Chapter 38
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 38
Silver coins scattered across the table with a sharp clatter.
Like a tiger pouncing on its prey, the Nameless lunged at Haspil, a battleaxe gripped in one hand.
For an instant, the world seemed to freeze—the shocked faces of the onlookers, Haspil’s mouth opened in a scream that had yet to escape his throat.
But time, inevitably, moved forward.
“Aaaah! Ack!”
Crack!
The axe fell, striking the man’s head with the full weight of vengeance. Haspil’s skull split open like a watermelon. They were supposed to bring back his head as proof, but this was hardly the time to worry about that.
The Nameless fell to the floor with Haspil’s lifeless body. The surrounding bodyguards, still frozen in sheer shock, hadn’t even had time to react.
It took a moment for the spectators to process what had happened. Then, a sharp scream tore through the silence.
“Eeeek!”
That scream was the signal. Panic erupted as the crowd surged toward the exit. But the doorway was narrow, and in their desperation, they became a tangled, crushing mass of bodies.
“Don’t push!”
“I said stop pushing!”
Tables and chairs overturned, sending money flying everywhere. Ah, the sound of spilled coins. Even in a moment like this, it was a sound that drove men mad with greed.
Ignoring the fresh corpse on the floor, more than a few people began scooping up coins from the ground. Among them was Boribori. Darting his eyes around like a startled rabbit, he frantically stuffed money into his pockets.
The gambling den had descended into absolute chaos. The members of the Thieves’ Guild belatedly drew their weapons, but they hesitated, utterly confused. They were so overwhelmed by the bedlam that they hadn’t even fully registered that Haspil was dead.
The bodyguards lunged for the Nameless, but he was heavily armored beneath his cloak.
Just as the Nameless raised his bloody axe once more, Rickert leaped onto a table and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Listen to me, everyone!”
His voice pierced the din like a razor-sharp spear, bringing the chaotic scene to a sudden halt. Startled, everyone looked up at him with wide eyes.
“What happens when you cheat at gambling?!” Rickert roared, as if delivering a sermon. He held up a shattered cup and three dice for all to see. “This man was just caught cheating red-handed! You all saw it clear as day!”
In the mayhem, no one had actually seen a thing. But dead men tell no tales, and Rickert’s booming voice held the absolute authority of truth.
He glared at the Thieves’ Guild members and bellowed, “Getting your head split open for cheating is the law of the table! Did we do something wrong, or did he?! Speak up if you’ve got a mouth!”
His brazen confidence dominated the room. Seizing the moral high ground, he backed them into a corner. Even though Haspil was the one lying on the floor with his head caved in, it was the Thieves’ Guild members who shrank back, intimidated.
“We merely upheld the sacred rule of the gambling table! And this is a tip for the house—a cut for all of you!”
Rickert swept up his pile of coins and showered them over the crowd. He tossed handfuls here, handfuls there, a glittering rain of silver.
Driven mad by greed, the patrons stopped trying to flee and dropped to their hands and knees, scrambling for the money.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Rickert yelled to the Nameless, formalities forgotten.
“Let’s move!”
Understanding instantly, the Nameless cleared a path, flipping heavy tables left and right. Where the crowd still blocked the way, he plowed through them like a charging bull.
Rickert leaped off the table and followed close behind. Boribori scrambled after them, his pockets bulging to the point of bursting.
Just as the three were about to step out of the gambling den, someone shouted from behind.
“Get those bastards!”
A few more steps and they would have melted into the shadows of the night. A shame, but it didn't matter.
As if he had been waiting for it, Rickert spun on his heel and drew his longsword. He swung the blade horizontally at the first man rushing toward him.
Whoosh! Thwack!
His blade struck true, severing the man’s neck. A headless corpse collapsed near the entrance with a heavy thud, tripping the pursuers behind him. Because the entrance was narrow, those in the back couldn’t see what was happening and kept pushing forward, creating a gruesome pileup of stumbling bodies.
The Nameless drew his axe again and began methodically smashing the heads of the downed Thieves’ Guild members.
Thwack! Thwack! Crack! Thwack!
The bodies in the pile twitched violently. Soon, a heap of corpses nearly as tall as a man blocked the entrance entirely.
Rickert sheathed his sword. “Let's head back to the inn, grab our gear, and get out of town.”
Cloaked in the shadows of the night, the three made their way toward the inn near the city gate.
As they walked, Boribori gripped the waistband of his pants and hurried along like someone desperately holding in the need to pee. His pockets were packed so full of silver that they clinked with every step. The sound wasn't a risk, however; patrons from the gambling den were fleeing in every direction, carrying their own loot and creating a city-wide chorus of jingling coins. The Thieves’ Guild members were grabbing anyone they could, more interested in killing them on the spot and stealing their money than chasing Rickert.
What loyalty could thieves possibly have to their organization or a dead boss? With everything already in chaos, their mindset was clearly every man for himself.
The three barged into the inn like a raiding party. Patrons sleeping on the hall floor started in surprise, but paying them no mind, the trio rushed to their second-floor room, grabbed their packs, and bolted.
Outside, a fiery glow painted the sky in the direction of Mother's Sorrow. A fire had broken out. On such a cold winter night, it was a remarkably heartwarming sight.
The city gates, however, were shut tight. Just as Rickert wondered what to do, the Nameless—a veteran of such situations—strode toward the guard barracks.
He kicked the door open with a loud BANG!, startling the guards who were quietly playing cards inside.
“W-What the hell?”
Seeing a towering, heavily armored man wrapped in a dark, grimy cloak, the guards were too terrified to move, let alone attack.
The Nameless grabbed the massive, gear-like winch used to open the gate. It was a mechanism that normally required multiple men, but he began hauling on it all by himself. Heavy iron chains wound up with a sharp, metallic groan. Rickert and Boribori jumped in to assist, though they weren't much help.
Once the gate was open, they casually strolled out. The stunned guards could only blink in disbelief.
Thus, they had succeeded in killing an enemy that was, in some ways, even tougher to deal with than the Ehrenberg Quintet. They hadn't secured the head, but vengeance was satisfied. That was all that mattered.
The winter night air was icy, but an inexplicable exhilaration kept the cold at bay.
“That was easier than I thought,” Boribori remarked, a bulky pack slung over his shoulder.
“No matter how many of them there are, they’re nothing but grains of sand,” Rickert said. “A gentle nudge is all it takes to scatter them. That’s just how thieves are.”
Of course, that wasn’t true for all of them. There were countless Thieves’ Guilds across the world, some meticulously organized and downright terrifying. There were levels to thievery, after all.
The Nameless suddenly paused and looked back. Beyond the city walls, the glow of the fire painted the sky. He felt something different from his usual taste of vengeance. It wasn't the satisfaction of venting his rage. Instead, a strange hollowness brushed against his chest, perhaps because of the boys standing beside him.
“That went way easier than expected,” Rickert suggested, looking at the other two. “While we’re at it, why don’t we hit the bandits, too?”
“Why?”
“Those bastards definitely have captives locked up for human trafficking or worse. Now that we’ve taken out their boss, we might as well wipe them out while the iron’s hot.”
For just three people to eradicate a sizable bandit stronghold sounded absurd. But that was only a matter of numbers. If they possessed the skill and wits for it, it was far from impossible—hadn't they just proven that?
“Sounds good to me. What about you, Dad?” Boribori asked, looking toward the Nameless.
So it was ‘Dad’ now. Boribori had apparently committed to the title.
The Nameless gave a silent nod.
With the decision made, the three crossed the river bridge in the dead of night and boldly marched up the mountain path. Visibility was practically zero, but their destination was unmistakable—the bandit stronghold was brightly lit with torches.
Rickert and the others approached the camp, ducking behind trees to survey the area. A few men stood atop the wooden palisade, but rather than keeping watch, they were busy staring at the fire blazing in the city below. Faint murmurs reached their ears, though the words were unintelligible.
As the Nameless reached for a throwing axe, Rickert held out a hand to stop him.
“Let’s scout the perimeter first.”
They circled the stronghold. Given its crude construction, there were plenty of gaps and scalable spots. Scattered around the exterior were corpses, ranging from bleached skeletons to relatively fresh remains. Most of the bones were small. They had belonged to children. Among those kidnapped for ransom or human trafficking, children often perished quickly, unable to endure the harsh conditions. What made it even more tragic was that many had likely been sold by their own parents, driven by desperate hunger.
Surveying the layout from behind the stronghold, Rickert scaled the palisade first. The Nameless and Boribori followed.
Torches and bonfires illuminated the compound. Guided by his mental map, Rickert headed toward what appeared to be the sleeping quarters. Cracking the door open, he saw about fifteen bandits fast asleep.
“Let’s burn it down.”
When dealing with large numbers, trapping enemies in a building and setting it ablaze was by far the most efficient method. Stabbing every single person by hand was backbreaking labor.
Rickert, Boribori, and the Nameless brought over armfuls of dry straw and entire braziers. They hurled the straw into the barracks and dumped the burning coals directly onto it, then barred the door securely from the outside.
“Ah, fuck! What the hell is going on?!”
“What’s happening?!”
“Cough! Cough! What is this?! Hey, stop fooling around!”
“Help! Someone! Save us!”
Waking to flames and thick smoke, the bandits panicked. As the commotion grew, guards from the palisade and bandits from other quarters rushed out to see what was wrong.
Rickert’s group had already slipped behind an adjacent building, ready to ambush them.
The Nameless charged out first, his axe swinging in brutal, rhythmic strikes. With every blow, another bandit dropped.
Thwack! Thwack! Crack!
His axe work was terrifyingly precise. The greatest weakness of an axe was how punishing a missed swing could be, but he never missed. As the panicked bandits scrambled, the Nameless drew a throwing axe and hurled it at a distant archer. True to form, it embedded itself dead center in the man’s skull.
Thwack! Crack!
Having rushed out mid-slumber, the bandits wore no armor and carried makeshift weapons. Boribori hacked them to pieces while Rickert calmly monitored the battlefield, picking off any potential threats. The trio moved with flawless coordination, turning what should have been an overwhelming fight into a one-sided slaughter.
The surviving bandits couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Sensing this was far beyond them, they threw open the gates and fled for their lives. Once one started running, the rest broke and followed like a collapsing dam.
Meanwhile, the flames roared higher. Finally, Rickert unlatched the door where the captives were being held. A stench of sweat, waste, and filth blasted into his face.
Huddled in a corner, women clung to one another, staring at Rickert and his companions with terror-stricken eyes. The screams of dying men and the smell of burning wood had terrified them out of their wits.
“Come on out. We’ll escort you back to the city.”
“W-Who are you?” a woman stammered.
They couldn’t even fathom that they were being rescued. Such things existed only in tales, and even legends didn't speak of such acts. Legendary heroes defeated wicked dragons or slayed demons; they didn’t rescue ordinary captives.
“Hmm, Nameless X and the Kids? Whatever. Just get out here. The place is on fire,” Rickert said.
Still, the women hesitated, paralyzed by fear.
The Nameless stepped inside and practically hauled them out himself. Only then did they stumble into the courtyard, their eyes widening at the sight of the burning stronghold and the mangled corpses of bandits strewn everywhere.
“Told you to hurry,” Rickert said nonchalantly, striding out of the camp. The women scrambled after him.
Only after descending the mountain and reaching the gates of Lunenberg did the women regain enough composure to express their gratitude.
“T-Thank you…”
“Thank you, brave heroes.”
The twin glows of the fires—one in the city, the other up at the stronghold—illuminated the scene. Though dim, the light faintly outlined their figures, accompanied by the heavy stench of smoke. The women, most in their teens or early twenties, saw them not as men, but as inhuman beings draped in a crimson shroud of night.
Rickert stared at them quietly for a moment, then adjusted his gear and tossed them a pouch of coins for their travels.
“Take care of yourselves.”
With that, he turned and walked away with Boribori and the Nameless.
Was it sympathy? Goodness? Pity? It certainly wasn't a righteous sense of justice. They had simply acted on a whim.
Though none of them knew what emotion had prompted the deed, when dawn broke and the city gates opened, the rescued women spread word of the three men.
And from that day on, people began calling the trio by a new name: the Heroes of Siegfringer, who vanquished villains and saved the innocent.