Chapter 188 - Manticore and Bear
"Even if they are a bandit group, we cannot ignore the military power of the Black Sword. If we bring them in, Martai will tuck its tail and retreat."
Martai was the name of a Naurillian city with a complicated history. At times it was a vassal city of the Eastern Mercenary King, and at other times it was Naurillian territory. Thanks to this, it was a city where two peoples mingled, but it was currently a Naurillian city ruled by a man who called himself a general. In other words, half of it was Naurillian, but the other half was an Eastern city. And Martai had just declared something akin to a proclamation of war against the Border Guard.
That's why such words were being spoken. The one speaking was one of the nobles of the Border Guard. There were several nobles in the Border Guard. Although their power was insignificant compared to the central nobility, they were not people to be completely ignored. They were individuals who had secured considerable influence in the city. The man before him, for instance, was one of those noble scoundrels.
What was his name again? Marcus couldn't even remember the man's name.
'The bastard who took gold coins from the Black Sword.'
That's how he remembered him. He thought of him as little more than a member of the Black Sword bandits. If he followed his feelings, he wanted to cut him down. He wanted to lop off his head right now and feign ignorance, but… the elf company commander, while officially his subordinate, was not like a subordinate. There was a feeling that he would have to pay a price for whatever he did. Marcus valued his intuition. For various reasons, he could not cut down the man before him with a single stroke.
In the first place, Marcus was not such a brute. He was not the kind of man who solved everything with a sword. More importantly, if he used his head a little, his opponent didn't seem that difficult to kill. A narrow-minded bastard is inherently easy to bait.
"Martai's advance is a headache, but we just need to focus on defense," Marcus said curtly.
The Black Sword noble pouted his lips and then retracted them. If he had said anything more, Marcus might have truly lost his patience and smashed his skull in.
'Though I wouldn't go that far.'
But he could certainly give that impression. Wasn't Marcus's public nickname 'The Warmonger'? It was an image and a nickname he had created for that very purpose.
Marcus stared at his opponent with a blank expression. In a way, he was glaring; in another, he was just looking. But the effect was clear. The cold and indifferent gaze of the Warmonger shut the noble's mouth. After silencing him, he continued.
"Next item on the agenda?"
It was a regular meeting. The Border Guard was a military city and a fortress city. Just because they had pushed back Azpen didn't mean there was nothing to do. From the south alone, there was news that a fairly large group of monsters was heading their way because some nobles had failed to deal with them properly and were 'passing the buck.' If they left that monster horde alone, it would become a problem. Therefore, it was an issue that had to be handled. For the stirrings of monsters in the south to affect the northern Border Guard was, in a word, a damn mess.
'Truly, they are sons of bitches.'
In any case, the bastards called nobles were rotten. They were only interested in their own lands and their own wealth. This is why people said the country was going to ruin. This nameless noble bastard was no different. He was truly an eyesore. Thinking about things like this would shorten his life.
Therefore, Marcus deliberately steered his thoughts elsewhere. His thoughts drifted to Enkrid. While he didn't even want to remember the noble's name, this was a name he couldn't forget.
'He jumped into a legion of gnolls to save a pioneer village?'
Wow. This was a story that naturally elicited admiration. They said he had cut down a thousand gnolls by himself. There must have been some exaggeration, but it was certain that his skills had improved. The 4th Company Commander had confirmed it as a fact.
"In a real battle, no one could easily guarantee victory against him."
Marcus alone had a faint sense of the elf company commander's true skill. She was superior to most well-known warriors. She had proven it with her exploits on the battlefield. And this was the Enkrid that elf acknowledged.
'She used to call him an unskilled training fanatic with no sense.'
There had also been rumors that he was just a lucky soldier. Nonsense. It wasn't luck, it was skill. He also possessed a good character. It might not show on the surface, but you could tell from his attitude and the results of his actions. Above all, the look on Enkrid's face when he spoke of his dream was etched into Marcus's mind.
The battlefield, the sword, and something shining. Could he really become a knight? Marcus, who had seen many people over the long years, could say with certainty from a rational standpoint that it was impossible. But if asked to speak based on what he had seen and felt from the man named Enkrid…
'I don't know if he can, but I hope he does.'
It was the same whether day or night. It was the same whether the weather changed. He was consistent. Every day was the same. He was a man who lived a year as if it were a single day. A sudden desire to help him on his path arose.
At that thought, a gentle smile formed on Marcus's face. The Black Sword noble, seeing this, suddenly blurted out another comment.
"I believe it is unreasonable to immediately appoint him to the position of Company Commander without a proper unit structure. In truth, even the mission that supposedly proved his worth is widely rumored to be an exaggeration…"
It was about Enkrid's appointment. At those words, Marcus, who until a moment ago had been feigning an indifferent and cold gaze, furrowed his brow. The corners of his lips turned down. He scowled.
"That's enough. It is my decision. If you don't like it, you can be the Battalion Commander."
When the noble had suggested bringing in the Black Sword, he had left some room for debate even while refusing. But the moment Enkrid's name came up, he was merciless. His demeanor clearly showed that he would not listen to any counterarguments or opinions. It was as if he were filled with the will to actually cut down anyone who dared to oppose him on this.
The Black Sword noble found that most detestable. But it wasn't as if he could just kill Marcus.
'Fucking bastard.'
All of his anger was directed at Enkrid. When one receives cheers, trust, and love from some, they are bound to be hated by others. Such was the case with the Black Sword noble, one of the key figures of power in the Border Guard. He hated Enkrid. He hated him for no reason, and he even felt the urge to kill him on the spot.
After the meeting ended and all the nobles had left, the elf company commander looked at Marcus and spoke.
"Who gave you the nickname 'The Warmonger'?"
The elf was perceptive, and Marcus didn't bother to deny it.
"I did."
"Clever."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
It was the literal truth. Marcus was not a man who actually loved the battlefield or was crazy about fighting. He had merely created that public image. Why? It served as an excuse not to get deeply involved in central politics, and it was good for luring the enemy into a false sense of security. In reality, Marcus's talent for waging war was not particularly outstanding. He knew how to send troops to fight at the right time, but his real specialty was not in war, but in other areas. For example, a palate for finding good tea.
"Hey, are you not going to use that joke on me?" The conversation between Enkrid and the elf company commander was rather famous in the barracks. He mentioned it as it came to mind.
"I happen to detest jokes," the elf company commander said, turned, and walked out.
Marcus mulled over the true meaning of her words and then burst out laughing.
"Well, that's difficult. An elf joke."
It had to be an elf joke. It was obvious. That elf was someone who loved jokes.
The Black Sword noble's name was Vansento. Vansento had grown up in a region bordering the monster lands. It was a place heavily influenced by the demonic realm, and food was always scarce. Thus, to the young Vansento, all things were not to be bought, but to be taken. That was natural. A person's life was equal to a piece of bread. No, sometimes the bread was more valuable.
Vansento, who had survived a harsh childhood, somehow drifted into the city. Luck was on his side, and he was able to form a small merchant caravan. There was sword and blood, fist and threat in the growth of the caravan, but there were no major problems. Was it around that time that he made a connection with the Black Sword? Their power was immense, and it became a reliable backing for Vansento's growth.
After ten years of this, he, the owner of the caravan, sold it and spent a large sum of money to become a noble. It was a life built by taking and taking what he wanted, just like in his childhood. Now, Vansento's goal was the city of the Border Guard itself. To be precise, it was to swallow this place whole with the help of the Black Sword. He was not of noble blood passed down through generations, and his title had been bought with gold coins, so there were clear limits he couldn't overcome. Therefore, Vansento wanted something greater than a title. For example, a city.
The future Vansento dreamed of was this: a land ruled by the Black Sword, and himself in possession of a city within it. It would be nice to become the mayor and lord of this place.
'If that happens, the first thing I'll do is capture that elf bitch.'
That elf, the 4th Company Commander, was a delicacy every time he saw her.
"Shall I kill that fellow Marcus for you, or shall I kill that upstart?"
"Not Marcus." If he died here, the central government would take an interest. That was not something he wanted. "Just weed out that man, Enkrid."
At Vansento's words, the Black Sword member and his bodyguard nodded. The bodyguard, for some reason, also found Enkrid to be an eyesore.
'Sucking up to a nobody.'
It was a common trick. Sparring? That was possible if you coordinated with your platoon members. The stories he heard from here and there were full of holes. A thousand gnolls? Ridiculous. Did he think he was a quasi-knight? Or a member of a knight order?
He had actually seen the man's skills before. Not recently, but he had seen him training in the barracks a few months ago.
'He's decent.'
But not better than me. That's how he had judged. A narrow-minded person always judges what they see to be the only truth. In that time, Enkrid had changed beyond recognition, but he didn't even try to look properly. He simply judged him to be an insignificant fellow and ended his thoughts there.
'Of course, those platoon members of his…'
They were impressive. Quite. They were the kind of men who would be difficult to face two at a time. Why were skilled individuals of that caliber messing around in a remote fortress city? In any case, the plan was proceeding smoothly. The kingdom of the Black Sword would begin here. It would start small, but it would grow. And so, Naurillia would disappear, and the Black Sword Kingdom would be born.
The bodyguard and member of the Black Sword, lost in his own dream, released a pigeon. The flying pigeon would deliver the news. The Black Sword would not be careless in their use of manpower, even for a task as simple as removing an unsightly pebble. That was the kind of people they were. Of course, their other objective was likely greater than just killing one man.
The Black Sword bandit group, contacted from within the city, sent ten warriors. Each and every one of them was a formidable individual. For instance, the captain leading them was a woman who had once made a name for herself in the mercenary world. A beastkin named Dunbakel. Contrary to her pretty appearance, the scimitar she wielded was swift and destructive, making her a city-level powerhouse. It meant she had the skill to make a name for herself in any city. And the other nine who came with her were on a similar level.
"Apply pressure? Means to scare them a bit, right? Alright," Dunbakel nodded. She had been paid, so she would do the job.
They were just about to enter the Border Guard. Dunbakel's nose twitched. A pungent, sour smell, mixed with a murky, rotten stench. It was the smell of a beast or a monster. And the smell of humans was mixed in as well. Dunbakel's head snapped to the side. There, she saw a man in a black robe. Next to him was a single beast with menacing, glowing eyes.
"What are you?" Dunbakel immediately went into a combat stance. The opponent did the same.
Among them, a quick-witted member of the Black Sword bandit group grasped the atmosphere and said, "I don't think their business is with us."
Coincidentally, both had come targeting the Border Guard. If one side was the Black Sword bandits, the other was the assassin sent by the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult. They had sent several skilled assassins before, but had lost contact with each one. It meant something was happening inside that city. He had come to confirm, and also to raise some hell in that ignorant city.
"Who are you with?" the cultist asked. He was a monk, a user of the cult's techniques. He was a tricky opponent to deal with carelessly.
The quick-witted subordinate answered in his place. "The Black Sword."
"Your purpose?"
At the cultist's question, Dunbakel, unable to stand it any longer, felt a surge of annoyance and was about to charge, but a subordinate grabbed her arm from behind. Why? Dunbakel asked with her eyes. An insignificant cultist—couldn't she just lop off his head? She did not like this opponent. The subordinate shook his head. She tried to shake off his arm but held back. She was, after all, in a position similar to a mercenary. Though she was the captain, it was a position she had gained only because of her martial prowess.
The subordinate who had been standing behind her rolled his eyes and said, "This could be a good opportunity."
"Do what you want," Dunbakel was cynical. It was an attitude of not caring. She crossed her arms and looked away. With Dunbakel leaving them to it, a deal was actively made between the cultist and one of the Black Sword bandits.
"Then, let's each take what we can for ourselves."
"Our objective is clear."
They would remain wary of each other, but they had decided to move with the same objective.
"I shall begin," the cultist said with a twisted smile. He reached out and stroked the hair on his beast's head.
Grrrrrrr. The growl was like that of a hellhound that had crawled up from hell. In fact, it wouldn't be wrong to see it as something similar. It was a beast that made one shudder just by looking at it. Three rows of sharp teeth, a tail like that of a scorpion, and a body and head that resembled a lion. Its eyes were a slitted yellow, and each of its claws was like a well-sharpened knife.
A Manticore. A high-level monster said to be able to devour an entire company upon its appearance.
"Go. Enjoy your feast."
At the cultist's words, the Manticore dashed forward. Its feet were terrifyingly fast, and after kicking off the ground, it scaled the city wall. Without even needing to go through the gate, it went over the wall. It was not a high-level beast for nothing.
"KHHHUUUURRR!"
A roar that drove its opponents into fear. A Manticore upon the moonlit wall. And in front of it…
'A bear?'
Dunbakel narrowed her eyes. It looked like there was something like a bear in front of the Manticore. It was far away, and she couldn't see clearly relying only on the moonlight. But she was certain there was something there.