Chapter 195 - Handle It Well (3)
Immediately after Enkrid left, Marcus secretly summoned the commander of the Border Guard.
"Are the preparations complete?" Marcus asked. He was leaning back in his chair in a relaxed posture, but his eyes were like those of a predator stalking its prey.
"They are men who are seasoned in this kind of work."
"Good. Then we proceed as planned."
"Are you not informing the independent company commander?"
"I gave him a hint."
It was literally just a hint, but he would handle it. In truth, there was no need to burden him with the act of killing a noble. Marcus's intention was this: Take the noble bastard who had taken the Black Sword's gold and run him around in circles. He was taking the prisoner along, too, wasn't he? It would be fine to use the captured beastkin to pull some tricks.
In other words, he had read his intentions. There was no need to explain in any more detail.
'A talent who can cater to that madman's whims without falling behind in skill.'
How many people like that were there in the unit? He had been promoted to independent company commander, but in reality, he had not yet been properly recognized, so he was perceived as a relatively lower rank than the 1st Company Commander or the Border Guard Commander. But his skills were more trustworthy than anyone's. So, wasn't he the perfect man for the job?
On top of that, Marcus had also sent Enkrid off with an inexplicable sense of expectation. No, that wasn't the only thing he was aiming for. He was aiming for many things. Marcus also intended to hide Enkrid's skills. It wasn't as if someone would suddenly recognize his true strength if he just left him in the unit, but the more careful, the better, right? Those bastards from Martai were constantly sending spies, so he intended to keep him out of sight in many ways. He truly did not want his own forces' strength to be exposed due to some unnecessary exploit.
He was a core part of a small elite, his own skills were outstanding, and he could also become a commander. He was crazy about training, but looking at what he did, his character wasn't bad either. And he even knew how to handle a noble scoundrel.
'Well, that's something.'
This is why he couldn't help but be a coveted talent. Moreover, he was also the one who had lit a fire in his own chest. These days, he was living a vibrant life for the first time in a long while. A life of seizing new things, not of repeating meaningless days.
'I'm thrilled to death.'
Contrary to his inner thoughts, Marcus simply devoted himself to his work with a serious expression. That work was something that didn't suit the nickname he had given himself, 'The Warmonger.' It had always been like that. The moniker of 'Warmonger' was a mask. A mask to deceive the opponent. In reality, Marcus was not particularly talented in battle or war. He knew that himself. Of course, not having a talent for it didn't mean he couldn't do it.
Marcus knew how to use people openly. He knew how to trust. He gave important positions to his own people. The 1st Company Commander, the Border Guard Commander, the elf company commander, and even Enkrid. He had an abundance of jokers in his hand. He had an ace, too. If he had this many cards to play, taking the pot from the guy sitting across the table was easier than one might think. There was no need to weave things into a complicated tangle, so Marcus moved simply and directly. He just had to seize the timing that would deviate from the opponent's expectations.
'Anyway, those Black Sword bandit bastards, what do they think they're going to get by constantly sticking their noses in?'
Bastards like beasts. There was a beast drooling as it coveted the city he had to protect. Should he just stand by and watch such a beast?
"Well then."
The Guard Commander gave a military salute, and Marcus spoke to his back.
"Kill them all."
"Of course, sir."
The Border Guard was a fortress city and a military city. It was a place that had shed brutal blood in the war with Azpen. So, if they looked down on it and charged in, it was time to give them a punishment to match.
"Not even a full platoon, just three?"
Baronet Vansento glared at Enkrid, Rem, and Ragna as soon as he saw them, and harsh words came from his mouth.
"A commoner and two savages? What a trash combination. You stink. Don't come near me."
These were the first words he spoke as they met right in front of the city gate. Rem's hand gently gripped the handle of his axe. Enkrid reached out with his right hand and grabbed Rem's wrist, and with his other hand, he pressed down on Ragna's left thigh. He shook his head for them both to see.
"What is it? How dare you look upon a noble and not even show respect!"
Vansento prayed earnestly to the heavens to be killed quickly. He prayed desperately. Enkrid had expected this to some extent, so his response was not a problem.
"Sir." He gave a military salute and completely blocked Rem and Ragna with his body.
"Like commander, like subordinates," Vansento sneered until the very end.
"My axe is crying. My pants are getting wet. Let's not make my axe sad," Rem growled earnestly.
"Don't."
Not within the city, at least. It wasn't assaulting a superior officer, but murdering a noble. They would have nothing to say even if an extermination squad was dispatched from the royal palace. And from the looks of it now, it didn't seem like it would end with just a beating.
"Ragna, you too."
It was the same for him. The blond with red eyes looked menacing.
"Let's go," the escort, clad in a black cloak over his leather armor, said, leading the noble scoundrel away. It was a relief. The only ones who boarded the carriage were the noble and his escort; Enkrid and his party were to walk.
And one more person was added to their party.
"Why are we taking this one?" Ragna asked, pulling the end of the rope in his hand. The beastkin named Dunbakel, who was standing next to him, was pulled along by the gesture. Her wrists were bound with a thick rope, and her arms and torso were also wrapped. The end of it was held by Ragna. Blood could be seen seeping from where the rope chafed her wrists. A beastkin's skin should be tougher and stronger than a human's, so for it to be like that, it probably meant the ropes hadn't been loosened once since she was caught. Not that anyone had any intention of loosening them.
"A guide."
Enkrid didn't trust the noble scoundrel accompanying them. And he certainly didn't trust the prisoner, Dunbakel, either, but…
'She wants to live.'
Enkrid approached it simply. He had requested the prisoner from the Battalion Commander, went to her, and asked.
"I'll let you live if you do one job for me. You can think of it as a request."
She had called herself a mercenary, so it should be fine to make a request. The payment was her life; the choice was hers.
"...You'll let me live?" Her eyes were full of suspicion. But the more he looked, the more fascinating her eyes were. A beastkin whose pupils were ringed with gold.
'Isn't there some legend about golden-eyed ones over there?'
Enkrid recalled what he had heard during his mercenary days. But from the looks of her, she was like a drenched puppy. It seemed she had been kicked out and had a hard life. He noticed, but he didn't ask anything. What would he gain from knowing? A deal was enough. There would be no more business between them after this job was over. The beastkin's matter would be concluded with the other party either dying or leaving.
"Are you going to do it or not? Believing or not, doing it or not, is your freedom." Enkrid spoke, then shook his head and said again, "No, you don't really have a choice. Just do it. It's better to do something than to be executed. And you'll have a chance to escape once we're outside."
"Why go to the trouble?"
Enkrid didn't answer the question. No, he couldn't. How could he say it? That her eyes, her attitude of craving life, was similar to when he himself was struggling to chase his dream. If Frogs were led by desire, beastkin clung to procreation and instinct. So, it was natural for the beastkin to want to live. Wouldn't humans be the same? But in that moment, the eyes he saw then were different. It wasn't just a matter of asking to be saved. They were the eyes of someone who was so desperate to live that they would do anything. It was purely in the realm of intuition and senses, but he didn't want to ignore it.
Hadn't the Battalion Commander started with a joke and then said…
"A single beastkin? Handle it however you want."
It meant he should do as he pleased: let her go, kill her, or even take her as a slave if it was his preference. In that respect, the Battalion Commander was supremely magnanimous.
Enkrid planned to let her go if she listened to him appropriately. Was the act of attacking a sin in itself? If so, does every war have to end with everyone dead? He didn't want to know her story. It was just a whim. And if he could make use of her, all the better. That was the reason he had entrusted her with the role of guide instead of the half-wit noble. He could also cross-reference to see if she knew the way and wasn't pulling any tricks.
After a train of thought following Ragna's question of why they were taking her, there was an answer. Enkrid considered whether he could explain this to Ragna. It was an absurd notion. Even if he did, would he listen?
"She looks like she's good at finding her way."
So he summarized and condensed it. Ragna looked strangely hurt.
"I may be bad with directions, but I'm good with a sword."
Who doesn't know that?
"I know."
Enkrid said curtly and stepped out of the city gate. Dunbakel, who had been watching all of this, was simply amazed by the situation. The man with the axe who had tormented her didn't even look at her now. He was treating her as if she didn't exist. He just stroked the handle of his axe and stared at the person he was supposed to be escorting.
Her beastkin instincts screamed a warning.
'If he's left alone, he's going to make about six pieces out of him.'
The man named Enkrid seemed to know this as he repeatedly warned him.
"Tone down your killing intent." "Stop." "I told you to stop." "Rem."
And yet, he wouldn't easily take his hand off the axe handle.
'He's a madman.'
Dunbakel sized up the man named Rem at a glance. It was all too accurate.
"If you take a wrong turn, I'll cut you down."
It was the same for the man holding her. There was not a shred of emotion in his words. It was just a fact, and he would do it, so he spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if the sun would rise tomorrow morning.
'I'll die if I try to escape.'
More than that, the rope binding her body was also a problem.
'Quite the taste.'
It was wrapped once below her chest, then over her arms, and then around her neck and wrists. It was not just uncomfortable; any activity other than walking was impossible.
Not even a few steps after they set off, the noble opened the window of the carriage. The walls of the Border Guard were still visible behind them. In other words, a patrolman with good eyes could recognize who was here.
The noble who opened the window said, "You look interesting. You, beastkin, come to my carriage tonight."
The way he flared his nostrils made her wonder what it would be like to shove her claws up them.
"Then, will you untie the ropes?"
"It would be more fun to do it with them on."
Seeing the clear desire and lust that arose from the man as he spoke, rather than feeling unpleasant, she thought that this one was a truly easy opponent. At least, far easier than the man holding her rope, the man with the axe, or the man who had captured her.
A smile formed on the lips of the madman named Rem upon hearing the noble's words. She could see that he was at a dangerous level. The man named Ragna was silent, but he continued, "If you move without permission, I will cut you down." This too was in the same tone as 'the moon rises at night.'
'Is he saying he'll kill me if I do as the noble says?'
In the midst of all this, Dunbakel looked at the calmest person. Enkrid, was it? As soon as the carriage started moving, he drew his sword at its side and began to swing it.
'What is he doing right now?'
Swoosh, hwoong. The blade cut through the air. Training while walking? No, discipline? Seeing as he was also moving his feet in various ways, it seemed he was practicing his steps as well.
The noble's escort, who was also the coachman, saw this and scoffed.
"A grub doesn't become a butterfly just by rolling around."
Does he know what he's talking about? Dunbakel had fought Enkrid. That man possessed fearsome skill. But seeing what he was doing now, curiosity arose rather than fear.
She glanced back and saw the man named Ragna looking intently at his commander. Dunbakel couldn't hold back her curiosity and asked, "With skills like that, why does he train so hard…?"
She trailed off, not knowing how he would react, but the man named Ragna answered more easily than she expected.
"The commander was originally of pathetic skill. He couldn't even properly face a single ghoul."
A single ghoul? No way. Dunbakel had fought Enkrid. She knew his skills better than anyone. She was the one who had most recently and directly faced him.
"And yet, he swung his sword like that every day. It was nothing more than his palms getting a little harder and his muscles getting a little bigger, but he did it. Every day was the same. Always, every time. How could he do that?"
The man named Ragna at first seemed to be answering her, but then it was as if he were talking to himself. No, was he talking to himself from the beginning?
Dunbakel looked at Ragna's eyes, wondering what was wrong with him. His eyes seemed to be strangely burning. They were the eyes of someone who was captivated, engrossed in something. It didn't seem like she could talk to him right now.
'He couldn't even face a ghoul?'
And yet he swung his sword? Every day? The same way?
"He's that kind of person. Originally. A person who it's a wonder he's still alive, a person who I couldn't understand why he was eating sword-rice. I don't know when he improved so much."
The man named Rem also chimed in. He hadn't shown any interest, but when the topic of Enkrid came up, he suddenly approached and opened his mouth. The man who had mocked her while digging into her wounds was nowhere to be seen in his tone and manner of speaking. Still, he was a madman, so Dunbakel shifted her steps to the side.
And then she looked at Enkrid, who was still swinging his sword even as he walked.
Dunbakel thought.
'When did I stop?'
After being kicked out of the beastkin, she had struggled to survive. Then she realized she was a half-beastkin. She had rashly concluded that she couldn't learn beastkin techniques or anything of the sort, so it would be difficult to develop any further. She could no longer see any more development or potential for growth. Because she couldn't see a path forward, she had stopped her training and discipline.
'That man was once unable to face a single ghoul?'
She heard the madman named Rem mutter from the side, "It didn't even take a year. Was that man actually a genius? No, he definitely wasn't."
A year? In just one year, could someone with the skill of not even being able to catch a ghoul change like that? Without realizing it, Dunbakel found herself staring at the back of the man named Enkrid. He was a strange and peculiar person. He hadn't risen through extraordinary talent, but had swung his sword every day with insufficient talent? They had no reason to lie to her, so it must be the truth.
To Dunbakel, this whole situation was simply amazing. And amidst that amazement and curiosity, a sense of envy also arose. And regret, wondering what it would have been like if she had lived like that.
After a brief moment of regret, Dunbakel looked from side to side.
'Hmm.'
She didn't show it on the outside, but she had confirmed the mark of the Black Sword. A choice was needed here. Should she speak, or should she just let it pass? She was at a crossroads.
That was the situation. Dunbakel deliberated, and the carriage came to a stop.
"Let's rest here before we go on," said the coachman and man in black.
And Enkrid stopped swinging his sword.