Chapter 275

Esther noticed Enkrid’s gaze briefly sweep over Kaisella’s figure. Having observed Enkrid closely for some time, she didn’t miss that glance. Kaisella wore clothing that left little to the imagination, her body fully on display. Her face wasn’t unattractive, but that was all there was to her. Perhaps she was appealing in Frokk’s eyes, but not to Esther. In her view, Kaisella fell short of any notable standard.

“No, it’s just that Frokk, or rather Meelun as he’s also called, had terribly low standards,” Esther thought, recalling what Enkrid had casually shared during their journey. She also understood the nature of this village—and its secrets.

That was why Esther had already prepared herself, both mentally and magically. Her indifferent gaze locked onto Kaisella. Physical appearance aside, what kind of person resorts to ominous spells for something as petty as this? Kaisella’s intent had been clear—to use a lightning spell to singe even a single strand of Enkrid’s hair.

However, such spells posed no real threat to Enkrid. Though prepared, the magic would have no effect on his now-hardened body. Esther herself had ensured additional protection on his newly acquired armor. But forgiveness for such an act? That was not in her nature.

Esther was a stranger to the concept of “forgiveness.” No matter what spells Kaisella cast, Esther dismantled and neutralized them one by one, interfering with the very structure of the magic. Mana gathered and dispersed in vain. Using the “Mirror of Bannas,” she reversed the spell, leaving Kaisella doubled over, her insides writhing in agony.

As Kaisella’s spells failed repeatedly, her face turned pale. When Esther closed the gap between them, Kaisella, in desperation, pulled out a dagger concealed at her waist and lunged, screaming, “Shoot her!”

The crossbowman, hesitating until that moment, reacted. But Esther, unbothered, struck Kaisella’s wrist with a precise, leopard-like strength. It was one of the most practical gifts she’d gained from her curse. The crisp sound of breaking bones echoed as Kaisella’s wrist bent unnaturally, her hand rendered useless.

“Ack!” Kaisella’s scream pierced the air, a stark contrast to the control she’d tried to maintain over the village through fear. The crossbow bolts fired, but Enkrid intercepted them with ease, deflecting two with his blade and catching the third mid-flight. Witnessing this, the nearby bandits turned pale. Their confidence shattered, they realized they faced an opponent entirely out of their league.

“You’d best stay still while I’m offering mercy,” Enkrid said coldly, his calm demeanor more intimidating than any shout. The bandits trembled, dropping their weapons. Some, quicker on the uptake, attempted to flee, but their numbers made pursuit unnecessary.

Esther plucked the dagger from Kaisella’s limp hand and drove it into her chest, piercing her heart. “Why? Why?” Kaisella choked out, her voice trembling. The question hung in the air—why was someone of Esther’s caliber here?

“That’s none of your concern,” Esther murmured with a faint smile. For the first time, she felt a flicker of satisfaction. As Kaisella’s life faded, Enkrid approached.

“You fight well,” he remarked.

“I’m decent,” Esther replied tersely, her tone nonchalant. Enkrid nodded, scanning their surroundings.

The arrival of a sorcerer and the ensuing chaos had been a test of timing, but Esther had handled it all herself. Enkrid didn’t mind—if someone willingly took the lead, there was no harm in it. He considered Esther one of his own now, someone under his command. Better her than Rem.

The scene around them was grim—bandits stripped of their will to fight, some scorched by lightning, others staring blankly in shock. From a distance, Enkrid noticed movement.

“Drop your weapons, all of you!” A booming voice echoed as the Fairy Company’s soldiers entered the village, surrounding the remaining bandits. Their commander approached hastily, scanning the area with evident confusion.

“Wait, everything’s... already over?” The commander muttered, bewildered.

One bandit, his arm charred black, muttered weakly, “They told us to drop them... so we did.” His desperate attempt to stay alive was painfully obvious.

The commander glanced at Enkrid and Esther, both calm amidst the chaos. Their presence was unnerving, especially Esther’s, whose piercing gaze and mysterious aura seemed to demand attention.

“Shall I pluck his eyes out?” Esther mused aloud, noticing the commander’s lingering gaze.

“No, he’s an ally,” Enkrid replied flatly. “And you shouldn’t blind him either.”

“Just one eye, then?”

“Not necessary. He can look away.”

Esther sighed, disappointed. “It’s not his eyes that are the problem, then?”

She was still unaccustomed to the nuances of human interactions. Enkrid could already foresee the challenges of having her in his ranks.

“Would you gouge out mine, too?” he asked with a smirk.

“You’re an exception,” she replied instantly, before pausing and adding, “Actually, no.” Esther shook her head, deciding against it.

“Gather them up and tie them down,” Enkrid ordered the commander. “We’ll move inside.”

“Inside? Where are you going?” the commander asked.

“To the center of the village,” Enkrid replied. Pin, Jaxon, and Shinar had yet to return, and he suspected the large chieftain’s house held more secrets.

“There’s a scent of magic,” Esther remarked, her sharp instincts already on alert. The two of them headed into the village’s heart, leaving the commander to handle the rest.

Meanwhile, below the village’s central house, Pin, Jaxon, and Shinar had already entered the underground tunnels. The remnants of the magician’s preparations awaited them—ghouls and werewolves among them.

But even those creatures were no match for Enkrid’s team. The trio sliced, slashed, and decimated their foes with brutal efficiency.

By the time Enkrid and Esther arrived, the scene before them was indescribable—a grotesque mix of carnage and despair.

“Grraaghh... Give... medicine...” One of the surviving villagers muttered, his body twisted unnaturally, nails broken and bleeding from clawing at the walls. Nearby, a child lay lifeless, frothing at the mouth.

Esther surveyed the horrors silently. “A tragedy,” she murmured, the word barely encompassing the nightmare before them.

***

Inside the cavern, the remains of ghouls, severed werewolf limbs, and a couple of humanoid dog-like creatures littered the ground. The dogs, leashed at their necks, appeared to have been used as guards. Even they were split in two, their bodies part of a blood-streaked trail leading deeper into the village chieftain’s house.

The house itself had an unusual structure. As Enkrid and Esther ventured inside, they came upon a slope that descended into an underground tunnel. The tunnel widened into what felt like a vast cave. Though no wind flowed through, the space was expansive, a perfect hideout for illicit activities.

Torches along the walls illuminated the path. Enkrid noted traces of combat—signs that Shinar and Jaxon had passed through.

“They’ve cut their way through pretty effectively,” Enkrid thought as they advanced. At the end of the path, they entered a large communal chamber where Shinar, Pin, and Jaxon were already present.

“You’re early,” Jaxon remarked. Something in his tone struck Enkrid as odd, but he didn’t comment.

The chamber had multiple offshoot tunnels, some sealed off with iron bars. Behind the bars were prisoners—half-crazed and barely clinging to their sanity. Enkrid approached, his eyes scanning the captives. Among them, he noticed a middle-aged man with a hawkish face—sharp nose, sunken cheeks, prominent cheekbones, and small, cold eyes. The man exuded stubbornness and hostility, despite his circumstances.

“Quiet down,” Pin growled, her dagger reflecting the torchlight ominously. Despite the threat, the man merely pursed his lips, refusing to comply. The deeper parts of the chamber were dimly lit, so Enkrid grabbed a torch from the wall and illuminated the area.

“Medicine... Do you have medicine?” a frail woman rasped. Her emaciated frame made her chest appear sunken, and her eyes betrayed a mind already lost to addiction. She begged with a pitiful desperation.

Her condition, however, was preferable to that of others. Nearby, a man clawed at the walls, his broken nails leaving streaks of blood. His eyes had been gouged out, and his bloody, ruined fingers twitched spasmodically. On the ground beside him, a child lay lifeless, drooling. One glance told Enkrid the child was already dead—no breath, no pulse, no trace of vitality.

“They were alive earlier,” Pin muttered, her voice heavy with frustration.

Shinar, ever the focused fairy, paid no mind to the carnage. Her attention was on the hidden objects scattered throughout the chamber. She uncovered them one by one, oblivious to the cries of the hawkish man.

“Hey! Do you even know what you’re touching? Leave that alone!” he shouted. Pin’s cold glare silenced him, and he backed off, muttering under his breath and crossing his arms defiantly.

Enkrid moved to an adjoining tunnel and paused. Inside, a strange figure caught his eye—a human-like creature with half its face warped into something monstrous. Its discolored, murky eyes lacked pupils, and its skin was unnervingly pallid. The grotesque bulge of its muscles beneath its skin suggested an incomplete transformation.

“What is this?” Enkrid asked, his voice calm but laced with unease.

“A failure,” the hawkish man answered nonchalantly.

“A failure?”

“It didn’t fully transform.”

“It was human?”

“Why does it matter?” The man’s indifferent response was like a slap.

Without hesitation, Enkrid’s blade sliced through the bars and into the creature, silencing its labored breaths. Similar abominations filled the tunnels—proof of grotesque experiments.

“It’s like the werewolves we saw earlier,” Jaxon commented, his tone even colder than usual.

Enkrid didn’t react outwardly. He simply continued his inspection, silent and deliberate. Pin watched him, her mind racing. Was this lack of anger because he’d already resigned himself to the horrors of this world? Or was he simply detached, much like the fairy Shinar?

Shinar, meanwhile, continued searching the area for clues. She showed no emotional response to the carnage around her, viewing it as another task to complete.

“They need to be ripped apart,” she said flatly, before returning to her work. Her detachment was almost eerie.

Enkrid’s steady steps brought him back to the main chamber, where Pin observed him with a heavy heart. The dead child, the addicted woman, the horrors of the experiments—all of it weighed on her. She gripped her sword tightly, suppressing the urge to cut down the perpetrator then and there.

The hawkish man’s name was Laivan—a name infamous across the kingdom. An alchemist known for his unparalleled skill in creating potions, he was also a man who had crossed every line in his pursuit of knowledge.

“It wasn’t my choice!” Laivan protested weakly as Enkrid approached. “The Black Blades made me do it!”

Esther, now in her human form, watched Enkrid intently. So did the others—Jaxon, Shinar, Pin—all waiting to see what he would do.

Laivan was valuable, after all. Even if his actions were monstrous, his knowledge of alchemy was unparalleled. If spared, he could create potions that would save countless lives. Perhaps this was an opportunity to turn his sins into something beneficial.

But his experiments on humans? The atrocities committed in this chamber? Could they be excused as mere byproducts of coercion?

Enkrid stared into Laivan’s eyes—eyes devoid of guilt or remorse, clouded by selfishness and greed. The room held its breath, waiting for his judgment.