“Even if it’s just a band of thieves, the Black Blade’s combat power can’t be ignored. If we bring them in, Martai will retreat with its tail between its legs.”

Martai, a city in Naurillia, had a convoluted history.

At times, it was a vassal city of the Eastern Mercenary King; at others, it was part of Naurillia’s territory.

As a result, the city had a mixed population of two distinct peoples. Currently, it was governed as a city of Naurillia, ruled by a self-proclaimed general.

Half of it belonged to Naurillia, and the other half to the East.

Recently, Martai had declared something akin to a war proclamation against Border Guard.

Hence the current conversation.

The speaker was one of the nobles of Border Guard.

Border Guard had its share of nobles. While their influence paled in comparison to the central aristocracy, they were not to be underestimated.

These nobles wielded considerable influence within the city.

Take the man speaking now—he was one such aristocrat.

What was his name again?

Marcus didn’t even bother to remember it.

“Just another bastard who lined his pockets with gold from the Black Blade.”

That’s all Marcus thought of him.

He might as well have been a member of the Black Blade thieves himself.

Marcus had half a mind to cut him down on the spot, to lop off his head and leave it at that.

But the Pixie Captain—technically his subordinate—didn’t feel much like a subordinate.

She gave the impression that every action would come with its own consequences.

Marcus trusted his instincts.

For various reasons, he decided not to strike down the man in front of him.

After all, Marcus wasn’t the kind of person who solved everything with a blade. He wasn’t that sort of brute.

More importantly, with a little effort, it wouldn’t be too difficult to get rid of this man in a more calculated way.

Narrow-minded fools were always the easiest to trap.

“Martai’s advance is troublesome, but it’s a problem that can be dealt with by reinforcing our defenses.”

Marcus dismissed the noble’s suggestion flatly. The Black Blade noble pursed his lips but said no more.

Had he spoken further, Marcus might not have been able to restrain himself from smashing his skull.

‘Not that I actually would.’

But the thought was tempting. Marcus’s public nickname was “The Warmonger,” after all.

It was a reputation and image he had cultivated deliberately.

Marcus stared at the noble with an expressionless face. Depending on how one interpreted it, it was either a cold glare or an indifferent gaze. Either way, it achieved its purpose.

The warmonger’s deadly, apathetic look shut the noble’s mouth.

“Next item on the agenda?” Marcus asked.

This was a regular meeting. Border Guard, as a military and fortress city, always had matters to address.

Even though Azpen had been pushed back for now, there was no shortage of issues.

For example, reports from the south indicated that nobles were neglecting to properly deal with monsters, resulting in a growing horde of considerable size heading north.

If left unchecked, this monster horde would become a problem. It needed to be dealt with.

The fact that the negligence of southern nobles was impacting northern Border Guard was, frankly, infuriating.

‘Those damned bastards.’

Nobles cared only about their lands and wealth.

It was no wonder people said the country was falling apart.

This noble in front of him was no different. Marcus was sick of the sight of him.

Dwelling on such thoughts would only shorten his life.

So Marcus deliberately shifted his train of thought.

His thoughts eventually landed on Enkrid. Unlike the noble whose name he didn’t even want to remember, Enkrid’s name was unforgettable.

“He dove into a gnoll horde to save a frontier village?”

What a story. It elicited an involuntary expression of admiration.

They said he had single-handedly killed a thousand gnolls.

There was likely some exaggeration, but one thing was certain—his skills had improved. Even the Fourth Company Captain had confirmed it.

“In real combat, no one could easily guarantee victory against him.”

Marcus had a rough sense of the Pixie Captain’s capabilities.

She was stronger than most renowned warriors. Her battlefield achievements proved it.

For someone like her to acknowledge Enkrid spoke volumes.

‘He used to be nothing more than an ignorant soldier with brute force.’

People had called him lucky.

That was nonsense. It wasn’t luck—it was skill.

He also possessed commendable character.

Even if it wasn’t obvious on the surface, his demeanor and the outcomes of his actions spoke for themselves.

Above all, the way Enkrid spoke about his dream was etched into Marcus’s memory.

The battlefield, the sword, and something radiant.

Could he truly become a knight?

From a rational standpoint, Marcus knew the answer was no.

But if he spoke based on what he had seen and felt about Enkrid…

“I don’t know if he can, but I hope he does.”

Whether night turned to day or the weather changed, he remained the same.

Day after day, he was consistent. He lived every day as if it were a year. That kind of person.

The thought of supporting him on his journey suddenly felt appealing.

The idea brought a soft smile to Marcus’s face.

The Black Blade noble, observing this, interjected again.

“I think appointing him directly as a company commander without proper organization is reckless. Even if he proved himself on a mission, rumors of exaggeration are widespread…”

The topic was Enkrid’s appointment. Marcus’s previously composed and grim expression instantly darkened. His lips turned downward, and his brow furrowed.

“Enough. It’s my decision. If you don’t like it, you can take over as battalion commander.”

Even when Marcus had rejected the proposal to bring in the Black Blade, he had left room for discussion. But the moment Enkrid’s name was brought up, his attitude became merciless.

His demeanor made it clear he wouldn’t entertain any rebuttal or opinion.

His aura radiated a willingness to cut down anyone who opposed him.

The Black Blade noble found this utterly infuriating.

Not that he could kill Marcus.

‘Damn bastard.’

All his rage was directed at Enkrid.

For every person who receives praise, trust, and love, there will be others who harbor resentment and hatred.

The Black Blade noble, a key figure in Border Guard’s power structure, was one such person.

He hated Enkrid. Deeply. Without reason or justification, he loathed him and even entertained thoughts of killing him on the spot.

When the meeting ended and all the nobles left, the Pixie Captain stayed behind to address Marcus.

“Who came up with the nickname ‘The Warmonger’?” she asked.

The Pixie Captain was astute, and Marcus saw no reason to deny the truth.

“I did.”

“Clever.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It was true. Marcus wasn’t someone who genuinely loved battle or obsessed over war.

It was merely a façade he had carefully crafted.

Why?

It gave him an excuse to avoid deep involvement in central politics while lulling enemies into complacency.

In truth, Marcus wasn’t particularly skilled in waging war.

He knew how to deploy troops effectively, but his true talents lay elsewhere.

For example, his refined palate for fine tea.

“You don’t crack those kinds of jokes with me?”

The dynamic between Enkrid and the Pixie Captain was well-known in the barracks. Thinking of their exchanges, Marcus asked.

“I despise jokes,” she replied curtly before turning to leave.

Marcus pondered the sincerity of her words before letting out a dry chuckle.

“Pixie humor. Always tricky.”

It had to be. That Pixie loved jokes.

***

Vancento, the Black Blade noble, had spent his childhood in the borderlands where monsters roamed freely.

It was a region heavily influenced by the demon-infested lands, always plagued by hunger.

For young Vancento, possessions weren’t things to be bought but stolen. That was the natural order of things.

A human life was worth no more than a loaf of bread—or sometimes, bread was even more valuable.

Having endured such a brutal upbringing and survived, Vancento eventually drifted into the city.

By sheer luck, he managed to establish a small merchant company.

The growth of his company was fueled by swords, blood, fists, and threats, but there were no major obstacles.

It was around that time that he crossed paths with the Black Blade.

Their overwhelming power became a steadfast support for Vancento as he expanded his operations.

After ten years of ruthless survival, he sold his merchant company, amassed a fortune, and bought himself a noble title.

Just as in his childhood, Vancento had taken and stolen whatever he desired to build his life.

Now, his sights were set on Border Guard.

More precisely, he intended to use the power of the Black Blade to swallow the city whole.

Lacking noble lineage and having bought his title with gold, he faced undeniable limitations.

That was why Vancento sought something greater than a title.

A city, for instance.

Vancento’s vision of the future was clear.

A land ruled by the Black Blade, with him reigning over a city within it.

Becoming the lord of this city and its mayor would suit him just fine.

“Once that happens, I’ll start by capturing that damned pixie woman.”

The Fourth Company Captain always exuded an irresistible allure whenever he saw her.

“Shall we kill this Marcus fellow for you? Or would you prefer we take care of that fool, Enkrid?”

“Marcus is a no-go.”

If Marcus were to die here, it would draw the central authority’s attention—something they did not want.

“Enkrid, however, can be eliminated.”

At Vancento’s words, his Black Blade bodyguard nodded in agreement.

The bodyguard had taken a disliking to Enkrid himself.

“That nobody being so highly praised—it’s absurd.”

It was an illusion, nothing more. Sparring? That was something anyone could excel at with a coordinated team of subordinates.

The stories circulating about him were laughable.

A thousand gnolls? Ridiculous. What was he, a quasi-knight? Or perhaps a member of some legendary knight order?

The bodyguard had seen Enkrid’s skills in action before. Not recently, but a few months ago during training drills in the barracks.

“He’s decent, but…”

Certainly not better than himself—or so he believed. People with narrow perspectives often assume that what they see is the full truth.

In reality, Enkrid had undergone incredible growth since then, but the bodyguard refused to acknowledge it. He dismissed Enkrid as an insignificant fool and left it at that.

“Of course, his subordinates…”

They were impressive. Very.

Fighting two of them alone would be challenging, even for someone of his caliber.

Why such skilled individuals were stationed in a remote fortress city was beyond him.

Nevertheless, the plan was progressing smoothly.

This was where the Black Blade’s kingdom would begin.

The start would be small, but it would grow steadily.

Eventually, Naurillia would disappear, replaced by the Black Blade Kingdom.

Immersed in his own vision, the bodyguard released a pigeon into the sky.

The pigeon would deliver their message.

For something as minor as removing a single troublesome pebble, the Black Blade would not act carelessly.

Such was their nature.

Of course, their larger goals extended beyond simply killing one man.

***

The Black Blade bandits responded to the message from within the city by dispatching ten warriors.

Each of them was an elite in their own right.

Their leader, a beastwoman named Dunbakel, was renowned in the mercenary world.

Contrary to her delicate appearance, the scimitar she wielded was swift and destructive, earning her the reputation of a "city-level powerhouse."

Her skill was enough to make her name known in any major city.

The other nine warriors who accompanied her were of similar caliber, making them a formidable force.

“So, we’re just here to apply some pressure? Scare them a little? Fine by me.”

Dunbakel nodded. Payment had been secured, and that meant it was time to do the job.

As they approached the Border Guard city, Dunbakel’s nose twitched.

A pungent blend of acrid stench, sour rot, and decay filled the air.

It was the unmistakable scent of a monster—or worse, a magical beast.

Mixed with it was the scent of humans.

Her head snapped toward the source.

Standing there was a man cloaked in black robes, flanked by a menacing magical beast.

“Who are you?”

Dunbakel immediately shifted into a combat stance.

Her adversary followed suit, ready to engage.

One of the more perceptive members of the Black Blade bandits spoke up.

“I don’t think they’re here for us.”

As it turned out, both parties had come to target the Border Guard.

On one side stood the Black Blade bandits.

On the other, an assassin sent by the Sacred Church of the Demon Lands.

The Sacred Church had already dispatched several skilled assassins to the city, but none had returned.

Something was happening inside that city.

This time, the assassin was sent both to investigate and to wreak havoc.

“Where are you from?”

The assassin asked, his tone sharp and probing. He was no ordinary monk but one who wielded the dark arts of the Sacred Church. A dangerous opponent by any measure.

The perceptive subordinate answered before Dunbakel could respond.

“Black Blade.”

“And your objective?”

Dunbakel, growing irritated with the assassin’s questioning, was ready to lash out, but a subordinate grabbed her arm, stopping her.

Her eyes asked the question: Why?

Why not just kill this sanctimonious bastard and be done with it?

The subordinate shook his head.

Though frustrated, Dunbakel held back. She was a mercenary first and foremost, and her rank was due to her strength, not her authority.

One of her subordinates, eyes darting about, leaned in and whispered.

“This might actually work to our advantage.”

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

Dunbakel crossed her arms and looked away, uninterested in the details of the conversation.

With her acquiescence, the assassin and one of the Black Blade bandits began negotiating terms.

“So, we’ll work together and take what we need, right?”

“Our goals are aligned.”

It was a tenuous alliance, forged out of mutual benefit.

“I’ll make the first move.”

The assassin smirked and reached out to stroke the mane of his magical beast.

A low, guttural growl emanated from the creature, a sound akin to that of a hellhound.

Its appearance was equally terrifying: three rows of razor-sharp teeth, a tail like that of a scorpion, and a body that combined the features of a lion and a demon.

Its yellow, slit-pupil eyes gleamed with malice, and its claws glinted like finely honed knives.

A manticore, an apex magical beast capable of annihilating an entire company of soldiers, stood ready.

“Go. Feast.”

At the assassin’s command, the manticore charged.

Its speed was terrifying, and with a single leap, it scaled the city wall.

There was no need to breach the gate—it simply climbed over. Such was the power of a high-ranking magical beast.

“Krrreeeeeehhh!”

Its roar, designed to instill fear, echoed across the night.

Bathed in moonlight, the manticore poised itself atop the wall. Before it stood a figure.

“A... bear?”

Dunbakel squinted, trying to make out what she was seeing.

The figure resembled a bear, but the details were obscured by distance and the pale moonlight.

Something was definitely there, though.

The manticore snarled and lunged forward.

It moved with the precision and force of a predator.

From Dunbakel’s vantage point, she watched intently, waiting to see what would happen next.

For a moment, she wondered: Was this bear really a match for the manticore?

The moonlight was too faint to provide a clear view, and the distance made it harder to discern what exactly stood atop the city wall.

But one thing was certain—something was there.

Even if the figure was obscured, its presence was undeniable.

Vancento had his ambitions. Though he had taken bribes and made deals in the shadows, outwardly, he was a noble of Naurillia.

Killing him outright would constitute the murder of a noble, a crime too significant to be ignored, especially in the presence of witnesses.

"It’d be better to handle this quietly."

Of course, even that would be no simple task.

The man assigned to protect him—his guard—was clearly no pushover.

"Should I try to persuade the Fourth Company Captain?"

The thought flitted through Vancento’s mind.

After all, pixies were natural assassins.

With their sharp instincts and stealth, they could easily sever the head of someone like Vancento without leaving a trace.

But then again...

"That’s risky in its own way."