Chapter 122
Chapter 122
Squelch.
Watching a corpse split in half, spilling its entrails, wasn't something a person with normal sensibilities could enjoy.
Especially when it was your own doing.
Yet Logan, despite his pale face dripping with cold sweat, wore a bright smile.
Of course, it wasn't because he was some deranged murderer with twisted tastes.
"Waaaaah!"
Crunch.
His hand clenched involuntarily. A thrilling tremor ran through every nerve in his body.
He had achieved a realm he could never have dreamed of in his past life.
If transcendents were considered beings beyond human, then he had reached the pinnacle of what a human could achieve.
"I did it!"
The joy of surviving a life-or-death crisis, the ecstatic rush of ascending to a higher state of existence—these overwhelming emotions made Logan cheer despite his battered body.
But he couldn't afford to bask in that joy right now.
Scream!
Just as the screams seemed to die down, another one pierced the air.
Logan's expression hardened as he dashed like the wind toward the heart of the estate.
Fortunately, his pride was justified.
What greeted him inside were mostly corpses clad in black masks, with barely any MacLaine soldiers or knights in sight.
One of the few remaining enemies was skewered by soldiers' quarrels mid-charge as Logan rushed in.
The sight brought him relief.
"Casualties?"
"We're still confirming—"
BOOM!
Logan and the knight locking eyes with him turned their heads north simultaneously.
"Father!"
"My lord!"
In that instant, Logan shot forward like an arrow.
Clang! Clash! Bang! Thud!
The northern annex—a private space reserved for the lord and his wife—was the scene of a one-sided battle.
Two crimson Force Blades clashed, but the similarities ended there.
One stood his ground, barely managing to block attacks, while the other toyed with him, striking at will and occasionally thrusting his blade past his defenses.
Patrick MacLaine, the one holding his ground, was accumulating injuries by the second.
Blood trickled from his lips—whether from biting them too hard or internal injuries was unclear—and the situation was growing increasingly dire.
"Darling! I-I'm fine! Just fight!"
Marian Cairos screamed desperately.
Though she lacked the skill or ability to assess the fight, she wasn't foolish enough to miss why her husband, standing guard before her, kept getting wounded.
But Patrick, as if deaf to her cries, stubbornly held his position at the door, taking hit after hit without yielding.
What a fool.
Logan gritted his teeth at the sight.
A suicidal move that would only tighten the noose around his own neck—it was frustrating to watch, yet undeniably characteristic of a father.
Fortunately, this infuriating scene was one he could overturn.
Without slowing his lightning-fast charge, Logan appeared behind the intruder in an instant.
Then, with a cheerful grin, he delivered the bad news to the man who had been gleefully carving into his father.
"Sorry, friend!"
Stab!
"Ghk?!"
"We'll chat more later."
The man who had just been stabbed in the back by a stranger turned to see a bloodstained face smiling brightly at him.
"Thirteen confirmed hostiles so far. All eliminated except for the one captured by the Young Lord. Every attacker inside the estate is estimated to be at least mid-level Force Users."
"Our casualties?"
"Five soldiers dead, twelve wounded. And the Lord has sustained serious injuries."
"...Are you sure?"
The damage was far lighter than expected—so much so that Logan, who had ordered the excessive defensive measures, was the one surprised.
Though the deaths were tragic and his father severely injured, considering the intruders' skill level, the losses were astonishingly low.
The knight nodded firmly.
"It's true. If I may offer my opinion, it seems these bastards didn't bother researching us before launching their ambush. Especially not our repeating crossbows."
"Hmm... I see."
Could they really have been sent by Jordan Walterheim?
If they had spoken even briefly with Roger Vifros, these amateurs wouldn't have made such blunders.
Logan's conviction wavered slightly, given that only one suspect fit the bill.
But.
Roger Vifros might have kept his mouth shut. Or, conversely, Duke Jordan might not have informed his men.
Logan felt the need to have a chat with the friend he'd bonded with via stabbing.
"Where are you from?"
"..."
"Walterheim Ducal House?"
"..."
"Your name?"
"..."
"You are male, right?"
Over ten minutes of one-sided interrogation yielded nothing.
The man bound in chains was far too tight-lipped.
Getting him to talk is the first step.
Whether he cursed or lied didn't matter.
A prisoner's words—any words—created openings to exploit.
That's why the interrogation experts Logan had seen in his past life always started with familiar topics to loosen tongues.
But this man showed no reaction whatsoever.
Maybe it was because Logan had stabbed him upon first meeting him and severed all the ligaments in his limbs to prevent escape.
Bit excessive, I suppose.
The man's eyes burned with rage, but his lips remained sealed.
Not that Logan had any special talent for torture.
A rural territory like MacLaine wouldn't have professional torturers anyway.
"Wouldn't it be a waste to die as a mere assassin after reaching such a high level of training? You seem like a knight."
"..."
Logan tried a few more questions, but the man's expression didn't budge an inch.
"Fine. I get your message. I'll respect it."
Screech.
"Pleasure meeting you."
"Young Lord!"
After wasting time in the dungeon talking to himself, Logan stood and drew his sword.
The jailer panicked and shouted urgently, but neither Logan nor the prisoner flinched.
However—
"...Jordan Walterheim trains his subordinates well."
At Logan's final remark, the prisoner's lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Ah. Walterheim Ducal House it is."
The moment the prisoner's lips froze—
Slash!
Splat.
Thud.
Amid a spray of purple blood, the man's head rolled onto the dungeon floor.
"Young... Young Lord."
"The penalty for injuring the Lord of MacLaine is death. Ah, should've let him speak first? Tsk."
The next day.
The usually peaceful MacLaine Town buzzed with news of the previous night's attack.
However—
"Did you hear?"
"Of course. But who attacked?"
"How should I know?"
The MacLaine family made no official statement about the attackers. Only condolences for the fallen soldiers and compensation for their families were publicly announced.
Meanwhile, Logan gathered his inner circle.
"The Lord—my father—is severely injured and bedridden. But we found no identifying items on the attackers. Even the high-level Force Users were complete unknowns."
The faces of those assembled darkened.
"So my conviction is firmer than ever. The mastermind behind last night's attack is Duke Jordan Walterheim. Anyone disagree?"
Dwain, Heinkel, Philip, Clayton.
All avoided Logan's gaze, staring at the ceiling or floor instead.
Though Logan's reasoning was undeniably sound, no one voiced agreement aloud.
Their shared unease was palpable, reflected in the troubled looks they exchanged.
"Good. Then we're all in agreement—"
"You can't, Young Lord!"
"The ducal house is too much!"
"Especially now, when we might have to face the entire Second Prince faction!"
"And before that, maybe we should make a quick trip to the Empire to refill our coffers—uh... just kidding. Haha... ha..."
Philip shriveled under the group's glares, but their unified concern was clear.
Logan chuckled.
"Why would you think I'd pick a fight with a ducal house?"
"Well..."
"I mean..."
The stares he got back practically screamed, Why even ask?
Technically, Logan had provoked them first.
Fortunately, he offered a reassuring answer.
"I have at least some common sense. Attacking Jordan Walterheim now would get us all killed. Even if I were a duke, I'd wipe us out first. Juan Douglas would just swoop in and finish the job."
Sighs of relief.
Everyone exhaled in unison, shoulders relaxing.
But only briefly.
"But seriously! What kind of lunatic sends assassins just because someone ignored a warning? What kind of deranged bastard tries to wipe people out over one slight? Is he even human? How does he function without a shred of—"
Ten minutes of unfiltered cursing followed.
By the time the group's faces paled again—
"But!"
SLAM!
"We have to endure. Why?!"
"..."
"Because we're weak! Even if we were slapped first, fighting back means we die! However unfair, we must endure! Why?!"
SLAM!
"Because. We're. Weak."
"..."
"Pathetic, isn't it? Am I the only one seething here? Huh?"
Clomp. Clomp.
His agitated footsteps echoed in the suffocating silence.
After a long pause, Logan suddenly asked,
"Captain Heinkel. How's the knights' training?"
"...Fully prepared."
"Can we trust the newly recruited knights?"
"Trustworthy or not, they've been drilled to obey orders instantly."
"Good. Dwain."
"Yes?!"
The startled administrator looked at him with pleading eyes.
"How are finances and food supplies? The second town must've drained resources."
"...Tight, but we'll manage until harvest. Once town construction wraps up, funds should ease up."
"Good."
"Master Clayton. How's that project coming?"
"A few months—no, within one or two, we'll have a prototype."
"Excellent. And—"
The mood shifted palpably. A fierce, intangible morale surged as Logan's gaze landed on Philip, who jumped to his feet.
"Sit. Why are you standing?"
"...Yes."
Chuckle.
Laughter eased the tension. Logan patted Philip's shoulder, grinning.
"You've done well supplying both factions with food. Bonuses will be generous—keep the ideas coming. And once this mess settles... you know?"
"Yes! I'll work hard!"
"Good. Thanks to all of you, there's hope."
His irritated expression softened into a smile.
"The hope that someday—whether it's me, or rather, us—we'll have the power to repay this humiliation in full."
His smiling eyes swept over everyone present.
Then, slowly and respectfully, he bowed his head.
"Young Lord..."
"Just a little more effort from all of you. It won't be long now. When the time comes, MacLaine's glory will be yours to share."
From that day forward, the atmosphere in MacLaine shifted subtly.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!
"Faster! Push harder!"
Neigh!
"Get the fallen one to the priest! Next!"
The soldiers' training grew more intense.
"Force Users grow by pushing past their limits. When you think you've hit yours, take one more step. Make it a habit."
Heinkel worked the knights to the bone with near-suicidal demands.
"W-wait, the Lord almost died?"
"They say war's coming!"
"Madness! Where else is as livable as our territory?!"
"We must protect our land!"
More men from the territory began joining the militia.
Three more months passed like this.