Chapter 351

Kruoooh!

The pack of Inmyeongyeon snarled, their grotesque human faces twisted with hunger. Among them, ghouls and drowners staggered forward.

Had the drowners just been created?

It was possible.

The heavy rains from days prior could have left corpses behind—perfect conditions for their transformation.

For monsters, whether they were an hour old or a week old hardly mattered.

Sometimes, the older ones became even more dangerous. But newly formed or not, it made no difference.

What mattered was their numbers.

"There are a lot."

The escort muttered.

He wasn’t wrong.

The sheer numbers were concerning, but even more troubling was their variety.

Beyond the usual creatures, there were also beasts among them—far more dangerous than ordinary monsters.

Typically, beasts were less of a threat than monsters.

But there were always exceptions.

A simple example: bears.

Bears were dangerous even in their natural state.

If one of them became a beast, it would be exponentially worse.

And two of those walking disasters were now raising their heads amidst the horde.

One of them was noticeably larger than the other.

Krrrhhhhh.

Saliva dripped from its maw, its bloodshot eyes locking onto them.

Rem spoke first.

"That one looks like it’d get along with the religious bastard."

"Yeah."

Ragna responded.

If Audin had been here, he would have surely flashed his usual gentle smile and asked if it wanted to stand beside his god.

But unlike Audin, this bear did not smile.

Kuheeeh-hng!

Instead, it pounded its chest and roared.

A shockwave trembled through the air—designed to paralyze prey in fear.

It almost seemed like a signal.

"They’re coming."

Dunbakel warned.

And they surged forward like a tidal wave.

The Inmyeongyeon sprinted, their bellies dragging through the mud.

The drowners flailed their arms as they stumbled closer.

The ghouls clawed at the earth as they ran, their nails digging deep into the soil.

More than a hundred of them.

The ground shook with each step of the approaching beast-bears.

If this had been a group of ordinary people, the situation would have been hopeless.

It was the kind of sight that would make anyone freeze in terror.

But the people standing here were not ordinary.

If they had been prey, they would have been paralyzed by the bear’s roar.

But here?

No one froze.

Whoosh—Thunk!

A throwing axe buried itself in the forehead of one of the charging bears.

Its ferocious roar cut off into silence.

Its head snapped backward, its powerful neck muscles barely keeping it attached.

But it wasn’t enough.

Momentum drained from its body, and the massive beast collapsed forward.

Several Inmyeongyeon were crushed beneath its weight.

Kkiieek!

Their screams were short-lived.

There were no monsters that could survive with their skulls split open.

Well—except a Hydra.

But that thing had multiple heads.

Not that Enkrid had ever actually seen one.

The bear, whose skull had split cleanly in two, was dead.

"Hey, that was mine!"

Dunbakel whined.

Kuuwooohhh!

The ghouls shrieked in response.

Ragna and Jaxon cut through them with the same indifference as uprooting weeds.

Severing heads. Slicing through limbs.

Every movement was precise, minimal, and deadly.

No wasted motion.

They barely even stepped forward—just cut down whatever entered their range.

And then, Enkrid moved.

Didn’t they say it took three trained spearmen to handle one ghoul?

A well-trained soldier could kill one on their own.

And if a thousand came?

Enkrid would still survive.

‘Just attack and retreat, repeat as needed.’

If he were alone, that was all he would have to do.

Even while protecting Crang, he could fight while carrying him.

But he wasn’t alone.

He had his entire unit with him.

There was no need to retreat.

He cut through them.

Killed them.

Mowed them down.

The black blood of monsters mixed with the rain-soaked ground.

"Monster-throwing."

Jaxon muttered after the battle had ended.

Someone had deliberately herded the monsters toward them.

It was a well-known tactic—called monster-throwing, monster-pushing, or sometimes monster-lobbing.

"This isn’t over."

Jaxon wiped his blade clean and tossed the rag to the ground.

He was certain.

This wasn’t the kind of group that would just give up.

"Lemme see them try."

Dunbakel stretched, puffing out her chest.

She wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

Even One-Eye had casually stomped on an Inmyeongyeon's head, crushing its skull.

More than five had died around the warhorse alone.

Hrrng.

One-Eye flicked its head, snorting.

As if to say, this was nothing.

"This is going to get nasty."

Jaxon’s tone remained firm.

He wasn’t making a guess—he was stating a fact.

They had done this too many times before.

Of course, not from a defender’s perspective.

From the attacker’s.

‘So they’ve gathered.’

It wasn’t just one guild making a move.

This was too big for that.

Assassins existed in Naurillia as well, of course.

Had all of them banded together into one unified guild?

It was a guess.

But it felt right.

The scale of it.

The audacity to target a royal heir.

This wasn’t something one guild could pull off.

‘Why would they gather?’

Jaxon considered several possibilities before settling on the most likely answer.

The client wanted a hunting dog.

And the dog that had been chosen didn’t want to hunt alone.

Instead of taking all the risk alone, they had decided to split the meal.

Jaxon’s deduction was almost perfect.

And in reality, that was exactly how it had played out.

Elsewhere—

In Azpen, most of the assassin world was controlled by the guild Monter’s Swamp.

But in Naurillia, it was different.

The guilds competed and coexisted.

And there were a lot of them.

With the nation embroiled in war and political turmoil, nobles had even started forming their own assassination guilds.

Others worked among commoners, taking contracts like freelance killers.

After years of surviving in this chaotic ecosystem, twelve major guilds remained.

And now, for the first time, they had united.

They had formed a coalition—

The Twelve Daggers.

"We hired dozens of mercenaries, sent in our own people, and they all failed."

"Because they were up against that Mad Platoon."

Assassins were, by nature, information-sensitive.

They had figured out what had happened immediately.

They were gathered in a heavily fortified mansion, not far from the capital.

Security was tight.

"Are we letting this go?"

"You all know what failure means."

Among the Twelve Daggers, one woman held the most influence.

Before they had unified, she had led the largest of the guilds.

"We have to do everything we can."

Failure meant death.

Their client sat within the royal palace.

Failure or surrender would lead to the same result.

There were only two options.

Abandon everything and flee.

‘Or succeed.’

Every guild leader here understood the rewards that awaited them.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Abandon their foundations and run?

No chance.

Better to force a victory.

A nation’s ruler was about to change.

And they wanted to make sure they were rewarded for it.

They had already thrown away their pride to unite.

Now, they had only one goal.

The woman at the center of the gathering spoke.

"Our enemies are famed warriors. A direct fight is suicide."

She smiled.

"So we fight on our terms, in our arena."

"Agreed."

The man who had become her lover was the first to respond.

"Of course."

Even the guild leaders who envied her nodded in agreement.

And so they acted—on their own terms.

Their target couldn't possibly anticipate every assassin’s trick.

One mistake was all it would take.

Some of them had experience hunting bounties, but no one could predict every trap an assassin had meticulously laid out.

These weren’t ordinary warriors.

They had all fought and survived on battlefields.

Their conclusion was inevitable.

***

"Help me!"

The voice rang out along the road.

A young man lay sprawled on the ground, his leg caught in what appeared to be a trap.

Blood pooled beneath him as he desperately called out to Enkrid’s group.

"Please, save me! My father is a landlord with many tenant farmers! He will reward you—he will repay you!"

Tears and snot streamed down his face.

"What happened?"

Before Enkrid could speak, Jaxon asked first.

His tone was different from usual—eerily similar to Kraiss.

He was imitating him.

With a voice dripping in kindness and false warmth, he asked,

"I was on my way to sell wheat… and when I woke up, I was here…"

The young man seemed just as confused as they were.

"Are we helping him?"

The escort asked.

Something felt wrong. He wanted to move past this.

Enkrid studied the trapped man.

He looked sincere.

"Please, please, debal—"

Tears, snot, and desperation filled his voice.

That last word—he had bitten his tongue mid-sentence.

"It’s a trap. They’ve dug pits and set poison around the area."

Jaxon stated calmly.

His sharp eyes scanned the terrain.

There were faint dips in the ground where the earth had been disturbed. The air carried a subtle but unmistakable hint of poison.

"If we leave him, will he die?"

"He will. That’s the point of this trap."

They could ignore it and move on, but that was exactly what the enemy wanted.

"If we don’t help him, they’ll claim we killed him."

"A double-layered trap, then?"

Enkrid asked.

Jaxon gave a brief, efficient summary of what would happen next.

It was a calculated move.

If they ignored the young man, then when they reached the city, they would be accused of murder.

'That man killed my son!'

Whether through bribery, blackmail, or coercion, the landlord would be made to say those words.

'They would tangle us up in the city.'

If they hesitated, it would be over.

A single moment of delay, and a dagger would find its mark.

There was definitely an assassination team waiting.

‘Pathetic.’

Jaxon thought.

Enkrid decided.

"Dunbakel."

"Hm?"

"Go pick him up."

Dunbakel was fast.

Fast enough that she could grab the man without triggering the trap.

"Got it."

She didn’t ask why.

If Enkrid told her to do something, she did it.

That was how her mind worked.

The trap was designed so that approaching to help would set off the hidden mechanisms.

But—

Dunbakel jumped.

Boom!

The ground erupted as she landed.

The very earth beneath her cracked under the force.

She had blown right past the trap.

Thud!

She landed beside the young man.

The metal jaws clamped around his ankle shattered as she ripped them open with brute force.

The boy—sobbing, drenched in tears and snot—threw himself into her arms.

She lifted him like a princess, securing him before she took another running leap—

And cleared the entire trap.

It was a display of pure beastkin leg strength.

"Waaahhh!"

The young man’s terrified scream faded into the wind.

And just like that, the landlord’s son became part of their group.

Enkrid examined the wound, dusted powder over it to stop the bleeding, and wrapped it in a bandage.

"Th-Thank you…"

A civilian.

A genuine civilian.

His intuition told him that much.

Jaxon came to the same conclusion.

If they had left him behind, they would have been branded murderers.

If they saved him, they were expected to blunder into a trap.

But both traps had been crushed.

By Dunbakel’s strength and Jaxon’s experience.

But the attempts did not stop.

"Help us!"

The next incident involved a merchant caravan.

They were running—wounded, bleeding, screaming for aid.

They claimed they were being chased by monsters.

Enkrid frowned.

Were they really merchants?

Hiding one’s intentions, concealing one’s hostility—these were the basics of an assassin.

And these people were good at it.

It was hard to be sure.

Behind them, four ghouls trailed at a distance—evidence that their story might be true.

Yet something felt off.

His instincts warned him.

What was it?

His thoughts accelerated.

Trained swordplay sharpens the mind.

‘Their injuries.’

Not a single one had a wounded leg.

Their breathing—despite "running for their lives"—was too steady.

All of it clicked into place.

"They’re enemies."

His verdict was final.

Jaxon nodded, confirming it.

But Enkrid didn’t stop there.

He had learned from Jaxon.

He adjusted his grip—

And threw a dagger.

It dipped suddenly mid-flight—

And would have lodged itself into the thigh of the fat-bellied merchant leading the group.

If he were just a merchant, he would have been left with nothing more than a pretty dagger ornament.

But he dodged.

Not stumbled.

Not hesitated.

Dodged.

With trained precision.

For someone of his size to move like that—

Clearly, he had received training.

"Heartless bastard."

The fat assassin sneered.

Was that really something an assassin should be saying?

Enkrid idly twirled his next dagger and spoke.

"You pregnant?"

The assassin’s face twitched.

He had spent years mastering control over his emotions.

But that comment—

It got to him.

For an instant, his movements slowed.

That was all it took.

Thwip—

The silent knife flew.

By the time he felt its presence, it was too late.

Schlk.

It sank into his neck.

His hand shot up, grasping at the wound—

Blood poured between his fingers.