Chapter 274

"It doesn’t seem like a big problem," Finn said, her voice steady. Although the situation had taken a messy turn, would it really matter? She doubted it.

After all, who had come with her?

Enkrid and Jaxon.

With Enkrid’s brute strength and his monstrous swordsmanship, half of these thieves would probably be cut down in no time.

And who among the thieves would stick around to watch that happen out of loyalty?

Half of them would likely flee the moment things got dire.

Was it dangerous?

Probably not. Finn could see it clearly—the predictable behavior of a crowd of humans, particularly thieves.

Even in the worst-case scenario, where every single one of them attacked Enkrid, he wouldn’t just stand there and take it.

"I smell magic," Shinar said. Her voice was sharp, her fairy senses precise.

Finn frowned at the mention of a magician.

A magician could complicate things. They introduced unknown variables.

But even so...

It doesn’t feel like they’ll succeed.

Enkrid wasn’t alone, after all.

Finn had spent enough time in the Mad Company to know that Jaxon wasn’t ordinary, either.

Her confidence was evident in her next words.

"That’s one thing, but it seems like they’re paying less attention to us."

The implication was clear—leave Enkrid and Jaxon to handle things their way, and they should focus on their own objectives.

Finn’s eyes scanned the center of the village, where the commotion was at its peak. Torches lit up the darkness, illuminating the night. It was the central plaza, a spot teeming with gathering thieves.

"Exactly."

"Shouldn’t we prioritize gathering information?"

Finn thought for a moment. No matter how dangerous things got, it was Enkrid they were talking about. He would find a way out on his own.

Shinar nodded.

There was one pressing issue, but she was clear on what needed to come first.

The thieves had dug a den beneath the village center.

Understanding what was happening there came first.

It was a logical priority. After all, Shinar and Finn had been tracking those traces for quite some time.

***

It had been only a month since he joined the village. His name was Bond.

He had spent years as a mercenary, but one day, greed overtook him, and he stabbed a comrade in the back—literally.

It wasn’t an uncommon story.

A mercenary’s lust for gold, wanting the entire reward for himself.

His mistake was that the one he stabbed didn’t die quietly.

The man’s brother, a guard in a nobleman’s retinue, had immediately rallied his comrades.

Bond had no choice but to flee.

Terrible luck, he thought.

His life had been a mess from the start, born to a prostitute mother.

"Why don’t you just die already, die!"

He’d fled his mother’s abuse as a child, ending up in the slums of a lord’s territory. His life had spiraled downward from there.

He earned his nickname, “Backstabber Bond,” and transitioned into mercenary work. But his habits hadn’t changed.

Once again, he stabbed a comrade in the back. Once again, he found himself cornered. Where could someone like him go?

He had barely managed to join the Black Blade thieves, adapting to their ways over the past month.

In that short time, he’d learned two critical lessons:

First, defy the village’s ruler, and you’d be burned alive without so much as a chance to react.

Second, never cross the guard with the hesitant speech or the woman with the claws.

He’d once seen a man have his tongue cut out for a single offhanded remark about her. After that, Bond didn’t even dare glance at her thighs.

He avoided looking at her altogether, though he made sure to remember her face—for survival’s sake.

To Bond, those two were symbols of the village’s power.

And now, those symbols had truly become just that—symbols. Unmoving statues, frozen in place.

Though they weren’t left in a flattering state.

"Guhhh…"

What Bond saw was something whipping and flying about—a blur of motion.

Some stood frozen like him, clutching rusty shortswords, hammers, slingshots, blackjack clubs filled with sand, or nailed wooden clubs. Others, with more courage, threw daggers or darts. There were even over ten archers with crossbows.

But none of them could do anything.

Their eyes were glued to the two so-called symbols, who were now reduced to emitting incomprehensible groans.

The hesitant guard wielded a short spear about the length of a forearm.

Bond had heard the man was a former mercenary who’d been quite skilled. But now, he was dead.

The spear had clashed with a sword for just a moment. The next thing Bond saw was the guard’s head falling off.

It didn’t make sense to him.

When blades met, shouldn’t there at least be a clang?

But no. Enkrid’s flowing swordsmanship—his Phantom Blade technique—had overwhelmed the man completely.

It was a soft, fluid strike that didn’t lose its edge, slicing cleanly through the man’s neck.

The woman with the claws had tried to slash at Enkrid from behind, but something flashed upward from below. She was split in two.

And just like that, the second symbol was reduced to two halves.

That was the end.

What had just happened?

Bond had heard of swordsmen with ghostly skills, but this felt like witnessing witchcraft.

The sheer disparity in skill made Enkrid’s swordsmanship seem like magic.

Bond froze.

Can I even fight this guy?

His instincts screamed at him to run, to flee immediately.

"Huh?"

A crossbowman nearby let out a dumbfounded grunt.

"Move aside."

The real ruler of the village stepped forward through the crowd of thieves.

Bond instinctively stepped back, then froze when he saw her.

Her name was Kaisella.

She had wavy brown hair, softly upturned eyes, thick lips, and a curvaceous figure, with her hand resting on her narrow waist.

Kaisella furrowed her brow as she looked at the two corpses.

As soon as she appeared, the monster who had split the village’s symbols in half moved his hand.

The movement was too fast for Bond to follow.

All he saw was the knife leaving Enkrid’s hand and the faint shimmer of a transparent barrier stopping it.

Kaisella’s frown deepened.

Whenever she made that expression, something terrible happened. Villagers disappeared. Travelers who had wandered into the village were never seen again. People died.

"You hesitate not at all," she said, her voice melodic.

Beside her, a pair of glowing, predatory eyes began to gleam faintly, though Bond didn’t notice.

He didn’t know what was happening, but he could sense that something was about to erupt.

His thoughts of running vanished.

It was as if someone had grabbed his legs and rooted him in place.

Kaisella raised a finger, pointing at Enkrid.

Enkrid didn’t move. At least, that’s how it seemed to Bond.

He simply stood there, holding his sword in his right hand, facing Kaisella’s finger.

"Strike him down."

At the same time, Kaisella’s voice rang out.

CRACK! BOOM!

Without warning, a thunderclap tore through the air, followed by a blinding blue lightning bolt crashing down.

It struck directly above Enkrid’s head.

Bond’s vision filled with searing light.

He felt himself being flung backward, his body buffeted by the shockwave.

There was no time to process the sensation of floating.

Or perhaps he simply didn’t remember.

When Bond regained his senses, all he could see was the dirt ground in front of him.

"Guhhh…"

Groans echoed around him.

It wasn’t his voice, but he soon realized he was making a similar sound.

Bond twisted his body, struggling to get up.

What met his eyes were half-charred bodies.

Some of his comrades had been reduced to blackened husks.

What… what was that?

His body wasn’t registering the pain yet—it was that much of a shock. His memories of the impact were blank.

Bond forced his body to move. He was in better shape than most.

He hadn’t been completely burned.

Only when he regained awareness of his body did the pain start climbing from his right arm.

Lightning… it was lightning.

As a child, he’d once seen a lightning strike close by—a blinding white flame, an unseen force striking with unparalleled ferocity.

That memory came flooding back.

His mind was still foggy. Perhaps it was a blessing.

Otherwise, the pain might have driven him to scream.

The proximity alone had singed most of his hair and left his throat feeling like it had swallowed fire.

Bond blinked several times. His eyes were unharmed.

As his mind cleared, the pain became sharper, coursing through his body.

Crunch.

Bond screamed internally, unable to do anything but stagger as cold sweat poured down his face.

It felt like rats were gnawing away at his body.

He thought he was standing, but he wasn’t. His body was retreating, crawling backward until his rear hit a wall.

The cold sensation of the wall seemed to dampen the pain, if only slightly. Only then could he force his gaze forward.

The black-haired attacker was about fifteen steps away from him, by his estimation.

And yet, he felt this way—like his body was being shredded apart.

What about the one at the center of this spell?

Surely, they were dead—horribly burned, perhaps standing one moment and reduced to ash the next. That was what he expected, at least.

He was in this state, and those closer to the blast were now nothing but charred corpses.

But then he saw someone—someone unscathed.

How?

Next to that figure, a new person appeared—a woman with long black hair and a gray robe.

Her hand was raised in the air, and her lips parted to speak.

"A lightning spell? Useful."

Her tone was… strange.

It was the tone of an adult indulging a child’s antics.

Dismissive. Condescending. A voice that mercilessly judged the level of her opponent. Even as Bond groaned and writhed from the aftermath of the spell, he could feel it—the contempt, the derision dripping from her voice.

Surely, the caster of the spell could feel it too.

"A lunatic man and a crazy woman," Kaisella spat as she opened her mouth again, moving her fingers.

Indecipherable words began to spill from her lips.

It was the start of another spell.

But Bond, even in his agony, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the black-haired woman.

She was captivating, drawing in every gaze and ounce of attention.

Her black hair, flowing like silk, her crimson lips, and her piercing blue eyes—they were mesmerizing.

If Kaisella’s allure awakened lust, this woman’s beauty inspired awe.

Bond found himself thinking that as he stared, even as he cursed himself for being so stupid.

Of course, it wasn’t just him.

***

As soon as Enkrid realized the presence of a magician, he tensed his thighs.

The thrown blade had been blocked—now he simply needed to cut her down directly.

In that moment, something descended above him at a speed no human body could hope to track.

By the time his senses caught up to the destructive flash, his body was already reacting.

He split time itself, preparing to defend. Raising both arms, he braced himself.

But then, at the same time—

"I will."

A whisper, spoken softly beside him.

No—she spoke before the flash even arrived, but Enkrid noticed the light first and processed the voice afterward.

By then, Esther had already transformed.

Clad in a gray robe, she had taken on a human form, her right hand outstretched and facing forward.

That was all it took.

In a way that transcended Enkrid’s five senses, two spells collided.

The same invisible barrier that had stopped his dagger now intercepted the destructive lightning bolt before it could strike.

CRACK-BOOM!

The lightning crashed down, scattering thieves in all directions with its sheer force.

Enkrid saw it clearly—the invisible barrier that had blocked the light.

A faintly glowing, translucent shield radiating a pale blue light.

When the lightning met the barrier, it scattered, refracting into a dazzling array of light that dispersed outward. The fractured rays of light struck nearby thieves, burning and piercing through their bodies.

Half of the blast was blocked; the rest was redirected. All thanks to Esther’s spell.

"The Mirror of Banha?"

The enemy muttered, her voice tinged with surprise.

Esther didn’t even shrug.

Her demeanor was clear: whatever you say is irrelevant to me.

She was arrogant, imperious.

But it didn’t come across as off-putting. It seemed natural, as if it was exactly how she should act.

Enkrid, for a brief moment, noticed the mysterious beauty radiating from Esther’s appearance. But it didn’t shake him in the slightest.

If he were the kind of man swayed by a woman’s looks, he wouldn’t have been able to walk his chosen path with such unshakable resolve.

The enemy began chanting again, and Esther muttered words that were equally incomprehensible.

Chirrrp.

Somewhere, the sound of insects buzzing filled the air, as a blue glow formed in Kaisella’s hands.

The light quickly transformed into lightning, snaking toward Esther in a zigzag pattern from her fingertips.

Esther raised her hand again. The lightning struck the translucent barrier and was immediately reflected back.

The flashes of light left afterimages burned into their retinas.

"Disappear!" Kaisella shouted abruptly. Blood trickled down the corner of her lips.

"Tsk, tsk. Child, why are you reflecting the mana backlash of your own spell? Can’t handle it, can you?"

Esther’s chastisement made Kaisella’s expression stiffen.

She was flustered—and with good reason.

Had her opponent been a mere swordsman, she wouldn’t have lost. She had contingencies in place throughout this village.

A well-prepared magician could kill a hundred and hold off a thousand.

But against a magician of a higher tier, there was nothing she could do.

That was an immutable truth.

Kaisella glared at the woman who had suddenly appeared—the leopard who had transformed.

"Who are you?"

Esther didn’t bother to answer.

She merely looked down at Kaisella.

She had every right to.

The gap between their magical capabilities wasn’t just one or two steps; it was at least three tiers apart.

"Impossible," Kaisella murmured. How could a magician of this caliber appear in such a backwater place?

And for what reason? What could they possibly want here?

Magicians were arrogant by nature. Selfish and narrow-minded.

Kaisella began muttering incantations again, her words indecipherable.

It was a spell to manifest her domain in reality.

Esther simply watched for a moment before stepping forward.

She chanted her own spell as she moved, each step drawing every gaze toward her.

No one dared to fire a crossbow or attack her.

There were still at least five crossbowmen who had survived the lightning strike, but none of them moved a muscle.

Enkrid, too, found himself an observer.

She’s impressive.

That was his simple thought.

He had always known Esther was a magician, but he hadn’t known her level.

Now, it was clear she far surpassed Kaisella, the curvaceous woman before her.

And that was enough for him.

After all, Enkrid had never placed expectations on anyone—not Esther, not anyone else.

He simply walked his own path, and those who found it remarkable chose to follow him.

"How dare you!" Kaisella screamed.

Enkrid had no idea what was happening between the two magicians.

But he could tell that nothing visible was occurring—no spells, no phenomena, no mysteries unfolding.

All he could sense was a faint trembling in the air between them.

Soon, Esther stood before Kaisella.

Kaisella was taller, her voluptuous figure making Esther’s frame seem more slender by comparison.

But Enkrid had already glimpsed what was beneath Esther’s robe.

The slight opening in her robe as she raised her arm had revealed everything.

With his exceptional vision and perception, he had seen enough to imagine the rest in his mind.

Esther’s body, though less exaggerated, was no less striking than Kaisella’s.

"Is that all you have to show for yourself?"

Esther spoke as she stood before Kaisella.

Her tone and gaze were unmistakably mocking, belittling Kaisella’s physique.