“What was that guy’s usual behavior like?”

To understand a person, it’s best to ask around in various places. That’s exactly what Kraiss did.

He started with Deutsch Pullman.

“Polite. He was as smooth as a tongue in one’s mouth, meticulous too. He never started anything unless he was certain about it.”

A wasted talent. That’s what Deutsch thought of him before he became a cultist. He had no enemies, thanks to his amicable relationships with everyone, and his meticulous nature was considered his greatest strength.

“He was sly. Both in what he did and how he did it,” Lua Gharne added.

"Sly, cautious, and never acting without certainty."

Even in gambling or betting, he would never take risks unless the odds were in his favor.

“He was good at everything, but he always took a lot of time to prepare. The captain seemed to appreciate that.”

“And his position in battle formations? Wasn’t it always at the very back? Oh, right. Always at the very back.”

“Now that you mention it, yes.”

Combining the opinions of the militia members, Kraiss pieced together an image in his mind.

To Kraiss, the man was like a petty goat—sneaky and calculating. He also got a sense of the man’s habits.

"In terms of personality, he’s a bit like Jaxon."

Jaxon was thorough when it came to preparation, often nitpicking over details. But the cultist was even more foolish than that—far more so.

Kraiss drafted a script. A plan to lure out the sly, timid bastard.

To be precise, it was a scenario designed to make him lower his guard.

“Should we make you cough up some blood? You can use this.”

He handed over a small pouch made from pig bladder. Inside, he had placed goat blood. It smelled foul, but since it wasn’t going into anyone’s mouth, merely dripping it out should suffice.

“Wouldn’t it help if you got a little injured? Frokk can handle minor wounds, right?”

“No problem.”

Lua Gharne was fearless—she had already lost an arm, after all.

“This should make it even more convincing. But are you sure you’ll be okay with one arm missing?”

“I’m right-handed.”

Was that really an answer?

Maybe it was.

In any case, seeing the severed arm would reassure the enemy, making them confident of their victory.

Even with these measures, the morale of their allies didn’t falter. That was thanks to Enkrid.

What he had shown amidst the monsters and beasts that day left a deep impression. Even Kraiss had been compelled to shout in awe.

The plan took all of that into account.

"This should do."

The idea was to steer the enemy’s thoughts in a specific direction. It was almost like training them, creating a fixed pattern in their minds.

"They don’t seem particularly clever."

Humans have habits, and hiding at the back was one of theirs—a deeply ingrained reflex. Changing such a habit in an instant was unlikely.

"Not a chance."

Identifying the enemy’s location was a simple task for Kraiss.

He used Esther to plant a preconception in the enemy’s mind: wherever the leopard was, Enkrid must be there.

Before dawn, before the enemy could notice, Enkrid and Lua Gharne were sent out.

“Finn, try this on,” Kraiss instructed, handing Finn some clothes.

After dressing Finn, he placed her atop the barricade in a gallery-like area, positioning Esther beside her.

When the monster and beast horde, confident in their victory, charged forward, Kraiss easily pinpointed the cultist’s location.

He would be somewhere hidden, where he could observe his enemies while remaining unseen.

Probably wearing a disguise, perhaps even covered in monster hide.

Reading the enemy’s intentions and setting a trap based on that—it was simple, straightforward work.

At least, for Kraiss, it was.

***

“That bug-eyed friend of yours is quite useful. Turns out a face isn’t everything,” Lua Gharne remarked.

Enkrid’s jaw moved slightly, acknowledging her point.

The bug-eyed one, Kraiss, had been right. After ambushing the spot Kraiss predicted, they found the target—a man disguised under something resembling hyena hide.

Enkrid wiped off the charcoal makeup mixed with water that he had applied earlier.

He also brushed away the grayish dust-like powder sprinkled across his face, sending a puff of fine particles into the air. The gritty texture had been uncomfortable the entire time.

“You tricked me!”

Ah, such a textbook reaction.

Moments like this always made Enkrid want to say something. His lips itched to respond.

“Only fools get deceived.”

The world had grown so cruel and cunning that reactions like this had become rare. It was refreshing to witness a response straight out of a script.

It left him feeling oddly satisfied.

“You bastards!”

The cultist’s face twisted in fury, his eyes burning red.

A few nearby gnolls responded to his cry, turning back and charging at them.

Grragh!

The cultist’s spells of brainwashing and confusion disrupted the minds of the monsters. The gnolls showed no fear.

Under normal circumstances, after witnessing their kin being cut down by Enkrid’s sword, they should have scattered and fled. Instead, they charged recklessly.

But Enkrid didn’t even need to lift his sword.

Whip! Crack! Thud! Bang!

Lua Gharne’s whip lashed out, the iron weight at its tip smashing into the heads of the gnolls, causing them to burst.

One of the gnolls, wielding a thick wooden shield, managed to block the whip.

With a loud crack, part of the shield shattered, though it successfully absorbed the blow.

This was a mutated gnoll. Behind the shield, its fangs glinted as it grinned menacingly.

As three or four of these mutated gnolls approached the cultist to guard him, Lua Gharne puffed out her cheeks.

“Do you think I’ll miss twice?”

“You reckless frog! You don’t understand—I wasn’t ready last time!” the cultist shouted, his tongue sharp and cutting.

At that moment, Enkrid’s hand moved.

Whoosh.

A flash of light—a thrown knife—cut through the air.

It wasn’t a whistle dagger, so it wasn’t as fast. However, with the power of the Heart of Might behind it, the knife flew swiftly and directly.

Its trajectory was flawless, heading straight for the cultist’s forehead.

Just before it hit—

Thunk!

One of the mutated gnolls extended its left arm, intercepting the knife. The blade lodged into the gnoll’s thick hide.

Expressionless, the mutated gnoll used its other hand to pull the knife from its arm and toss it aside.

Black blood oozed from the wound, but the gnoll didn’t flinch. Its yellow eyes locked onto Enkrid, and Enkrid met its gaze.

“Its reaction time...”

Not bad. No, it was excellent.

The gnoll’s yellow eyes glared at Enkrid, and Enkrid stared right back.

***

The cultist was cautious, but he wasn’t a fool.

He understood that continuing to control the monsters in this manner was a waste of his magical energy. Why squander his strength unnecessarily?

There was a better way—to create a leader for the colony.

The previous leader had been the one wielding twin poisoned daggers in a frenzy. This time, the cultist chose the largest of the mutated gnolls.

He cast his spell upon it.

As the magic took effect, black ripples seemed to rise like a haze from the gnoll’s shoulders.

“It’s the cultist’s trickery,” Lua Gharne said tersely, her tone warning of caution.

Enkrid unsheathed his sword. This time, just one blade instead of two.

Holding it with both hands, he planted it firmly in front of him and stared at the enemy.

He fixed his gaze not only on the black haze surrounding the mutated gnoll but also on the cultist behind it.

"How will it go?"

At some point, Enkrid began measuring his opponents’ strength using Rem as the standard.

"Are they like Rem?"

Or,

"Are they tougher than Rem?"

And if not,

"Which would be harder—facing Rem or this opponent?"

The conclusion was simple.

"Not even close."

Comparing them to Rem almost felt like an insult to that brutish barbarian.

Thus, Enkrid gave a single command:
“Cover me.”

And then, he charged.

The cultist was confident, believing in the summoning magic he had cast.

Even as the leader gnoll charged forward, the cultist trusted his creation. No matter how capable the opponent was, this new leader was his calculated trump card, designed as an unforeseen variable.

In the cultist’s mind, the gnoll leader was an unexpected force.

While the gnoll and Enkrid clashed, Lua Gharne rushed toward him.

The cultist aimed to play a winning hand. He judged the one wielding the sword as far more dangerous than the one-armed Frokk.

"Sacrifice the flesh..."

To break the bones.

The cultist’s decision was swift.

From his right fingertips, a black, solid lump formed and dropped to the ground.

It was darker than shadows, exuding an ominous aura that filled the air with foreboding.

“The warrior’s arm,” the cultist murmured.

The lump immediately took shape.

It was an uncanny figure—humanoid, with spindly legs, a single thick arm, and no head.

Its right arm was grotesquely oversized, holding a crude, blunt blade.

Meanwhile, Lua Gharne lunged forward and lashed out with her whip. The whip cracked through the air, aimed squarely at the cultist’s head.

"Block it!"

The cultist’s voice rang out, veins bulging in his bloodshot eyes.

Thunk!

A mutated gnoll intercepted the whip with its body.

Without hesitation, Lua Gharne twisted her wrist, sending the whip curling like a serpent.

The whip bypassed the dead gnoll, twisting once more toward the cultist’s head.

The cultist twisted his body in desperation, narrowly avoiding the strike. However, the whip caught his left arm, wrapping around it tightly.

Snap!

With a sickening crack, the whip shattered the bones in his arm.

Damnable frog!

The cultist bit his tongue to stifle a scream, blood pooling in his mouth.

He swallowed the blood, muttered an incantation, and in an instant, his left arm dissolved into a black, viscous liquid.

“Dog of Huarin!” the cultist bellowed.

The black liquid transformed, taking the shape of a large, four-legged beast, bigger than an ordinary hound.

The effort of summoning yet another creature twisted the cultist’s insides. His stomach churned, his vision swam, and blood poured freely from where his left arm had once been.

"Shit."

He could die at this rate.

Gritting his teeth, he gulped down more blood, barely holding on.

Then he saw it—what was happening before him—and let out a dry chuckle.

Lua Gharne was busy battling the beast he had summoned.

On the other side, the odd half-baked junior knight was facing the gnoll leader. The summoned warrior’s arm had nearly reached him.

"Victory is mine."

The cultist felt certain.

Lua Gharne tightened her grip on her whip, coiling it around her wrist. The shorter the whip, the more devastating its power.

Her opponent, however, wasn’t revealing its full capabilities. The summoned beast was proving trickier than expected.

It was fast, with razor-sharp fangs. Despite having no eyes, it dodged her attacks with eerie precision.

This wasn’t the kind of opponent she could simply lash and finish off.

The cultist had summoned two entities at once, a feat indicating he was far beyond an ordinary priest.

"Just hold out," Lua Gharne thought. That would suffice.

She drew a weapon she had prepared for such occasions. Among the most troublesome foes she had faced during her travels were spiritual entities—ghosts and specters.

The cultist’s summoned creatures were similar in nature.

There were many ways to deal with them, but Lua Gharne preferred the simplest method.

For instance:

“Burn,” she muttered.

Her whip ignited with a blue flame. It was, of course, an enchanted tool—one specifically designed to strike summoned creatures effectively.

Lua Gharne didn’t know.

She didn’t realize that the cultist was burning through his own lifespan to maintain his summons.

All she thought was that he had sent a distraction her way while targeting Enkrid with a more troublesome entity.

At that moment, the warrior’s arm sprinted on its spindly legs, closing the distance to Enkrid.

It was nearly upon him.

Enkrid had just deflected the gnoll leader’s heavy club with his sword, drawing it across the gnoll’s abdomen to leave a deep slash.

Rip!

The wound was so deep that the gnoll’s intestines spilled out, but the creature swung its club again as if oblivious to the pain.

Enkrid ducked, bending his knees and waist to avoid the attack.

The club whooshed over his head.

Flowing like water, Enkrid shifted his blade, slicing the back of the gnoll’s knees.

Crossing his left and right feet, he maneuvered behind the creature and struck its calves twice more.

Slice, slice!

That was enough.

The gnoll collapsed to its knees, unable to support itself.

Twisting his body, Enkrid spun with his blade, delivering a decisive slash.

Thud!

The gnoll’s head flew into the air.

Guh—

It died without even a proper scream.

Although his movements were not seamless, every action was tailored to the situation. Throughout it all, Enkrid fought as if he were sparring with Rem.

For him, this was easier than dealing with a large group. The outcome was swift and clear—a stark difference in skill.

As the gnoll leader fell, the warrior’s arm swung its shadowy blade at Enkrid.

This was the cultist’s final, desperate move—a fatal strike meant to ensure someone’s death.

The summoned entity’s single attack would vanish after it was delivered, but it was designed to deal lethal damage.

The cultist’s bloodshot eyes gleamed with anticipation, even as blood poured from his mouth and arm.

"Die."

The black blade of the warrior’s arm collided with Enkrid’s sword.

***

"Hmph."

Esther watched Enkrid’s battle from atop the fortress wall.

The cultist’s magic was amateurish at best. However, even such clumsy efforts could be lethal to those who weren’t prepared.

Knowing this, how could she let that man face such danger without some kind of aid?

She tore apart her old, worn leather armor, infusing it with her magic. This was, in essence, a substitute.

"It’s a gift, man."

Esther split a portion of her magical energy and imbued it into Enkrid’s sword.

The enchantment would activate should the enemy try any magical trickery, serving as a countermeasure.

***

Enkrid noticed the faint blue light emanating from his sword, glowing dimly.

It was during a split-second pause in the battle.

The radiant blue blade shattered the black one in an instant, then sliced cleanly through the body of the black mass.

Had it been human, the strike would have severed the torso just below the chest.

The sensation of cutting through it lingered in his hands.

"Even though it looks like that... does it have something akin to flesh?"

The sliced black mass oozed dark smoke, undulating before dissipating entirely into the air.

The cultist's eyes widened so much it seemed they might split.

"What... what the hell is that?!"

Enkrid was honest.

He was just as confused. It wasn’t exactly troubling him, but he spent a few more seconds thinking than usual before responding.

"I have no idea."

The cultist’s face flushed with anger. For a moment, it seemed like Enkrid had something profound to say, only to utter that!

The anticlimax struck a blow to the cultist’s already fragile state of mind. His vision began to spin, and his breath caught in his throat.

Having pushed his body far beyond its limits, his heart abruptly gave out.

"Ack."

Sometimes, death comes in the most anticlimactic ways.

Clutching his chest, the cultist wheezed and gasped a few final breaths before collapsing forward.

His head struck the ground with a dull thud, his body lying twisted and lifeless.

The sight of his fall wasn’t dignified.

With their leader gone, the fog in the minds of the rampaging monsters and beasts lifted.

Even they had instincts.

The moment they saw the human who had been slaughtering their kin, they all bolted in every direction.

The colony was broken.

During the chaos, Enkrid examined his sword carefully.

"Is this a magic sword?"

Then, the border guard’s blacksmith—was he secretly a mage?

It didn’t seem likely. That pairing didn’t add up.