"Hey, Iâm Laivan," the middle-aged man said, his voice trembling as he introduced himself. Enkrid didnât bother to process the statement. Heâd never been one to deliberate over his actions. He followed his instincts and chased his dreams, which had brought him to this point.
Enkrid swung his sword upward, the blade glinting in the torchlight. The strike wasnât swift or sharp; it was deliberate, heavy, and forceful. The blade, once called "Tutor," now honed to near-perfection, tore through Laivanâs arm with a dull, sickening sound.
The slowness of the cut left Laivan fully aware of the sensation, unable to look away from his arm being severed. He felt the heat and sharp pain before the reality of his loss settled in. His arm, once part of his body, now lay twitching on the floor, blood spurting out to emphasize its disconnection.
"AAAAARGH!" Laivanâs scream echoed through the vast cavern, the sound bouncing off the walls in a ghastly symphony. Blood sprayed wildly, some landing on Enkridâs armor and face. He didnât flinch, his expression unchanging as the warm liquid trickled down his cheek and dripped onto the ground.
As Laivan thrashed in agony, Enkrid watched impassively. Then, he spoke, his tone indifferent. "Esther, can you stop the bleeding?"
"Not hard," she replied, extending her hand. Flames ignited at her fingertips as she cauterized the wound. The searing heat burned the flesh, filling the cavern with the smell of charred meat.
"AAAHHH! PLEASE! STOP! I BEG YOU!" Laivanâs voice cracked, his desperate pleas filling the chamber. Enkrid briefly wondered how many times this alchemist had heard similar screams from his victims before dismissing the thought entirely.
"Why... why? I only did what they told me to do! It was just a few coins of gold!" Laivan wailed. Blood loss and the excruciating pain had left him a trembling mess. Enkrid raised his sword again.
"The leg next," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
The blade struck with a sickening thud, severing one of Laivanâs legs. The limb skidded across the floor, joining the twitching arm in its declaration of independence. More blood sprayed across the room, painting it red under the flickering torchlight.
Once again, Esther moved in to cauterize the wound with her flames. Laivanâs shrieks pierced the air, his voice hoarse and broken, his body convulsing in pain. His tears mixed with blood, and fragments of broken teeth spilled from his mouth as he bit down hard in his agony.
"It hurts, huh," Enkrid remarked.
"Thatâs how it goes when you burn someone with fire," Jaxon replied, his tone as detached as Enkridâs. To Jaxon, this wasnât tortureâjust a pragmatic process, like disposing of trash. Even he, who had a functional knowledge of interrogation and the human bodyâs limits, found Laivanâs endurance impressive.
Finally, Laivanâs eyes rolled back, his body trembling uncontrollably. On the verge of death, he could barely form words. Enkrid leaned closer, pressing his sword against Laivanâs forehead. Even in his near-catatonic state, Laivan flinched at the touch, hypersensitive to any new sensation.
Enkrid pressed harder, dragging the blade slowly down Laivanâs face to maximize the pain.
"Is there a way to reverse whatâs been done to those people?" Enkrid asked, his voice calm but commanding. Jaxon thought it was a perfectly timed questionâone that no one could ignore in such a moment. Even trained assassins would succumb before reaching this level of agony.
Laivanâs body convulsed as he struggled to respond, his eyes darting frantically. Despite his broken state, his mind was still calculating, his value lying in that fractured intellect. After a moment, he stammered out a reply.
"Th-th-thereâs a way... I-itâs possible..." His words were slurred and weak, but clear enough to understand.
The moment the words left Laivanâs lips, Enkrid swung his sword vertically, splitting the alchemistâs head in two. The blade cleaved through flesh and bone, leaving no time for protest. Laivanâs body slumped, his brain spilling onto the ground in a grotesque mess.
"Why?" Jaxon asked reflexively, his curiosity slipping out before he could stop himself.
"Why ask when you already know?" Enkrid replied, his voice steady. Jaxon nodded, understanding. Laivanâs claims had been lies, a desperate attempt to save himself. The twisted experiments and shattered lives in this cavern were irreversible. Not even the continentâs most powerful healers could undo the damage.
The addicted woman biting at her own arm, the dead boy lying cold on the ground, the abominable hybrids of human and monsterânone of them could be saved. Even if Laivan had been taken alive, his value as an alchemist couldnât outweigh the horrors he had wrought. His experiments, his notes, and the stench of death that followed him were enough to condemn him.
"Wouldnât he have been useful alive?" Shinar asked, her tone practical.
"He looked ugly," Enkrid answered bluntly.
"Fair enough," Shinar replied, nodding in agreement. Esther, too, gave a solemn nod, adding, "He was foul, inside and out."
Magicians and alchemists, those who walked the path of the arcane, understood the importance of balanceâof respecting the natural order. But Laivan had strayed far from that path, losing himself in a mire of depravity. His research notes, scattered throughout the cavern, reeked of corruption and madness.
To Esther, Enkridâs actions appeared almost detached, as though driven by something beyond anger or vengeance. What, then, compelled his blade to strike? She didnât ask. She would find the answer herself through observation, through study. Asking would yield only superficial answers.
In truth, Enkridâs motivations were simple. Killing Laivan was like cleaning dirt off his hands. It was necessary, and he didnât feel the need to justify it. The argument that the blade should bear no blame for the actions of its wielder was nonsense to him. The one who acted held responsibility, and Laivan had acted of his own volition.
Even if Laivan had been a king, Enkrid would have killed him just the same, consequences be damned. It was the way he lived, the way he followed his dreams.
Finn couldnât have known this, but if he had, he would have dismissed it as madness. he might have even shouted,
"You think heâs the only one like this on the continent?"
But Enkrid didnât care. He would cut down every person like Laivan he encountered. That was what his sword was for.
"Well, heâs dead now," Finn said with a shrug. "No point dwelling on it. Whatâs done is done."
Enkrid remained silent, while Jaxon merely nodded, respecting his commanderâs decision. He had gained what he needed from the situation. The alchemistâs life had been a small price to pay.
"Honestly," Jaxon thought to himself, "I probably wouldâve killed him too." It wasnât a calculated decisionâit was emotional. And for the first time in a long while, Enkrid had acted on raw emotion.
The Grim Reality of the Task Ahead
"Some of the company commanderâs troops have entered from outside. Let them handle the cleanup, and it would be better to keep the surviving addicts locked up," Shinar suggested.
They all knew what would happen if the addicts were let looseâthey would wreak havoc in their frenzied states.
"Fine," Enkrid replied.
Shinar glanced at the papers she held, scanning the common language scribbled across the thin sheets. "There are more villages like this. Looks like this is going to be quite the extended excursion. What do you think?" she asked. Her question was concise, but it carried many implications.
Enkrid understood immediately. Jaxon, ever loyal, would follow his orders, and Finn would obey Shinarâs commands without question.
"One of the villages was even raising monsters," Enkrid noted grimly.
Shinarâs findings were illuminating, not because they had uncovered nothing but because there was too much to process. Their enemiesâ operations were extensive, requiring a methodical approach to dismantle.
Enkridâs mind worked swiftly. If they didnât strike with precision and small, elite forces, they would risk losing valuable evidence and research, allowing their enemies to flee.
A full company would be needed to combat the Black Blades effectively. After all, this village alone had housed a lightning-wielding witch. Preparing for similar threats was essential.
The Black Blades were no ordinary band of thieves; their network was vast and well-prepared. This village wasnât uniqueâit was part of a larger, more sinister operation. Some sites sold slaves, others bred monsters with drugs. This particular village housed a rare mage, marking its significance.
Enkrid made his decision. "Letâs go," he said simply. If more places like this existed, they needed to be eradicated. They would strike silently, efficiently, using their strengths to dismantle the operation piece by piece.
Even if Esther didnât take the lead in every encounter, her presence alone provided assurance. And, most importantly, if they didnât act now, the Black Blades would simply regroup and hide again.
"Donât you want to know whoâs at the top of the Black Blades?" Shinar asked.
"Do you know?" Enkrid countered.
"Iâve learned itâs one of the kingdomâs nobles," she replied.
Jaxon listened intently. This wasnât new information to himâhe had deliberately leaked tidbits to draw out the Black Blades. Still, he was eager to uncover the identity of their leader, more so than heâd care to admit. Even if he had been separated from a beloved wife by war, he would rather confront the Black Bladesâ mastermind.
After leaving the cleanup to the soldiers, the group set out. The cavernâs horrors lingered in their minds. The company commander who entered later shook his head at the scene.
"This is horrifying," he muttered.
Some of the younger soldiers couldnât hold back their nausea, retching onto the ground. The stench of vomit mingled with the cavernâs already foul odor.
Scenes like this reminded Enkrid why he wielded a swordâto ensure such atrocities couldnât continue.
The Mountain Path
The group began their trek up a mountain trail. Though steep and rugged, it was the quickest route to their next destination. Finn proved invaluable as a guide, navigating the terrain with ease.
Another Village
The next target was another village under the Black Bladesâ control. This one was run by four men who had grown up together, known as the Bolun Brothers. Each was bald with a menacing demeanor, the epitome of banditry. Skilled fighters, they had turned the village into a base for their thieving operations.
As Enkrid approached in broad daylight, the eldest brother addressed him. "How did you get in here?" he asked, rubbing his shaved head.
The second brother squinted suspiciously. Something was off. The village was unusually quiet despite housing dozens of men. How had this stranger arrived unnoticed?
Enkrid calmly adjusted his sword belt and rested a hand on his swordâs hilt. "If you have any grievances, say them now. Iâm on a tight schedule."
The third brother, with his large, bulging eyes, rolled them in disbelief. "Tight schedule?"
The youngest brother, the quickest to act, silently moved backward, gripping the end of a hidden weighted net. It was his weapon of choice, often used to great effect in their fights.
The third brother, an expert with poisoned darts, readied his weapon, while the eldest and second brothers prepared for hand-to-hand combat.
A tense silence filled the space as the brothers and Enkrid locked eyes. Despite their attempts at intimidation, the hall where they stood felt stiflingly small.
Finally, the youngest brother threw the net.
Enkrid remained still, watching the net and the brothers as if they were mere points in space. He visualized the trajectory, the connections between them, and moved. With precise steps and a swift motion, his blade struck the netâs weights, entangling it midair.
The entangled net rebounded, its trajectory altered. Enkridâs blade followed through, leaving deep cuts on the throats of the youngest and third brothers. Blood poured from their wounds, drenching the floor.
The second brotherâs eyes widened in rage. "You bastard!" he shouted, lunging at Enkrid with his blade.
The fight ended swiftly. Enkrid deflected the incoming attack, flowing seamlessly from defense to offense. His blade found its mark, piercing the second brotherâs forehead with a sickening crunch.
The eldest brother, wielding a heavy axe, roared as he swung with all his strength. Enkrid pivoted on his left foot, dodging the blow and countering. The clash of steel reverberated through the hall, followed by the sound of breaking bones. The eldest brotherâs arms gave way under the force, leaving him defeated.
"Who... who are you?" the eldest asked, his voice trembling.
Enkrid, catching his breath, released the Heart of Might technique and replied coldly, "Why does it matter? Youâll be dead soon."
With that, his sword struck true, offering no mercy.
The fight was over.
Jaxon, somewhere nearby, had already dealt with the bandits guarding the village center. He had donned a relic heâd scavenged, moving with lethal precision. By the time Enkrid arrived, the resistance had been eliminated.
Yet, as they searched the village, no hidden secrets emerged.
"What is this place? Just a staging ground for their forces?" Enkrid mused aloud, his brow furrowed.
Finn, ever perceptive, stepped forward. "Let me handle this," he said.