Chapter 265 - A Misconception Can Be a Reaper

It was utter pandemonium. People shoved one another. A construction worker was knocked down by the crowd and rolled toward Encrid. He covered his head and desperately curled into a ball. He, too, was trying to survive. WHOOSH! "Shut up and move!"

Beyond the crowd, several patrolmen were swinging their spear shafts and bellowing in anger. Encrid's senses sharpened as never before. Sensitivity and concentration blended in equal measure, honing an extraordinarily keen edge. What had he done when pursuing the centaur leader? Everything around him had seemed within reach, and he could see how to use it all, where to step, and what to do. He stood still, holding that state. With his eyes half closed, he quietly steadied his breathing. "Captain?"

Apparently unsettled by the sight, Krais called to him. Besides the worker rolling on the ground, a middle-aged woman and a little child were shoved down by the crowd. No one wanted to get stabbed and fucking die near Encrid, so everyone scrambled away. As a result, the worker, the woman, and the child were all left lingering near him. The retreating crowd naturally opened a circle around Encrid, leaving those three inside it. The child had gone pale and could do nothing but tremble. His sleeve was torn, and blood dripped from his elbow, apparently scraped when he rolled across the ground. "You're hurt," Krais said, looking at the child. But he did not step forward. A girl might have been another matter, but this was a boy, and Krais knew better than to make a rash move right now. He might be no fighter, but he knew his role. This was the time to trust his captain and hold on. Head lowered, the child could not even sniffle. He merely looked from side to side with frightened eyes. Encrid broke off his quiet breathing and threw the dart he had caught earlier. His arm moved so fast that his hand was barely visible. The instant his arm swept through the air, the dart was already flying toward the worker's thigh. The worker twisted his ankle to dodge it. The dart grazed the thick cloth of his trousers and embedded itself in the ground. The movement was so subtle that it could have passed for an accidental dodge. But could dodging like that at a time like this really be an accident? Reflexive and instinctive though it was, that evasion was as good as an admission of his identity. The sudden dart should have startled him, but the worker immediately flicked his hand. Six darts flew from it: three aimed at Encrid's chest and belly, three at Krais's forehead, chest, and thigh. A dirty trick. Before the darts even left his hand, the gladius in Encrid's left hand was moving. CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG! All six darts bounced harmlessly away. Then the child, who had slipped up behind him, abruptly thrust a sword. His steps had been so swift and silent that it was impossible to tell when he had come so close. Where had he hidden a sword on that little body? Where on earth had that forearm-length shortsword come from? Gripping the hilt in both hands, the child thrust with all his strength. It was fast, a vicious strike at an opening. The instant Encrid knocked the darts aside, he smoothly turned, his posture suggesting he had anticipated the attack from behind. As he turned and extended his sword, its tip caught the shortsword. Steel rang, and the shorter blade was pushed aside. The gladius continued straight into the boy's chest. THUD! The blade did not cut through easily; the boy seemed to be wearing sturdy leather armor underneath. But smooth did not mean weak. After deflecting the shortsword, Encrid's single pushing blow caved in the child's breastbone. His strength was now enough to arm-wrestle a Frog, as people might put it. Even a glancing blow could be fatal. "Ghk."

The blow must have landed solidly. The child coughed painfully. Even then, he reached inside his clothes. Persistent. But he would never accomplish what he intended. The little panther had already moved. She swung a forepaw and struck his chest again. CRACK-CRUNCH! Bones broke with a tremendous noise. The child choked and went still. That single paw strike had broken his wrist and delivered a decisive second impact to his breastbone. He died with his hand still inside his clothes. And then:

"You fucking bastard."

At last, one of the assassins spoke. It was the one disguised as a middle-aged noblewoman. Encrid heard her, but he was already moving. No, he had already finished the movement he had planned. After deflecting the darts and breaking the breastbone of the child who ambushed him from behind, he had just stopped with his right hand extended forward. Three movements in a single breath. Deflect the darts, push aside the sword behind him and strike, then extend his right hand. His fingertips pointed toward the worker who had thrown the darts. A knife buried itself in the man's forehead just as he was about to pull something out. His head snapped far back from the impact. Then he dropped to his knees, and his head slumped forward again. Dead instantly. "What was that?"

Only then did Encrid answer. The middle-aged woman in her rather fine clothes threw something at her feet. BANG! A smoke bomb. Whitish smoke billowed up from the ground and spread in every direction. "Esther."

With that single word, he entrusted Krais to her and listened. Using his Sixth Sense and hearing as his foundation, he read the enemy's movements. He could tell she was racing in one direction, perhaps toward the outskirts of the territory. At the same time, he realized she was not alone. 'How many of them came?' For some reason, he remembered the half-blood Fairy who had come before. The assassin who had left him the gift of whistle daggers. Like that Fairy, these people would have hidden weapons, secret techniques, and other means at their disposal, along with plenty of useful tools for killing. Fighting the half-blood Fairy assassin had cost him countless todays.

What about today? Encrid was confident. He had assessed their level and understood where he stood now. More importantly, they would not meekly go home if he left them alone. Letting a blade aimed at him go free did not suit his temperament either. So he moved at once. "Krais, clean this up."

He left that one abrupt order behind. "Huh?"

A dumbfounded response came from behind, but his big-eyed subordinate had a quick mind. He would figure it out. Encrid pursued the fleeing assassins.

* * *

'Clean this mess up?'

Krais stood blankly among the people clamoring in the smoke. 'Are all the assassins really gone?'

Hadn't one of them thrown darts at him earlier? As he stayed put, a breeze began clearing the smoke. It did not seem to be poisoned. 'If there'd been poison in it, this wouldn't have ended so easily.' "Fuck! Shut your fucking mouths and keep your heads down!" An uncontrolled crowd was no different from a mob, and violence was how you subdued a mob. Amid the people shoving one another, a patrolman struck a wildly struggling man beside him over the head with his spear shaft. CRACK! Struck hard enough to draw blood, the man staggered sideways. "Agh!"

Naturally, he screamed. The blow drove that resident aside. Veins bulged in the patrolman's neck. Public order was one of Marcus's priorities. The soldiers did their jobs. An assassination here? An attack here? This bullshit here? If they botched the response, they were all fucking dead too. 'That's the way to do it.'

They would quell the chaos, then. Mentally outlining his own task, Krais turned his gaze. He saw the dead child. On closer inspection, it was no child. The face was heavily aged, with wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. Between him and the hunchback, they all had unusual appearances. Krais looked at the shortsword the man had held. Lying on the ground, its blade gleamed with some coating. 'Poison.'

He had already anticipated this before. What would Black Blade try? 'Persuasion.'

If that failed, threats would follow. What forms would those threats take? The first had been the attack on their journey home. Only after sending mercenaries, swordsmen bought with gold rather than their own members, would they have realized it. 'Neither Swallow Blade nor a band of mercenaries could do it?'

Would that make them give up? 'What would I do?'

He would not. Retreating now would drag Black Blade's name through the dirt. He could almost hear them asking: Did you really think we'd let you be? Assassination. He had not expected an attempt on this scale. Krais raised a hand to scratch his head. As he scratched, he surveyed the crowd, now considerably quieter. "Esther, please look after me."

If any assassins remained, he was a dead man. But he could hardly abandon the captain's orders and leave. Besides, he could roughly see their intention. There would be no assassins left here. Their target was Encrid. An attack on the territory itself would be an entirely different matter. Deliberately massacre residents of one of the kingdom's territories? That might bring out a knight order. However chaotic things were, however busy they were and however much they had to do, they could readily make time to cut down a few bandits. 'A way to finish this cleanly without going that far.'

Target just one man. What they had done here was bait, then. Had Encrid followed without realizing that? 'Not a chance.' "All right, everyone, calm down. You there, stop stepping on other people's merchandise. Stallholders, gather your goods first. Workers, gather to one side and keep your heads down. Patrolman, which unit are you with?" "Second Platoon, Second Company." Under Vengeance, then. Krais nodded and told the two men, "Let's stop beating people and sort this out." The patrolmen and nearby soldiers gathered. With more than a squad's worth of troops and Krais's keen eye, it took little time to restore order. "My goods! All this has ruined my goods!" "Oh, come on. You only brought a few wooden arrows to sell. What's all this about your goods? Hardly any of them broke." "You saw?"

The merchant, who had been blubbering as though his world had ended, changed his expression at once. Krais verbally subdued several shameless merchants, then soothed the others who had genuinely suffered losses. "Do you know the best thing about our Battalion Commander? He's swimming in gold. You won't get compensation for what you've lost, but plenty of places need hands right now. Work as laborers for a month or two. You'll earn plenty. More than you'd have made selling the goods you brought, I'd wager." Krais knew how to turn a crisis into an opportunity. They had to widen the main road and build watchtowers anyway. Hadn't they said they would finish digging the moat too? Then they would need a drawbridge. All of that required more than a few hands. The more workers, the better, and there was plenty of Krona to pay them. "All right, anyone with construction experience, form a separate group and let me know." Since he was at it, he decided to do something that would benefit the territory. People quickly adapted, even to this sudden change. An attack was an attack, smoke was smoke, cold was cold, and Krona was Krona. Krais had transformed the place into a hiring fair in no time. At his glance, two soldiers collected the bodies. With the people gathered, he shouted, "Hands up if you've built anything before!"

* * *

You could not tempt someone with Krona or sweet-talk them into stepping aside. With someone like that blocking your path, what if you could put a piece of steel into a passerby's hand and solve everything with a single instruction?

"Go stab him." A simple, straightforward method. That was what Black Blade had done. Encrid knew this was a lure. He had weathered more than five showers of darts as he ran, and in between them came a welcome sound. FWEEEEET! It was good to hear. Assassins who used whistle daggers could not be common. Encrid instinctively pinpointed the one using them. Pursuing someone while remaining concealed was not his specialty, so he simply ran straight after them. Naturally, that made him an easy target. All sorts of things flew from the hands of the assassins running together. He knocked every incoming projectile aside with the sword in his left hand, personally proving that it could serve as a shield. Some of the assassins were horrified by the sight. 'What the fuck is he?' 'Weren't the people around him supposed to be the problem?' 'Why can't we even graze him?' Everything was coated in poison. A graze was all they needed. Yet nothing so much as grazed him. When they threw a whistle dagger, he even caught it casually and tucked it inside his clothes. That was the only weapon without poison. Did he know that? And how was he doing that, anyway? Catching whistle daggers out of the air? Black Blade had several renowned assassins, but even they could not confidently perform a trick like that. He knocked an incoming bolt aside with his sword, his eyes darting around him. Every glance went straight toward a concealed position. Even so, the assassins headed for the agreed location: a field of waist-high reeds northeast of the territory, between it and the encampment farther north. Black Blade did not know. More precisely, they did not know enough. They knew Encrid was surrounded by dangerous people, but they did not know he was a threat himself. A misconception could be dangerous, even menacing. For these people, at least, misconceptions, misunderstandings, and a lack of information were synonymous with the reaper.