Chapter 371

"What?!"

Polman Vertes—Enkrid hadn’t meant to memorize the name, but now he had. He watched the man, his face flushed red with rage.

A sheriff. A bureaucrat.

That meant he was a noble, of course.

Seriously, was the palace just pulling nobles out of an endless pocket?

‘There are too many of them.’

Every other person seemed to be a viscount, baron, or lesser noble, all claiming the blood of aristocracy.

Had they been handing out titles like festival sweets?

That idle thought drifted into his mind, then faded away.

Whether there were too many nobles or too few wasn’t Enkrid’s concern.

Still, if there were this many, surely losing a few wouldn’t hurt.

"Hey, you."

Rem picked his ear lazily as he addressed Polman, who was fuming.

"Now, listen up real good."

"You insolent wretch! Do you know where you are?!"

A different voice rang out—another captain, it seemed, one in charge of another city gate.

Smack!

The South Gate Captain, standing behind him, slapped a hand to his forehead.

‘Why the hell is he stepping up and making a mess of things?’

Enkrid knew armies. He knew soldiers.

How many of these men had come here of their own will?

The sharper and more perceptive among them looked uneasy.

They knew what Enkrid and his group had done.

They had dealt with the Moonlight Beast, ensuring the safety of their families, the citizens, their comrades, and their friends.

These soldiers had been spared a task that should have been theirs to handle.

Their eyes wavered. Their expressions tightened.

Especially those near the South Gate Captain.

Rem completely ignored the loudmouth and continued.

"A Moonlight Beast was terrorizing the people, killing them, threatening them. It wasn’t being handled properly, so even a squire had to step in to help. And surprise, surprise—turns out this ‘beast’ was none other than Bentra or some damn toad. And now you’re saying murder?"

"You impudent—!"

One of the captains, furious beyond reason, lifted a spear taller than himself.

He looked ready to charge at any moment.

Rem slowly lowered his hand from his ear and turned his gaze toward him.

If the man attacked, Rem would cut him down without hesitation.

"Hold on, just—wait a second!"

The South Gate Captain hurriedly stepped forward.

If this escalated, it would turn into a complete disaster.

He had seen Enkrid’s group in action.

Polman was blinded by jealousy, seizing this moment as an opportunity, but the South Gate Captain had tried to stop this from happening.

Now that the situation had come to this, however, he could no longer back out.

Nothing had changed.

He had been dragged along here all the same.

And he couldn’t afford to be executed for insubordination.

So he had come, knowing full well that this was poison—like licking a ghoul’s blood, fully aware of the consequences.

But he couldn’t just stand by and watch either.

If this continued, his subordinates would all die.

His comrades would be cleaved apart, heads rolling on the ground.

He couldn’t allow that.

"There’s been a misunderstanding."

Polman’s eyes narrowed as the South Gate Captain spoke.

"Step aside! How dare you interfere?!"

Where did authority and dignity come from?

Crang was a perfect example. The man himself embodied it.

His gait was different. His speech was different.

His words carried weight.

His actions had earned him trust and loyalty, making his words powerful.

"Kneel at once!"

Did the man standing before them possess such authority?

His voice carried the force of a mosquito buzzing in the air.

Blinded by jealousy, he was just a fool making a scene.

His voice was low, his posture mimicked authority, but he sounded like a petulant child whining.

Come to think of it, wasn’t this entire spectacle just an extended tantrum?

‘Have I been spoiled by being around too many remarkable people?’

Crang. The Marquis of Octo. Lua Gharne. Aisia.

Even the Whip Escort had come to deal with the Moonlight Beast.

Their first duty was to protect their lord, but they also knew that serving their master’s will took precedence.

In their movements, Enkrid had seen purpose, duty, conviction, and belief.

They weren’t just Crang’s tools—they were people who had chosen their own paths.

By comparison, the man in front of him now looked utterly pathetic.

Enkrid had ears.

He had heard that the sheriff had been grinding his teeth in jealousy ever since the banquet.

"If you didn’t come here to talk, then let’s get this started already."

Ragna stepped forward, his voice dry.

Smack.

The South Gate Captain smacked his forehead again.

He was at his wit’s end.

The sheriff had apparently reached his limit.

These vermin dared to ignore the dignity of a noble?

It definitely wasn’t because the lady he had set his sights on had instantly fallen for Enkrid at the banquet.

Not at all.

He was a sheriff. A noble!

And this man—this mere soldier!

He had heard rumors that Enkrid had stolen his comrades’ achievements and taken all the credit.

That story had been growing, snowballing into something bigger with each retelling by those who envied him.

And the sheriff, with his tightly shut ears, only listened to what he wanted to hear.

He had outright ignored mentions of Enkrid as the Hero of the Border Guard.

As for Viscount Bentra turning into some kind of monster?

Never mind that it had actually happened—this was his chance.

Even Viscount Mernes had subtly encouraged him.

Go, finish this.

And so, this was the result.

"Restrain them!"

At the sheriff’s order, two captains and three cavalrymen dismounted, approaching with clear hostility.

Even if the rumors were exaggerated, Enkrid’s feats were impressive.

Even if only a fraction of them were true, these men weren’t suited to deal with him.

And yet, here they were.

Which meant the rumors had spread far and wide—so much so that it had emboldened them.

Enkrid watched the approaching men with idle curiosity.

Should he just let them take him?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

No, even if they used polite words, he couldn’t afford to comply.

His instincts told him—

‘This is already beyond repair.’

Otherwise, why would they dare come for him with Crang and Marcus around?

"Arrest Sir Andrew as well. He is complicit in the same crime. If he resists, you may kill him."

"Hah."

Andrew snorted.

Go ahead. Try it.

Polman’s gaze swept over Enkrid and his group’s weapons.

It was as if he was praying for them to resist.

And so, his wish was granted.

No grand battle was needed.

Enkrid, completely ignoring the approaching men, simply spoke.

"Dunbakel, bring him in."

There was no need for Ragna or Rem to step in.

A single beastkin shot forward.

A white shadow stretched and elongated. The short white hair seemed to form a streak through the air.

One of the captains instinctively thrust his spear.

A man whose specialty was wielding spears with absolute precision.

Among regular soldiers, he was considered a formidable fighter.

But Dunbakel was someone even Aisia had acknowledged.

With a flick of her clawed fingers, she knocked the spear’s trajectory off-course.

Then, in a seamless motion, she grabbed the shaft and hurled it aside.

"Gah!"

The captain, still gripping the spear, was sent tumbling to the ground.

Behind him, four more soldiers blocked her path.

Dunbakel didn’t even draw her blade.

She kicked a soldier’s shin, making him stumble, then drove her fist into another’s jaw.

Their helmets provided no protection for their chins.

Especially not against an upward strike delivered at close range.

Crack. Smack. Thud.

With a series of sounds, the soldiers blocking the sheriff crumpled.

Dunbakel didn’t stop.

This was just the beginning.

She surged forward, and the sheriff, seeing her approach, reached for his sword.

A broad-bladed broadsword.

But before he could even grip it properly, Dunbakel seized his wrist.

He was still on horseback.

Startled, his mount reared up, whinnying in panic.

"Uwaahhh!"

The shocked sheriff was yanked downward, his wrist still firmly in Dunbakel’s grasp.

His left foot came free easily, but his right was caught in the stirrup, twisting unnaturally—crack—his ankle bent backward at an awful angle.

“AAAHHHH!”

A scream of agony tore from the sheriff’s throat.

Dunbakel didn’t stop. She dragged him the rest of the way down with sheer brute force.

His scream had begun atop his horse and ended right in front of Enkrid.

In an instant, Dunbakel had knocked down five soldiers, grabbed the sheriff, and dragged him before Enkrid like an offering.

The Capital Sheriff-Captain, second only to the sheriff himself in rank, had been about to step forward but froze.

‘What the fuck is this?’

To be honest, he had never even considered trying to intervene.

He had barely managed to draw his sword.

Even the slight ting of steel leaving its sheath felt utterly meaningless.

Or maybe that was just how it sounded to him—an empty, powerless noise.

He raised his sword.

But should he even bother swinging it?

Anyone could tell this was no ordinary opponent. They should have brought knights, not just squires.

Technically, he himself had once been a squire, and he had brought some men from the knight order.

But in hindsight, this was the wrong squad for the job.

They were just squires.

Not even junior knights.

“…Can you stop them?”

The sheriff-captain spoke in a low voice.

Beside him, a squire with wide eyes stared ahead, barely able to speak.

“They… They’re beyond my level.”

He didn’t add the word far, but it was obvious.

The moment he laid eyes on Dunbakel, he knew.

If that beastkin charged at him, could he hold out?

You never truly knew a battle’s outcome until you fought it, but skill gaps were easy to recognize.

Just watching her movements made it clear.

She was at least a top-tier squire, bordering on junior knight level—if not already there.

Her technique and agility were exceptional, enhanced further by the natural athleticism of beastkin.

Even more concerning—

She wasn’t acting on her own.

There was someone giving the order.

And more terrifying than that—

There were others watching calmly from the sidelines.

The soldiers were already overwhelmed.

None of them spoke. Not even the sheriff-captain or the squires.

Their highest-ranking officer had just been captured.

The sheriff lay sprawled on the ground, sweat dripping down his face. His twisted ankle kept him from standing.

Everyone saw it.

“You dare—!”

Despite his broken stance, the sheriff still resisted.

He had no dignity or authority left, but he did have pride.

And that alone had gotten him to this position.

Enkrid studied him and asked,

“Even with Junior Knight Aisia present, you still insist that this is a murder case?”

“Junior Knight Aisia? Hah! You think dragging in a knight will get you out of this? This is treason! What are you all waiting for? Arrest them!”

Blinded by jealousy, the sheriff completely ignored reality.

He screeched his orders.

One of the squires stepped forward.

Someone had to speak sense.

The sheriff-captain didn’t seem inclined to say anything, and this was why he had been dragged along.

“That is correct. Sir Aisia did not deny the charges.”

The squire raised his voice.

“…Then has she been arrested as well?”

Enkrid’s gaze turned to him.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto the squire, who swallowed hard.

The intensity in those eyes made his tension spike.

Even so, he forced himself to answer steadily.

“She is a knight of the order.”

So, they couldn’t pin this on a knight.

Which meant Aisia hadn’t been arrested.

Enkrid processed the implications.

They weren’t willing to charge a knight with this nonsense?

So what else was happening?

At the very least, something big had gone down inside the palace.

Enkrid was about to piece things together when—

“Why are you all standing around?! Arrest these traitors immediately!”

The sheriff refused to back down.

Tear streaks now marred his face, draining any weight from his words.

He was crying from the pain, yet still running his mouth.

At least ghouls had the decency to shut up when they died.

Enkrid chose the fastest method to shut him up.

Honestly, the man was getting annoying.

CRACK.

A swift kick to the jaw knocked him out cold.

Enkrid hadn’t particularly held back—his head snapped sideways, and a sickening crack echoed.

Lucky or unlucky, the sheriff survived.

His limp body hit the ground, drooling onto the dirt.

“…If you were going to kill him, you should’ve told me first.”

Rem snickered from behind.

“Did you forget my nickname?”

The Noble Hunter.

What an unusual hobby.

Ignoring the unconscious man, Enkrid spoke up.

“Who’s next in charge?”

His voice was calm, almost casual.

“If you’re thinking about ordering a full assault, you might want to reconsider. I’d rather not turn Andrew’s estate into a graveyard.”

He was being generous—to an extent.

The South Gate Captain was here.

That man had fought for the people, for the capital’s safety.

That alone deserved some respect.

Enkrid recognized those who walked the right path.

He couldn’t know everything, but he could judge based on what he saw and knew.

And right now—

“I’d appreciate it if someone could explain what the hell happened in the palace.”

It was obvious.

Something had happened.

Otherwise, none of this would be unfolding.

Was this just a personal vendetta from the sheriff?

If that were the case, he would have stormed in long ago with any excuse he could find.

The fact that they only showed up now meant they had been granted permission.

Crang had said Viscount Mernes was the real problem.

A bad feeling prickled against Enkrid’s skin.

And then—

DAGADAG! DAGADAG!

The thunder of galloping hooves.

Urgency.

The sound rushed closer.

And then—

“HELP ME!”

A shout accompanied the hooves.

Enkrid kicked off the ground, launching himself onto the estate’s outer wall.

Rem followed.

His footwork was absurd—light, quick, bouncing off the wall with precise movements.

Some of the sheriff’s men flinched, about to react.

“Stay put.”

Ragna stopped them.

The sheer weight of his presence made them freeze.

From atop the wall, Enkrid saw him—

Marcus.

He was sprinting desperately down the blue-stone road.

He was the one who had shouted for help.

And someone was chasing him.

An odd figure.

They wore a cloak layered with several pieces of leather, draped over their body like a shroud.

On their shoulders, floating spears followed, hovering unnaturally in midair.