Chapter 254

It is often said among the people of the continent about the Easterners:

“They are tough, stubborn, and incredibly persistent.”

Hans was one of those Easterners.

And among those Easterners who remained in Martai, most of them shared the mindset of:

“Let’s see how well you do.”

It meant they harbored ill feelings towards the current lord.

Hans was one of those.

“Block the colony? Damn, isn’t this some kind of rigged game?”

Hans, who had a deep understanding of dice games, thought carelessly.

If dice games were rigged, well? The only ones who win are those who are meant to, right?

Usually, when a threat arose in Martai, the Eastern mercenary king would be called for support.

However, after a defeat in battle, the lord died. The commander changed, and the land became a vassal of the Border Guard.

After that, things suddenly took a turn, and a great danger befell the land. A few soldiers from the Border Guard came to resolve it.

“Damn, none of this feels right.”

Hans thought the whole situation was a load of crap.

If those few soldiers could chase off the monsters, then they weren’t even a real threat, were they?

Unlike the soldiers who fought on the frontlines, Hans, who had become a vassal of the land, did not witness Enkrid's battle.

He was busy drinking and sleeping. He separated the land’s danger and his own safety.

There were two factions forming quietly.

The Easterners and the continentals couldn’t get proper information flowing due to their alliance.

But the ones who knew knew everything, and Hans only listened to what he wanted to hear.

He was a typical fool.

His job was to use his fists here and there to earn some silver coins.

“I’ll go out and fight.”

A few ghouls? Shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Humans with dog heads? They were just dogs with human heads, weren’t they?

A single spear thrust would do the trick.

Being beaten by wild dogs? How could that be called being an Easterner?

An Easterner should be brave enough to kill a lion with a sword.

That’s what the mercenary king did.

At eighteen, he killed a lion with just a sword.

He had killed dozens of humans, tasting human flesh.

That was the first tale where the mercenary king proved himself on the Eastern plains.

“Clearly, he must have had some artifact or used some trick.”

One of Hans's comrades said. More precisely, he prodded Hans’s side, encouraging him. He offered a drink. Hans took a sip.

It tasted sweet, almost as though honey had been mixed in.

It wasn’t strong, but after drinking, dizziness came for a moment before fading quickly.

Hans tried to act sober, not wanting to appear drunk, and said while tightening his muscles.

“It's bland, but tasty.”

“This is a new batch we got, don’t you think it’s pretty good?”

The comrade didn’t seem to notice Hans was tipsy. He just smiled. Hans nodded vigorously. His movements became exaggerated. Hans didn’t realize his own change in behavior.

It was after some idle conversation.

The comrade kept talking.

“Honestly, he looked like a fool, just a decent face, nothing more.”

And yet, if you looked at him, women would swoon.

Apparently, he was nicknamed the Charming Commander?

What the hell?

“Do you know Lenny? She seemed to fall for that charming fool when she saw him.”

The innkeeper's daughter, Lenny, was the woman Hans had his eye on.

Hans seethed with frustration, but around him, it was as if a hero had returned, and people were cheering.

The atmosphere didn’t allow for any complaints. So, Hans held it in.

Later, when the mood had cooled, he heard that the Charming Fool and his group were at Lenny’s inn.

“Honestly, if we fought for real, it wouldn’t be anything special, but maybe you, Hans…”

The comrade handed him more wine. With a gulp, Hans felt a sudden surge of confidence.

The sweet and fiery liquid filled his stomach, and something hot rose from his lower abdomen.

‘That bastard, he’s dead.’

If there’s a time to show the bravery of an Easterner, it’s now.

Hans entered the inn with that thought in mind.

When he saw the guy, it was exactly as he had thought: a damn fool.

He looked like someone who could be a bedchamber servant for a noblewoman, not some war hero.

Hans also noticed Lenny. Her eyes were fixed on a man with reddish-brown hair, half-closed eyes, and lips tightly shut.

Why the hell was she looking at him like that?

Shit.

Do I really have to put up with this?

Hans was a well-known fool. He had rarely ever lost a fight.

Hans stood up.

Creak, bang!

With force, he stood up so suddenly that the chair was knocked over.

In the inn, there were only the Charming Fool and his group, Lenny, and a few other villagers.

Some of them scowled.

What the hell was that fool planning?

***

Enkrid was calm.

“Is this a challenge?”

He asked with his eyes, glancing at Rem.

Rem blinked in response. He too felt a bit awkward.

Rem's gaze swept over the group.

Audin, Dunbakel, Teresa.

Even with just these three, wouldn’t most people hesitate to pick a fight?

And Rem was confident too.

It wasn’t a boast, but he had rarely encountered anyone in the land who dared to provoke him.

Enkrid, of course, had a refined face.

That could be seen as something to underestimate.

But there had been a battle before.

If someone had witnessed it, if the word had spread within the territory, then—

“But still, you want to fight?”

What was this? What the hell was wrong with this idiot?

Enkrid glanced at Rem once more, then assessed the challenger.

His senses expanded, and he analyzed every detail of his opponent.

The traces of movement, muscle development, hand placement, the habits in his stance, the motion of rising from the chair—he took it all in.

After a brief moment, Enkrid subtly extended his left hand and pushed his right foot back.

Anyone with eyes would have noticed what Enkrid was doing.

But the opponent didn’t seem to notice at all.

Not at all, not even a little.

“Hey, don’t get too cocky in someone else’s territory.”

The challenger spoke up.

“Should I kill him?”

Dunbakel asked. It was only then that Enkrid remembered what the lord had said.

“Take it easy,” hadn’t he?

“I will.”

Enkrid said as he stood up. No one seemed to care. The challenger’s eyes had grown even more bloodshot. No, they were looking a bit too bloodshot now.

But Enkrid didn’t care.

“This bastard!”

The excited man lunged at him. Enkrid smoothly dodged to the side, avoiding the punch, then shoved his forearm against the challenger’s thigh.

All of it happened in one fluid motion.

Graceful and smooth.

The group’s eyes, including Rem’s, sparkled in admiration.

It was an application of the Yu-Gyeom style.

He had learned to execute it with his body. It was a technique he had recently delved into.

As Enkrid shoved the man, it looked like the challenger might slam his head into the pub table.

But Enkrid didn’t just watch. He grabbed the man by the back of his neck, pulling him back up.

The man swung a punch, but paused, bewildered.

Enkrid pushed the man again. Hans staggered, standing up.

What the hell was going on?

A strange anger surged inside him.

Unable to hold himself back, Hans reached for the knife at his waist.

“If you draw that, you’re dead. There’s no turning back.”

Rem muttered with a mocking tone. The sugar stuck to his lips made the words oddly persuasive.

Hans didn’t hear it. He couldn’t survive unless he buried that knife in the man’s gut.

Normally, he would’ve snapped out of it and either knelt down or just ran off, but that thought didn’t even cross his mind.

He had to kill them all. He couldn’t live under the same sky as this bastard.

His brain shut down as his anger overwhelmed him.

This wasn’t natural.

Enkrid felt something was off about the challenger’s demeanor.

As he considered whether to break a bone, a sharp sound rang out.

Click!

With that sound, the man who had been holding a knife fell forward, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Standing behind him, Jaxon pinned the man down, flipped his eyelids back, and leaned in to sniff his breath.

“…What the hell are you doing? Do you have a thing for sniffing people?”

Rem asked.

Jaxon ignored him and turned to Enkrid.

“Someone’s been drugged.”

Drugs?

Jaxon continued, explaining how the drug had impaired the man’s senses, and that he had been hypnotized.

It was clear from Jaxon’s tone that he was familiar with such things.

It was an accurate diagnosis.

Clap, clap, clap.

A sound of applause echoed.

“Impressive, you figured it out.”

A man with a leather pouch at his waist, two knives on his right side, and a short sword at his left, approached.

With every step, the scabbard of the short sword swung against his thigh.

Enkrid immediately recognized him as someone with real skill.

He was far beyond the fool who had just tried to challenge him.

Enkrid simply stared at him without saying anything. What was this now?

Despite the lack of response, the man smiled awkwardly and continued toward them.

His face resembled a rat’s.

“Good day.”

He greeted, but no one replied. Even Rem, who didn’t like silence, crossed his arms and stared, his mouth still coated in sugar. If the situation turned sour, it seemed like Rem might throw his axe or perhaps a spear, like the one the centaur leader used.

Enkrid’s senses told him that Rem was ready.

If left alone, the man would probably be dead soon.

“Who are you?”

Jaxon asked.

The man hesitated for a moment, pretending to think, then made a show of spreading his hands in front of his chest before speaking.

“Should I introduce myself?”

Should I just kill him?

Rem’s inner thoughts could be felt.

“Wait,” Enkrid said, his tone leaving the man clueless.

He dismissed Enkrid’s words and continued.

“I come from the Black Blades.”

The Black Blades were a group of thieves.

Enkrid lowered his arms. He had never had a pleasant conversation with them.

The man waved his hand dismissively.

“I’m not here to fight. I’ve just come to deliver a message.”

There were a few pub staff and customers nearby.

The man ignored them and spoke.

“Would you be interested in switching sides?”

He smiled as he asked, and Enkrid took a moment to consider the question before replying.

“So you want to die?”

“I’m really here with good intentions. You know, the Black Blades don’t give up easily. What I’ve shown you is just a taste.”

The man continued to speak as if everything were just a small sample of what he was offering.

“It’s a great offer, really, an opportunity. Think it over.”

The man was serious. Enkrid was serious as well.

“So, you want to die?”

“Pfft.”

Rem couldn’t hold back and laughed, already predicting what Enkrid would say.

He knew Enkrid’s mannerisms well enough to foresee his next words.

“The Black Blades won’t give up. I’m just a messenger. And Dunbakel, don’t you have some debts? You think you can just walk away from them?”

The Black Blades messenger leaned forward, eyeing Dunbakel.

Dunbakel had acted as a mercenary for the Black Blades, carrying out contracts and receiving payment in return.

But it didn’t mean anything anymore.

He had been wandering, waiting to die.

But could that be called a debt?

“Yeah.”

Dunbakel nodded.

The messenger from the Black Blades flinched.

‘This crazy woman has gotten even crazier.’

The messenger thought to himself.

“Ugh, this is really difficult. Let me say it again. This is a really good offer. We can let Dunbakel’s debt go, and we’ll give you whatever you want. For example, if you want to become a knight, we can get you into a knightly order.”

The messenger spoke, and Enkrid remained silent.

He already knew the man’s intentions.

His goal was obvious from all the gossip that had been circulating.

‘What do you think? Will you turn down this offer too?’

The man’s eyes asked.

Enkrid responded cautiously.

“So, you want to die? Or not? Why aren’t you answering the question?”

Pfft.

When Rem laughed again, the messenger’s face contorted.

‘These bastards? Should I show them what this really means?’

He flicked his fingers subtly. Assassins would drop from the roof.

It went quiet.

The man flicked his fingers again, and something dropped from the roof.

“Ahh!”

A scream came from one of the pub staff.

Thud! Thud!

Two bodies hit the floor.

The dead had holes in their necks. The man with reddish-brown hair opened his mouth.

“Seems like the prank is over.”

What the hell was this?

Everyone knew there would be a fight, but how could they find a top-class assassin like this so easily?

The messenger’s face twisted further.

“If you kill me, the Black Blades will…”

Whoosh, thud! Thump, bang!

“Aaaahhh!”

The messenger reached for the smoke bomb at his waist.

Seeing that, Rem threw his axe without even breathing.

His right hand moved so swiftly, it was barely visible. Enkrid’s enhanced senses tracked every movement.

The axe flew, and with a burst of fire, it struck the messenger’s head. The force sent the man’s leg flying, slamming into the wall, and he collapsed to the floor.

That was it.

The messenger from the Black Blades was dead.

The female staff screamed again, and Jaxon, with practiced hands, searched the messenger’s body.

He found a few neatly folded papers, a leather pouch, a smoke bomb, poison, and a knife.

Inside the folded papers was some strange powder.

It looked like a drug to hypnotize people.

“Don’t get too startled. Contact the barracks, and they’ll clean this up.”

Enkrid spoke calmly, as if a fly had just interrupted their meal.

Though it caused a ruckus, it wasn’t something Enkrid considered particularly significant.

What impressed him was Rem’s skill with the axe and Jaxon’s swift actions.

“Heh, looks like the Charming Thieves are on the move too, huh? Brother.”

Audin muttered casually, and the group began to move.

After all, they weren’t there for the Black Blades.

They had other business to attend to.

The dwarf was still enjoying his wine, cheese, and bread by the forge.

Clank! Clank!

He seemed indifferent to the sounds of metal and fire, licking melted cheese off his fingers.

Word spread quickly through the territory, and by the time Enkrid was done, his actions had already reached the village.

The dwarf looked around at the group.

“You folks into fighting?”

His tone was blunt. Enkrid regarded him.

How old was this one?

The dwarf looked about fifteen, though that could be misleading. Given the nature of his kind, he could be much older, but still looked like a muscular girl in her teens.

She wasn’t just any girl, though. Her neck was thicker than his, a warrior in her own right.

But her face was delicate, quite pretty even.

Kraiss had said she was beautiful, and it wasn’t an exaggeration.

But was she a beauty by conventional standards?

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

Rem asked mockingly, and the dwarf grumbled.

“I can hear you, grey-head.”

The dwarf had a sharp tongue, and Rem was still himself.

The barbarian smiled softly and asked Enkrid.

“You thinking of keeping a dwarf trophy? I think I just picked up one that just died.”