Chapter 196 - If a Feast Has Been Prepared for You, Shouldn't You at Least Have a Taste?

They quickly built a fire and set a pot over it. It was a meal in the field, so there was nothing lavish: dried meat, fruit, cheese, and water mixed with wine. Everyone ate and drank. Encrid was tearing into the seasoned jerky he had brought when he noticed someone staring at him. It was the Beastman. 'Does she want some?'

Judging by the longing in her eyes, she must have been terribly hungry. Come to think of it, she probably hadn't had a proper meal since being locked up. Whether they killed her or let her go, shouldn't they at least feed her? She was so hungry that her eyes gleamed. Golden. 'No reason to be stingy.'

How much could a strip of jerky matter? Encrid tore off a long strip and sat in front of her. When he slipped it into her mouth, her eyes went round.

"Try it." Dunbachel chewed. The salty-sweet flavors spreading through her mouth stimulated her brain. All the while, she looked at the man before her. As she had watched him, again and again, envy and jealousy had begun to give way to something like admiration. 'If I'd been like this man...'

What if she had worked that hard at living? She envied him, too. Surely having such extraordinary subordinates around him was luck. If only that luck had come her way. Why had she been like this from birth? Why had she been born this way, only to be abandoned? If only it had ended at being shunned. Then she would have risked her life for her village. How wonderful it would have been to die that way. To depart into Krimhalt's embrace. Disappointment and envy, admiration and regret. At the end of that tangle of emotions, she found jerky in her mouth. Once she had chewed and swallowed, he put a waterskin to her lips as well. She expected water mixed with wine, but a fresh apple scent filled her mouth.

"It's cider." Why was he treating her this way? Dunbachel wondered whether he was trying to seduce her, but she couldn't be certain. What she did know was that she had a choice to make. Should she tell him or not? She stood at a crossroads. She chose. "Black Blade will have an ambush waiting."

Dunbachel spoke with seasoning still smeared around her mouth. If he asked how she knew, she intended to explain the marker. But Encrid simply looked her straight in the eyes and said,

"I see." She expected him to take some action afterward, but he was surprisingly quiet. He merely resumed eating and exchanged a few words with the noble who was Black Blade's stooge. "How do you know the way?"

Acting as an envoy for the Black Blade Bandits was one thing; knowing the way was another. Encrid had raised a matter even Marcus had not bothered to probe. Vancento twisted the corners of his mouth in an unmistakable sneer.

"You don't need to know, commoner." Was tacking "commoner" onto everything he said a habit? He wasn't such a grand noble himself. Keeping those thoughts to himself, Encrid nodded in acknowledgment. It wasn't really important, after all. Encrid looked at the black-clad bodyguard. He had been watching the man's gait, gestures, manner, and choice of position. He had seen him a few times in the city, but out here, he could be sure. 'He might not be bad.'

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin, and even the Fairy Company Commander. He had more than enough sparring partners these days, but none gave him quite this impression. The man would be light on his feet and quick with his hands. He would favor short weapons. He looked likely to be skilled at throwing them, too. Half of Encrid wanted to see his distinctive techniques. The other half felt a quiet thirst. Sparring was sparring, and real combat was real combat. Watching the man chew and swallow thin bread, then drink water, he thought,

'I want to fight him.'

His steps and gestures naturally stirred Encrid's interest. 'How well would my swordsmanship work?'

What should he keep in mind when facing him? How could he keep up with that footwork? Encrid was no genius. Simply watching did not conjure up a means of dealing with an opponent. But he had sparred hundreds, perhaps more than a thousand times. Drawing on that experience, he could think of ways to respond. 'If I cut his thigh...'

His footwork would stiffen. That would neutralize one of his strengths. Ever since spotting those distinctive habits, Encrid had wanted to fight him. Perhaps the man felt his gaze.

"You're irritating me."

The black-clad bodyguard looked up after finishing his small piece of bread and a few mouthfuls of water. Encrid, at whom he was staring, spoke.

"Me?"

"Who else?" A strange current passed between them. One showed a subdued eagerness to fight; the other showed murderous intent and displeasure. The one radiating murderous intent, the black-clad bodyguard, remained seated and interlaced his hands over his knees. They had found a suitable tree and gathered beneath its shade. The two horses' hooves thudded softly over the grass as they wandered about cropping dry blades, and a breeze cool for summer blew past. The bodyguard spoke again. "You're at that stage when you're brimming with confidence in your abilities."

Encrid privately agreed. He had lately been feeling something best described as confidence.

"But you need to be careful. Choose your opponents wisely, too."

That was also true. "Aren't you merely special-grade in that paltry soldier grading system?"

... That wasn't.

"You shouldn't stake your life on something foolish, should you?" This was nothing new to Encrid. When had people ever not underestimated him? It had happened countless times. Besides, hadn't Krais told him before they left? ["Marcus tends to conceal your distinguished service, Captain. It looks like he's after something."]

He had covered it up and kept it hidden. Given that, the man's misunderstanding was understandable. Still, something disappointed Encrid. 'His eye for ability...'

Encrid had recognized his skill, yet the man hadn't recognized Encrid's. In truth, that was only natural. Encrid had clawed his way up from the very bottom to reach this point. He had none of the habits of someone who had gained strength overnight. Arrogance and conceit were words far removed from him. All that remained was the fierce determination of a man who had fed on defeat as he climbed. In other words, from the outside, he looked like someone merely passable with a sword. "What a load of fucking bullshit," Rem said as he watched.

Hearing him, the noble Vancento spoke as well.

"Shut your mouth, you fucking idiot of a barbarian. Must you advertise that you grew up without a mother?" Those words crossed the line and stabbed at Rem like a blade. Encrid thought it was too late to stop him now. In fact, he also thought this was as good a point as any.

* * *

The black-clad bodyguard had intended to put them in their place with a few words. Once the meal was over, they only needed to travel another half day, and it would all be finished. They would all die at the hands of the Black Blade members lying in ambush ahead. Originally, he had considered dealing with them himself. 'One of them wouldn't be a problem.'

But the man called Rem and Ragna together? He wanted to avoid taking on both at once. Someone like Encrid wasn't even worth his notice. Who was he, after all? On skill alone, he ranked among Black Blade's finest. He had studied under a teacher worthy of that ability, too. It was just then that it happened. "Shut your mouth, you fucking idiot of a barbarian. Must you advertise that you grew up without a mother?"

Vancento spat out his usual venom. Encrid should have restrained Rem again, but there wasn't the time, not even a moment. WHOOSH, THUNK! Something cut through the air, followed by a heavy, hideous sound. The bodyguard turned his head. For a while, he stayed that way, struggling to comprehend the scene. "Ghur, ghrr."

Naturally, someone with an axe embedded in his face couldn't speak properly. Survival would be difficult, too. If someone lived with his face split halfway open, wouldn't that make him a Ghoul rather than a human? 'Even a Ghoul would die with its face split like that.'

Something small and precious inside the man's head oozed out through his vertically split skull, accompanied by streams of blood. One eyeball had popped out on impact and rolled aside. The axe's force had apparently hurled him several paces backward. He lay toppled onto his back, a corpse. His name was Vancento. A member of Black Blade, the envoy for this mission, and a noble. "That little shit. What a nasty mouth."

As the bodyguard stared, the barbarian called Rem dusted off his hands and muttered.

"What, what is this?!"

Only then did the bodyguard spring up in shock. NEIGH! Startled by the sudden commotion, the two horses hitched to the carriage whinnied. Dunbachel's jaw dropped in shock, too.

'He killed a noble?' They had barely gotten out of sight of Border Guard. Just over half a day into their journey, the envoy they were supposed to protect was dead. Killed by one of the men who had agreed to escort him. "Ah, you did it."

Encrid's reaction was simple and unremarkable.

"'Ah, you did it'? You lunatics." The bodyguard wasn't particularly quick on the uptake. At least, that was what Encrid thought. Ragna was indifferent. He merely asked Encrid,

"Will you handle him alone?"

"I'd like to."

"As you wish." Rem strolled over and pulled out the axe he had thrown. It came free with a wet pop, leaving the dead Vancento beneath it. Scum who had greedily swallowed Black Blade's gold. Why hadn't they been able to kill him easily, even knowing he was scum? Because he was a noble. Noble status was a shield, even for a Vice Baron whose title wasn't hereditary. If this came to light, that man Rem would be hunted to his dying day. Yet he had taken such a gamble. The bodyguard's thoughts grew tangled. "What are you looking at? Want an ornament for your head, too?"

Rem spoke when their eyes met.

"He's mine."

Encrid showed a rare possessiveness. "Yeah, I know. Otherwise I'd have finished him off already."

Rem wiped the blood from his axe on the silk clothes of Vancento, who had died with his limbs twitching. Watching him, the bodyguard spoke. "We're still within Border Guard's patrol area. What will you do if a patrol comes by?"

To him, it was an obvious question.

"They won't. No patrols." Encrid's answer was matter-of-fact. He already knew where and how the patrols would operate. Before leaving, he had heard it all from Vengeance, who also served as patrol captain.

"They won't?"

Only then did the black-clad bodyguard realize this hadn't been impulsive.

'Was this their plan from the start?' Encrid drew his sword with a metallic ring. It scattered light as it reflected the sun. Seeing its point turn toward him, the bodyguard drew his own weapons. Two black daggers emerged soundlessly. Holding both in reverse grips, their blades pointing down, he instinctively settled into a stance. 'Reinforcements are half a day's journey away.'

It was time to forget Vancento's death and find a way to live. How could he survive? That bastard Encrid had said he would fight him alone. Rem and Ragna didn't even seem interested. 'Finish this in one rush and run.'

He was confident in his speed. First, though, something had to be done. "You knew no patrol would come. So you planned this?"

Encrid shrugged.

"As long as no one sees, is that it?" As he spoke, the bodyguard edged sideways. He seemed to be trying to put the sun at his back. Encrid moved with him. The bodyguard reached the position he wanted: the carriage was behind him to his right. He flicked one reverse-gripped dagger into the air. Encrid reflexively raised his sword, ready to react if the man threw it at him or lunged. After tossing up the dagger, the bodyguard flicked his right hand. Two throwing knives flew backward. It was quick sleight of hand. He had tossed the weapon in his hand to draw the eye, then thrown the knives at his waist. With a pair of sharp whistles, the knives buried themselves in the horses' necks. PFFFRR! NEEEEIGH! The horses cried out in pain. They listed sideways, blood streaming from their wounds. Their cries rang out loudly. The knives had sunk so deep that even if someone tried, there would be no saving them. The bodyguard had calculated that without horses, they couldn't pursue him. All that remained was to get past Encrid, who blocked his way. Catching the tossed dagger with a sharp slap, he dropped low and kicked off the ground. He closed the distance at frightening speed, slipping inside the sword's reach in an instant. People often said that a longer weapon held the advantage over a shorter one. But once the distance closed like this, the shorter weapon had the advantage. 'Got him.'

Confident, the bodyguard crossed his reverse-gripped daggers in slashing strokes. The left and right struck at staggered intervals, aiming for Encrid's wrist and neck. Encrid deflected one blade with his wrist guard and leaned his head back to avoid the one aimed at his neck. It was a feat only possible because he had seen the attacks clearly and calculated their timing. From that position, he drove up a knee. The man had come so close that he had no room to dodge. Hastily, the bodyguard raised his own knee to block. THUD! "Urgh!"

'What kind of strength is that?'

Just one blow, and a knee strike at that, had left his shin aching. And that wasn't the end. For an instant, Encrid vanished from sight. Then the bodyguard felt the menace of a blade at his side and ducked. SWISH! A broad-bladed guard sword skimmed his hair. When had Encrid drawn it? A few severed strands drifted through the air. Without even a moment to catch his breath, the bodyguard stabbed forward with both daggers. WHOOSH! His stabs cut through empty air. He couldn't even properly sense Encrid's next attack: a downward blow, the forearm wielded like a sickle. CRACK! THUMP! It struck the back of his head. Still crouched low, the bodyguard slammed forehead-first into the ground. Without hesitation, Encrid turned his sword point downward and plunged it in. SHUNK! He made a second mouth just below the back of the man's head. When he pulled the sword free, blood spurted from that new mouth like a fountain. Encrid stepped back and flicked his sword through the air, scattering drops of blood over the ground. "You don't look happy. Wasn't fun?"

Rem asked as he watched. Encrid answered honestly.

"Too bland." He was slower than the Knoll leader, and worse at the game of moves and countermoves than the evil spirit in the demon sword. He had no flash of brilliance to make up for it, either. He was better than that Beastman, but it was hard to call him overwhelmingly better. It left Encrid feeling as though he'd taken a shit without wiping. "What was your name again?"

Still feeling that way, Encrid asked. Obviously, the question wasn't directed at Rem or Ragna. The Beastman soon answered.

"Dunbachel." Watching the startled Beastman's golden eyes, Encrid asked, still unsatisfied,

"How many troops are lying in ambush?" If a feast had been prepared for him, shouldn't he at least have a taste? Encrid meant it. Dunbachel no longer even had a choice. These were definitely crazy fuckers. "It'll be a small elite force. They're setting a deliberate ambush, so they wouldn't have sent anyone easy." Encrid didn't smile at that, but his eyes lit up. Rem grinned. The man called Ragna merely looked steadily at Encrid and spoke.

"Why did you let him close in?"

"To lull him into carelessness."

"Not bad." Didn't they ever get tired of it? Even now, they were talking swordsmanship. No, what truly dumbfounded her was how utterly unconcerned they seemed about having killed a noble.