Audin literally toyed with the Manticore.
It seemed as though he was simply slapping it.
The Manticore, battered by the strikes, curled its tail and slowly retreated.
Grrrrr.
On the ground, the beast's sharp teeth, fur, and dark blue blood were scattered.
As the Manticore curled its tail, Audin still smiled benevolently and gave a subtle gesture with his hand.
"It's time to go. Brother Monster."
His tone remained the same, but the meaning was different. It was a death sentence.
The Manticore pulled one of its legs back, clearly frightened.
It seemed like it was about to flee. Most of the watching soldiers thought so, but Audin didn't.
The Manticore was an upper-level monster, a very cunning one.
After pulling back, it suddenly lunged forward with no warning, its strike silent and quick.
Its claws shot out, and its tail crashed down from above.
Audin had anticipated it. He knocked away the front paw and grabbed the tail, using the Manticore's momentum to slam it into the ground.
Boom!
With a loud crash.
The Manticore groaned in pain.
It was an upper-level monster, capable of taking on a whole platoon of soldiers, but it was no match for Audin.
As it was slammed into the ground, rocks flew in all directions. The startled soldiers had now turned into cheerleaders.
"Well done!"
"Whoo!"
"Madman!"
Among them, the term "madman" seemed fitting.
Audin approached the Manticore and slapped its face a few more times.
After tossing the beast around several times, he finally climbed onto its back, grabbed its neck, and with a swift motion, twisted it. The Manticore, resembling a snake with its long tongue, stuck it out.
With its eyes rolling back, it exhaled a faint breath before collapsing. Its forehead hit the ground with a thud.
The upper-level monster, who had been slapped mercilessly, was now nothing more than a high-priced corpse.
From its teeth to its leather and innards, everything about it was valuable.
"What the hell are you?"
A voice filled with disbelief came from the opposite side where the soldiers were gathered. To Audin's right, there was a group of soldiers, and the voice came from the left.
"I didn't think such a monster would come alone. Where are you from, brother?"
Audin, backlit by the moon, stood up from the Manticore's back.
Following the direction of the voice, a heretic had appeared atop the gallery at the end of the castle wall.
Audin had expected this. It was inevitable.
Upper-level monsters were intelligent and cunning.
A Manticore would never be foolish enough to attack a human-made castle.
Especially after taking such a beating and still fighting? That didn't make sense.
If it was starving, it might charge, but even then, it had been given an opportunity to escape.
Yet, it kept attacking.
That meant someone was controlling it.
Audin waited for that person to reveal themselves.
That was why the fight had dragged on. As soon as he sensed the presence of the real enemy, he killed the Manticore.
Now, it was no longer needed.
"Bold!"
The person shouting that had blue light flickering in his eyes. Audin recognized it.
The mark of a heretic.
He was a follower of the evil gods.
"You are a brother who serves the heresy," Audin muttered quietly.
During his days as an Inquisitor, he had hunted down heretics like this.
The heretic, whose eyes shone a bright blue, raised his hand. As he did, the soldiers were too shocked to say anything.
It was the perfect moment.
Bang!
Audin disappeared—or at least, that's what it looked like. His body was faster than the Manticore, closing the distance with incredible speed.
Boom!
With the sound of the ground shaking, a deafening noise rang out.
To the soldiers' eyes, they saw only a figure flying to the side, crashing into the wall.
Suspended in the air, twitching, was now a lifeless body.
"May the gods watch over you."
Audin's voice rang softly as he recited a prayer.
The soldiers' gazes turned toward the massive creature that had now come to a halt, its right fist extended in the air.
The mad squad's Audin.
Now rumored to be part of an independent unit.
Audin's strike had been too fast for the soldiers to properly see.
All that was left were the results.
Audin lowered his hand, returning to his usual demeanor.
The soldiers looked at the broken body that had been slammed into the gallery wall.
The body was half-crushed, and what should have been there was now missing. The head was gone.
"Where's the head?"
They didn't know. All they knew was that the insane religious fanatic had erased someone from this earth with a single punch.
The evidence was the blood splattered in a radial pattern across the gallery wall.
"...I really shit myself."
One soldier felt the terror rising within him, realizing he hadn't truly seen what happened.
How could someone like that exist?
The Manticore and the heretic were dead.
Most of the soldiers hadn't properly grasped the situation.
Fortunately, one squad leader who had arrived late on the gallery began to take control of the situation.
"The ambush... ah, it's dealt with. Seeing the commotion outside, I think more are coming, so everyone, head downstairs for support…"
"There's no need for that, brother."
Audin, after his prayer, stared blankly at the wall beneath the castle.
"Eh?"
"It's almost over."
Audin saw his platoon leader, the one he had been training with. Though he had known him from their sparring sessions, seeing him in real combat was different.
'You've gotten stronger, Brother.'
The way he moved his body and wielded his sword now revealed something Audin hadn't seen before—confidence and faith, things that had grown over time.
If Audin had known him from the start, this would be a remarkable advancement.
And that made Audin happy. What could he do? He had come to genuinely hope for his success.
'Is this your will, my Lord? Did you guide him?'
Though his Lord still gave no answer, Audin no longer needed one. He had come to a small realization here.
It all started through Enkrid.
'Needing an answer might be a sign of my weakness. I will move forward without doubting or needing proof.'
There was a person who lived like that, following the words of the holy scriptures, never yielding to anything and overcoming any hardship.
How could one not be pleased by watching such a person?
Audin wished blessings upon Enkrid, who burned away his own life.
But Enkrid didn't wait for blessings—he earned them himself.
And so now, Audin would pray for him, but he didn't need to beg the gods.
"Good."
The squad leader blinked, clearly confused, looking at the bear-like figure.
But, was it really okay to not go down?
Distracted by the noise outside, he still moved his feet. When he went downstairs, he found soldiers with holes in their bellies and others bleeding heavily from their thighs.
"That guy's a spy."
The soldier clutching his stomach spoke. He was pressing down on his wound with his own shirt to staunch the bleeding.
The squad leader ordered the soldier who had followed him.
"Keep him captured."
The squad leader looked at the spy abandoned by Enkrid and then examined the open gate.
From the castle walls, the fight had been hard to see.
There, a lone figure in black was cutting through and stabbing enemies to death.
It was a familiar face—none other than the infamous Mad Squad Leader.
The Black Blade bandits were in disarray. Dunbakel, in particular, had never experienced anything like this.
"A knight? No, a knight's order member?"
Dunbakel spoke, her hand on her scimitar. Was this opponent too much for them? Or had they just come unprepared?
Five of the men who came with her were already dead.
Two others had lost a leg.
Even if a high-ranking priest came and poured divine power on them, they would still be crippled, limping for the rest of their lives.
And, of course, that priest was not coming, and even if they did, no divine healing would be given. They were done for.
At this point, it seemed like Dunbakel was about to die from blood loss.
The opponent, still holding his sword, flipped it in his hands and gave a small nod.
It was clear that this person wasn't even acknowledging Dunbakel's words. The calmness and leisure were evident.
"What the hell are you?"
Dunbakel asked in disbelief, but Enkrid just shrugged.
He didn't feel the need to explain his dream of becoming a knight or how he wasn't one yet to someone who bore malice.
Instead, Enkrid examined his sword.
'It cuts like a dream.'
He had aimed to slash at the thigh, but the thick leather pants were cleanly sliced open.
The cutting ability was extraordinary. Was it because the blacksmith had sharpened it well, or was the sword itself just that great?
Enkrid decided it was both.
The balance, with the pommel in hand and the leather wrap around the hilt, felt perfect. Along with the sharpness, the strength of the blade impressed him greatly.
Though it didn't appear to be Valerisan steel, it was a high-quality weapon.
This was the first time Enkrid had held such a fine sword.
"Aren't you coming?"
Enkrid spoke lightly, almost to the wind.
He wanted to use the sword more. Of course, he was also eager to try out the techniques he had honed.
He had once dismissed Rem as overly frustrated, but now he realized,
'Am I the same?'
Somehow, he found himself eager for more combat.
Dunbakel frowned at his opponent's words.
'Where did this guy come from?'
The scent was different from the start. The keen nose of a beastman could sense the level of an opponent even before engaging in battle.
To be precise, it was the realm of instinct that protected one's life.
Dunbakel had started to get a sense of the situation.
'This seems like my grave.'
So, should she run?
She didn't want to.
Well, hadn't she been living a life half-heartedly ready to die? In that case, closing the book of life at this point wouldn't be so bad.
He had come here to die in battle, so she had made his peace with it.
Most importantly, the opponent who had stepped up to face her wasn't bad at all. Both his appearance and skills were the kind of opponent Dunbakel liked.
'He's overwelming.'
Thinking this, Dunbakel couldn't help but let out a small laugh, one that didn't quite fit the current situation.
At the sound, the last remaining member of the Black Blade bandits shot a glare at him.
From him came the unmistakable smell of fear—like the stench of urine.
"Do you want to live?"
Dunbakel asked the bandit he didn't even know the name of.
"What?"
Was this crazy woman asking if he wanted to live?
"Seems not."
Before the bandit could respond, Dunbakel's muscular fist slammed into his face.
Thud!
The heavy noise echoed.
"Ugh!"
The bandit's legs flew up as he let out a strange, short final cry.
With a single punch, Dunbakel's fist had driven deep into the bandit's right eye, causing it to pop out, spraying blood and shattered facial bones in every direction.
The bandit, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on Enkrid in nervous tension, now had one side of his face caved in, and of course, he was dead.
"Good resting place."
Dunbakel muttered, still holding out his fist. She didn't explain her actions. Instead, she revealed her true nature.
"Hey, let's fight properly."
The moment Dunbakel spoke, her eyes changed. Her pupils elongated and split vertically, transforming into something more beastly.
Growl.
What was the difference between a werewolf and a beastman?
It was in their appearance.
Beastmen were originally humans with animal traits added.
Because of that, they didn't undergo transformations like this.
Though sometimes they might experience a slight physical change, like longer teeth or sharper eyes, their human form never altered drastically.
That was the norm for beastmen.
But Dunbakel was different.
With the beast's blood surging through her body, something animalistic took over, and Dunbakel began to transform.
Crack.
Long white fur sprouted all over her body.
Her facial bones cracked and shifted, becoming like those of a lion's.
Enkrid had seen beastmen in his life, but this... was different.
Why was she transforming?
Though it was a long explanation, she had changed almost instantly.
"Monster?"
Enkrid asked. Could this one speak?
Her new form resembled something like a lycanthrope, but with a lion's appearance—especially one with white fur and a very different aura from a werewolf.
Honestly, Enkrid thought she resembled a mythical guardian of some celestial temple rather than a mere monster.
At least, that's how it felt to him, but the first word that came to his mind was still "monster."
"Grarrr, I've been called that a lot."
Dunbakel responded with a growl, as was often the case when she transformed.
Enkrid felt a strange sensation in her aura, her attitude, and even her tone.
It wasn't that she was referring to a resting place for herself—it almost seemed as if she was wishing for death.
But that wasn't the important thing.
"Are you coming?"
"Of course! Grrawr!"
Without waiting for an answer, a massive white lion lunged toward him.
Her left hand extended claws as she slashed with them, and with her other hand, she swung a scimitar that had appeared out of nowhere.
Claws and blade intersected, targeting Enkrid's chest and waist.
Without missing a beat, Enkrid raised his sword, striking twice in quick succession.
Both were slicing blows, each packed with powerful impact.
In that moment, he activated his Heart of the Beast, using a technique that wouldn't allow the enemy to bind him.
It was a technique focused on overwhelming force.
Clang!
Thud!
He deflected the claws and the scimitar with one powerful strike.
However, the beastman didn't retreat.
She charged in, a relentless assault as if she had already accepted her death.
Enkrid was momentarily stunned by the ferocity of the charge.
They were now so close that the beastman, expecting her attack to be blocked, tilted her head back and prepared to slam her forehead into him.
'Valen-style mercenary sword?'
After the charge, a headbutt—this was a familiar move.