Chapter 62
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Counterstrike in the Square
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After dealing with the arrow-nosed man in the alley...
I unfortunately couldn't openly deceive the mercenaries anymore after that.
A few of them had heard the commotion and witnessed what happened in the alley, exposing my identity.
From then on, I leaped from rooftop to rooftop using lightness skill to evade them, fighting back whenever they caught up.
In the midst of it all, the traps I'd asked Bernard to set up around the village proved quite helpful.
But was it because their leader, this guy named Lean, was so cunning?
Boom boom boom!!
"Urgh...!"
After I took out the cockscomb-headed mercenary lieutenant with a palm strike, the others stopped charging at me recklessly.
Upon closer inspection, they weren't wandering alone anymore; they were pursuing under the command of their lieutenants.
Though I'd whittled them down to seventy mercenaries, it was still a formidable number.
"Hmm..."
I ducked into an alley for a moment and pictured their remaining forces in my mind.
The only lieutenants I'd taken out were the arrow-nosed man and the cockscomb head along the way.
Eight lieutenants remained, along with their mercenary leader, Lean.
If it weren't for that mercenary leader, Lean, I wouldn't have to go to such lengths.
The problem was him.
He'd seemed skilled when we crossed paths before, and his handling of my raids on his group was impressive too.
To think a guy like that was holed up in this backwater village.
The black mage must've shelled out a fortune for him.
How to break through this?
I climbed onto a rooftop to scout their movements.
The mercenaries were spread out like a net across the village.
If I kept engaging them in scattered skirmishes, I'd just be playing into their hands, wouldn't I?
Lean was surely planning to grind me down by sacrificing his men bit by bit.
Like hell I'd let them have their way.
In situations like this, there were two choices.
First, flee and turn it into a war of attrition.
I could manage that if I wanted.
They aimed to wear me down, but I had plenty of experience with this sort of thing.
Had I never been trapped in a siege like this before?
Layer upon layer of nets—even the Demonic Cult's inescapable Ten Guards Formation had left me with no internal energy left and not a single intact bone.
Yet I'd broken through it in the end.
With that kind of experience, it wasn't hard. But this wasn't a situation to run from, nor would a predator flee a pack of wild dogs?
In times like these, you plunged straight into the heart of their net.
I made my decision and boldly stepped out into the open. I even headed toward the village square.
I could feel eyes watching me from all directions.
They were slowly tightening the noose, it seemed.
Bring it on.
I strode mockingly to the center of the square and sat on a chair.
What was all the fuss about?
I could clearly picture them stealthily nocking arrows all around the square.
I picked up a book someone had apparently left behind and opened it.
What Is a Knight?
It was a book filled with a lengthy sermon on knightly conduct.
This book, in this situation.
A laugh burst out of me before I knew it.
"Isn't it ridiculous?"
"...!"
They realized I'd clocked them and stepped out into view.
As expected.
No rash approaches—they had archers in the rear and lieutenants blocking every escape route.
I didn't know Lean's backstory, but he was definitely ex-military or had commanded knights before.
I scanned their faces one by one, then glanced around for their leader.
Not there, huh?
Sending his underlings ahead while he watched from the back.
Cunning bastard.
I turned the page. The opening lines read:
A knight is a noble being who protects the weak and does not bend before the strong.
"This book says knights must protect the weak, but you lot are something else entirely."
One of the lieutenants, a one-eyed woman, bellowed in response.
"What kinda bullshit is that?!"
Her retort set the other lieutenants snickering.
"Dumbass, you blind? You're the one surrounded."
"Fuckin' hell, we were bowing our heads like idiots to that con artist since yesterday. My neck's stiff as hell."
They were confident of victory but didn't step forward carelessly. All talk, no drop in guard.
They had some real skill.
I eyed them coolly, lips curling into a smirk.
"No need to glance around like that. It's just me here anyway."
"Shut your trap, you freak!"
"Quiet. Listen up. You all picked up weapons dreaming of becoming knights. Some wanted to honor their families, others to be righteous slayers of evil. But look at you now—hired by a single black mage to torment and mock this village's people. Is that the virtue of the strong?"
My lecturing tone only sharpened their killing intent.
Guys like these thrashed harder the more you poked them.
The creak of their grips tightening on weapons echoed from all sides.
Among them, a burly middle-aged man who looked the eldest slammed his double-headed axe into the ground and grumbled.
"Con artist, cut the crap. Knights? Who gives a shit? We get paid to do a job, our way. Those villagers owe what they owe."
"Like they crashed into our cart on purpose and demanded compensation from the driver."
"What'd you say?"
"Wasted all those years, huh? No wonder a kid like Lean outranks you at your age."
"You little shit...!"
The graying middle-aged man advanced, axe raised to swing, then halted.
He let out a sinister chuckle.
"Nice try with the cheap provocation. Think I'd fall for it?"
"Good. At least you've got some years under your belt."
"You son of a...!"
The one-eyed woman shook her head at the graying man.
Don't engage.
"Enough. He's a slippery one—don't get into a pissing match. Stay calm and take him down."
"You're right. I got heated. Con artist, you're dead. Cecil's already been informed, so just wait for your head to roll."
Ignoring them, I surveyed the square.
What caught my eye were exactly twelve round lanterns.
Bernard had placed them precisely where I'd asked. Enough to light up the whole square once their wicks were lit.
Confirming that, I saw the mercenaries gearing up to swarm me at once.
About twenty stepped forward as the archers in the back drew their bows.
If I'd faced this encirclement with nothing prepared, I might've taken heavy losses.
Their numbers had swelled in the meantime; the whole group had converged here.
But now, I was fully prepared.
Just as I'd planned.
A Tang Clan warrior ready for the enemy never loses.
I checked the ground beneath my feet—right where Bernard had marked.
The slightly bulging, concave spot confirmed it.
The one-eyed woman whistled.
Scree!
Arrows loosed in unison as they charged from all sides.
Completely boxed in—right now.
Now!
Thud!!
I stomped down hard with all my strength.
One of Bernard's inventions—a springboard—launched me higher than any building in the village.
The arrows lost their mark, shredding an innocent book instead.
Airborne, but landing would be dangerous.
The enemies thrust their weapons upward.
The ground rushed up like a bed of thorns.
In midair, I drew my flying daggers.
Aiming for the twelve round lanterns.
One miss, and their blades would find me—but the calluses on every joint of my fingers proved my training.
Skill forged through such effort never betrays its master.
A breeze stirred. My Dark Spirit Flying Daggers left my hands.
I closed my eyes the instant they flew.
Whether they'd hit... Bernard's flash bombs inside the lanterns would tell me, even with eyes shut.
Flash!
Light pierced my eyelids. It flashed once, then erupted like fireworks, one after another.
Exploding brilliance engulfed the square in an instant.
"Aaaagh!!"
"S-save me!!"
Screams filled the square.
A smile crept across my face. The Dark Spirit Flying Daggers had triggered the traps perfectly.
I opened my eyes to a storm of hidden weapons pouring from the lanterns amid the blasts.
Like a black blade gale sweeping through.
As I landed, the ground was a sea of blood without a single survivor.
"..."
As if a volley from an army had passed through.
Pools of blood welcomed me.
Battle isn't just clashing with raw skill. That's mere duel or spar.
True life-or-death combat demands total prowess.
Terrain, weapons, compatibility, condition that day, accumulated experience, internal energy gaps—
Only those who exploit them all win.
This was that moment.
That's how the Tang Clan always triumphed.
A few lieutenants had endured somehow and were still standing.
I praised them.
"Impressive, you're still upright."
But their will to fight was gone.
The one-eyed woman, blinded in her last eye, wept blood and wailed.
"Aaaagh!!"
The burly middle-aged man pathetically tried to flee without earning his years.
However.
Crunch!
He didn't escape; his head shattered.
Blood sprayed satisfyingly. Where his head should be was a mace instead.
Its wielder withdrew the weapon.
Lean, captain of the mercenaries occupying Ehalin Village.
He spun the mace.
Lean glared at me.
"I had a bad feeling. You're Cecil's guest, aren't you?"
"Still treating me like one? Appreciated."
Unlike the others, he didn't charge recklessly. He was probing me.
Spinning that mace the whole time, ready to hurl it anytime...
This mercenary Lean had weathered countless battles, earning a reputation that even a cunning black mage hired him for personally.
No word or action wasted.
Proof? He wasn't rushing in.
Normally, seeing your lifelong mercenary band slaughtered—you'd charge.
But Lean watched calmly as his house burned, not even trying to douse the flames.
Two possibilities in a case like this.
A madman lost to frenzy.
Or someone like Lean, experienced enough to stay cool and assess the fire's cause.
The latter was tricky. Very tricky.
In a fight, the scary one isn't the talented young genius—it's the veteran scarred and callused by experience.
That's why in the martial world, they warn you to respect the old. Surviving to that age in a kill-or-be-killed realm means they'd crushed others to live.
I crossed my arms, provoking him lightly.
"A lot of your men died, but your face is stone."
Lean replied casually, like chatting about life.
"Mercenaries? That's just how it goes."
So composed.
If he saw no chance, he'd have bolted.
Chose to stand his ground?
I knew mercenaries' habits well. The martial world's ronin were the same.
Always showing up where the fighting was hottest, pocketing coin.
The world scorned them, but I saw differently.
They had lessons to teach.
Ronin never overextended. They earned their pay, then cut losses clean when defeat loomed.
Warriors decried their lack of honor, cowardice—but what good is honor when you're dead?
Ronin hated losing fights. Even a fortune meant nothing if you died.
Mercenaries were identical, just a different name.
So Lean judged this battle winnable.
I scanned for his hidden backup, gauging his intent.
A long one-handed mace he could wield single-handed, a round shield on his opposite hip.
Light armor and helmet covering vital spots without hindering movement.
Thorough.
As I sized him up, his eyes darted ceaselessly.
Mercenary Captain Lean and I.
Our preliminary clash had already begun.