Chapter 188 - The Manticore and the Bear

"They may be bandits, but we cannot dismiss Black Blade's military strength. Bring them in, and Martai will retreat with its tail between its legs." Martai was a Naurilian city with a tangled history. At times it had belonged to the Mercenary King of the East; at others, it had been Naurilian territory. Consequently, its population was a mixture of the two peoples. It currently belonged to Naurilia and was ruled by a fellow who called himself the General. In other words, it was half Naurilian and half eastern. And Martai had just announced its intention to send Border Guard something resembling a declaration of war. Hence this proposal. The speaker was one of Border Guard's nobles. The city had several. Though their power was pitiful compared to the nobles in the capital, they could not simply be ignored. They had secured considerable influence within Border Guard. This petty noble in front of him was one such example. What was his name again? Marcus did not even remember. 'The bastard pocketing Black Blade's gold.'

That was all he remembered him as. He considered him practically a member of the Black Blade Bandits. He felt like cutting him down. He wanted to lop his head off right then and play innocent, but the Fairy Company Commander was his subordinate in public only. She hardly felt like one. Somehow, it felt as though whatever he did, he would have to pay a price. Marcus valued his instincts. For various reasons, he could not simply cut the man down. Besides, Marcus was no butcher. He was not the sort to solve everything with a sword. More importantly, with a little thought, the fellow would probably not be so difficult to kill. Narrow-minded bastards were always easy to bait. "Martai's advance is a headache, but we need only concentrate on defense."

Marcus's answer was final. The Black Blade noble stuck out his lip, then pulled it back in. Had he said anything more, Marcus might really have lost patience and split his skull.

'Not that I'd actually go that far.'

But he could give that impression. Wasn't his public nickname the Warmonger? He had cultivated that image and nickname for precisely this purpose. Marcus watched him steadily, expressionless. It could have been a glare or merely a look, but the effect was unmistakable. The Warmonger's murderous, indifferent gaze shut the noble's mouth. Once he had shut him up, Marcus asked, "Next item?" It was a regular council meeting. Border Guard was a military city and a fortress. Driving Aspen back for the moment did not mean there was nothing left to do. In the south alone, some nobles had been driving monsters north instead of properly disposing of them, and word had come that a sizable horde was on its way. Leaving that horde alone would cause trouble. It was a problem that had to be dealt with. What could he say about monster activity in the south affecting Border Guard all the way up north? It was a fucking mess. 'Those sons of bitches.'

Nobles were rotten bastards, interested only in their own land and wealth. No wonder people said the country was going to ruin. They were just like that nameless noble bastard. He could not stand the sight of them. Dwelling on such things would send him to an early grave. Marcus deliberately steered his thoughts elsewhere. They eventually settled on Encrid. He did not even want to remember the noble's name, but this was a name he could not forget. 'He charged into an army of Knolls to save Pioneer Village?'

Now that was a story that drew an involuntary exclamation of admiration. They said he had cut down a thousand Knolls alone. There must have been some exaggeration, but his improvement was undeniable. The Fourth Company Commander had confirmed it. ["In a real fight, neither of us could confidently predict the outcome."] Marcus alone had some inkling of the Fairy Company Commander's abilities. She surpassed most warriors of renown, and her exploits on the battlefield had proved it. This was the Fairy who acknowledged Encrid's skill. 'They used to call him a mindless training fanatic with abysmal skills.'

There had even been talk that he was merely a lucky soldier. Nonsense. It was skill, not luck. And he had the character to match. Even if it was not obvious on the surface, his attitude and the results of his actions made it clear. Above all, the sight of Encrid speaking of his dream had etched itself into Marcus's mind. A battlefield, a sword, and something shining. Could he truly become a knight? Having seen so many people over so many years, Marcus could give a definite answer on rational grounds. It was impossible. But if asked to answer based on what he had seen and felt on meeting Encrid himself... 'I don't know whether he can, but I hope he does.' Day or night, he was the same. Whatever the weather, he was the same. He never changed. Day after day, he remained consistent. He lived every day of the year as he lived today. That was the kind of man he was. A sudden desire to help him along that path welled up in Marcus. A gentle smile touched his face at the thought. Seeing it, the Black Blade noble suddenly spoke again. "I believe appointing someone directly as company commander without even establishing a proper unit structure is excessive. Even the mission said to have proved his worth is widely rumored to have been exaggerated..." He was talking about Encrid's appointment. Until now, Marcus had merely been feigning that indifferent, murderous look. Now his brows drew together. The corners of his mouth turned down into a scowl. "Enough. This is my decision. If you don't like it, you be battalion commander." His rejection of bringing in Black Blade had left some room to probe, but the moment Encrid's name came up, he was merciless. It was abundantly clear that he would hear no objections or opinions. He looked fully determined to cut down anyone who challenged him. That was what the Black Blade noble found most infuriating. Yet he could hardly kill Marcus.

'Fucking bastard.'

All that resentment turned toward Encrid. To receive some people's cheers, trust, and love could mean earning others' hatred. Such was the case with the Black Blade noble, one of Border Guard's most influential figures. He hated Encrid. He hated him for no reason at all, to the point of wanting him dead immediately. After the meeting ended and all the nobles had left, the Fairy Company Commander gazed at Marcus and asked, "Who gave you the nickname Warmonger?" The Fairy was perceptive, and Marcus did not bother denying it.

"I did."

"Clever of you."

"I'll take that as a compliment." It was the literal truth. Marcus did not actually love battlefields or go mad for a fight. He had merely made himself appear that way to the outside world. Why? It gave him an excuse to avoid deep involvement in the capital's politics, and it was useful for making enemies lower their guard. In truth, he was not exceptionally gifted at waging war. He knew how to send troops into battle at the right moment, but his true talents lay elsewhere. His palate for finding fine tea, for instance. "So, don't you make those jokes with me?"

The conversations between Encrid and the Fairy Company Commander were rather famous around the barracks. Remembering them, he had asked. "I'm afraid I detest jokes."

With that, the Fairy Company Commander turned and left. After carefully considering what she meant, Marcus gave a bemused chuckle.

"Good grief. Fairy humor is difficult."

It had to be Fairy humor. Of course it was. That Fairy loved jokes.

* * *

The Black Blade noble's name was Vancento. He had grown up in a region bordering monster territory, where the Demonic Realm's influence was strong and food was always scarce. To Vancento as a child, possessions were not things one bought, but things one took. That was only natural. A human life was worth a loaf of bread. No, sometimes the bread was worth more. After surviving that brutal childhood, Vancento had somehow drifted into the city. Luck had allowed him to establish a small trading company. Its growth involved blades and blood, fists and threats, but no great difficulties. Was that around the time he had come into contact with Black Blade? Their immense power had provided solid backing for his rise. After ten years of that life, he had sold the trading company he owned and spent a fortune to become a noble. Just as in his childhood, he had built his life by taking and taking whatever he wanted. His current objective was the city of Border Guard. More precisely, he meant to swallow it whole with Black Blade's help. He did not come from generations of noble blood. His title had been bought with gold, and that imposed clear limits he would struggle to overcome. So he wanted something greater than a title. A city, for instance. That was the future Vancento dreamed of: land ruled by Black Blade, and himself in possession of a city within it. Becoming its mayor and lord would be nice. 'Once that happens, I'll have that Fairy bitch brought to me first.'

The Fairy they called the Fourth Company Commander made his mouth water every time he saw her. "Shall I kill this Marcus for you, or that reckless upstart?"

"Not Marcus."

If he died here, it would draw the capital's attention. That was the last thing Vancento wanted.

"We'll just weed out that Encrid fellow." At Vancento's words, his bodyguard, a member of Black Blade, nodded. Strangely enough, he too had grown sick of the sight of Encrid.

'All that fawning over some nobody.' It was a common deception. Sparring? Easy enough if he and those platoon members coordinated their moves. The stories circulating everywhere were full of holes. A thousand Knolls? Ridiculous. What was he, a proto knight? A Knight? He had actually seen the fellow's skills himself. Not recently, but he had watched him training in the barracks a few months ago.

'He's decent, but...'

Not as good as himself. That had been his judgment. Narrow-minded people tended to believe only what they saw. Encrid had changed beyond belief since then, but he made no attempt to take a proper look. He simply dismissed him as a worthless fool and left it at that. 'Those platoon members, of course...'

They were impressive. Quite impressive. He would struggle to take on two of them alone. What the hell were fighters of that caliber doing in a frontier fortress city? In any case, the plan was progressing smoothly. Black Blade's kingdom would begin here. It would start small, then grow and grow. Naurilia would disappear, and the Kingdom of Black Blade would rise in its place. Lost in his own dreams, the Black Blade bodyguard released a pigeon. It would carry the message. Even when removing a single unsightly pebble, Black Blade would not deploy its people carelessly. That was how they operated. Naturally, they would have a greater purpose than simply killing one man.

* * *

In response to the message from within the city, the Black Blade Bandits sent ten warriors. Every one of them was formidable. Their leader, for instance, had once made a name for herself among mercenaries. She was a Beastman named Dunbachel. Despite her pretty looks, her scimitar work was brisk and devastating. It had made her a city-level fighter: someone whose skill could earn renown throughout a city. The other nine who accompanied her were roughly on par with Dunbachel. "Put pressure on them? You mean give them a scare? Fine."

Dunbachel nodded. She had been paid, so she would do the job. They were just about to enter Border Guard when her nose twitched. An acrid, sour smell, mixed with a stale stench of rot. The scent of a demonic beast or a monster. There was a human scent mingled with it, too. Her head snapped around. There stood a man shrouded in a black robe. Beside him was a demonic beast, its eyes gleaming menacingly. "What the hell are you?"

Dunbachel immediately readied herself for battle. So did the other side. A perceptive member of the Black Blade Bandits took stock of the situation and spoke.

"Doesn't look like you're here for us." As it happened, both parties had come for Border Guard. One was the Black Blade Bandits. The other was an assassin sent by the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm. They had already sent skilled assassins several times, but each time contact had been lost. Something was happening inside that city. He had come to investigate and, while he was at it, wreak havoc on the unsuspecting place. "Who are you with?"

The cultist asked the question. He was a monk, but one who used the evil cult's arts. He was not someone to treat lightly. The perceptive subordinate answered for her.

"Black Blade."

"Your objective?" Unable to stomach the cultist's questioning any longer, Dunbachel made to lunge at him in irritation. A subordinate caught her arm from behind. Why? She asked with her eyes. He was just some pathetic cultist. Why not lop his head off? She did not like him. The subordinate shook his head. She nearly shook his hand off, but restrained herself. Her position was essentially that of a mercenary. She was only the leader because of her fighting strength. The subordinate behind her glanced about and said, "This could actually be a good opportunity."

"Do what you want." Dunbachel was cynical. Her attitude said it was none of her business. Folding her arms, she turned away. With her permission to proceed, the cultist and one of the Black Blade bandits began negotiating in earnest. "Then we each take what we can get."

"Our objective is clear."

They would remain wary of each other, but act toward the same goal. "I'll begin."

The cultist spoke with a twisted smile. He reached out and stroked the hair on his demonic beast's head. GRRRR. It sounded like a hellhound risen from hell. Wasn't it fair to say that was close to the truth? The mere sight of the demonic beast sent chills down one's spine. It had three rows of sharp teeth, a scorpion's tail, and the body and head of a lion. Its slit eyes gleamed yellow, and every claw was like a finely honed knife. A Manticore. A high-tier monster said to be capable of chewing through an entire company. "Go. Enjoy your feast." At the cultist's command, the Manticore charged. Its feet moved with terrifying speed. Kicking off the ground, it scrambled straight up the wall. It had no need to clear the gate; it had gone over the wall itself. It was a high-tier demonic beast for a reason. ROOOAAR! A roar that filled its foes with terror. The Manticore in the moonlight. And before it... 'A bear?'

Dunbachel narrowed her eyes. There seemed to be something like a bear in front of the Manticore. It was far away, and moonlight alone was not enough to make it out clearly. Still, something was definitely there. Whatever bribes the bastard might have pocketed behind the scenes, he was publicly a Naurilian noble. Cutting him down would therefore constitute murdering a noble. At the very least, it could not be done in front of witnesses. 'Better to kill him in secret.'

Of course, that would not be easy either. The fellow serving as his bodyguard looked formidable at a glance. 'Should I start coaxing the Fourth Company Commander?'

Weren't Fairies born assassins? With her keen senses and stealth, surely she could lop off the head of a man like that.

'But that comes with its own burdens.'