Audin toyed with the manticore as if it were a mere plaything.

He struck its cheek as though that was all it took.

The manticore, struck, curled its tail and slowly backed away.

Grrr.

On the ground, the creature’s sharp teeth, fallen fur, and dark, bluish blood were scattered.

As the manticore coiled its tail, Audin, still smiling gently, gave a slight nod.

“It’s time to go. Beast Brother.”

His tone was unchanged, but the meaning was not. It was a death sentence.

The manticore took a step back, a clear sign of fear.

It looked as though it was about to flee at any moment. Most of the soldiers watching thought so too, but Audin wasn’t fooled.

The manticore was an advanced monster, very sly.

It was capable of such cunning.

After retreating, it would suddenly charge forward, an ambush without warning or sound.

With its claws raised, it lunged, and its tail came down from above in a vicious strike.

Audin had anticipated this. As the claws came toward him, he swiped them aside, then seized the tail and, using its own momentum, slammed the creature onto the ground.

Boom!

With a loud crash.

Grrr!

The manticore let out a painful groan.

An advanced beast, one that could take on a battalion, but it was utterly outmatched here.

As it was slammed into the ground, debris flew in all directions. The soldiers, once startled, now cheered.

“Nice!”

“Go!”

“Madman!”

Of course, the term "madman" came to mind.

Audin approached the manticore and slapped its face a few more times.

After tossing the beast around a few times, he swiftly mounted its back, gripped its neck, and with a quick twist, broke it. The manticore’s serpentine tongue flickered out.

The creature, its eyes spinning, let out a final breath before collapsing with a thud, its forehead hitting the ground with a resounding noise.

The manticore, once viciously slapped, was now a valuable corpse.

From its teeth to its hide to its organs, it was quite a valuable beast.

“What are you?”

A voice filled with disbelief came from the opposite side of where the soldiers had gathered. Audin’s right side had a group of soldiers, and the voice came from the left.

"I didn’t think such a beast would come alone. Which brother are you from?"

Audin stood, backlit by the moon, and rose from the manticore’s back.

The voice was aimed at the figure standing atop the wall gallery, having arrived without anyone noticing.

Audin had anticipated it. It was inevitable.

An advanced monster was too clever and perceptive.

A manticore, a creature of cunning, would not charge blindly at a castle created by humans.

Especially after being beaten so badly. To keep charging like that? It was an act of desperation.

If it had been hunger driving it, that might have made sense.

But even then, it had been given an opportunity to escape but continued attacking to the bitter end.

That meant someone was controlling it.

Audin had been waiting for that person to appear.

The fight had dragged on because of this. Once he sensed the other’s presence, he had killed the manticore.

It had outlived its usefulness.

“How dare you!”

The voice of the man who shouted now flickered with a bluish light in his eyes. Audin recognized it instantly.

A trace of the cult.

He was a servant of the gods.

“You’re a brother who serves the cult.”

Audin muttered softly.

During his days as an inquisitor, he had encountered many like this—cultists whom he had hunted down.

The cultist raised his hand, and the motion was followed.

The soldiers were stunned into silence, unable to speak.

It was a moment of opportunity.

Bang!

Audin disappeared. Or, it appeared that way. His body hit the ground, closing the distance faster than the manticore.

Boom!

There was a tremendous sound that was distinct from the thud of his body hitting the ground.

The soldiers only saw a body flying off to one side and crashing into the wall.

It was now a corpse, twitching in mid-air, fingers still pointing toward the sky.

“God watches over us.”

Audin’s voice rang out softly as he muttered a prayer, a lone figure standing at the base of the wall.

As the soldiers’ gazes turned toward him, there was a beastly creature, the size of a bear, standing with its fist outstretched.

The Mad Platoon’s Audin.

Now a member of a squad whose reputation for independence had begun to spread.

To the soldiers, Audin’s strike had been so fast they hadn’t even seen it clearly.

It had simply happened, and the result remained.

Audin returned to his usual stance, his hands coming together in prayer after the battle.

The soldiers, now looking at the body that had crashed into the wall, examined the remains.

The mangled body was missing its head.

“Where’s the head?”

No one knew. What they did know was that this crazy religious zealot had erased a person with a single punch.

The scattered blood on the wall was proof of that.

“…I’m really strong.”

One soldier, his legs trembling, muttered in disbelief.

He had never seen such a person before.

The manticore and the cultist were both dead.

Most of the soldiers hadn’t even processed the situation properly.

However, the platoon leader who had just arrived on the gallery took charge of the situation.

“The ambush, uh, has been dealt with? Judging by the noise outside, it seems like there are more of them coming. Everyone, move downstairs and prepare for support…”

“There’s no need for that, Brother.”

Audin, still standing with his eyes fixed on the base of the wall after the prayer, spoke.

“Huh?”

“It’s almost over.”

Audin’s gaze shifted to the platoon commander, still engaged in battle.

Audin had known the commander from their training, but seeing him in actual combat was a different experience.

“You’ve gotten better, Brother.”

The way he wielded his sword and carried himself showed what Audin had missed—confidence and faith, things that hadn’t been visible before.

If Audin had known him at the start, this would have been a truly remarkable transformation.

It made Audin happy. What else could he do but wish for the best for someone who was doing well?

“Your servant asks. Is this your will? Did you guide him?”

The reply from his god still didn’t come.

But now, it didn’t matter. Audin had learned something in this moment.

It had all started with Enkrid.

“The need for an answer is proof of my own weakness, and so I shall move forward without questioning or doubting.”

There was someone who lived like that—a person who overcame every hardship without yielding, according to the teachings of the holy scriptures.

Wasn’t it a joy to watch such a person?

Audin wished for blessings for Enkrid, who burned his own life in pursuit of his path.

But Enkrid didn’t wait for blessings—he earned them on his own.

Therefore, now Audin could pray without asking for anything more from his god.

“It’s fine.”

The platoon leader blinked, wondering what that meant.

But was it really unnecessary to go down?

The commotion outside still made him uneasy, but his feet moved. As he descended, he saw soldiers with wounds—one with a hole in his stomach, another bleeding from his thigh.

“That one’s a spy.”

The soldier gripping his stomach spoke.

He was pressing his uniform to stop the bleeding.

The platoon leader turned to the soldier who followed him.

“Take him alive.”

After picking up the spy that Enkrid had abandoned, the platoon leader scanned the open gate.

From the vantage point on the wall, the battle hadn’t been visible.

Down there, a person dressed in black was cutting through enemies and stabbing them to death.

The face was familiar.

It was the Mad Platoon’s commander.

***

The Black Blade Bandits were utterly infuriating. Especially Dunbakel, who, well, had never experienced anything like this before.

“A knight? No, a knight of the order?”

Dunbakel spoke, his hand resting on his scimitar. Was the opponent just that bad? Or were they the ones who didn’t know what they were walking into?

Five of the men who came with him were now dead.

Two had lost a leg.

Even if a high-ranking priest showed up to pour divine power into them, they would now be crippled for life.

Naturally, the priest wasn’t coming, and even if they did, there wouldn’t be any divine energy for him, leaving them to die a slow death.

From the blood loss, they might not last much longer.

The opponent, casually flipping their sword before nodding slightly, gave no sign of acknowledging the question.

Dunbakel could tell there was a certain level of confidence emanating from them.

“What are you, really?”

Dunbakel asked, incredulous, but Enkrid just shrugged.

It was hardly a moment for a knight to explain his dream of becoming a knight or that he wasn’t quite one yet.

Instead, Enkrid examined his sword, or more precisely, its blade.

‘Incredible edge.’

He had aimed for the manticore’s thigh, but the thick leather pants were sliced through with precision.

The cutting ability was extraordinary. Was it the blacksmith who had sharpened the sword well, or was the sword itself just that well-crafted?

It was both, Enkrid decided.

The pommel gave a solid grip, and the leather cord wrapped around his hand felt just right. The blade was also surprisingly resilient, and the sharpness of it, along with the overall durability, impressed him.

It didn’t quite feel like Valerissan steel, but it was a high-quality sword.

It was the first time he’d ever held such a fine weapon.

“Not coming?”

Enkrid spoke into the wind, feeling the urge to test the sword further. Of course, he had also grown used to the techniques by now.

He had dismissed Rem’s frustrations.

‘Am I the same?’

Somehow, he, too, had the uncontrollable urge to keep fighting.

Dunbakel scowled at the words of his opponent.

‘Where the hell did this guy come from?’

Even his scent was different. The keen nose of a beast-man could usually gauge an opponent’s strength.

It was really an instinct for preserving his own life, but Dunbakel was starting to sense something.

‘Is this my grave?’

Should he run away?

He didn’t want to.

Well, wasn’t his life half about seeking death? If so, then closing the book of life here wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

He had come here to die in battle, and now, facing this opponent, he felt ready for it.

More importantly, the final opponent he faced wasn’t bad at all. A worthy adversary, with both appearance and skill that he could admire.

‘Overflowing with it.’

Dunbakel couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. It was a laugh out of place for the situation.

At the sound, the only remaining Black Blade Bandit shot him a look of fear.

The scent of fear was unmistakable.

“Do you want to live?”

Dunbakel asked the remaining bandit, whose name he didn’t even know.

“What?”

Was this crazy woman seriously saying something like that?

“No.”

Before the words were even out, Dunbakel’s muscular fist collided with the bandit’s face.

Boom!

With a heavy thud.

“Grrk!”

A short, strange gurgle escaped the bandit’s throat as his legs flailed in the air.

In a single punch, the bandit’s right eyeball was knocked out, blood sprayed, and broken facial bones jutted out.

In fact, parts of his face had shattered and scattered in all directions.

The bandit, who had been watching Enkrid warily, had his face caved in, and naturally, he died.

“A good burial spot.”

Dunbakel said, fist still extended. She didn’t explain her actions. Instead, she showed her true nature.

“Hey, let’s really fight.”

The moment Dunbakel spoke, her eyes changed. Her pupils elongated vertically, turning into something like a beast’s.

Grrrrr.

What was the difference between werewolves and beast-men?

Their appearance was the first difference.

Beast-men usually had the human form with some animal traits, so they didn’t undergo transformations like that.

They might grow sharp fangs or change their eyes, and their fur might lengthen, but they didn’t completely lose their human form.

That was how most beast-men were.

But Dunbakel was different.

With something of a human left behind, the beast’s blood coursed through her body as she began to change.

Crack!

Long, white fur sprouted all over her body.

Her facial structure cracked with a sound, transforming into something resembling a lion’s.

Enkrid had seen a few beast-men in his life, but nothing like this before.

Why was she transforming?

It was a long explanation, but in an instant, she had completed the change.

“A monster?”

Enkrid asked. Could this one even speak?

Her form resembled a lycanthrope, or rather, a lion with flowing white fur. It had an entirely different aura.

Frankly, the form seemed more like a legendary guardian of a celestial temple than a monster.

At least, that was how Enkrid felt, though the first word that came to his mind was, of course, "monster."

“Grrr, I’ve heard that a lot.”

Dunbakel muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. It was a typical habit after her transformation.

Enkrid couldn’t help but feel a strange vibe from the opponent’s demeanor and words.

The term “grave” wasn’t about her own, but it felt like she almost wanted to die, as if she were seeking death.

But, well, that wasn’t what mattered now.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course! Grrr!”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the White Lion pounced.

With claws emerging from her left hand, she slashed at Enkrid while swinging the scimitar she had drawn with her other hand.

The claws and blade crossed, targeting Enkrid’s chest and waist.

Without missing a beat, Enkrid stood his ground, raising his sword and slicing downward twice.

Both strikes were cutting blows, filled with shock and force.

In that instant, the Heart of Might activated, a defensive technique that left no room for counterattacks.

It was a strike with raw power.

Clang!

Thud!

The claws and scimitar were both blocked.

But the beast-man didn’t retreat.

Her relentless charge, a deadly assault with no intention of turning back.

Enkrid was briefly caught off guard.

The space between them had closed so quickly, and the White Lion, anticipating her attack being blocked, threw her head forward to strike with her forehead.

‘Valen-style mercenary swordplay?’

It was a familiar attack—a headbutt after charging in.