Chapter 810: Spies
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 810: Spies
When the city of Nauril cleared out the surrounding bandits and monsters to open its trade routes, the primary focus had been public security.
The goal was to guarantee the same level of safety inside the city walls as had been secured by eliminating the threats outside. There was also a calculated hope that such stability would increase the volume of travelers and merchants passing through. To resolve these security issues at their root, the crown strove to rehabilitate the slums where the poor congregated.
"That is what they call the King's Bread."
According to Marcus, that was the common term for the policy.
It was a simple truth that reducing the luxuries of the royal table could save a hundred commoners, but those who actually put such a sentiment into practice were rare. Krang did exactly that. He distributed bread to the poor using the very budget that would have gone toward his own royal meals.
At first, he provided free bread once a day. Then, he began boiling stew to feed the hungry and gathered cheap fabric to clothe the naked. After stabilizing the slums in that manner, Krang provided the people with work. Krais spoke as if he, too, was intimately familiar with the matter.
"He didn't just give them handouts blindly. There was plenty of work to be done in the city, after all."
Starting with repairs to the city walls, new buildings were erected, and several outposts were established on the outskirts. The demand for manpower was immense. He employed the poor as laborers, giving them the dignity of an honest wage. Those incapable of physical labor were given at least a soup ladle to hold, while children were taught and protected in newly established educational institutions affiliated with the kingdom.
Naturally, meticulous records were kept of the wages paid and the children admitted. In other words, whether intentional or not, this went beyond mere poverty relief; it served as a pretext to bring the populace under total state control.
On the surface, it was enough to completely transform the atmosphere of the slums. Krang had boldly emptied the royal treasury, a move that benefited the citizens, traveling merchants, and the poor alike. Because of this, most of those who used the slums as a base for their illicit tricks had to flee with their tails between their legs.
The weeds—the spies and informants planted by the northern Empire, the southern great nation, and various other factions—all withered away.
"The desperate among the poor usually turn into pickpockets or bandits, but what happens if the poor population itself decreases? By managing them directly, we prevent bandits and robbers from being created in the first place."
Encrid spat out the conclusion of the rambling explanation Krais and Marcus had been providing.
"So, once you gained control of the bandit guilds and the slums, the spies looked for other places to operate and flooded into the salons. Now that they've established themselves as an organization and are trying to extort power, you can't even tell where the problem begins and ends. Is that it?"
"...As expected, Captain, your mind works fast," Krais marveled.
"I think anyone could figure this much out. You two already laid it all out for me anyway," Encrid replied nonchalantly.
"No, absolutely not."
Krais shook his head as he sipped his tea, and Marcus finally brought up the real point.
"So, about that..." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. "We need to infiltrate the salons."
"..."
Why are you telling me this? Encrid’s eyes demanded an answer.
"May heaven strike down those who insult the salons," Krais muttered from the side.
* * *
The spies who had infiltrated the salons were clever. They operated in sleeper cells, exploiting the weaknesses of intermediaries so that no one could fully trust another. It was the exact same method Krais had mentioned—pitting the nobles against each other so they wouldn't even think of looking toward the royal family.
Because of that, it was nearly impossible to infiltrate the salons by simply disguising oneself as a noble. Marcus had already tried it dozens of times. Even Andrew had attempted it, only to end up catching a few low-level informants. Those sent with forged identities were exposed every single time.
Sending soldiers from the Royal Guard wouldn't fool them either.
Encrid was the worst possible candidate for this mission. His face was too recognizable to hide with a disguise, and the members of the Mad Knights were all overflowing with distinct, unmistakable personalities.
In terms of swordsmanship, it was as if the opponent was completely encased in heavy armor and a shield. One might think they could just slice through the shield and all, but...
Because I have to cut only what's inside, not the shield itself.
That was the headache. Disguises were exposed instantly, and nobles capable of pulling off such a delicate task were exceedingly rare. Marcus looked for a gap. No matter how well-crafted a suit of armor was, it always had seams. A single sharp blade would be enough to pierce the gap between them.
Sip.
Encrid swirled an amber liquid in his mouth inside one of the largest salons in Nauril. Compared to the Founding Liquor, it had a sharp, bitter edge. It likely tasted worse because he had ordered something that wasn't particularly high-end. It was a moment where the phrase "spoiled palate" fit perfectly.
Encrid’s appearance stood out anywhere. If stealth was the goal, he was a terrible choice.
Let alone...
"Tsk, it tastes alright, but it's a bit lacking."
Rem was with him. The gray-haired barbarian from the west stood out just by walking down the capital's main avenue. And then there was the golden-haired elf.
"Shall we drink leaf wine when we go to the Elven City, fiancé?"
She spoke as she always did. Boasting an otherworldly beauty, she shone like the light sources scattered throughout the salon. Though there were many high-class hostesses present, none could compare to her. Regardless of gender, every eye in the room was drawn to her.
Her face had grown paler due to the damage her essence sustained in the previous battle, giving her a delicate, sickly charm that only enhanced her beauty. If the patrons knew this elf had shattered a Balrog’s crystal with a single kick, their gazes might have been different, but to the ignorant, she was simply a peerless beauty who looked fragile.
"I would also like to treat you to some traditional Frok liquor."
With the elf and the Frok added to the group, they became a party that commanded the room's absolute attention. It was only natural that everyone stared the moment they entered. Still, they calmly took their seats, ordered drinks, and began their meal.
"It's not a liquor made from bugs, is it?" Rem asked.
"You know it well. It's a very special liquor."
"I'm damn curious about how it tastes."
Rem was more of a gourmet and a heavy drinker than one would expect.
Encrid idly scanned his surroundings and locked eyes with a man who was half-bald with a protruding belly.
"Ahem." The man cleared his throat and averted his gaze. He then headed straight for the bar and struck up a conversation with a woman sitting alone. As Encrid watched them, the woman laughed, covering her mouth with a folding fan, and the man laughed along. The atmosphere between them seemed pleasant. Although the woman was somewhat large-framed, she exuded an air of nobility.
Having drawn everyone's attention, Encrid felt the sting of countless gazes. The emotions contained in those stares were a complex mix: wariness, curiosity, fear, jealousy, anxiety, and admiration. An ordinary person might have felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny, but Encrid didn't care.
"Your dream is to be a knight?"
"To destroy the Demon Realm?"
He had always calmly brushed off the dismissive looks directed at him whenever he spoke of such dreams. At the very least, none of the gazes on him now held contempt. If he had to pick the strongest emotion among them, it was fear.
Of course, Encrid didn't dwell on it. Even inside the salon, he was the same as when he was in the training ground. His mind was lost in thoughts of swordsmanship.
Can I bypass the shield and armor to cut only what lies within? Is that even possible?
His thoughts naturally drifted back to his own techniques. On the surface, it seemed impossible. But...
Among the techniques Audin uses, there is one called Holy Penetration.
To be more precise, it was said that Holy Penetration—a technique that ignores an opponent's iron armor to strike their vitals—was a skill martial monks learned once they reached a certain level. Encrid had previously blocked the Holy Penetration of the Leader of the Heretic Extermination Priests.
What if I mimic that penetration?
Suddenly, a technique from Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship came to mind.
Striking as if slashing.
It was a technique where one feigned a slash with the blade, only to twist the wrist at the last second and strike with the flat of the sword. It was a move that would ruin one's tendons if attempted without extreme forearm conditioning. He had thought so ever since he first learned it, but Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship was a style incredibly faithful to the basics. Its core principle was simple: if you cannot deal with an opponent through slashing or thrusting, you must strike them. A blunt impact would deliver the shock to the inside.
His thoughts flowed continuously.
Even when I cut down the giant in my dream...
On the surface, it seemed like a cut made with sheer strength, but it wasn't. The blonde man, who had been a part of the Ferryman, utilized Indules every time he swung his weapon. However, it was not a simple matter.
"You are quick-witted."
It felt as if he could hear the Ferryman’s voice hallucinated in his mind.
One can stack Will upon Indules.
It was a sudden realization in an unexpected place. The Balrog’s strike had been heavier than his own. It was fast, fierce, and wild. While there were complex reasons behind this, the way the Balrog used Will must have played a part.
The Demon Realm.
He realized it after fighting the Balrog. To kill demons and erase the Demon Realm, he had to go further. The knight who speaks of the end of war and the end of the world—Encrid’s dream remained the same. It didn't end just because he had finally become a knight.
Clink.
Hearing the sound of ice against a glass, he raised his head to see a man wearing a purple velvet coat, a thick-collared white shirt, and tight trousers, leaning on a cane. Everyone, including Rem, knew that a long, slender piece of metal was hidden inside that cane. It was a sword stick. Since one couldn't openly carry a longsword inside the salon, several of these hidden blades were visible throughout the room.
Although the salon guards searched patrons upon entry, those determined to smuggle weapons in would always find a way. Even so, no one was foolish enough to cause a bloody scene here. To enter the salon, one had to have a reputation to protect.
Of course, Encrid and the Mad Knights were the exceptions. The guards lacked the power to stop them. In fact, there was no madman in the entire city who would dare block a knight's path.
In any case, sword sticks were common. Weapons weren't even the issue; both Encrid and Rem possessed enough martial prowess to beat everyone in the room to death with their bare hands.
Perhaps that was why some of the nobles looked terrified upon seeing Rem. As if enjoying their fear, Rem uncharacteristically tore into a steamed duck leg with his bare hands. A man who could display table manners as refined as any noble's was intentionally acting like a beast. It was a wicked sense of humor.
Most of the fear in the room was undoubtedly thanks to this gray-haired western barbarian. To outsiders, Encrid was seen as someone with a similar level of audacity. After all, he was the Monster Slaughterer, a man who had trampled over attacking monsters, demonic beasts, and colonies. Even among the mercenaries who had come as escorts, none dared to challenge him. Encrid’s reputation was simply too towering.
Most of the admiring gazes came from swordsmen. Those obsessed with the blade wished they could strike up a conversation and learn something from him. Of course, because of Rem’s intimidating presence, no one actually dared to try.
"What?" Rem offered a "friendly" greeting to the man who approached. Since he didn't immediately throw a punch, it was polite enough, but the recipient swallowed hard.
"I have come to present a bottle of wine as a token of my gratitude for your precious visit, Friend of the King."
The man had chosen one of Encrid’s many titles. Out of "the one who ended the civil war," "Demon Slayer," "Monster Slaughterer," "Knight of Demonic Charm," and "Heartbreaker," he had picked the most diplomatic one. The man was the owner of the salon.
He gestured, and an attendant brought over a bottle of wine.
The interior of the salon was generally dark, but magic lamps made in imitation of spell objects illuminated various spots. Judging by the lack of the scent of actual spells, they were likely crafted by some clumsy apprentice. Still, even such items would command a premium, yet there were over sixteen of them. That alone proved a substantial amount of Crona had been spent here.
The decor, with plastered walls exposed in places, was intended to give the venue the atmosphere of an ancient ruin. The sofas were plush, and the ambiance was dreamlike. Men and women could be seen blowing white smoke here and there.
There were three famous salons in the capital, and this one, the Calderan Ruins, was named after the site where an ancient war had broken out.
Rem took the bottle, opened it, and savored the aroma. Though not as sharp as a beastman's, his sense of smell was keen. Encrid suddenly wondered how Dunbakel was doing. Since there was no news of her death, she was likely faring well.
"Hmm." Rem didn't curse. It seemed the aroma wasn't bad. He poured a glass and tossed it back. "Want some?" he asked, glancing at Encrid. Seeing him ask before even commenting on the taste, it had to be a premium vintage.
Encrid, having little interest in alcohol, shook his head. Sinar didn't drink because she was unwell, and Luagarne also looked away. Rem grinned and began pouring himself glass after glass.
Seeing this, the owner in the purple velvet coat let out a sigh of relief. The tense guards and attendants behind him did the same.
Encrid knew exactly why he was here. He remained faithful to his role.
"I heard there is a southern spy here," he said, his voice cutting through the ambient noise. "Is it you?"