"So, are you giving up?"
It felt as if Encrid was asking her from somewhere.
'Fuck no.'
Finn answered inwardly. She closed the distance with an elf whose blade had grazed her shoulder, drove her sword deep into his stomach, and yanked it out.
Crunch.
The elves wore armor made of stiff, stubborn wood. Stabbing and retrieving her blade took considerable effort, but she had punched a clean hole in his abdomen. He was as good as dead.
As blood gushed from the wound, the elf's eyes lost focus and he collapsed. Finn raised her sword again. In exchange for the kill, her pauldron was half-severed, and a burning sensation flared in her shoulder.
'Is it deep?'
A sharp sting shot through her left arm, but it was still functional.
'Good enough.'
Finn reassumed her stance, gripping her guard sword—a wide-bladed weapon of medium length. She had killed only one. None of these bastards were easy.
"Come on, bring it."
Finn took two cautious steps back, about to press her back against a tree, when a sudden prickle of murderous intent from behind made her roll forward.
Whoosh!
Blue light flickered between the trees. Their chances in a head-on clash were already slim, but these things were vanishing and reappearing like actual ghosts. The moment she lost track of them, blades seemed to fly out of thin air.
"I told you, it's no use," the woman in the tree called out.
"Just you wait. You're next," Finn blustered. No one believed her.
"If you say so," the woman replied. Once again, the elves' ambushes clashed with the scouts' desperate resistance.
Clang!
Finn swung, deflected, and threw daggers at any opening. As she rolled across the ground, she glanced at her squad. By some miracle, not a single member had died yet. They were bleeding and exhausted, but they were still standing.
Suddenly, she noticed how bright the sunlight was. Why was the sky so clear? Why was the sun so warm? Was it a perfect day to die?
"You guys aren't going to die," Finn spat out again.
"Obviously."
The reply didn't come from her subordinates. It was a voice that carried neither presence nor sound.
Finn looked up, but the owner of the voice was already standing behind her to the right. The man had reddish-brown hair, and blood dripped from the two short swords in his hands. Whether human or elf, blood was red, and his blades were soaked in it.
It wasn't luck that had kept the scouts alive. While Finn had been struggling, someone had been tearing into the elves from the shadows. Without a sound. Without a trace.
"To fight elves, you must be at least a first-rate assassin to even stand a chance of reading them," Sinar had once said. "Even then, fighting a large number of them is out of the question. Though, there are those who would completely ignore everything I just said."
Sachsen Bensino.
Master of the Dawn Dew. Master of the Dagger of Geor.
He was the undisputed pinnacle of the assassination world, peerless across the continent. He had received the commander's order to join Finn, and he was carrying out his mission with lethal precision.
"No one dies on this battlefield."
Encrid had said those words, and Sachsen intended to keep them.