Chapter 76
Chapter 76
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 76
Chapter Title: Black Arrow's Return
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The life of a half-blood was lonely.
Abandoned by her parents from the moment of birth, she spent her entire life on the run, facing discrimination and rejection simply because her mixed heritage was seen as cursed.
A wretched existence, unable to settle anywhere.
The Black Arrow, who came to hate the world, gathered others in the same plight—outcasts like herself—and hid deep in a forest where no one dared venture.
That forest was the exiles' fortress, the final sanctuary for suffering half-breeds, a place even elves, humans, and orcs wouldn't set foot in.
But one day, a man appeared before them, as if they were destined to live in hiding forever.
It was a black-haired squire who had happened to pass near the forest and entered in search of water.
How dare he set foot here?
The Black Arrow and the outcasts, filled with hatred, loosed arrows at the intruder and swung swords laced with aura.
'Stop this reckless folly.'
Of course, none among the outcasts could defeat the black-haired squire.
His beautiful swordsmanship, which even deflected aura, was a marvel they had never witnessed before.
The squire subdued all the charging outcasts, including the Black Arrow, then sheathed his sword calmly.
Instead of slitting throats, he asked why they harbored such hatred for the world.
'Why view life with such despair?'
'Because the world hates me.'
The man, who introduced himself as Broken Sword—the king's squire, a continental outsider—offered a path for the outcasts.
'Then prove the world wrong.'
He called them true brothers not because they shared mixed blood, but because they bled the same.
He led the stunned outcasts to the black-haired Knight King he served.
'Join us.'
And so they gathered under the same banner.
Broken Sword gave them family, friends, and true comrades to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with.
But happiness was not eternal.
After the Knight King died, those she thought would stay forever began leaving one by one.
The Northern Kingdom was a candle in the wind.
Broken Sword pressed on in a hopeless fight to the end, and the Black Arrow, who had taken up the bow for him, could no longer stand by and watch his recklessness.
'Come away with me, please?'
If they returned to that unknown forest, no orcs, elves, or even fellow humans could find them.
The Black Arrow, who truly wanted Broken Sword to live, begged through tears.
'I have something I must do.'
But Broken Sword refused to the end, and the Black Arrow, mistaking love for betrayal, left the Northern Kingdom.
She grew weary in the longing she denied to the last.
The faint spark that "he" was still alive was enough to turn back the migratory bird who had departed.
Thud.
After hesitating to disembark for a while, the Black Arrow stepped off the skiff with grim resolve.
She crossed the sandy beach toward the waiting gray wolf.
Sand crunching underfoot.
"Black Arrow."
"H-hi."
He was a rough-and-tumble guy she'd grown close to while serving under the Knight King.
But the years had faded even that deep bond.
The Gray Wolf said,
"You've come back."
"...You too."
What more could be said when both had abandoned the kingdom? She was simply glad to reunite with an old friend from her homeland.
"Come on in. We've got things to sort out."
"Yeah."
The awkwardness lasted only a moment.
Soon shaking it off, the two walked the busy coastal strip, cleaning up aftermath, quietly catching up on years apart.
Where they'd been, how they'd lived, what on earth had happened in the North.
Like other heroes and veterans, they had so much to share.
"Um..."
"Yeah?"
But then the Black Arrow, who had been following the wolf closely, suddenly stopped.
She fidgeted with her fingers like a dog needing to pee, lips twitching.
Oh, I didn't tell him this.
The Gray Wolf burst out laughing.
"Sword Saint's doing fine."
The Black Arrow had stuck to Broken Sword like gum, except when sleeping.
Her return to the North was probably largely thanks to him reappearing.
"...I didn't ask."
"Sure you didn't."
She felt mortified enough to die.
Bowing her head in excuse, but the Gray Wolf just shrugged and kept walking.
I wonder how he's faring out in the distant East.
With their reunion so close, the Gray Wolf stomped the sand hard.
"Heard he got married?"
"........."
Pffft!
Sniff.
"You've been sneezing a lot lately."
"...No way."
A sneeze hit at the worst moment.
Grinning sheepishly amid the embarrassment, I scratched my neck and crouched low again.
The gloomy canyon landscape blurred past in the darkness beyond.
Time: late night. Place: dense thicket overlooking the canyon path.
We'd diligently driven the wagon and linked up with the camp unit right on schedule today.
But contrary to my vow to procure one no matter what, we failed to buy the most crucial weapon.
With infiltration setup and plans ready, we couldn't proceed on the mission just because we couldn't snag a single sword.
As leader of the knights, it was utterly frustrating.
In the end, only the last resort remained.
We had no choice but to borrow the wisdom of Ronald, who had become our Eastern trickster pouch.
'Hmm...'
Ronald pondered for a while.
The weapon issue that had plagued us wasn't easy to solve.
But inspiration strikes by chance: spotting a passing merchant wagon, Ronald exclaimed with the answer.
'Let's hit a slave caravan.'
Most of the biggest operations in the East were slave-trading caravans.
High demand, and the Eastern kingdoms overflowed with slaves.
'I know their night routes.'
Scum we should exterminate someday.
Today was perfect for making an example of one.
Of course, the guards' weapons were mere "bonus" loot.
"Shh, they're coming."
Rattle, rattle, rattle.
Neigh!
As if proving Ronald's memory right, wagon sounds approached the knights' ambush point.
Five wagons total—loaded with cash, far sturdier than our rickety one.
Spotting iron-barred cages amid the foggy torchlight, I flashed hand signals.
"- - - - - -."
Definitely a slave caravan.
At my signal, the knights moved in unison, shoving the massive log they'd battered with aura.
Crash, thud!
Whinny!!
The classic ambush: block front and rear.
The fallen tree sealed both ends; horses reared in panic.
Torches flickered ominously.
Guards drew crossbows and weapons, scanning everywhere.
Too late—the human weapons, my knights, had long encircled them.
Harsh whistles rang out as burly unit members sprang from all sides.
Screeeeech!
"Ambush!"
"Damn it, fire!"
I drew my short dagger.
Burst from the thicket, charging the wagons without hesitation.
Thwock!
A bolt flew right on cue.
I leaned back, snatching the fast-flying bolt one-handed.
Whoa, it worked?
As shocked as the shooter, I hurled the bolt back at its owner.
Thwip!
"Gah, urk!"
Guards paled.
They'd seen my impossible move and the unit's might.
The raid succeeded.
Gripping the dagger tight, I kicked a shield-raising guard, then temple-struck him unconscious.
Whinny!
Argh!
I handled just two.
Guards used to bullying slaves couldn't match Northern knights.
Shouts faded; the site cleared fast. The canyon swallowed the echoes.
My body felt stiff.
Stretching, I said,
"Bind them."
I'd ordered minimal killing.
Slave traders are vile, but innocents might lurk—spare non-resisters.
The unit obeyed: knocked out resistants, roped the rest tight.
"Hm."
Not small-scale—big wagons.
I circled slave cages with heavy locks, counting about forty Eastern slaves.
"Eek!"
"A-ah..."
Through bars, trembling Eastern humans shook in terror.
Sighing softly, I ordered the finished-binding unit,
"Free them all."
Clang!
Creeeak!
Locks shattered, doors swung open.
But terrified slaves didn't flee—instead, they peeked at knights, heads glued to wagon floors.
Lifelong oppression had etched slavery into Eastern bones.
I called Ronald and Richard to discuss what to do.
Couldn't deliver gifts, but we had to own changing their lives.
Hiding unease, I turned to other wagons.
Then, from the caravan rear, pig-squeal screams and Rough Barley—face twisted—called me.
"Captain, you need to see this."
Unit mood off.
Intrigued by shouts, I headed back.
"You crazy bastards...! Know who I am? Who owns this caravan?!"
An open cargo wagon: a plump merchant knelt beside it.
"- - - - - - -."
Speechless.
Inside: child slaves' cold corpses, piled like luggage.
Cuts to Achilles tendons and throats—why haul the dead like trash?
Cognitive dissonance hit; Ronald approached, bowing head.
His eyes stained with deep sorrow and shame.
"Orc merchandise."
"Human flesh. Why all kids?"
"...Tender meat sells best."
Right—fresh butchered meat.
Orcs' delicacy, supplied by fellow humans.
"You fucking—!!"
Excited Richard, held by unit, lunged at the trader.
Pummeling his face madly, roaring like a beast.
"Guh, urk!"
Didn't expect this level.
Didn't think it'd rot so disgustingly, inducing vomit.
Richard wailed like an animal, venting belated regret and rage.
"Stop him."
"Captain."
Too heated. I ordered restraint, arms crossed coldly.
Ronald and unit shot pleading eyes, demanding merciless justice.
Misunderstanding.
I clarified,
"We'll execute our way."
I often joked about flaying foes alive for war drums to taunt.
But today, we'd truly show the North's ancient tradition.