Chapter 94

Chapter 94

***

The night deepened, and the excitement grew. The flames, burning as if they were dancing, seemed to incite the restless hearts even further.

Vulgar laughter, slurred speech from the intoxicated, and even heavy, animalistic panting could be heard from certain tents.

Keeping watch on a night like this brought up a variety of emotions. The clearest among them was a sense of deprivation.

However, adults and professionals were the ones who knew how to handle such feelings well. The guards understood that they couldn't act purely on impulse.

That didn't mean they were glaring into the darkness with wide eyes, meticulously checking to see if the enemy was coming or not.

They were simply rolling dice on a small table near a bonfire on the outskirts of the camp.

Scattered copper coins, the clattering sound of rolling dice, and a spectator leaning his full weight on his spear.

Guard duty wasn't a fight against an enemy; it was a battle against drowsiness and profound boredom. Staying awake without sleeping—that in itself was the essence of standing guard. In that respect, they were excellent sentinels.

"Did you hear?"

One man asked, rolling two dice across the table. His gaze remained fixed on the dice as a few coins changed hands. He didn't seem particularly thrilled or upset about winning or losing.

"Hear what?"

"Reggie's nose bridge got smashed."

"Really? How did that happen?"

"Guess he got into a fight with the Hestein guys."

"What did the captain say?"

"He told him to get compensation and call it even."

"How much are they paying him?"

"Who knows? Probably just a few silver coins."

"Knowing Reggie's temper, that amount won't sit well with him."

"Exactly. Staying right next to the Hestein guys—isn't that just asking for trouble?"

"But what can we do?"

"We’ve gotta pay them back first."

By 'paying them back,' he meant they intended to smash an equal number of nose bridges.

Whether Hestein was a guild or a clan was unclear, but the guards evidently didn't have a good relationship with them.

In truth, there wasn't a single adventurer's guild or clan that wasn't entangled in some grudge or feud with another. Rickart himself, for instance, was basically sworn enemies with the Rubens Guild.

Everyone was caught in a tangled web of complex grudges. Gathering such people in one place was bound to cause problems.

"I'm sitting this one out."

"What?"

"Don't call me disloyal. We could actually die, you know. He's the Emperor's Champion. Didn't he say that if anyone dies from infighting, he'll hold the whole group responsible?"

"You actually believe that?"

"What if it's true? Just look at his eyes; he's no ordinary guy. I have a feeling that sooner or later, he's going to make an example out of someone—no, out of an entire clan. The timing is just bad right now."

"You little shit, are you scared?"

"Hey."

"Fine, man. I get it. If you don't wanna do it, you don't have to. You might be right, honestly. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Just roll the dice."

What could have turned into a minor argument thankfully blew over. But as the dice rolled across the small table, one of them bounced off the edge.

It tumbled quite a distance away. As one of the men tracked it with his eyes, he noticed a genuinely strange omen.

"What's that sound? Do you hear that?"

"Hear what? Huh?"

Though the late night had quieted things down somewhat, only the distant sounds of laughter and chatter should have been audible. However, as if buried beneath that noise, a distinct, foreign sound echoed from the opposite direction.

The two gamblers and the one spectator simultaneously peered into the darkness. And the bizarre sound grew steadily clearer.

"Uuuugh..."

It sounded like the groan of an ailing patient. Then came the crunching sound of footsteps. Someone was definitely approaching their position.

Hearing this, the two gamblers quickly pocketed the money on the table and drew their weapons.

"Who's there?"

The adventurer with the drawn sword shouted a stern warning into the darkness. But instead of an answer, a man staggering unsteadily emerged at the edge of the bonfire's light.

Instantly, the guards furrowed their brows. The man who had revealed himself looked a bit too strange to be a simple enemy.

Thick, pitch-black veins bulged grotesquely down his neck and across his face, making him look as if he were severely poisoned by something. And he kept walking forward.

"Uuuuurgh..."

"Fuck, is that an undead or something?"

"Hey, if you're human, speak up. Before you die."

"Hey, Elam, hand me your spear."

"Yes? Ah, yes."

One of the gamblers took a spear from the junior adventurer and, flipping it around, prodded the approaching man with the end of the shaft rather than the blade.

"Look here, don't come any closer. We aren't nice people. We don't give a shit whether you die or not."

Despite the prodding, the staggering man kept inching forward, even as he was pushed back.

"Fuck, something is definitely weird about this."

"Hey, Elam, go tell the captain. If he's drunk, split his head open to wake him up if you have to."

"What is wrong with this bastard. Hey!"

The man holding the spear continued to poke the staggering figure. Getting irritated, he looked ready to flip the spear around and thrust the blade.

"Gkh. Gkk. Gkkhh..."

But the man suddenly gagged as if he were about to throw up, and a deep, blood-red light began to shine from just beneath his skin.

Eyes wide with shock, wondering what this was, the guards had no time to react before the staggering man's upper body burst open. It wasn't just a simple tear; it was practically an explosion.

Boom—!

Bone fragments erupted like shrapnel, pelting the adventurer holding the spear. Chunks of flesh and organs were thrown far and wide. A foul-smelling gas rapidly spread in all directions.

And with slight delays, similar explosions began detonating simultaneously all across the encampment.

Boom! Ba-boom! Boom!

The spectator watching from behind jumped in sheer terror. Although his face contorted at the stench, he pinched his nose and rushed forward to help his comrade. At that exact moment, a flash of light tore through the darkness.

Swish!

The adventurer rushing to his friend's aid had his head cleanly lopped off in a single stroke. The person who killed him stepped into the flickering light of the bonfire. He wore a mask pointed like a bird's beak and was completely cloaked in a black cape.

Amidst this, the rookie adventurer named Elam was desperately searching for his Clan Master. The masked Sword Master strode into the camp.

The camp was thrown into absolute chaos in a matter of seconds. Screams echoed along with urgent shouts calling for others.

"Aaagh!"

"Hector! Hector!"

"Grab your weapons first! Don't run!"

Hearing the commotion, Rickart, who had been sleeping in his tent alongside Marie, snapped his eyes open. Relying on his instinct that something terrible was happening, he quickly threw on some clothes, grabbed his sword, and rushed outside.

Marie hurried out after him, and the two witnessed the encampment descending into absolute pandemonium. Flames could be seen rising in the distance.

"It's a night raid."

"Where's the enemy?"

Quickly assessing the situation, Rickart ducked back into his tent and hauled out his heavy suit of armor.

Marie thought he was rushing to put it on, but instead, he simply hung it from a sturdy pole.

"Come over here. Protect me for a second."

"Right."

Rickart ran towards Bolka's tent with his armor suspended on the pole. As he ran, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Ricky is here! Ricky is here!"

Hearing this, the adventurers of the Ehrenberg Branch, who were desperately trying to make sense of the chaotic situation, turned their heads.

Rickart's armor, dangling from the pole, reflected the firelight brightly, making it clearly visible even from a distance. The surcoat, embroidered with violets, fluttered prominently.

Unlike the sheer panic gripping the rest of the camp, the Ehrenberg adventurers quickly rallied around Rickart.

Judging by their appearances, none of them were properly equipped; some were even missing a shoe. It was a complete mess, but every single one of them had a weapon firmly in hand.

In a situation like this, there was no time for a headcount.

Employing his monstrous strength, Rickart slammed the pole deep into the ground, turning to the wide-eyed Bolka.

"As long as we hold this spot, we win. You know what I'm saying, right?"

Bolka nodded numbly.

When ambushed, it was only natural for people to panic. In moments like that, the worst thing for an army or group to do was to scatter like frightened sheep; they absolutely had to clump together tightly as one.

Rickart took a broad look around. Dozens of panicked, wide-eyed pairs of eyes were fixed on him. He was inwardly surprised by how quickly and fully his group had managed to assemble.

In an instant, he sized up his own forces while simultaneously reading the tide of the battle.

Even amidst the chaos, Rickart’s sharp eyes swiftly analyzed the direction the night raid had come from, the scale of the enemy forces, the condition of the allied troops, and the window for a counterattack.

However, the enemy numbers seemed surprisingly small. Just like being startled by a pot lid after being scared by a turtle, it seemed the chaos was merely breeding more chaos.

And amazingly, the allied forces weren't running away haphazardly despite the confusion.

If they were standard military soldiers, they might have easily routed, but since they were already organized and divided into clans, muscle memory and habitual reliance kept them together.

Adventurers lacked experience in large-scale warfare, but they had plenty of experience in small skirmishes.

Even if they couldn’t rally as swiftly as Rickart’s group, everyone was centering themselves around their respective Clan Masters to respond to the bedlam in their own way.

Then, one specific enemy caught Rickart's eye. It was a Sword Master wearing a mask that jutted out like a bird's beak.

He kept weaving in and out of sight among the tents, but as Rickart watched closely, the bastard honestly didn't seem to know how to fight properly.

He might have trained his sword hard enough to become a Sword Master, but it seemed he completely lacked any operational objective. He showed no intention of seizing the command post or annihilating the forces.

For one thing, the enemy's numbers were far too small for annihilation, and since he wasn't mounted on a horse, he couldn't swiftly break through to the leadership. He was purely hyper-fixated on killing whoever was right in front of him.

And consequently, he wasn’t even killing that many people. He appeared to be running amok in his own frenzied panic.

Practice makes perfect, and his attempts at setting fires were utterly clumsy. That’s not how you do it.

Did they naively think that just throwing a few Sword Masters into the fray would guarantee an automatic victory? To others, it might have been terrifying, but to Rickart, it was pathetic.

"The rest of you, stay here. Bolka is in command. Put out the fires around us. Finding water isn't easy, so just focus on making sure it doesn't spread. Marie, Ice, Bori—come with me."

Without properly putting on his armor and relying solely on a simple arming sword, Rickart headed off with his friends to kill the enemy.

Meanwhile, the masked man was furiously chasing someone down, finally killing them. Sometimes he would lose his target in the maze of tents, blindly slashing at fabric, until he noticed Rickart's group approaching him.

Thinking 'perfect,' he charged straight at them. Marie drew her sword and met him head-on. The two Sword Masters clashed, each radiating a different colored light.

CHAAAANG—!

A deafening metallic clang, the likes of which none had heard before, erupted as if intending to tear their eardrums. In that split second, Bori-bori and Ice drew their swords with lightning speed and attacked from the flanks.

Having not expected Marie to be a Sword Master, the enemy hastily stepped back, stumbling slightly. Bori-bori and Ice might not be Sword Masters yet, but they were far from easy targets.

As two blades flashed, the enemy's arm was severed in an instant. However, perhaps due to the power of his faith, even with an arm gone, he twisted his body, somehow evaded a fatal blow, and thrust his sword forward in a desperate bid to take Marie down with him.

But with a sickening crunch, his neck snapped, killing him instantly. Rickart had landed a high kick perfectly from his blind spot.

It was a kick fueled by the monstrous strength of the legendary hero Ilya; surviving a blow like that to the head was next to impossible.

CRACK!

The shattered mask flew off and rolled across the ground, and the enemy collapsed in a heap, his head twisted at an unnatural ninety-degree angle. Marie drove her sword through his neck just to ensure he was dead.

Rickart scanned his surroundings once more. He was honestly a bit surprised that the adventurers were holding their ground and defending the camp instead of fleeing. They're actually pretty useful, aren't they?

Although the area around the central bonfire was an absolute wreck, the chaos began to subside as time passed.

Spotting another Sword Master, Rickart dashed straight towards him. However, someone beat him to it. It was Helauman.

While the adventurers' response had been commendable, his actions had played a massive role in quelling the panic. He might not have been a competent military commander, but when it came to the blade, he was unanimously hailed as the strongest in the entire Empire.

He had clearly already slain several enemies, as a fair amount of blood splattered his face and clothes. And there was a bright, delighted smile plastered across his entire face, as if he was genuinely enjoying himself.

Helauman gazed at the masked enemy and spoke.

"Once upon a time, we created many like you through something we called the 'Final Test.' But we stopped. Do you know why?"

"......"

"Because they're utterly useless. A dog that bites its master is worthless. They all end up broken, you see."

Helauman looked exceptionally thrilled, a rare sight. Though he too seemed far from sane, Rickart could somewhat strangely relate. He was just genuinely happy to have found an opponent worth fighting.

"You become a Sword Master by hacking away at pity and compassion... but I was born without either of those to begin with. That's why I'm still having fun, while you must be bored out of your mind. That is the difference between you and me. The only real shame is that this fight lacks any real bite."

Helauman’s sword hummed as it gathered mana. It glowed with a blue light, but its density was fundamentally different from any other Sword Master's aura. Trails of something resembling blue smoke rose steadily from the blade.

Compared to his, the Cult Paladin's sword was like a dim firefly under the moonlight.

Because duels between Sword Masters were an exceedingly rare spectacle, an audience of adventurers naturally gathered, holding their breath as they watched.

Helauman unhurriedly closed the distance. From the aura alone, the winner seemed already decided. A stark difference in skill level among Sword Masters was painstakingly obvious.

Then, with a desperate roar, the opponent launched himself at Helauman.

"I swear to God! I fought till the bitter end!"

It was fast, but far too simple. Furthermore, it bore an unsettling resemblance to Ice's swordsmanship.

Yet, Helauman audaciously thrust his own body straight into the path of the enemy's incoming blade.

In a fraction of a second, he slipped past the enemy’s sword with barely a hair's breadth to spare, moving as smoothly as a gentle breeze. Then, using only a flick of his wrist, he twirled his sword and sliced forcefully through his opponent's waist.

The hyper-sharpened blade cleaved the man in half with an almost anticlimactic ease.

Driven by his own momentum, the paladin's upper torso flew forward a short distance, while his lower half crumpled heavily to the dirt. Blood rained down between the bisected halves, spraying the ground with long ropes of intestines.

Before the enemy had even hit the ground, Helauman was already sheathing his sword. There wasn't a single drop of blood staining the blade.

His slick, slicked-back hair remained entirely unruffled. Despite that, he coolly ran a hand through the side of his hair.

Witnessing the sheer might and technique of someone that had seemingly transcended humanity, the adventurers were completely struck dumb, incapable of even offering a cheer. He truly was a superhuman. A terrifying superhuman.

The Emperor may be dead and the throne vacant, but the Champion was alive and well.

However, Helauman’s brief moment of joy quickly evaporated, instantly replaced by a wave of profound emptiness.

He seemed to briefly slide his gaze toward Rickart and Marie before leaving one final instruction for the adventurers and retreating to his tent.

"Clean this up."

Marie's hands trembled faintly. Because just when she had thought she had narrowly escaped his clutches, witnessing his overwhelming power again filled her with an intense dread and bottomless despair. If that man decided to make me his puppet once more, would I even be able to resist?

Rickart reached out and took her hand tightly. They had repelled the night raid, but they had absolutely no idea who the real enemy was.