Chapter 594: Wind Blade is Dead
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 594: Wind Blade is Dead
"If you know where the captive is being held, lead the way."
Encrid had considered the possibility that the person dispatched from the Gilpin Guild might already be dead. Krais had suggested as much.
But if they were still alive, saving them was the only choice.
Just before the fight, he had casually questioned the man who called himself the Castellan, and the fellow had babbled something about a prisoner. Having heard that, rescuing them was now Encrid’s priority.
If a life could be saved, it should be. Especially if they had been captured while doing their duty—and even more so if that duty was for the sake of the very city he was staying in.
"Who... who are you?" the Castellan asked, his voice trembling with surprise.
Encrid hadn't been hiding, but he hadn't introduced himself either. Come to think of it, no one had actually bothered to ask for his name until now.
"Encrid, of the Border Guard."
After the brief introduction, the Castellan stared blankly, his mouth hanging open, before stammering a response.
"...The Knight of the Iron Wall?"
No matter how isolated their information was, it was impossible not to know that title. The shock and disbelief in the Castellan's eyes were palpable. His expression practically screamed: What on earth are you doing here?
Encrid nodded. The Castellan's jaw dropped even further.
He’s going to start drooling at this rate, Encrid thought, though he didn't bother reaching out to push the man's jaw shut.
"No, wait—why are you here?" the spearman standing behind the Castellan asked, his eyes wide with shock.
He seemed utterly bewildered. Encrid gave him a straightforward answer.
"I came because I heard cultists were causing trouble. But other issues seemed more pressing, and since they threatened me, I took care of them."
Encrid spoke as nonchalantly as ever. It was an excessively calm attitude for someone who had just wiped out three criminal guilds—the very organizations that were supposedly the greatest headaches in Cross Guard.
Blood was still pooling on the cobblestones. The vagrants who had been peeking from the shadows quickly ducked back into the alleys, with only a few exceptionally bold ones stealing cautious glances.
What had just happened here? The Castellan could only summarize it one way: The city's greatest plague has vanished.
Yet the man who had accomplished this feat was so utterly unfazed that it only made him look more formidable. At least, that was how it seemed to the Castellan and his companions.
To Encrid, however, these people were like sparrows living in a birdcage compared to everything he had endured. They were sparrows that believed their cage was the entire world, pecking at each other to prove who was the strongest. Now that an eagle had entered their cage, it was only natural they were no match for him.
It was a cage that even a single magpie could have conquered. That was how it looked from his perspective.
If this was the sole reason for the Ferryman's warning and the entirety of the city's problems, he would be deeply disappointed in the Ferryman.
'An ill omen? An i-i-ll o-o-men?'
If they met in a dream, he would have to mock him with those words first. The Ferryman's expression would be quite a sight.
Of course, this couldn't be all of it. Encrid knew this by instinct. Everything about that snake-eyed administrator and the Castellan standing right in front of him was riddled with anomalies.
"Well, the cultists are indeed a problem," the Castellan said, his words finally beginning to flow again despite his shock. "They've been holding secret gatherings all over. But even knowing that, it was hard to stop them. The criminal guilds were running rampant, making it impossible to manage the city. On top of that, there are rumors of vampires appearing lately, and some people even claim to have seen werewolves."
Encrid listened attentively. Listening had always been one of his strengths.
The situation was an absolute mess. A cultist problem they couldn't touch because of the guilds, and in the chaos, monsters and beasts had slipped into the city. It felt familiar. In Nauril, a noble who had turned into an owlbear had hidden away and slaughtered people in a similar fashion.
Encrid didn't bother asking what the city's vigilantes or military were doing. The answer would be obvious, and he could hear the excuses later.
"So, do you know where they are being held?"
Encrid was still determined to save the captive first. He spoke while flicking the blood off his sword, his indifferent gaze fixed on the Castellan.
"Dozens of guild bastards are guarding that place," the Castellan replied.
Encrid simply placed his hand on the grip of his sword and stared at him silently. It wasn't a situation that required words. Recalling what had just happened—specifically, how this man had slain the infamous Wind Blade in a single stroke and crushed three guilds with sheer force—the Castellan quickly corrected himself.
"I will lead the way."
*
Following the Castellan, Encrid walked through the city. As they navigated the alleys, passing over filth-covered ground, he spotted a tree. Despite growing out of the muck, its branches bore blossoms—white Winter Flowers.
His gaze followed the blossoms up toward the sky. Looking up instead of down, there was only a white flower blooming against a clear blue sky. But when he lowered his gaze back to his surroundings, he saw people collapsed in the dirt, high on drugs, and uncollected corpses rotting in the corners. Yet, even amidst such a landscape, the flower had sprouted. It was a striking sight.
After following the Castellan for a while, they reached a staircase sloping downward beside a dilapidated mansion. It looked like a tomb or a basement. In the past, powerful figures used to bury themselves in such grand tombs. This staircase was built in that style, but the crumbling, neglected steps suggested it was now just an ancient, nameless hole in the ground.
"Here?"
"Yes."
The bottom of the stairs was dark, filled with a dreary aura. Even someone with poor intuition would likely feel a chill and avoid it. Yet Encrid stepped down without hesitation.
Ever since he became a knight, he could see through pitch-black darkness to some extent. But even without his eyes, he could tell from the smell and the clumsy presences below that men were waiting to ambush him.
If you're going to hide and attack, shouldn't you at least suppress your breathing? They lacked even the most basic skills.
What would Sachsen say?
'The enemy is practically naked and asking to be stabbed. So, I shall stab them.'
He’d probably say something like that.
However, there was something even more surprising than the clumsy ambush. Before Encrid could even make a move, one of the men spoke.
"Hey, where do you think you're going? Get out of here, you'll get hurt."
Encrid paused, taken aback. Forget hiding their breath, they're actually speaking aloud?
What’s more, the warning was spoken out of genuine concern for him.
"You idiot! If you talk, you're just telling him where we're hiding!"
"But what if he just took a wrong turn?"
Bickering echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Are they fools, or are they just kind-hearted? Encrid decided to assume they were both.
Encrid didn't necessarily kill people based on a binary of good and evil, but he still weighed his options. To be frank, if he didn't feel like it, he rarely raised his hand. Was he acting on a whim? Yes, and Encrid didn't deny it. He acted as his heart inclined.
He decided to give them a chance.
"Have any of you ever killed someone who couldn't fight back?"
"Huh? No."
As the fool who had warned him answered, a dull thud resounded as the man next to him smacked him on the head. Soon, the clicking of flint was followed by the whoosh of a torch being lit.
There were five men guarding the bottom of the stairs. Three of them had faces that looked thoroughly simple and honest. Even if they were trying to deceive him, it would be hard to fake such expressions. And even if they were trying to trick him, there was no way Encrid would fall for it. The difference in their skills was night and day. Even if they swung a sword right at his nose, he could slice them into five pieces before the blade could touch him.
"This is Wind Blade guild territory, you know?" one of the five said. He looked more weathered than the others, with three deep wrinkles etched across his forehead.
Instead of wasting words, Encrid strode forward.
"Huh? Don't come any closer!"
Startled, the man reached for the dagger at his waist, but Encrid's hand was already resting on top of his.
"If you draw that, you die."
If you hold a blade, you must be prepared to be stabbed by one. It was an ironclad rule: anyone who wields a weapon must accept the risk of dying by it. Drawing a sword meant bracing oneself for death.
Encrid's words carried that exact weight.
One of the five was quick-witted. These five had grown up begging together like brothers, and their natures were too gentle to bear the thought of killing. That was why they had been relegated to door duty.
"What if we don't draw?" the dim-witted fellow asked—the same one who had warned Encrid earlier.
"Then you won't die."
The man nodded. "Then I won't draw."
Another one of the brothers smacked his own forehead in exasperation. It was a conversation so absurd it left them speechless, yet it was a familiar dynamic for them. One of their brothers was a fool, but they loved him. He was slow, but things usually worked out when they followed his lead. Because of that, the others held their tongues.
They began to gauge Encrid's mood. Judging by his stride and demeanor, he was no ordinary man. But if they just let him pass, they might have their fingers chopped off later. Two of them had already lost fingers to Wind Blade. Given his cruelty, they were lucky their heads were still attached.
"If we just let you through, Wind Blade will kill us," the wrinkled one said.
Encrid removed his hand from the man's hilt and spoke calmly.
"Wind Blade is dead."
All five of them blinked in unison. What? Their bewildered expressions were identical.
Now, the choice was theirs. Whether they believed him or not, dying to fulfill their duty to a criminal guild was their decision to make.
Four of the five broke into a cold sweat. What do we do? Just let him go? What if he's lying?
The one they thought was a fool turned out to be the decision-maker. "Let's let him through," he said.
The other four nodded. In truth, they had no other choice. If things went wrong, Wind Blade would kill them, but at this moment, they were powerless to stop the man in front of them.
Wise choice, Luagarne thought to herself as she watched from behind. If they had fought, death was the only outcome.
"Well then."
Patting them on the shoulders, Encrid walked past the guards.
"Here." The "fool" even handed him a torch. Encrid nodded slightly and took it.
Once inside, the space was wider than expected, and the masonry was remarkably sturdy. The walls were straight, and the joints were barely visible. When he tapped the stone, there was no hollow echo. It was solid.
"Doesn't seem like a tomb," Encrid noted.
"Indeed," Luagarne agreed. "I heard it was once a trend for wealthy merchants or nobles to build shelters like this. An attempt to survive even if the city fell, perhaps?"
It was a perfect hideout. If the entrance was blocked, safety was guaranteed. Encrid felt a faint breeze; they had even accounted for ventilation. Despite that, the musty smell of an underground stone chamber remained. As they ventured deeper, a chilly draft brushed against his skin. It was cold enough that food might stay fresh for a while, though summer would still be a challenge.
It was an excellent refuge for war, provided the entrance was sealed. Though spacious, it wasn't a labyrinth; it was roughly the size of a large mansion with several rooms. The craftsmanship was extraordinary.
Could it be the work of a Dwarf? Perhaps.
As he walked, Encrid felt a strange sensation. It was something he had felt since approaching the city—the feeling of being watched. Yet, whenever he searched for the source, there was nothing. It was so subtle it was hard to put into words. He had even thrown a fork earlier to check, but it had hit nothing but air.
Is my intuition failing me?
Maybe.
As he scanned the area, he finally sensed a distinct presence. Following it, he discovered a man in shackles, tucked away inside a stone alcove.