"Even as a band of thieves, we cannot underestimate the Black Blades' strength. If we involve them, Martai will back down immediately."
Martai was the name of a city in Naurilia, known for its complicated history.
At times, it was a fief under the Eastern Mercenary King, and at others, it fell under Naurilia's domain. This made it a city of mixed heritages, though it was currently Naurilian territory ruled by a self-proclaimed "general."
Half Naurilian, half Eastern city—such was Martai's identity.
Martai had recently declared what was essentially a threat of war against Border Guard, which is why this topic was being discussed.
The speaker was one of Border Guard's nobles.
Border Guard had several nobles. While their authority was far from matching that of central nobles, they weren't insignificant figures. These individuals held considerable influence over the city of Border Guard.
For instance, the man in front of Marcus was one such noble.
What was his name again?
Marcus didn't even bother remembering his name.
"Just another noble who pockets gold from the Black Blades."
That's how Marcus remembered him.
He considered the man to be little more than a member of the Black Blades thieves.
Frankly, he wanted to cut him down—lop off his head and be done with it.
But the Fairy Company Commander was, officially, his subordinate. Except, she didn't feel like one.
There was always the sense that any action taken would come with consequences.
Marcus trusted his instincts.
For various reasons, he couldn't simply cut down the man in front of him.
Besides, Marcus wasn't the sort to solve everything with violence. He wasn't some brute who saw his sword as the only solution.
More importantly, with a little thought, it seemed this man wouldn't be too difficult to deal with.
Short-sighted fools were always easy to bait.
"Martai's advance is troubling, but we'll focus on defense," Marcus said firmly.
The noble affiliated with the Black Blades pursed his lips but said nothing more.
Had he pushed further, Marcus might not have been able to restrain himself.
"Well, maybe not to that extent."
Still, Marcus could convey his feelings.
After all, he was nicknamed the "War Maniac" for a reason.
That image, that moniker, had been carefully cultivated.
Marcus stared at the noble with a blank expression. To some, it looked like a glare; to others, merely a gaze.
But the effect was undeniable.
The noble fell silent under the deadly, indifferent eyes of the War Maniac.
With that, Marcus moved on.
"Next agenda?"
It was a regular meeting. Border Guard was a military and fortress city.
Even though they had recently driven out Aspen, there was no shortage of tasks.
For example, from the south, there were reports of a significant group of monsters moving northward. This was due to certain southern nobles mishandling the monster threat and exacerbating the issue.
Leaving that group of monsters unchecked would lead to problems. It was a matter that required attention.
The fact that the southern monster disturbances were impacting the northern Border Guard was, frankly, a pain.
"Damn nobles."
Nobles cared only for their land and wealth.
It was because of people like them that such problems arose.
The noble in front of him was no different. Marcus could hardly stand the sight of him.
Thinking about these things constantly was sure to shorten his lifespan.
Thus, Marcus deliberately shifted his train of thought.
His thoughts wandered to Enkrid. While the noble before him wasn't worth remembering, Enkrid was unforgettable.
"Facing a gnoll horde to save a frontier village?"
What a story. Truly something to admire.
He had reportedly slain a thousand gnolls on his own.
While the story was likely exaggerated, one thing was certain: Enkrid had grown stronger. Even the commander of the 4th Company had vouched for it.
"In real combat, no one could confidently claim victory over him."
Marcus had a vague sense of the Fairy Commander's abilities.
She was far superior to most well-known warriors. Her exploits on the battlefield were proof enough.
If such a figure recognized Enkrid, that said a lot.
"Once, he was a mere amateur, obsessed with brute-force training."
There had even been rumors calling him a lucky soldier.
What nonsense. It wasn't luck—it was skill.
And he had the character to match.
Even Without Showing It
Even if it didn't show outwardly, Marcus could tell by Enkrid's attitude and the results of his actions.
What struck Marcus the most, though, was the image of Enkrid when he spoke of his dreams—battlefields, swords, and something radiant.
Could he truly become a knight?
Marcus, who had seen countless people over the years, could rationally conclude:
It was impossible.
But if he had to speak from what he saw and felt in Enkrid as a person?
"I'm not sure if he can, but I hope he does."
Day or night, it didn't change.
Seasons shifted, but it was the same.
Enkrid was constant, living every day as if it were the same as the last—a man who approached life one step at a time.
That consistency made Marcus want to help him along his path.
Thinking that, a gentle smile appeared on Marcus's face.
The noble from the Black Blades, watching this, abruptly spoke again.
"Appointing him directly as a company commander without a proper formation is reckless, don't you think?
Even if he has proven himself on a mission, the rumors of exaggeration are widespread…"
He was referring to Enkrid's appointment.
At those words, Marcus's previously composed and intimidating expression shifted. His brow furrowed, and the corners of his lips turned downward in a scowl.
"Enough. It's my decision. If you don't like it, then you can take over as battalion commander."
While Marcus had left room for discussion regarding involving the Black Blades, there was no leniency when it came to Enkrid's name.
His stance was clear—he wouldn't entertain any objections or differing opinions.
It was evident that anyone challenging him here would face Marcus's sword.
The Black Blades noble found this infuriating.
But killing Marcus wasn't an option.
"Damn bastard," he thought bitterly.
And with that, all his anger turned toward Enkrid.
To receive cheers, trust, and admiration from some inevitably meant drawing hatred from others.
The Black Blades noble, one of the key power players in Border Guard, was among those who hated Enkrid.
He despised him without reason, so much so that the thought of killing him crossed his mind.
After the Meeting
When the meeting ended and the nobles left, the Fairy Company Commander gazed at Marcus and spoke.
"Who gave you the nickname 'War Maniac'?"
The Fairy was perceptive, and Marcus didn't bother denying it.
"I did."
"Clever of you."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
It was exactly that. Marcus wasn't someone who loved war or relished in fighting.
He merely crafted that image for appearances.
Why?
It excused him from getting too involved in central politics and made it easier to lower his enemies' guard.
In reality, Marcus wasn't particularly exceptional at leading wars.
He could deploy armies when necessary, but his true talents lay elsewhere.
For instance, his discerning palate for finding fine wines.
"Why don't you joke around with me like you do with Enkrid?"
The banter between Enkrid and the Fairy Company Commander was well-known within the garrison.
"I dislike jokes," she replied before turning to leave.
After pondering her words for a moment, Marcus let out a dry laugh.
"Tch, Fairy humor. How difficult."
Of course, it was Fairy humor. She loved jokes, after all.
The Black Blades noble's name Vancento.
Vancento grew up in a monster-bordering region heavily influenced by the Wastes.
Food was always scarce there.
To young Vancento, everything was to be taken, not bought. That was his reality.
A loaf of bread was equal to a human life—sometimes even more valuable.
After surviving a brutal childhood, Vancento eventually made his way to a city.
With some luck, he managed to establish a small trading company.
While the company grew through blood, blades, fists, and threats, it encountered no major obstacles.
Around that time, Vancento made connections with the Black Blades.
Their immense power became the backbone of his expansion.
After ten years in the trade, he sold his company, amassed a fortune, and bought a noble title.
Like his childhood, his life was built by taking and taking more.
Now, Vancento's target was the city of Border Guard.
More specifically, he aimed to seize it using the Black Blades' strength.
Lacking noble bloodline and holding a purchased title, he knew his limits.
Thus, he dreamed of achieving something greater than his title—a city.
Vancento envisioned a future where the Black Blades ruled the land, and he was its master.
Becoming the mayor or lord of Border Guard sounded appealing.
"Once that happens, I'll deal with that Fairy woman first."
The Fairy Commander of the 4th Company always caught his attention.
"Should I kill Marcus or that thunderous fool first?"
"Not Marcus."
\"If he dies here, it'll draw attention from the Central Authority. That's something we don't want."
"Just get rid of that Enkrid fellow," Vancento said.
His bodyguard and member of the Black Blades nodded in agreement.
The bodyguard, who also couldn't stand Enkrid, silently thought:
"Propping up a nobody like that, huh?"
It was a common illusion, after all. Sparring? That was something easily accomplished with coordination among squadmates.
The stories circulating about Enkrid were flimsy at best.
Taking down a thousand gnolls? Ridiculous. What was he supposed to be, a quasi-knight? Or maybe even a knight from an order?
The bodyguard had seen Enkrid's skills in person a few months ago during training at the garrison.
"He's decent," he admitted.
But better than him? No way.
Narrow-minded people often mistake their limited perspective for the whole truth.
Though Enkrid had changed tremendously since then, the bodyguard refused to see it, dismissing him as a pretentious nobody and leaving it at that.
"Well, as for those squadmates of his…"
They were impressive. Remarkably so.
Taking on two of them at once would be a struggle even for him.
Why such skilled individuals were causing a ruckus in a frontier fortress city was beyond him.
Regardless, the plan was steadily progressing.
The Black Blades would begin building their kingdom here.
It would start small but grow steadily.
Eventually, Naurellia would fall, replaced by the Black Blade Kingdom.
Lost in his own ambitious dreams, the bodyguard released a pigeon.
The bird would deliver a message.
Even for something as minor as removing an eyesore like Enkrid, the Black Blades wouldn't waste resources.
They were meticulous.
Of course, there were likely larger objectives beyond killing one man.
The Black Blades' Assault Team
In response to contact from inside the city, the Black Blades sent ten fighters.
Each was exceptionally skilled.
Their leader, Dunbakel, was once a renowned mercenary.
A beastkin with a delicate appearance, Dunbakel wielded her scimitar with a balance of grace and destruction.
Her abilities earned her the title of a "city-level powerhouse," meaning her skill was enough to leave a mark on an entire city.
The nine others accompanying her were nearly on par with her.
"Pressure them? Scare them a bit? Sure," Dunbakel said, nodding. Paid to do a job, she would see it through.
They were just about to enter Border Guard when Dunbakel's nose twitched.
A pungent blend of acrid and sour smells mixed with the rank odor of decay.
The stench of a beast—or perhaps a monster.
There was also the faint scent of a human.
Dunbakel's head snapped toward the source.
A man in a black robe stood there, accompanied by a beast with menacing eyes glinting ominously.
"And who are you?"
Dunbakel immediately took a battle stance, and the stranger mirrored her.
One of the more observant Black Blades assessed the situation and commented:
"Doesn't seem like they're here for us."
Coincidentally, both parties were targeting Border Guard.
On one side was the Black Blades' raiding party.
On the other, an assassin from the Sacred Ground Cult of the Wastes.
The cult had already sent skilled assassins to Border Guard multiple times, but none had returned.
Something was happening in that city.
Their mission was twofold: investigate and wreak havoc.
"Where are you from?" asked the cultist, a monk trained in the cult's techniques—formidable and difficult to handle.
One of Dunbakel's sharper subordinates answered, "Black Blades."
"And your purpose?"
Dunbakel found the cultist's audacity grating and was ready to lunge, but a subordinate grabbed her arm.
Why?
Dunbakel's eyes asked the question. What's stopping me from cutting down this arrogant monk?
The subordinate shook his head, signaling restraint.
She almost yanked her arm free but held back.
After all, she was more of a mercenary in this scenario.
Though a leader, her position was due to her strength, not authority.
Another subordinate at the back of the group darted their eyes around before speaking up.
"It might even be a good opportunity," one of Dunbakel's subordinates commented.
"Do as you please," she replied indifferently, folding her arms and turning away.
Her disinterest left the cultist and one of the Black Blade rogues to negotiate freely.
"Then we'll each take what benefits us," the rogue proposed.
"Our objectives are aligned, after all," the cultist agreed.
Though wary of each other, they decided to cooperate for now.
"I'll begin," the cultist said, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he reached out to stroke the mane of his beast.
A guttural growl, deep and haunting, emanated from the creature. The sound was reminiscent of a hellhound, something straight out of nightmares.
And indeed, it might as well have been.
The creature, a manticore, was terrifying to behold. Its three rows of jagged teeth gleamed under the moonlight, its scorpion-like tail swayed menacingly, and its lion-like body was corded with muscle. Its eyes, narrow slits of gleaming yellow, radiated malevolence. Each claw was a knife honed to a deadly edge.
Manticores were apex monsters, capable of decimating an entire company of soldiers on their own.
"Go. Feast to your heart's content," the cultist ordered.
The manticore lunged forward with terrifying speed, its claws pounding against the ground. In a single leap, it scaled the fortress wall, bypassing the gate entirely.
Its roar echoed across the night, chilling all who heard it. Perched atop the wall, bathed in moonlight, the manticore radiated an aura of fear.
And in its path stood—
"A bear?"
Dunbakel squinted, straining her eyes to make sense of the figure confronting the beast.
It was too far to discern clearly, and the dim moonlight offered only vague impressions. But something—or someone—was there.
Dunbakel's Calculations
As a mercenary, Dunbakel knew the risks of engaging recklessly. Killing a nobleman in public would mean being branded a murderer, even if it were justified in private.
"Better to deal with him discreetly," she mused.
But even that wouldn't be easy. The noble's guards looked far from ordinary. Their stance and demeanor marked them as formidable fighters.
"Perhaps I could manipulate the Fourth Company Commander," she thought, her mind drifting to the elf.
Elves were natural assassins, after all, their sharp senses and stealth unmatched.
"That elf could probably sever a head like that with ease," she reasoned.
But the idea came with its own risks. Involving the elf might complicate things further.
"Still," she murmured to herself, "a step at a time."
For now, she focused her attention on the unfolding chaos ahead.