The Valen-style mercenary sword, close-quarters technique.

Headbutt.

Enkrid was surprised. No, he was shocked, but the hardships he’d endured so far made it impossible for him to be taken down by such a blow.

As his instincts activated, his body moved on its own.

He twisted his head to dodge and quickly swept his foot.

With a sharp kick to the ankle, the White Lion rolled forward.

Enkrid’s sword passed right by where the beastman had fallen.

Had the beastman stayed still, there would have been a cut somewhere on his body, but he evaded it by rolling forward.

His reaction speed was excellent, and his judgment was sharp.

Enkrid instinctively increased his speed.

Stepping, swinging his sword.

He changed his response speed as well.

The rhythm itself shifted.

This was the most significant change Enkrid had undergone recently.

The diagonal slashes, much faster than the ones he used to make, came out even when he twisted his waist.

Dunbakel gritted her teeth.

It was an unavoidable angle.

She raised her elbow to block.

Thwack! Wham! Thwack!

She tried to block the sword’s edge with her elbow, but her opponent, noticing it, turned the blade.

What had been a downward-angled sword was now quickly turned sideways, and Dunbakel found her elbow against the flat of the blade.

Despite that, her beast-man reflexes were intact, and though her elbow was grazed, she managed to deflect the sword.

“You can do that?”

A low voice, sharp and clear.

And, most of all, close.

Dunbakel had thought she could endure a bit after transforming into a beast-man, but that was a naive thought.

It was utterly impossible.

Before she knew it, the blade descended from above her head.

To be honest, she couldn’t even fathom how the opponent had closed the distance and swung his sword so quickly.

She was too focused on blocking and dodging.

Dunbakel felt her arm muscles tear with pain as she raised her scimitar in defense.

She hadn’t come here to die without at least fighting as a warrior.

She had come hoping to enter the temple where their gods resided after she died.

Kreimhart.

Dunbakel whispered her god’s name.

He was the god who governed war and reproduction, the deity worshipped by all beast-men. He was their only god.

Did she want to be embraced by Kreimhart?

Then die as a warrior.

If she died as a warrior, she would live on as Kreimhart’s sword in the eternal whirlpool of immortality.

Clang! Spark!

The scimitar met the sword, causing sparks to fly.

The red flames between the moonlight seemed to illuminate the surroundings.

In a split second, Dunbakel aimed for the spot where her opponent’s foot would land and, using Valen-style mercenary swordplay, kicked at his ankle.

Her gaze was elsewhere, moving her weapon in a feint while casually targeting the ankle.

It was a calculated move, but her opponent had anticipated it. He lifted his foot and blocked with the top of his boot.

Then, the sword came down, aiming for her neck.

Clink.

The cold sensation made Dunbakel think this was the end.

‘Can I really reach Kreimhart’s side?’

As death approached, an unexpected thought entered her mind. Why wouldn’t it?

Those who had lived with resentment and anger often held onto regrets.

She had been abandoned in her village, cast out of cities, and none of her fellow beast-men had ever accepted her easily.

She had lived as one forsaken by everyone.

She had tried to prove herself with a sword as a mercenary, but even that was no easy task.

She had thought that was the only way, but even that path had closed.

It was frustrating that she could not have children.

It was frustrating just to be born this way.

‘Why only me?’

Why did she have to live this way?

The frustration soon turned into a desperate will to live.

Regret clutched at her ankles, while anger hammered at her heart.

As the sword touched the back of her neck, Enkrid paused for a moment, feeling something strange.

It was more of an instinct or a gut feeling.

Somehow, it felt like it would be better not to kill her.

Adding a rational thought on top of that, he considered:

‘I need a mouth to talk about where they’re from and where they were sent.’

At first, she had seemed to be attacking with a desire to die, but once he paused, she trembled.

Enkrid could see the fur of the White Lion shaking.

Fear and anger were clearly visible.

The beast-man pressed his palm to the ground and pulled his back legs in, curling up.

‘Looks like something Ester does when she’s tired.’

Oddly familiar, wasn’t it?

With that thought in mind, he spoke.

“Do you want to live?”

Dunbakel lifted her head, the sword still at her neck.

Had her eyes always been this blue?

Tears streamed from her eyes, their subtle golden hue catching the light.

‘…Is she crying here?’

It was unexpected, yet not altogether surprising.

“Grrr, grrr.”

The beast-man cried. Enkrid couldn’t quite pinpoint what had changed inside her, but one thing was certain.

‘It sounds like she’s asking to be spared.’

As he lowered his sword, a familiar voice pierced Enkrid’s ear.

“What? You’re not going to kill her? Haaah.”

It was Rem, yawning exaggeratedly, with her mouth wide open.

“When did you get here?”

“Right when you were fighting that beast. But is this a lion-human? Or a beast-man?”

The appearance resembled a lycanthrope, but no monster would cry after losing a fight like this.

“Hey, are you a crybaby?”

Rem slapped the back of the White Lion’s head. Just like usual, she was enjoying tormenting her.

She crouched down and poked at the back of the lion’s head, then slapped it again with her palm.

“Stop crying, I’m not going to kill you.”

But Rem wasn’t the only one to arrive.

Soon, Audin, Jaxon, Ragna, and Kraiss also came down.

“What’s going on at this hour?” Kraiss asked.

“Was it noisy?” Enkrid asked in return. Jaxon pointed and answered.

“Ester called us.”

It was the same dry tone as always, but Enkrid felt there was something subtly different in it.

Admiration? Maybe something like that?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you see the fight?”

Jaxon nodded and then fell silent. In fact, he had arrived before Rem and had seen everything.

He had watched with a keener, more meticulous eye than Audin.

The eyes of a master can recognize the skills of a master.

So, he was quietly admiring it.

Even though he had known, seeing Enkrid’s transformed skills made him feel as though something magical had happened.

Would the others have been any less impressed?

“How did you do that technique at the end?” Ragna asked.

“I mixed Valen-style mercenary swordplay with some new techniques.”

At that, Ragna’s expression shifted subtly.

“Did Frokk teach you?”

“Huh?”

No, Lua Gharne had told him to learn various sword styles. Mixing them like this, well, it had just happened naturally after trying it once.

In that moment, it felt like it was the right thing to do.

As he reflected on it, Enkrid found himself wondering why he had acted that way.

‘Why did I do that?’

It had been the move he thought was most needed at that moment.

Was that wrong?

No, he didn’t think so. He felt it was the right choice.

The opponent had been weaker than him. He had fought to test his new sword.

After figuring out who they were, he would understand why they had come.

‘At least they’re from an elite frontier defense unit.’

The frontier defense was composed of elite soldiers.

Among them, the best of the best fought the hardest.

One of the missing defenders had been considered the Border Guard’s strongest swordsman.

In a sense, the massacre Enkrid had just made was roughly equivalent to facing the best of the frontier defense elite.

The last beast-man had been even better.

How had he come to look at them this way?

He didn’t know. Really.

‘Still lacking.’

Even so, the thirst to improve burned inside him. He hadn’t been satisfied here. No, he couldn’t be satisfied.

What if that knight had been here?

Aisia, the woman whose name he could never forget.

‘It would’ve been easier than this.’

No matter the battle or the moment, there was never an end to learning. Enkrid had known that since he was a child.

The problem was, despite all the learning, his body didn’t always follow. But his attitude was always right.

He craved knowledge and never stopped.

“Where are you from?”

Just as he was organizing his thoughts, he saw Kraiss open his mouth behind Rem.

He didn’t stand next to the beast-man but only opened his mouth.

In front of him, Rem, with a mischievous smile, was talking and moving her hands.

She tapped the beast-man on the head, then touched the spot on her shoulder where the sword had sliced her.

“Does it hurt? I’m fine.”

“Hey, are you a crybaby? A beast-man crybaby?”

“Why do you look like that? Did you eat a curse instead of meat when you were young?”

“I’ve never seen a lion cry. Cry some more. Want me to dig in your wound? It’ll hurt more, right?”

“Hey, go ahead, cry some more.”

Enkrid suddenly realized it—Rem was the absolute worst person in the world.

If provocation was needed on the battlefield, he would happily place that person in front of him.

For Enkrid, words were mostly used to gauge his opponent's intentions, but Rem was on a whole other level—her mouth seemed possessed by a demon.

“What the hell are you doing, coming out here at night and marking your territory? Huh? Should I just stop sleeping and come out because of this?”

Rem spoke, and there were two errors in her words.

First, crying wasn’t marking territory.

Second, no one had called for Rem.

‘Why did she come out here?’

As Enkrid started to move, the White Lion, unable to hold back, lifted its head first.

The tears in its eyes now held a semblance of anger.

More precisely, it looked like a mixture of frustration.

“Grrr, what the hell, you damn…”

The White Lion’s shout was abruptly cut off.

Thwack!

Rem was relentless. From her seated position, she extended her left foot to the side and swung her right elbow horizontally.

It was a strike delivered by rotating her waist.

It was a perfect attack posture that would have been admired if the situation were different.

“Excellent.”

Even Audin was impressed.

The elbow struck the back of the White Lion’s head.

The beast-man rolled forward after the blow.

Thud!

A groan escaped from the White Lion’s mouth as it rolled.

“No, wait, I just wanted to talk,” Kraiss intervened, trying to stop Rem.

Enkrid had to side with Kraiss.

At this rate, Rem would kill him.

“This cat bastard, where’s this growling coming from?”

Rem was grumbling, and it was obvious she wasn’t done.

“Don’t kill him.”

Enkrid calmly spoke, and Rem raised both hands.

“No, I just gave him a little tap. Just a little tap, you know? Like a friendly wave to say hi.”

If people greeted each other like that twice, there would be several dead.

“So, where are you from?”

After being slapped, crying, mocked, and expressing her frustrations, the White Lion, battered and bruised, finally gave up.

She still wanted to live, but she was upset, and in truth, she had no loyalty to anything.

She hadn’t sought a reputation in the mercenary world.

She had nothing to hide in her possession.

She spent all the money she earned.

Thanks to that, Dunbakel opened her mouth.

“Black Blade.”

“Are you talking about the bandits?”

“Yes.”

Dunbakel nodded, and Kraiss’s expression hardened.

“Well, this is something.”

Enkrid remained silent, listening.

It was a coincidence that this was stopped, but there was no way of knowing what was behind this event.

When the battalion leader Marcus had asked if he loved the city, Enkrid felt that, even though it was unexpected, it was a good outcome in the end.

Still, something weighed on his mind.

‘Weak.’

Wasn’t the frontier defense force’s military power too lacking?

It may be because his standards had risen, but if similar attacks occurred again, it could become a problem.

If another ambush took place, the patrolling soldiers wouldn’t be able to resist and would end up dead.

Moreover, there had been someone in soldier’s attire trying to open the side gate.

It was inevitable to have spies in the city, but openly trying to open a gate was a serious problem.

It had happened right before Enkrid’s eyes, and though he wanted to do something about it, there was nothing he could do at the moment.

“We should report this first.”

Kraiss came closer, speaking.

Rem, watching this, asked.

“Are you really letting him live?”

“We have to let him live.”

Kraiss quickly responded. It seemed he feared that if they didn’t stop Rem, she would really end up killing him.

Enkrid nodded, supporting Kraiss’s words with a gesture and adding, “Take him in.”

They just needed to capture him for now. The battalion leader would handle the rest.

As they moved, a group of soldiers who had been watching from a distance appeared.

Turning around, Enkrid made eye contact with one of the commanders.

The one with the shoulder insignia. After their eyes met, the man immediately saluted.

It was the platoon leader. Enkrid had seen his face before.

Although he held the rank of platoon leader, he hadn’t been officially recognized yet.

That’s why this formal salute was the first time.

Enkrid put his sword back in its scabbard, tapping the pommel with his palm as he returned the salute.

“Thanks!”

“That’s enough.”

After speaking, he turned around. The platoon leader was still in a state of shock and was now filled with gratitude.

If it hadn’t been for Enkrid...

If it hadn’t been for this mad platoon—or now a mad company...

He would have been dead, just like the attacker.

He would have become a cold corpse, leaving his wife behind.

Would he have been the only one to die? Many of the comrades he considered brothers would have fallen too.

Lost in such thoughts, Kraiss quickly approached and spoke.

“The Black Blade story is a secret.”

“...Hmm. Understood.”

At this moment, Enkrid was willing to listen to anything.

“The report will be handled by our side.”

Kraiss kept talking, organizing the area and staying near the corpse.

Enkrid wondered why.

“The spoils should be collected by our company, don’t you think?”

His eyes were shining, and his attitude was resolute.

Of course, he was right.

The platoon leader personally ordered his men to carry the manticore’s body and search the bodies of the dead.

There were no Krona pouches, but their weapons were all made from high-quality steel.

It seemed like they had earned a solid haul.

And Kraiss wasn’t the type to miss such an opportunity.