The Betrayer's Obsession
The Volf Mercenary Band had been ranging the outskirts of the city where the greenskins were gathering.
In a crisis where a single misstep could bring a greenskin army down on them and wipe them out, Kenneth had earned the mercenaries' respect.
Always leading from the front, always the first to break up any greenskin cluster before it could form, he had become one of the band's core tactics in his own right.
Kenneth would tear through the enemy with his overwhelming personal strength; Frederick's heavy-armored mercenaries would split what remained; and Volf would lead the rest of the band to finish the divided foes one group at a time.
It was a winning formula born the moment they gained a third fighter capable of using Prana.
Naturally, with every greenskin head taken, the pile of plunder grew — and the mercenaries' faces filled with smiles.
"The wagons are nearly full. We're heading back."
Volf announced that any more weight would force them to start dumping loot, and ordered the return to Munratel.
"We made a killing this time, didn't we?"
"Won't know for sure till we get paid, but a few silver coins at least."
"Maybe save up a bit more and buy a Mana Road?"
"What about the Murim folk's inner cultivation methods? Those aren't bad either."
"Their stuff's all meridians this and acupoints that. Way too hard."
This world was fundamentally a fantasy realm — yet dimensional rifts had also brought knights from other fantasy worlds. Among them were knights from a world that used something called a Mana Road: a method of gathering mana not unlike the Murim practitioners' inner cultivation arts.
The Murim people had such a rigid, self-contained worldview that the humans of this world could barely parse their terminology or context. A Mana Road, by contrast, was difficult — but if you put your mind to it, you could at least understand it.
"Maybe pinch some coin and pick up a no-name Mana Road?"
"Are you insane? If you want to die, just say so. I'll make it painless."
Over the hundred and fifty years since the rifts began, some of the knights who possessed Mana Roads had, for money or survival, written down what they knew and sold it as books. The problem was the fakes — plagiarized, dressed-up counterfeit Mana Roads that looked convincing enough. Anyone who practiced one of those learned, in the most visceral way possible, what it meant for their organs to twist themselves inside out.
And so the fixed idea had taken root: a real Mana Road was expensive; a fake was cheap.
"Ah, forget it. Maybe just go for Prana. Mana Roads make my head hurt."
"You lunatic. You got the money for a crystal?"
"Prana takes serious coin, so a Mana Road's still the best bet."
Prana — this world's equivalent of a Mana Road — required something called a crystal to advance to the next rank. Crystals were alchemical products made from rare herbs, monster body parts, and the like. The higher the rank, the materials, quantities, and quality required scaled exponentially. Worse, the absorption process could fail — and failure meant buying another crystal from scratch.
Succeed, though, and every ability leapt upward in a single bound. Each rank also demanded a six-month adaptation period; until it passed, the body would refuse a new crystal entirely.
Mana Roads and inner cultivation methods raised power gradually. Prana, if you had the money, could rocket you to a high rank in short order. Of course, past a certain point, both paths still demanded exceptional talent as an absolute condition.
"So what rank is Kenneth, anyway?"
"He's a knight, so Standard for sure."
"With skill like that, maybe Standard second class?"
"Isn't that low? Looked more like fourth class to me."
Those who cultivated Prana were divided into six ranks.
Novice — the absolute beginner.
Standard — those who had learned to stand on their own.
Expert — the seasoned veterans.
Master — those who had reached the limits of humanity.
Origin — those who had broken past those limits and forged a path of their own.
Ascension — those who had cast off the shell of humanity entirely.
Each rank was further subdivided into six classes, first being the lowest and sixth the highest.
Buoyed by Kenneth's performance, the mercenaries laughed and chattered, already dreaming of the things they had long wanted to buy.
Meanwhile Kaisent — who handled the accounts, the cooking, and every odd job, and who by Volf's kindness was allowed to ride the wagons for half the march — finished the last page of the botany book he had acquired, then closed it.
None of the plants from that forest with Seol-yeong noona are in here. The book covers every confirmed foreign species, and they're still missing. That means the forest came to this world the same way we did.
If he could learn where the forest he had shared with Dang Seol-yeong had landed, he would go search the area at once. Unfortunately, the book told him nothing.
First find out where that forest is — and how far. After that, focus on getting even a little stronger.
Dang Seol-yeong was already a master in her own right, poison incarnate. She would survive anything. Right now, for the sake of survival, he had to concentrate on strengthening himself.
And an opportunity to grow stronger had arrived like a stroke of luck.
If I accept Kenneth's offer, I can train as a knight under him. Become a knight — even a quasi-noble one — and I'll gain not only his swordsmanship, but the chance to mix with other knights.
No matter how he turned it over, Kenneth's proposal to take him as a squire was pure gain for the one who accepted.
And yet every instinct in Kaisent's body screamed violent resistance.
Do not associate with that man.
Stay far away from that man.
Do not accept that man's offer.
Under the relentless rejection response, Kaisent decided to keep their relationship strictly that of fellow mercenaries.
"Captain!"
At that moment the scouts who had been ranging ahead came racing back, calling for Volf.
"What is it?"
"Orcs approaching! Fully armed, riders among them — looks like they're hunting for us!"
"Tch. So it finally came."
The greenskins they had cut down already numbered over three hundred. Plenty of goblins had fled; it was no surprise their presence had become known.
"How many?"
"About fifty, but…"
"Give them time and more greenskins will pour in."
Volf thought for a moment, then ordered the mercenaries to dump anything heavy and of low value.
"If we get pinned here, sheer numbers will swallow us. We hit them hard and run. Everyone ready yourselves."
A situation where a single mistake could mean total annihilation. The hopeful mood of moments before turned heavy in an instant.
Volf had them rest until the greenskin force spotted them. In a normal human war they would have struck first to prevent a retreat once discovered — but against greenskins, that concern did not apply.
"KRAAAAAH!"
"Smoothskins!"
"Soft meat!"
Brutal, powerful, and incapable of anything resembling thought, the orcs would charge first and ask questions never.
"Archers!"
The bowmen, already formed into a firing line with strings drawn the instant the greenskins appeared, leaned back at Volf's call. The moment the enemy entered effective range, he would give the order to loose—
Thud-thud!
"Huh?"
"Eh?"
"What—"
While every eye was locked on the orcs, something no one had imagined took place.
Kenneth was sprinting straight toward the archers' position.
"W-wait— Gah!?"
Kenneth cut down the mercenary in his way, then seized the nape of the target he had been after from the start.
"Aaaagh!"
Caught by the collar of his armor, Kaisent could not resist the overwhelming strength that hauled him up. With a single scream he vanished into the forest in Kenneth's grip.
Damn it! He was after Kaisent from the beginning!
Volf, realizing Kenneth had joined the band solely to target Kaisent — for reasons still unknown — looked back and forth between the charging greenskins and the fleeing knight in stunned confusion.
Among the greenskins, the goblin wolf-riders seemed to take the pair for messengers running for reinforcements. Several peeled off in pursuit.
Wolves whose initial acceleration rivaled a horse's closed on Kenneth's heels — but the man who had until now displayed only Standard-class skill suddenly poured out Expert-class power and pulled away at a dead run.
He had been concealing his true rank from the start.
Chase the traitor — or fight the greenskins with the band?
Volf chose to take both rabbits at once.
"HRAAAAAH!"
With a raw battle cry she tore her greatsword free and charged the orcs in their worked iron armor and weapons.
Shhk-kak-kak-kak!
The greatsword, dense with pure mana, carved through the onrushing orcs in brutal sweeps.
"Frederick! No tactics!"
Hearing that tactics were unnecessary, Frederick flung aside his shield, took a single sword in hand, and charged.
Shhk! Thwack! Crunch!
"Guhah!"
"Uwaargh!"
No flourishes — plain, precise strikes to the eyes and the gaps armor failed to cover. Frederick cut the orcs down one after another. Shield-bearers would have reduced the band's casualties, but with no one else to hold the center, that role had always fallen to him.
"We're going too!"
"Kill them!"
Inspired by the two fighters' ferocity, the mercenaries charged to break the greenskin encirclement.
Sensing the tide turn against the fully armed orcs, Volf sprinted in the direction Kenneth had fled.
"Volf!?"
"I'll deal with the traitor! The rest of you get back to Munratel!"
"Tch… Understood!"
If he had simply run, she would have dismissed him as a coward not worth the time. But a traitor who had abducted a member of the band could not be left alone. Let that stand, and the band's discipline would collapse.
Volf plunged into the forest, determined to reclaim Kaisent and make Kenneth pay the price of betrayal.
Crack! Thud!
"Aaaaaagh!"
Hauled through the forest by the scruff of his neck, Kaisent's mind reeled under the impacts battering every part of his body.
I can't let him drag me like this!
Shocked by the sudden abduction and the blistering speed, he finally forced himself calm. His hands shifted into a dragon's — and he raked the clawed nails across the hand locked on his nape.
"Ugh!?"
Startled by the unexpected pain, Kenneth's grip opened on instinct.
Kaisent went tumbling at high speed — but he twisted in midair, found his orientation, kicked off a tree, and landed cleanly on his feet.
"Ohh."
"Don't move!"
Kaisent leveled his bow at Kenneth, who had let out a murmur of admiration at the acrobatic landing.
"Heh heh heh heh. That fire in you is truly adorable."
But the grotesque smile that answered his warning sent a wave of familiar, sickening unease through Kaisent.
"This feeling… Were you watching me in Munratel?"
"Ohh. You sensed that, did you? Quite the sharp instincts."
"Why? Why did you kidnap me?"
"Why? Obviously because I want to dote on you, of course."
"…What?"
Kenneth dropped into a low stance, ready to spring, and began slowly closing the distance.
"The moment I first laid eyes on you, I came. Skin whiter and softer-looking than any woman's, a face so cute it makes every boy I've ever seen look like a greenskin by comparison! If love exists, this is surely what it feels like!"
A crawling, full-body shudder—
Learning he had been seen as an object of lust, Kaisent felt every hair on his body stand on end — a revulsion so profound that "unpleasant" was nowhere near adequate. It was something far more terrible.
"Don't you worry. My previous 'squire' tried to run in the chaos of battle and got himself killed by bandits — but you, I'll protect so that never happens to you. Ugh, ugheheheheehik~~"
Twang!
Any more conversation and he would vomit. Kaisent loosed an arrow in a sudden ambush.
But Kenneth, an Expert-class knight, simply flicked his sword and batted it aside.
"Ohh! Throwing a tantrum, are we? How is it that everything you do is exactly to my taste!? How did you know I love 'disciplining' boys who throw tantrums!"
"Shut up!"
Even the polite speech gone, Kaisent opened distance and loosed arrows in rapid succession. He concentrated fire on the face, trying to trigger a defensive flinch — but Kenneth, veteran of countless battles, did not blink once.
"First I'll discipline those naughty hands that keep shooting without permission! Then I'll smash the tendons in your legs and your growth plates so you can never run, never grow! Don't worry! Even if you're a cripple for life, I won't abandon you! I'll take care of you forever!"
Kenneth charged, swinging his sword still in its scabbard.
Judging the bow useless, Kaisent discarded the weapon and stepped through the footwork Dang Seol-yeong had taught him, slipping outside the blade's arc.
I'm scared! I'm scared!!
Seeing Kenneth's bloodshot eyes up close — the man swinging a sword while pouring out his filthy desire — Kaisent could only focus on evasion, paralyzed by terror.
If this continued, he would eventually be caught. He knew it, and still he feared close combat.
—Kaisent!—
In that moment, from the depths of memory, Dang Seol-yeong's final voice rose up, calling for him with desperate urgency.
If he fell here, he would never find her again.
The terror of eternal separation overcame the terror of close combat. He struck the scabbard aside with a Back-Mountain Palm.
BOOM!
"Hm!?"
Then he drove into the opening born of Kenneth's carelessness and slammed a counter into the man's gut.
Thud!
"Ghk!"
But the magic armor absorbed the impact. Kenneth took only a mild jolt — and drove a knee into Kaisent's abdomen in return.
"Cough! Hhk! Hhk!"
"Not just some archer after all. Techniques similar to those of the otherworlders they call Murim folk."
Recognizing that Kaisent had learned martial arts, Kenneth shifted into a guarded stance. Moreover, when his knee had struck the boy's gut, the rebound had felt like kicking steel. Kaisent had clearly reinforced his organs with inner energy to take the blow.
I should have hurt him while he was off guard…!
He had not expected the magic armor to soak that much force. Kaisent steadied his breathing and began calculating his next move.
Kenneth was not about to give him the chance.
"Resistance is a nuisance, so I'll just knock you out first!"
He decided to render Kaisent unconscious, then sever the tendons in his wrists and legs so he could no longer resist — and closed in fast, scabbard swinging.
Just as Kaisent moved to counter, unexpected variables crashed into the fight.
"Kkya-kya-kya-kyak!"
"Die, smoothskins!"
The wolf-riders who had been chasing them burst onto the scene.