Chapter 254 - So You Want to Die

People across the continent often said of easterners, "They're tough, headstrong, and stubborn as hell."

Hans was just such an easterner. And among those easterners, the ones who had stayed in Martai had essentially stayed with one thought in mind.

'Let's see how well you do.'

They resented the current lord. Hans was one of them. "Fought off a colony? Fuck, isn't this whole thing rigged?"

Hans, who also knew his way around a game of dice, drew his own conclusions. Once someone started fixing the dice, well, wasn't it a game where only the designated winners ever won? In the past, Martai had often requested aid from the Mercenary King of the East whenever a threat arose. But after they lost a battle, the lord had croaked. The commander changed, and the territory became subject to Border Guard.

Then trouble suddenly struck, putting the territory in grave danger, and supposedly a handful of soldiers from Border Guard had come and defeated it. 'Fuck, I don't like any of this.'

Hans thought the whole situation was a real dog's dick. If a handful of them could drive the monsters away, hadn't the danger been overblown to begin with? Unlike the soldiers who had stood on the battlefield, Hans, now a local thug, had not seen Encrid fight. He had spent that time guzzling booze and sleeping his ass off. He considered the territory's danger entirely separate from his own safety. There were two subtly divided factions. The uneasy alliance between easterners and other continentals had also helped impede the flow of information. Still, everyone who had any sense knew the truth. Hans simply picked out what he wanted to hear.

He was a textbook loser. The one thing he could manage was throwing punches, and he earned scraps of silver hiring out his fists here and there.

'Even if I went out there and fought...'

A few Ghouls wouldn't be a problem, would they? Human-faced hounds? Weren't they just fucking dogs with human heads? All you had to do was grab a spear and stick them. What sort of easterner fell to a bunch of stray dogs? Wasn't the virtue of an easterner the courage to cut down a lion with a single blade?

The Mercenary King had done just that. At eighteen, he had killed a lion armed with nothing but a blade. A beast that had tasted human flesh and mauled dozens of people to death. That was the first tale of how the Mercenary King had proved himself on the eastern plains. "He must have some kind of artifact, or pulled some trick."

One of his companions said it. More precisely, he was prodding Hans. Egging him on. He offered him some wine, and Hans took a sip. It was sweet, as though someone had mixed in honey. It wasn't strong, but perhaps because he was drinking while worked up, he felt briefly dizzy. The feeling quickly passed.

Not wanting to look drunk, Hans clenched his asshole and acted perfectly sober.

"It's weak, but it tastes good." "New shipment. Not bad, eh?"

His companion didn't seem to have noticed the liquor affecting him. He merely smiled. Hans nodded vigorously. His gestures had grown exaggerated, but he didn't notice the change. After that inconsequential exchange, his companion kept talking.

"See him in person and he just looks like a fucking idiot. Nothing but a pretty face." And apparently women fell for him at a glance. What was his nickname? The irresistible Captain?

What kind of fucking bastard was this? "You know Lenny? Looks like she fell head over heels for that irresistible moron too."

Lenny, the tavern owner's daughter, was the woman Hans had his eye on. He seethed, but everyone around him was cheering as though some hero had returned. It wasn't an atmosphere in which he could easily voice his complaints, so he bottled them up. Later, when the excitement had cooled, he heard that the irresistible moron and his companions were at Lenny's tavern.

"I'm sure he's nothing special in an actual fight. You might stand a chance, Hans." His companion spoke as he handed him wine. Gulping it down would have given him confidence even if he'd had none. The sweet, burning liquid passed down his throat and filled his stomach, and something hot surged up from his lower belly.

'I'm beating the shit out of that bastard.' When else would he show an easterner's courage, if not now? Hans entered the tavern and glared at the man with precisely that intent.

In person, he really did have a moron's face. The bastard looked suited to serving some noblewoman in bed. What made him a war hero? Hans saw Lenny too. She couldn't take her eyes off a reddish-brown-haired man with half-closed eyes and firmly shut lips.

Why did that one have to look like that too?

Fuuuck.

Was he supposed to see this and just take it? Hans was a well-known thug. He rarely lost a fight.

He rose to his feet. SCRAPE, CLATTER! He stood so forcefully that his chair slid backward and toppled over. The only people in the tavern were the irresistible moron's party, Lenny, and a few other townsfolk.

Some of them frowned. What was that thug up to?

* * *

This was a novelty for Encrid.

'He's picking a fight, right?'

He asked Rem with his eyes. Rem blinked too. He found it equally strange. His eyes swept over the group.

Audin, Dunbachel, Teresa.

Wouldn't those three alone make most people think twice about attacking? And he was here too. Not to boast, but he rarely met anyone in town who readily picked a fight with him. Encrid did have a pretty face. That might make people underestimate him. But there had been a battle. If anyone knew about it, if anyone had seen it, and especially if word had spread through town...

'And he's still coming at us?'

What was this? Who was this idiot? Encrid glanced at Rem, then examined the man. His perception, having entered the realm of the senses, swept over his opponent: signs of moderate physical exertion, muscular development, hand placement, habits in the way he stepped, even the sequence of movements as he kicked back his chair and rose. After taking it all in, Encrid eased his left hand forward and slid his right foot back. Anyone with eyes should have recognized what he was doing. Yet the man showed no sign of noticing.

Not a single sign. None whatsoever. "Hey. Don't get too full of yourself in someone else's territory."

That was what he said. "Kill him?"

Dunbachel asked. Only then did Encrid recall the lord's words. Hadn't he asked them to go easy? "I'll handle it."

Encrid rose as he spoke. None of the others were interested. His opponent's eyes grew redder. No, those eyes were getting seriously bloodshot now, weren't they?

Not that it was his concern. "You bastard!"

The agitated man charged. Encrid turned sideways to evade the swinging fist, pushed against his forearm, and tapped his thigh with a kick. It all happened in a single movement.

Natural and smooth. Rem's eyes gleamed, as did those of the other onlookers. It was an application of the Flowing Sword Technique, performed with his body. A technique Encrid had recently become engrossed in. Under Encrid's push, the man looked set to smash his head into a tavern table. But Encrid didn't let that happen. He caught him by the back of the neck and hauled him upright.

His opponent had thrown one punch and now had no idea what had happened. Encrid pushed him away. Hans flailed and found his footing. What the fuck was that?

Strangely, his anger only mounted. Unable to contain himself, Hans reached for the knife at his waist. "Draw that and you die. No going back after that."

Rem spoke around a mouthful of rusk. With all that sugar around his mouth, he made quite a persuasive sight. Hans didn't hear him. He couldn't live without planting a knife in the gut of the bastard before him. Normally, he would have come to his senses by now and dropped to his knees or run like hell, but neither thought occurred to him.

He had to kill them all. He couldn't live under the same sky as this bastard. He was so worked up that his brain had stopped thinking. It wasn't natural.

Encrid sensed something odd about the man's demeanor. He was considering breaking something when it happened. CRACK! At the crisp sound, the man's eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, his hand still on his knife. Standing behind him, Jaxon caught him and laid him down, peeled back his eyelids, then opened his mouth and smelled his breath. "... What are you doing? Sniffing people a hobby of yours?"

Rem spoke. Jaxon ignored him and addressed Encrid.

"Someone drugged him." Drugs?

He went on to explain that misuse of the drug could leave someone permanently brain-damaged.

"His judgment was impaired, and he's been hypnotized." Anyone could hear the expertise in his voice. His diagnosis was also correct. CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.

Someone was applauding. "Impressive. You recognized it."

The man wore a leather waterskin at his waist, two knives on his right, and a shortsword on the sword belt at his left hip. With every step, the sheathed shortsword swung against his thigh. His walk alone said it all. This one could fight. The man who had just attacked wasn't remotely in his league.

Encrid stared without answering. Now what was this? Despite the lack of response, the man approached with an unbroken smile, apparently not the least bit embarrassed. He had a ratlike face.

"How do you do?" Again, no one answered his greeting. Even Rem, who wasn't fond of answering with silence, merely folded his arms and stared. His mouth was still covered in sugar, but at the slightest provocation, he looked ready to swing either the badly balanced fire axe or the centaur leader's halberd. Encrid's senses told him that Rem was ready. If he left this alone, the man would simply die. "Who are you?"

Jaxon asked the question.

"Ah, how should I introduce myself?"

Pretending to ponder, the man brought his open hands together before his chest, then spread them in an expansive gesture. Should he just kill him?

Encrid could sense Rem weighing the question.

"Wait."

Only the stranger failed to understand Encrid's words. 'Wait for what?' He brushed it aside and spoke.

"I'm here on behalf of Black Blade."

Black Blade was a band of thieves. Encrid let his arms hang loose. Had he ever had a friendly conversation with them? The man waved his hands.

"I'm not here to fight. I've only come to deliver a few words." There were tavern staff present, and several customers too. The man spoke without regard for them.

"Would you consider changing sides?"

He asked with a smile. Encrid considered the question and replied.

"You want to die?" "I truly came with the best intentions. You know how Black Blade is, don't you? We don't really understand giving up. What you've just seen was, well, a little taste."

He meant that sending the drugged, hypnotized moron at them had been a taste of what was to come. "It's a truly excellent offer. An opportunity. Please reconsider."

The man was serious. So was Encrid.

"So you want to die?" "Pfft."

Listening behind him, Rem burst out laughing. He had a fairly good idea what Encrid would keep saying. Knowing his verbal habits and his way with words, he could predict what came next. "Black Blade will not give up. I'm merely a messenger, you understand. And Dunbachel, don't you owe us a debt? Do you think you can simply disregard it and walk away?"

The Black Blade messenger craned his neck to look at Dunbachel as he spoke. Dunbachel had served as hired muscle for Black Blade. She had carried out commissions, made contracts, and received something in return. But none of that meant anything anymore. Afterward, she had wandered in search of death.

Could that really be called a debt? "Yes."

Dunbachel nodded. For the first time, the Black Blade messenger flinched.

'This crazy bitch has gone even crazier.'

He kept the thought to himself. "Whew. This really is difficult. Let me say it again. This is a very, very good offer. We can overlook Dunbachel's affairs, and give you anything you want. If you want to become a knight, for instance, we can even get you into a knight order."

Encrid kept his expression blank as the messenger spoke. A knight order. So they already knew his goal. He had talked about it enough, here and there. It was also evidence that they had investigated him.

'Well? Will you turn down this offer too?'

The man asked with his eyes. Encrid spoke with a considered air.

"Do you want to die or not? Why won't you answer the question?" PFFT.

Only when Rem laughed a second time did the messenger's expression change. 'These bastards. Do I really have to give them a taste?'

He twitched his fingers, a covert movement hidden from his opponents. That was the cue for several assassins to drop from the roof. Silence.

Hm? He twitched his fingers several more times, keeping the gesture out of sight. Only then did something come hurtling down from the roof. "Aah!"

A tavern worker screamed at the sight. THUD! THUD!

Two corpses. There were holes in the dead men's throats. Standing beside them, the reddish-brown-haired man spoke.

"That appears to be the extent of his tricks." Ah, fuck. What the hell was this?

He knew they could all handle a blade, but how had they detected first-rate assassins so easily? The messenger's expression soured further. "If you kill me, Black Blade will..." WHOOSH, THUNK! WHUMP! THUD! "Aaaaaah!" As he spoke, the messenger reached for the smoke bomb at his waist. Seeing that, Rem threw his axe without so much as taking a breath.

His right hand was a blur. Encrid's heightened senses caught the entire sequence. The poorly balanced fire axe flew, showing off its blade rather than its flames, and buried itself in the man's skull. The impact lifted Black Blade's man off his feet and hurled him backward. His back struck the tavern wall, and he crumpled to the floor.

That was all. Black Blade's messenger was now a corpse. The serving girl screamed again at the sight. With practiced hands, Jaxon searched the man's clothes. He found several neatly folded paper packets, a leather pouch, a smoke bomb, poison, knives, and the like.

The folded packets held a strange powder. It seemed to be a drug for clouding people's minds. "Don't be too alarmed. Send word to the barracks, and they'll clean this up."

Encrid spoke where he stood. A few gnats had interrupted their meal, nothing more. It had caused a commotion, but he didn't consider it anything momentous.

Only Rem's axe-throwing and Jaxon's movements had left an impression. "Ho ho. It seems even bandits find you irresistible, brother."

Audin offered that pointless remark, and the group set off. Whatever tricks Black Blade might try, they were going to see the dwarf. Hadn't that been their purpose from the start? The dwarf was eating bread and cheese with wine in one corner of the smithy. CLANG! CLANG! Apparently indifferent to the metallic ringing and the heat, the dwarf licked melted cheese from a finger. Word traveled so fast in town that, by the time they had finished looking around the market and arrived, news of what Encrid had done seemed to have spread everywhere. The dwarf looked them all over and spoke.

"So you can fight a bit?"

It was a cheeky tone. Encrid studied the dwarf. How old was this one? With other races, looks didn't necessarily reflect age, so she might have been older than him. But she looked like a short girl of about fifteen.

Not an ordinary girl, of course. She was muscular, with a neck that looked thicker than his. On the other hand, her delicate features were quite pretty. Krais hadn't been talking nonsense when he called her pretty.

Still, wasn't calling her a beauty by ordinary standards a little questionable? "You think that's pretty?"

At Rem's jibe, the dwarf spoke through her mouthful.

"I can hear you, gray-head." Well, she certainly had a fiery way of speaking.

And Rem was Rem. The barbarian smiled gently and asked Encrid,

"Any interest in a stuffed dwarf? Think I just found a freshly dead one."