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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Yuziro
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An ambush always provided an advantage.
And an ambush attempted with a body enhanced through aura or magic was akin to freely maneuvering arrows weaving through the enemy ranks – a calamity for mere ordinary folk.
Thanks to this, he had become that very calamity, weaving through these wretched enemies.
“Run away!”
It was a good sign when the will of those trying to stop him began to crumble, and some chose to flee instead.
It meant they realized there was no one among them capable of obstructing him.
With a dreadful swiftness, Cheryl flew in and plunged her sword into the chest of one who had proven his mediocre abilities.
“Kuhuk!”
He appreciated that Cheryl moved in perfect coordination, allowing him not to worry about their rear.
However, having already cut down nearly ten, it irked him that he hadn’t seen anyone who seemed to be a commander.
There had been a group of about three earlier, but was their leader among them?
“This bastard!”
As he pondered, momentarily hesitating, one who had charged in with considerable speed thrust his sword at him.
A rather vicious-looking face.
Marks of a hardened mercenary.
The judgment and skill to seize upon a moment’s lapse in vigilance.
“Are you the commander, you bastard?!”
-Pakang!
“Insane shithead!”
His sword, swung with full force, cleanly cleaved vertically through the blade thrusting towards his heart.
The enemy recoiled in shock, as did he.
A sword could be split vertically like that…?
“This works?!”
Though astonished himself by the remarkable sight, the moment he registered it as an opportunity, instinct took over, forcing his body to push down with his sword in a thrust.
Amidst the sound of rending metal, sparks flew where his blade met the enemy’s hilt, like a grinder cutting through steel.
Beyond the thrusting sword’s tip, the enemy’s expression was one of utter despair.
“Shit, no, not…!”
-Fpook!
Seemingly too stunned to let go, the enemy’s heart was cleanly impaled, blood gushing forth.
In the illusion that death climbed up the blade, the one he presumed to be the commander or captain barely met his gaze before expiring without another breath.
“That, that’s a monster.”
“Run, we have to run…”
Taking that as the cue, the remaining four who had been charging also turned to flee in sheer terror.
It seemed his assumptions were not too far off.
With the peculiar sensation of extracting his sword, he swung it broadly, splattering blood, at which the enemies scattered as if it were some deadly poison.
“Cowards who only know how to kill the weak! Weren’t these your comrades strewn across the forest?! Didn’t that Paviera or Pavaeri or whatever his name was give signal flares at the very least for his soldiers? Fire them, you bastards! From this moment on, you’re all criminals anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to die fighting than eke out a wretched existence?”
“Uwaaahh!”
“Run, dammit!”
He had expected at least one or two might charge at him defiantly, but it seemed too much to ask.
As the weapon-dropping deserters fled without a backward glance, he watched them dejectedly until Cheryl approached and remarked calmly:
“They’re not going to stick around after we killed the entire command of twenty, are they?”
“Ah, right.”
He belatedly recalled her stating that aside from those scattered in the forest, there were only twenty here.
“I had moved while unconsciously accounting for the ones in the forest as well.”
Cheryl gazed at him as if he were incomprehensible, then examined the vertically cleaved sword before speaking.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“How could I do that intentionally? I just swung to hit it, and it got lodged in there. Must have been a cheap sword.”
“Still, that’s not something that usually happens, is it…?”
“To be honest, I don’t think so either.”
He had heard there were cases where one demonstrated abilities beyond their normal limits, and wondered if this was such a feeling.
He had split the sword like bamboo.
Examining his own blade out of curiosity revealed, unsurprisingly, that the edge which had sliced and scraped into the enemy’s sword was now completely mangled.
Resentful at having to abandon their spoils, yet knowing claims of Ogatorf’s involvement would undoubtedly draw criticism for such pettiness, he decided to let it go.
“What do you want to do? Chase after them?”
“Not really. That noble is still out there, along with his ten attendants. No need to waste effort on the likes of them.”
“Unless they’re insane, would they dare raise a blade against us after we’ve razed this place?”
“We should feign exhaustion.”
“What?”
“Act like we’re utterly spent but somehow finished the job. The enemy will have to ponder their options – whether to threaten, persuade, or feign ignorance. Observing their response will allow us to better assess and prepare for them.”
In the illusion of choices, one’s true nature emerges.
Baring his fangs in a wolfish grin, to which Cheryl responded with a similarly feral smile, he affirmed, “I like that plan.”
After some additional efforts, having only taken the slightly better-equipped heads of three other enemies, they set out to leave the forest.
The clanging of weapons from all directions indicated the situation was still unfolding, but unless they encountered anyone, they avoided probing deeper.
Any they did come across were simply killed.
“Still, having to resort to feigning injuries…”
Having eliminated the main force too one-sidedly, leaving not a scratch on them, they had reluctantly mutilated and smeared themselves with the blood of the fallen after much deliberation.
Naturally, neither he nor Cheryl wanted to, but they had no choice.
At least Cheryl had only applied blood, while he had gone further, painfully slashing his own leather armor for authenticity.
“It would be more believable for you to appear battle-worn, considering you actually fought more intensely.”
Even he would be on guard initially if a girl around Cheryl’s age, spattered in blood and wearing a damaged armor, came walking out holding severed heads in each hand – the sight was too jarringly unnatural.
A larger, muscular man in such a state would at least garner an appropriate level of caution.
Exiting the forest’s edge in that grotesque state, they immediately caught sight of a flustered-looking attendant in the distance.
“Wh-What happened here?”
“What happened? We killed all those in the ruins and came out.”
“What?!”
“There were about twenty, right? I grabbed one and counted – twenty on the main force.”
With about forty scattered in the forest, we killed our way out.
“These are the heads of those who seemed to be commanders, based on their gear at least.”
As he flung the heads he had been holding in front of the attendant, whose expression visibly paled, he explained, “We killed them all?”
“Unless they’re ghosts? We killed some in the forest too, so maybe around thirty in total.”
“But our side has sixty, so the remaining thirty should be enough to mop up those runts, right? We’ve done our part, so we’ll be resting now.”
“That requires proof…”
“No need to convince me, go see for yourself.
“There should be noble guards over there too – just follow the path we came, and you’ll know. We’re too exhausted to go any further.”
Even if the severed heads were unrecognizable, it was evident the attendant’s eyes shook as if struck by an earthquake.
After a few stumbling steps backward, making no effort to remain composed, he whirled and dashed back to the camp, shouting:
“W-Wait! I’ll report back!”
“…That overt bewilderment is clearly not the reaction of someone pleased, right?”
“If that’s pleasure, then these severed heads must be grinning too.”
As Cheryl affirmed by kicking one of the heads again, the encampment grew raucous before a man who was undoubtedly a noble emerged, attended by guards.
Expecting an unsavory aristocrat with a greasy face, corpulent like a pig, and bejeweled fingers, he was somewhat disappointed – the man appeared quite ordinary.
With neatly trimmed, ordinary brown hair and a muscular build discernible even through his clothes, though not overly large, the man gave the impression of a warrior at a glance.
Approaching us unhurriedly, he swept his piercing gaze over us as he spoke, his manner courteous yet his eyes sharp and unpleasant despite their blue hue.
“I am Count Pavera, who issued the request for this purge. My servant informed me that you are the ones who have cleared out the bandits encamped in the forest. Is that correct?”
His eyes, though blue, had an unpleasantly dull and disagreeable quality to them.
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