Chapter 592: Excessive Hospitality
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 592: Excessive Hospitality
The man sitting in the chair looked down at the two bastards kneeling meekly beside the table. They had been tied up all night, unable to sleep a wink. Now, they didn't dare meet his gaze, keeping their heads bowed low while their eyes darted anxiously.
‘They got done in by a Frok. Idiots.’
The man kept his eyes on the Frok, Luagarne, rather than Encrid. To him, it was obvious that Encrid was only acting cocky because he had a Frok backing him up.
This newcomer was of the same caliber as the ones who had raided them last night. He didn't even know who his opponent was. But then again, those trapped in a narrow well never knew the scale of the outside world.
Cross Guard was currently being consumed by internal guild warfare. Everyone was too busy lining their own pockets to care about what happened beyond their borders. Lately, rumors were rampant that the Castellan was trying to declare independence from Azpen.
Did that make any sense? Who knew. People just accepted it because that's what they heard.
They were birds and frogs trapped in their own tiny worlds. Was it natural for them to be so ignorant? Or had someone intentionally made them this way?
It was none of Encrid's business anyway. If someone came looking for him, all that mattered was their purpose.
"You came to fight, right?" Encrid asked, glancing toward the kitchen.
He hadn't even had breakfast yet. He wondered how anyone could be diligent enough to pay a visit before the food was even served. Or perhaps the man had spent the entire night at a gambling table; a pungent stench of stale tobacco and foul breath wafted from him. Judging by his greasy hair, hygiene was clearly not his hobby. This guy was worse than Dunchabel.
"Hey, are you acting cocky just because you've got a Frok backing you?" the smelly man sneered, flicking his left hand.
At his signal, another Frok entered from outside. Walking in barefoot with wet, squelching slaps, the creature spoke without preamble.
"You haven't killed them yet?"
This Frok had exceptionally red eyes. Those crimson orbs locked onto Luagarne.
A Frok? Slicing them up is no fun.
He stared intently with that thought, though of course, there was no way to know what was actually going on inside a Frok's head. Whether a Frok had arrived or not, Encrid simply said what he wanted to say.
"Let's eat breakfast before we fight."
This was a habit he had picked up entirely because of the Ferryman. With the Ferryman, you had to ignore whatever the other person said and just state your own business to get your point across. Still, he wanted to ponder and practice what he had realized from the Ferryman's words, but these pests were getting in the way.
"Is that so?" the man sitting in the chair said as he stood up.
Encrid's insight clearly foresaw what would happen next. The man would push his chair aside, draw his weapon, and thrust. Even before the man stood, the lackey who had been watching from behind slipped to the side, intending to strike simultaneously.
Hanging from the waist of the man creeping just outside Encrid's field of vision was a grime-stained axe. He had already placed his hand on the hilt as he took his step. His intention was painfully obvious.
How should I deal with them?
The calculation finished the moment the question arose. These were people who sought to kill without a second thought. Encrid decided he didn't even need to draw a single dagger. It was a precise assessment.
Clack! Clang!
The man who had been sitting kicked his chair back, drew his sword, and lunged. Instantly, the man beside him whipped out his hand axe and swung it downward. Both possessed decent skill when it came to ambushes. Still, they fell short of anyone who had completed the basic training of the Border Guard Standing Army.
They'd improve if they just completed basic training, Encrid thought, his mind drifting with idle thoughts even as he moved.
Though he reacted after they did, his overwhelming physical strength and reflexes made him appear far faster. He reached out, grabbed the incoming blade barehanded, and yanked.
The disparity in strength was absolute. Although the attacker held the grip firmly with both hands and Encrid merely pinched the blade with his thumb and fingers, the sword was ripped away into Encrid's grasp. With a casual tug, the swordsman let out a choked gasp as his weapon was snatched from his hands.
Without pausing, Encrid used the stolen weapon, slamming the protruding guard above the hilt straight into the swordsman's head.
Thud!
The guard of the shortsword became a lethal weapon, punching a hole through its owner's skull. Naturally, a man with a hole in his head could not survive.
"Gark..."
With a final groan, the swordsman collapsed. His axe-wielding companion fared no better. While Encrid's left hand snatched the sword and caved in its owner's skull, his right hand disarmed the axe and returned it to its master—except, instead of placing it back in his hand, he buried it in his head.
Though both died at the same time, only a single dull thud echoed. Such was the sheer, fluid efficiency of his movements. Both slumped to the floor, their blood pooling and spreading across the wood.
While the two guild members were being slaughtered, the red-eyed Frok also made his move. This Frok, however, had long since forgotten his kind's natural talents, utterly intoxicated by bloodlust. He was a creature addicted to the thrill of carving and slicing flesh. Occasionally, such mad Froks existed. Depravity, after all, spared no species.
Luagarne eyed the loop sword he drew. Its blade was short, but jagged like a saw.
Skrrrrt!
A grating, unpleasant sound echoed as it slid from its leather scabbard. It was a weapon chosen solely for the sensation of sawing through flesh.
The Frok lunged, kicking off the tavern floor with a loud bang. The floorboards splintered, sending wooden shards flying into the air. His intention was obvious: close the distance and saw through any part of Luagarne's body he could reach. Believing he held the advantage since he was standing while his opponent was seated, he rushed his attack.
Remaining seated, Luagarne read his trajectory, drew her whip, and lashed out. With a sharp crack, the whip coiled around the Frok's neck, halting his charge in its tracks.
"Kuruk!"
Even with the whip wrapped around his throat, the red-eyed Frok merely puffed out his cheeks. The moment the whip tightened, he stopped and grabbed the leather cord with his free hand. Because the whip was studded with sharp thorns, blood splattered instead of his hand slipping.
Ignoring the pain, he gripped the whip and yanked, throwing his entire weight into the pull. Froks, by nature, were a race that took immense pride in their physical strength. He believed he could snap a mere whip with brute force. And indeed, given enough time, it wouldn't have been impossible.
But naturally, his hopes were cut short.
While the Frok braced himself and pulled, Luagarne kicked off the ground and lunged forward. The chair she had been sitting on toppled backward with a heavy thud. Yet, her movement was relatively graceful. After all, while the Frok had shattered the floorboards, Luagarne had merely knocked over a chair.
A wooden pillar stood between the two Froks. Feinting to the left of the pillar, she suddenly darted to the right and thrust her sword forward. It was a simple trick, but a highly experienced combat maneuver. The red-eyed Frok tried to pull his sword to his left to parry, but his blade met only empty air.
The loop sword in her hand plunged deep into the red-eyed Frok's abdomen. Luagarne sliced upward. One Frok's monstrous strength tore through another Frok's belly.
Squuulch!
The blade ripped through intestines, hide, and ribs, reaching all the way to his heart. The heart armor he wore split under the blade. The foolish Frok hadn't worn any separate armor over his stomach. While his heart armor might have been strong against frontal thrusts, it couldn't leverage its durability when sliced upward from below like this.
"Kwek!"
The Frok let out a grating shriek and died, his long tongue lolling out. Blood trickled down the length of his tongue—the result of his split heart causing blood to back up. Luagarne withdrew her sword and wiped the blood on the dead Frok's clothes.
Where had such a rotten Frok even come from? Given the city's state, he had probably drifted in and settled here. After all, flies always gather around rotten meat. Regardless, splitting the heart of one of her own kind was hardly a pleasant experience.
"What a mess," Luagarne spoke.
Yesterday, she had said those words regarding the taste of the water, but now, they applied to the entire city. Encrid silently agreed.
"Clean it up."
At Encrid's command, the two members of the Awl Brotherhood—now turned cleaners—scurried to work. They dragged the corpses away and poured water to scrub the blood, but this only made the metallic stench grow thicker. Meanwhile, the inn employee brought out the food with a pale, terrified face.
On the battlefield, one had to fill their stomach even in the presence of corpses. This was no different.
As Encrid went to dip his white bread into the bean puree, the child's lips trembled. She looked as though she had a great deal to say, prompting Encrid to scan her eyes and her posture. It was a fleeting moment, lasting barely a few seconds, but Encrid gleaned a great deal.
Details that an ordinary person would have overlooked stood out clearly to him. The faint trace of anxiety, the subtle backward shift of her body, and a complexion entirely different from when she had urged them to flee earlier.
As Encrid stared at her in silence, the child's face drained of all color.
"Please spare me," she whispered.
It was a whisper directed at him. Why? Because she had tampered with the food she just brought out. Since they used sleeping incense, it was highly likely some of them would resort to poison as well.
"I did it. Kill me instead."
As the child begged, the innkeeper stepped forward and spoke, his hands completely empty this time. Were they father and child? Perhaps. Encrid looked at the innkeeper and the child, who was too terrified to even cry, and thought:
They certainly move fast.
When had they managed to threaten these two into poisoning the food? The commotion had only happened last night. In a single night, they had already faced two raids and now poisoned food. The hospitality was indeed excessive.
Or had they prepared this in advance? Encrid felt a gaze dripping with malice watching him from behind the scenes. Once that thought crossed his mind, it truly felt as though something was watching him.
Trusting his instincts, Encrid threw the fork in his hand.
Thud!
The fork flew with a sharp ping and embedded itself deep into a dark, shadow-shrouded corner of the inn, vibrating intensely. At his sudden movement, the innkeeper closed his eyes and pulled the child tightly into his embrace. Sweat poured down his face from sheer tension.
"What are you doing all of a sudden?" Luagarne asked.
"I thought I felt something."
Encrid examined the wall where the fork was embedded once more. There was nothing. Meanwhile, the child seemed even more terrified, as did the innkeeper.
Encrid stood up, patted the child's head, and said, "Nothing is going to happen to you. Even if I ask who made you do this, it would only put you in a difficult position, wouldn't it?"
If the criminal guilds were behind this, the innkeeper and the child would be terrified of retaliation. Thus, he had no intention of pressing them.
Some tampered with food, others with beds, and some even sent a couple of swordsmen and a Frok just to test his skills. What were the chances that something else was waiting for them outside the inn? Extremely high. And it would undoubtedly be a trap far more insidious than anything they had faced so far.
"If we fight inside the city, they'll likely have traps laid out," Luagarne spoke as if she had read Encrid's mind. When it came to experience wandering the continent, this Frok was second to none. Just by looking at how things were unfolding, Luagarne understood everything.
"At this rate, I think we need to do some cleaning," Encrid replied, his tone suggesting he couldn't care less about the dangers Luagarne mentioned.
He had set out to hunt cultists, but upon arrival, he found himself dealing with trash first.
Just as Encrid was about to step out, the inn door rattled open. It was the Administrator, accompanied by two more guards than the previous day.
"I heard you were attacked last night. Those fools..."
The Administrator appeared hurried yet composed, composed yet troubled—a mixture of expressions that looked incredibly awkward to Encrid's eyes.
"I offer my deepest apologies. The city's public security has fallen into ruin, and it is entirely because of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult," the Administrator repeated.
Until the Administrator entered, Encrid had felt an unsettling sensation that something was watching him, but the moment the man stepped inside, that uncomfortable feeling vanished completely. It was strange.
"Escort these two away."
At the Administrator's command, two soldiers clad in gambesons grabbed the two guild members who had been acting as cleaners.
"You two will hang," the Administrator said coldly as he walked past them.
"You certainly hear news quickly," Encrid spoke, subtly asking how the man had found out so fast.
"A few soldiers were keeping watch. I ordered them to report immediately, but... sigh, once again, I am deeply sorry. To think such an unpleasant incident would occur when I personally invited you."
The Administrator spoke with genuine regret. Encrid nodded. He didn't bother adding that the criminal guilds clearly viewed the Administrator as a joke.
"It seems things have become rather complicated. Allow me to escort you to my manor."
Before Encrid could even reply to the Administrator's offer, a voice from outside the door interrupted.
"No, you will be coming with me."