“Graaaah!”

The struck manticore roared, its body pulling back as if to retreat—only to lunge forward again with renewed ferocity.

Wham!

Its massive form tore through the space like a gust of wind, claws slashing through the air with deadly precision.

Audin shifted his stance in an instant, twisting his body to evade and swinging his hand in response.

Slap!

His palm struck the manticore’s cheek. The beast’s claw had barely missed him, the exchange so fast it seemed simultaneous.

Audin’s palm, formidable enough to be a weapon in its own right, sent the manticore’s head snapping to the side. Yet the high-tier beast was not easily subdued. It planted its feet firmly, shaking off the blow, and swiped again with its claws.

Audin sidestepped effortlessly, dodging the attack with minimal movement.

“Graaaahhh!”

The manticore roared in frustration, its cry laced with a pressure unique to high-tier monsters, causing the surrounding soldiers to groan in distress.

But before the beast could capitalize on its roar—

Smack!

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Audin struck it again, harder this time. The manticore’s jaw dripped with dark blue blood, a few droplets hitting the ground with soft splashes.

“Uh…”

“Ah…”

“Is that…?”

The soldiers couldn’t help but murmur in shock, the sight so absurd it seemed surreal. The paralysis caused by the manticore’s roar dissipated, replaced by sheer astonishment.

Who in their right mind slaps a manticore into submission?

The manticore, perhaps humiliated, ignored its injuries and crouched low, preparing to pounce again. This time, it moved twice as fast as before, its strategy evolving.

The attack was no longer simple. It swiped with its front claws while its scorpion-like tail lashed out from above like a bolt of lightning.

Audin, however, moved just as quickly, leaving faint afterimages as he dodged.

Whoosh!

The claws missed, and the tail stabbed down into empty air.

In the brief opening that followed, Audin swung his hand again.

Thwack!

The sound rang out with a strange clarity, a sharp crack that echoed in the night air.

Enkrid watched the entire exchange unfold, missing none of it. He clicked his tongue in silent admiration.

At first, Audin’s movements resembled formal swordsmanship, precise and deliberate. But as the battle progressed, it devolved into a series of open-handed slaps.

If I were the manticore, I’d be baffled too, Enkrid thought.

The beast, clearly bewildered, tilted its head as if to process what had just happened. The blows it had endured were starting to take their toll, evident in its hesitant movements.

Yet its eyes gleamed with bloodlust, its instincts driving it forward.

“Such is the way of monsters,” Audin muttered, wiggling his fingers as if beckoning the beast. “The sacred text teaches us that walking the wrong path is not the same as holding a different belief.”

He played with the manticore as though it were a mere toy, despite his massive, bear-like frame.

“Graaaah!”

The manticore lunged once more.

Smack!

Another slap sent its head whipping to the side.

A weaker strike tilted its head. A stronger one sent its entire body tumbling across the gallery like a failed skipping stone.

Thud! Thud!

Watching the manticore roll around, one might mistake it for a hapless stray rather than the high-tier monster that terrified soldiers.

As he slapped the manticore around, memories of his past battles resurfaced. Monsters, cultists, beasts—Audin had crushed countless foes in his time. His experience with high-tier monsters was second to none.

By now, the manticore’s face was swollen, several of its teeth littering the ground.

Should I start feeling sorry for it? Enkrid wondered as he caught sight of movement below the gallery.

It was faint, almost imperceptible—a soft groan and the shifting of shadows near a small side gate adjacent to the main fortress door.

“I think we have guests below. I’ll head down first,” Enkrid said.

“By all means, Commander,” Audin replied with a bright smile.

As Audin turned to speak, the manticore saw its chance and launched a triple attack.

First, its claws swiped. Then its tail lashed out. Finally, its snake-like tongue darted forward, aiming to ensnare its prey.

Audin handled it effortlessly.

He twisted his body to dodge the claws, flicked his hand to deflect the tail mid-swing, and ignored the tongue entirely.

“And the Lord has spoken: some sins cannot be forgiven,” Audin said calmly, delivering yet another slap.

Close combat always favored monsters. Soldiers knew this as a fundamental truth of battle.

But what they were witnessing now defied that logic.

Thwack!

The loudest slap yet reverberated through the night. This time, the manticore’s face caved in on one side, its features grotesquely deformed.

All accomplished with nothing more than Audin’s palm.

One of the soldiers watching trembled.

“...I think I pissed myself,” he whispered.

The others felt the same. Monsters and beasts were terrifying, but right now, the most frightening presence was the man smiling gently as he continued his assault.

“Repent, cleanse your sins, and purify your stained soul. Only then shall forgiveness be yours,” Audin intoned, his tone and smile brimming with false serenity.

As Enkrid descended the gallery, he patted one of the trembling soldiers on the shoulder.

“You reek of piss,” he said casually before vanishing down the stairs.

Enkrid descended quickly, his steps light and precise. Near the small side gate next to the fortress door, he spotted a soldier fiddling with the latch.

Another soldier lay slumped against the wall nearby, his uniform soaked with dark, blood-like fluid.

Enkrid approached swiftly. The soldier at the gate glanced back nervously but didn’t move to stop him.

Ignoring the glances, Enkrid knelt to inspect the injured man. The wound was shallow—serious but not fatal. With enough grit, the man could even walk.

Of course, that was by Enkrid’s standards.

The injured soldier thought otherwise.

“I’m dying! My stomach’s been stabbed! It hurts so much!”

“You can walk,” Enkrid said flatly, offering his back.

The soldier at the gate hesitated, hand still on the latch. He debated his options—open the gate, stab Enkrid, or retreat.

But the reputation of the “Demonic Platoon Commander” stayed his hand.

Enkrid, meanwhile, bandaged the injured man with a torn sleeve, stopping the bleeding.

“If you can’t walk, you’ve got a whistle, right? Yeah, that one. Keep watch, and if anything goes south, blow it.”

That was all Enkrid said before turning away.

One of the soldiers at the gate, with a hand on the latch and the other gripping the hilt of a knife, hesitated.

He was still caught in indecision.

The stories surrounding the "Demonic Platoon Commander" held his hand back.

Enkrid’s reputation was near-legendary, almost on par with a battlefield hero. Even if the details of the recent Gnoll Colony Incident were unclear, his prior feats were enough to mark him as a dangerous figure.

But then, no one could single-handedly deal with ten assassins lying in wait beyond the gate.

Even the most extraordinary individuals couldn’t handle ten killers, each a hardened veteran well-versed in the art of taking lives.

The Black Blades

The assassins outside weren’t ordinary. Each one was a Black Blade, a group dispatched at the request of Vancento. Their presence here had a singular purpose: chaos.

In this land, battles weren’t fought by massive armies but by elite, small forces. Their role was to intimidate, exert pressure, and destabilize. Sending only ten men wasn’t an oversight—it was a calculated move showcasing their lethality.

And their mission? Simple: create chaos, then point out the city’s lack of defensive forces.

If they could convince others that the city was vulnerable, particularly with Martai—a hostile neighboring faction—on the brink of inciting war, their job would be done.

A Silent Plot

No one could suspect that the Black Blades were behind the looming conflict.

That was the point.

Let the chaos unfold. Let the city appear weakened. Once the defenders were spread thin and morale shaken, it wouldn’t take much for Martai to make its move.

This was a small piece of a much larger game, and the Black Blades were the first act in a play that would leave the city teetering on the edge of war.

The kingdom would have no choice but to rely on the Black Blades.

There would be no reinforcements from the central kingdom, and the southern territories were already overwhelmed dealing with their own monstrous outbreaks.

Though the Black Blades were a band of thieves, Martai was no better—a city founded by Eastern mercenaries. Mercenaries had always carried a certain reputation, but the Eastern ones were regarded as particularly barbaric.

It would be akin to inviting a tiger to drive away a wolf, but that was exactly the corner they were forcing the city into.

Everything was proceeding according to plan.

They had already secured a few insiders within the city's ranks.

This was Vancento’s strategy.

And it all began here—with the infiltrators letting their forces inside.

“What are you doing?”

The question froze the spy, who was disguised as a soldier. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His task was simple: open the gate and let the Black Blades in. He had just stabbed one of the real soldiers in the stomach and was about to unlatch the gate when Enkrid showed up unexpectedly.

A patrol wasn’t even scheduled. Enkrid had appeared without warning, disrupting everything.

The spy had been undercover at Border Guard for months, and he knew exactly who Enkrid was.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed again, his body refusing to move. If things went wrong, he knew he’d be cut down in an instant. He was no match for Enkrid.

Sacrificing himself for the mission wasn’t part of the plan.

I should have opened it and run.

But he had hesitated, doubted whether Enkrid’s presence was a ruse to make him lower his guard. Now he had lost his chance.

His eyes darted nervously, searching for an escape.

Enkrid’s gaze landed on him briefly, calm but piercing, as if he had already deduced the situation.

Enkrid could also sense the presence of others outside the gate. His honed instincts and sharp intuition told him everything he needed to know.

They’ll open the gate. Let the enemy in.

Their purpose? Perhaps to sow chaos, or something else entirely.

The wounded soldier wasn’t fatally injured—just incapacitated.

Having pieced it together, Enkrid spoke.

“Open it.”

The spy visibly flinched, his hands trembling as he blinked in confusion.

“…What?”

“I said, open it.”

Enkrid’s words carried an air of inevitability, his decision rooted in experience and instinct.

The intruders outside would find another way in if the gate wasn’t opened, and chasing them around the city would be far more troublesome. The alarm would sound, creating the commotion they sought.

For now, the situation was contained—a manageable encounter during a patrol.

If things went awry, they could always blow the whistle.

This was Border Guard, and Enkrid had Audin nearby. If the whistle sounded, Rem would likely come charging in, especially given her recent frustrations.

Above all, Enkrid was confident in his ability to hold his ground. It wasn’t arrogance; it was the hard-earned certainty of someone who had danced with countless foes and emerged alive.

“…What?”

The spy’s stunned voice repeated the word. He was paralyzed with confusion.

Enkrid stepped forward boldly, closing the gap in a single stride.

The spy, reacting on instinct, lifted the latch and pushed the gate open, throwing himself to the side in the process. The small gate swung outward with a hollow thud.

The spy turned to flee, but before he could take a step, Enkrid’s hand flicked through the air.

It seemed like a meaningless gesture, but a throwing knife flew straight into the spy’s thigh, embedding itself in the back of his leg.

“Agh!”

The spy let out a short cry. It wasn’t loud enough to raise a full alarm, but it was enough to draw the attention of nearby soldiers.

Through the partially opened gate, Enkrid saw several figures waiting outside. Not a large force, but enough to be dangerous.

Drawing his sword, Enkrid thrust it through the narrow gap in the door.

Shhhk!

The blade pierced forward, forcing the waiting attackers to step back.

In one fluid motion, Enkrid stepped outside, his eyes scanning and counting.

Ten of them.

“Well, aren’t you a madman,” said one of the figures clad in black, his entire body concealed by dark clothing.

Under the moonlight, Enkrid caught a glimpse of his face.

Unfamiliar.

Another figure narrowed their eyes. A woman with unnaturally white hair and animal-like ears—a beastfolk.

“You knew we were waiting out here, didn’t you?”

Enkrid shrugged, a casual gesture that left them to draw their own conclusions.

“You’re insane,” the first figure muttered.

Shing.

One of the attackers drew a shortsword and charged.

Their movement was silent, the attack swift.

The blade sliced through the cool night air with lethal intent.

Fast, yes. But predictable.

Enkrid parried the strike with an upward swing of his sword.

Clang!

The shortsword was deflected, and Enkrid followed with a downward slash, transitioning into a spiral cut—a technique he had recently mastered.

“Ugh!”

The attacker managed to block with their shortsword, but the difference in weight and strength between their weapon and Enkrid’s was decisive.

Crash!

Enkrid’s blade forced their weapon back, driving the opposite edge of their shortsword into their own chest.

A gurgled cry escaped the attacker as they collapsed.

One down.

With a single fluid motion, Enkrid raised his sword, pointing its tip toward the moon. His stance was steady.

“Don’t go one at a time. You’ll all die in turn if you do,” said the beastfolk woman, her voice betraying her tension.

She was the leader, or at least the one giving orders.

Enkrid sized up the group, weighing his options.

Suddenly, he realized something.

I don’t even need to hold back.

In the past, he would have approached the situation differently, calculating a way to survive.

But now?

While the group radiated danger, they didn’t seem unbeatable.

There was no doubt in his mind. He wouldn’t retreat.

His feet remained firmly planted, ready to face whatever came next.