Chapter 32
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Silverlake (2)
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“Iyaaap!”
Clang! Ka-clang! Thud!
“Kraaak!”
Sharp metallic clashes and dull thuds echoed, followed by screams ringing out.
“Ugh.”
The man, covered in wounds large and small, slunk backward step by step.
“Y-you bastards, just you wait!”
With that final empty bluster from the defeated, the two men mounted their horses without a backward glance and fled in a panic.
“Huff! Heuk!”
Lindelmann, gasping for breath, finally collapsed to the ground only after they had vanished completely from sight.
“Hoo! Hoo!”
Sweat poured down like rain as he finally caught his breath. With a long sigh, Lindelmann rose to his feet.
Something on the ground caught his eye.
Two corpses.
“Eum!”
Lindelmann shuddered violently.
Only now, facing the bodies with their chests and necks pierced, blood gushing out, did the reality of having killed sink in.
“Fuu!”
He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, taking deep breaths.
There was little guilt over killing those who had struck first.
Besides, after going through this several times already, he calmed down quickly.
He wiped the blood from his blade, sheathed his sword, mounted his horse, and prepared to leave.
Then a voice came from behind, flat and devoid of inflection.
“Where do you think you’re going? There might be something useful.”
Blake, still atop his horse, pointed at the corpses as he spoke to Lindelmann, who had been about to ride off.
“No, even so, rummaging through corpses again...”
“If you don’t like it, we can part ways right now.”
“Of course it’s something I should do! Every little bit adds up to a mountain—even a few pennies help toward that nest egg. Haha!”
He hastily corrected himself, forcing a hearty laugh before dismounting and reluctantly shuffling toward the bodies.
‘Demon! Lightning-struck old hag! What kind of knightly dignity is this!’
Cursing and damning inwardly, Lindelmann rummaged through the pockets of the two sprawled corpses.
A pouch with a dozen or so silver and copper coins emerged, along with a few vials reeking of foul herbs.
True to form as impoverished wandering knights in shabby leather armor, there wasn’t much to salvage.
“What about their weapons?”
He picked up one of the chipped swords they had dropped.
Blake glanced at the blade Lindelmann held and shook his head.
“Lowest grade. Useless—leave it.”
“Hmm.”
It felt dubious that he could tell at a glance, but Lindelmann obediently set the sword back atop the corpse—a minimal courtesy to the dead.
“Let’s go.”
Clop clop...
Lindelmann let out a long sigh as he gazed at Blake’s back, riding at a pace neither slow nor fast—perfectly optimized for long journeys.
“Huu...”
It had been seven days since he’d begged to rejoin Blake after leaving Dumfries. They’d soon pass out of the North entirely.
But because he’d pleaded to tag along, unlike when they’d first left the fortress, Lindelmann had completely surrendered the lead to Blake.
And it was a path of hardship far beyond his expectations.
He could tolerate having no say in chores during camp, travel, or rest. He’d anticipated as much.
But in crises like the one just now, fighting practically alone was truly hard to bear.
Though it was part of their deal, with sharp blades and spear shafts whistling toward his limbs, his supposed companion just watched like an uninterested spectator.
Of course, if they came at Blake himself, he cut them down without mercy.
The problem was that every group of attackers targeted him, not Blake, as if by prior agreement.
Then again, anyone could see he looked far easier prey than Blake, so it was only natural.
‘I can’t just up and leave now...’
“Eh-whew!”
With another deep sigh, Lindelmann shook his head.
Leaving the White Family right away to follow Blake had been the right call, without lingering a few more days.
There’d been no attacks during their three days in Northway.
But the moment they left Northway, every assailant had gone after both of them.
Of course, it was hardly a “both” situation—he’d handled nearly all of them alone so far.
This time too, and in moments of crisis, Blake had thrown daggers or stones to disrupt the foes. Thanks to that, he’d only suffered minor scratches, nothing serious.
Had he stayed longer at the White Family and set out alone, he’d surely have faced these sorts by himself.
‘Major injuries would’ve been the least of it...’
Minor wounds versus major ones.
No fool would choose wrong there.
Plus, surviving these life-or-death scraps had sharpened his skills a bit.
‘Well, I’m a little grateful for that...’
Lindelmann eyed Blake’s back with a flicker of goodwill.
But that pinprick of favor vanished quickly, and he shook his head again.
Several weapons and shields were bundled to Blake’s combat pack, alongside his own sword.
All trophies collected from those who’d attacked and either died or fled.
‘He’s not short on coin—why bother? Argh!’
Unhappy as he was, there was nothing for it.
Blake was in charge of this journey, and claiming spoils from the vanquished was the victor’s right—he could hardly argue.
“Don’t you find it a bit odd? The ones from last night, and just now—they seemed like wandering knights gunning for fame at a glance...”
Lindelmann rode up beside Blake, glancing warily as he spoke.
Unlike the very first attackers after leaving Northway, the recent ones bore no mercenary badges.
“...”
Blake offered neither agreement nor denial, simply riding on in silence—but he’d been thinking the same thing.
The moment they’d left Northway, Lancaster Baron’s hired swordsmen and bounty-hungry mercenaries had struck.
As expected, he’d used Lindelmann as bait to repel them handily.
The trouble started after that.
Three days ago, instead of ambushes, groups of three or four had appeared, issuing laughable “challenges” like just now.
“The way they keep coming at you babbling about challenges, it seems your story has spread across the entire North?”
“...”
Blake gave no reply, but Lindelmann—now quite accustomed—pressed on cautiously.
“Well, the Lancaster bunch aside, challenging the man who single-handedly took down a member of the Blue Falcon Knights—one of the empire’s top three from the central region—is understandable. And you’re no ordinary fellow, what with carrying Prince Henrik Oscar’s... Ahem!”
Forgetting Blake disliked talk of his mission delivering the prince’s letter, Lindelmann checked his expression and smoothly changed tack.
“A-anyway, toppling you means big fame, so I’d wager plenty more will come gunning for you.”
“The small fry? Sir Zaroph can handle them.”
“No, even so, calling them small fry...”
“The problem is, if this keeps up, joining the honor duel was pointless. We’ve wasted at least two full days.”
No major injuries, true—but repeated brutal fights meant longer rests.
And longer rests naturally delayed the journey.
“Ah! Speaking of which, haven’t we been moving at quite a clip?”
Something dawned on Lindelmann, and he asked.
“We’ve matched the fortress army’s average march speed—not fast, but not slow.”
“R-right? Sure, fine. Point is, those guys just now, and yesterday’s bunch—they knew all about you... us, and even seemed to know our route, lying in wait ahead.”
“So the news about us spreads faster than we travel?”
Blake, who’d been staring straight ahead, turned his head.
Lindelmann nodded vigorously, a strange swell of pride rising in him.
“Exactly. Northway’s one thing, but the story spreading this far this fast doesn’t add up. And we’ve been hauling ass, right? It’s weird. No one’s deliberately spreading it...”
Blake’s brow furrowed slightly at Lindelmann’s words.
‘Deliberately?’
Not impossible.
But who, and why?
Lancaster Baron?
Unlikely.
He’d hung a bounty out of revenge, but no reason to broadcast his own humiliation.
The White Family, perhaps. Publicizing the honor duel victory would aid their revival, given their straits.
But busy fending off nearby powers, they’d lack the spare time to spread word this quickly and precisely all the way here—Northway aside.
“Hm!”
A figure flashed in Blake’s mind, and his eyes flickered.
The knight Roderick Swent, who had departed with cold fury etched into his once-leisurely violet gaze.
“What kind of man is this Roderick Swent?”
“The Blue Falcon Knights’ youngest elite knight and heir apparent to captaincy, with absolute backing from the younger knights. And just recently, he got engaged to Lady Shaina Darlington...”
Bitter undertones laced Lindelmann’s voice as he spoke of Roderick.
Not just the vast status gulf between them, but his fiancée’s father was the very man behind this grueling ordeal.
“Any chance Roderick Swent spread word of me?”
“A Blue Falcon elite? Unlikely. To safeguard the order’s honor, he’d suppress rumors, not fan them. No—he’d hate anyone beating you to the punch.”
“I see.”
Blake nodded.
Roderick’s gaze toward him had been that of a true warrior.
And from experience, men with such eyes craved victory by their own strength, not borrowed aid.
“Anyway, more like them will keep showing up... Wait, no—technically, they’re challenging you, not me? No matter how I spin it, it’s me doing the fighting...”
“Don’t like it? Go your separate way now.”
“Of course it’s natural! As your trusty companion, stepping up is only right, isn’t it? Haha!”
Displaying his now-perfected art of backpedaling, Lindelmann still felt uneasy and eyed Blake warily before continuing.
“Still, isn’t it a hassle? Not that I mind, but if challengers keep piling on like this, the schedule slips bit by bit—you must find it troublesome too. So if you’d step in...”
“We go faster than now.”
“Faster? The horses will tire out...”
“Shorten the route.”
“Huh? How do you shorten a route?”
Sensing something fishy on instinct, Lindelmann squinted one eye.
But Blake offered no reply, merely studying the map from the White Family.
‘This has gotten annoyingly complicated.’
The final mission, which he’d thought free of major issues, was veering into strange territory amid unforeseen events.
Blake was certain the Dumfries honor duel and his encounter with Roderick Swent would impact the task somehow.
Downing the young perfumer—his cousin—was secondary; he’d clearly seen their eyes and demeanor shift upon learning he carried the commander’s sealed missive.
Other nobles in the arena had reacted similarly, but Roderick Swent and the knight Rockfield felt... different.
He couldn’t quite articulate it yet, but instinct told him they were tied to this mission.
‘Is it because of this...?’
The letter case, tucked deep in his bosom.
Roderick, Rockfield, and a handful of nobles had fixated on the missive, not him.
‘Perhaps...’
The rapid, detailed spread of his story might link to the letter—and those interested in it.
No—circumstances made it near-certain.
But why the interest in the missive?
‘I’m the commander’s soldier. Finish the mission.’
Blake quashed the alien emotion of ‘doubt’ creeping into his mind.
The commander had never been wrong.
His orders were absolute, top priority.
Best to swiftly resolve these annoyances as before.
That left one tactical choice.
‘Break from the enemy’s predicted path. Move faster than them. To do that...’
Blake’s eyes sharpened as he scanned the map.
“What do you mean by shortening the route? Hey?”
“I’ll handle it. Village first.”
Blake folded the map and replied to Lindelmann’s prodding.
“Oh!”
A village meant a proper meal and bed after so long.
The recent ordeal vanished from Lindelmann’s mind like washed away.
“Come on, let’s hurry! Time for a feast and solid rest!”
Lindelmann spurred his horse eagerly.
But he had no inkling he’d beat the ground in regret before a full day passed—for not properly pondering Blake’s words about “shortening the route.”
(To be continued)