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“Damn it! Kill Guillaumevalt first!”
The Cell Sword mercenaries decided to focus on their priority target—Guillaumevalt. Instead of wasting time worrying about unseen arrows, they aimed to complete their mission quickly and escape.
“You bastards! How dare you ignore me? Traitors!”
Guillaumevalt grabbed his sword and clashed with one of the mercenary swordsmen.
—Clang!
In just a single exchange, the mercenary’s blade knocked Guillaumevalt’s sword aside and struck him at the nape of his neck. If not for his gorget, he would have been dead instantly.
“Guh!?”
“Huh?!”
Everyone watching was stunned.
It wasn’t just that Guillaumevalt had been hit—it was how effortlessly the mercenary’s sword had slipped through his defenses.
“Wait… Is he really a noble?”
“Aren’t nobles supposed to be skilled in swordplay?”
From their hiding spot among the reeds, Mediam and Ismail clicked their tongues.
Unlike commoners who had to spend most of their lives working to survive, nobles—especially those from great houses—had access to the finest swordmasters and education from childhood.
And more than that, they carried the blood of the Yaegas God Tribe.
So how did Guillaumevalt lose in just one clash?
“…Sir Guillaumevalt is talentless in swordsmanship.”
Brand provided a clear answer to everyone’s confusion. Then, gripping his spear, he stepped forward and struck the mercenary who had just defeated Guillaumevalt.
“What the—old man?!”
The mercenary tried to parry Brand’s attack, but…
—Thwack!
Brand’s spear twisted mid-strike and lashed across the mercenary’s upper arm.
The force was so great that, despite his armor, the mercenary’s arm fractured on impact.
“Agh!”
The same mercenary who had taken down Guillaumevalt in a single move was now rolling on the ground after just one strike from an old former scribe.
Was Guillaumevalt just that weak, or was Brand simply that strong?
Everyone watching came to the same conclusion.
“Probably both.”
“It seems there’s no peaceful way out of this. Should I join in?”
Scott McGreen, still seated in his wheelchair, casually asked.
“No! Do not use necromancy before my eyes!”
Zebec, determined to prevent the use of dark magic, drew his sword and stepped in instead.
“What? You think a Holy Knight scares us?”
“We’ve fought Holy Knights before!”
The mercenaries charged at Zebec.
But within moments, sword flashes cut through the battlefield.
Zebec’s blade moved like flowing water, cutting down four mercenaries in an instant.
The swift strikes echoed with sharp impacts, sending armored fighters tumbling to the ground. Some had their helmets crushed, while others clutched their bleeding calves, trying to stop the flow of blood.
“H-He’s too strong!”
“This is insane!”
“Damn it!”
The battle had turned against the mercenaries.
Within moments, six of them had fallen, and arrows continued raining down from unseen locations. Nearly a third of their force had been wiped out.
Morale shattered, the remaining mercenaries tried to flee—only for arrows to strike their backs and legs as they ran.
“Agh!”
What should have been an overwhelming numerical advantage had turned into a one-sided slaughter.
Scott McGreen watched quietly before turning to Shati, who remained seated beside him.
“Watching this, I finally understand.”
He smirked at her.
“I see why you couldn’t escape and got captured. Running in a place like this would just turn you into a pincushion.”
“Shut up. You’ll regret betraying the Naga Empire.”
Shati shot him a venomous glare.
“Funny. But if the Nagas who survived make it back, they’ll probably consider you a traitor too.”
“…….”
Scott’s words rang painfully true.
“If I don’t return with at least the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth, I’m as good as dead.”
“This makes no sense.”
Guillaumevalt shook his head in disbelief.
“Why did this happen, Master Brand? Why did the mercenaries betray me?”
“When news of Count Lantarique’s disappearance spread, Lord Adler moved quickly to consolidate power. The vassals have already sided with him.”
“No… but why Adler? I hired these mercenaries personally!”
“Did you pay them yourself, or did your steward handle it?”
“The steward arranged it, of course, but… Wait. You’re not saying—?”
“The steward, the servants—everyone is already on Lord Adler’s side.”
“W-Wait. Why?”
“Because Lord Adler is the true heir chosen by the Count.”
“I’ve heard that already. What I’m asking is why. Is it because he’s handsome? Because Father doted on him? Because Father let him share his meals and quarters from childhood?”
“What?!”
Azadine, who had been listening silently, clicked his tongue in disgust.
“Alright, let’s focus. We need to leave this place.”
Azadine began packing up the camp.
“But I’m the eldest son. Even if I’m ugly, how could they do this to me?”
Guillaumevalt grumbled, still struggling to comprehend his downfall.
“Sir Guillaumevalt, you do not know the true face of the Count. That is because you are merely his heir in name. The real Count is…”
Brand sighed before continuing.
“…a dark sorcerer.”
“What?!”
Guillaumevalt erupted in fury.
“How dare you insult my father?!”
“Sir Guillaumevalt, I know the Count better than you ever could. In fact, I can say with certainty that no one knows the Count as well as I do… and that no one knows him as little as you do.”
“Take that back, Master Brand! No matter who you are, this is going too far!”
“Be grateful that my words are harsh—because reality will be even crueler.”
“This old fool has lost his mind!”
Guillaumevalt drew his sword, intent on striking, but Brand reached out and grabbed the hilt before he could swing it.
“Let go! How dare you slander the descendant of the Yaegas God Tribe as a dark sorcerer?!”
Brand tightened his grip and pulled Guillaumevalt forward.
“Wha—! Whoa!”
Guillaumevalt lost his balance and toppled over.
A young, healthy knight had just been overpowered by an aging former scribe.
“How is he this weak?”
Azadine was dumbfounded at the pathetic sight.
Brand exhaled sharply, then spoke again.
“Sir Guillaumevalt. I discovered the Count’s secret and tried to flee. But I was captured by Doneor, who was acting on the Count’s orders. I lost my entire family because of him. No, ‘losing’ them would be too kind a word. Doneor tortured me and… fed my family to me. Do you understand what that means?”
“Ah…”
“To me, the Count is my mortal enemy. That is why… I actually like you. You are the one child the Count never loved. And yet, the fact that his blood runs in your veins alone…”
Brand’s breathing grew heavy, almost like a rabid beast growling.
His face contorted with rage, his overwhelming presence making Guillaumevalt tremble.
For a brief moment, it felt like Brand might tear him apart on the spot.
The strength Guillaumevalt felt through their clasped hands was terrifying.
“This old man could rip me apart with his bare hands.”
As Guillaumevalt recoiled, Azadine intervened.
“Wait. Calm down, Brand.”
“Hmm?”
Brand suddenly tilted his head up, his face shifting from a man twisted by pain to one of childlike joy.
“Where am I? Oh!”
Brand’s expression brightened as he grasped Azadine’s hand.
“A young man who understands chivalry!”
“Huh?”
Azadine was caught off guard by the sudden change in demeanor.
“And there is Lady Shati as well! What of the others? I remember escaping Doneor’s hideout, but….”
“Ah.”
The madness had left Brand’s eyes.
He had returned to his usual self, the Bronze Knight.
“I must have gotten too worked up.”
“This is what happens when you bring a madman along.”
Ismail muttered as he scrubbed a pot with a bamboo brush and secured it to his saddle.
“Wasn’t Brand supposed to guide us to the Imperial Mint? What do we do now?”
Mediam asked, clearly concerned.
Azadine sighed.
“We’ll have to wait until he regains his senses.”
He then turned to Guillaumevalt.
“Sir Guillaumevalt. It seems you will have to guide us to Lantarique instead.”
“Wait… do you all truly believe my father was a dark sorcerer?”
“I don’t know if he practiced dark magic. But I saw him massacre the people of Salasma with my own eyes. He wasn’t a good man.”
“But… but…”
Guillaumevalt clutched his head in frustration.
Mediam suddenly stepped forward.
“Why exactly do we need to take him with us? We can go to Lantarique on our own. This guy doesn’t help us at all. If anything, keeping him around will just make his enemies come after us.”
Azadine shook his head.
“No, he will be of great use to us.”
“Huh? How? The Count’s vassals and Lord Adler’s faction won’t let him live.”
“That’s exactly why we need him. He gives us legitimacy.”
“Legitimacy?”
“Yes. Officially, Sir Guillaumevalt is the rightful heir. If other vassals or noble factions attack us, they will be considered traitors. We will have the justification to eliminate them.”
“Oh…”
Mediam finally understood.
“We’re already traveling with a wheelchair-bound orc. We’re bound to attract attention. We need a strong justification for our presence.”
“Why not just put him on a horse instead of a wheelchair?”
“Can’t do that. My legs will build muscle.”
Scott McGreen immediately shot down the suggestion.
“…….”
Most people worried about gaining fat. But Scott? He was terrified of gaining muscle.
“Why not just accept it? You’re a prisoner. Put up with it.”
Mediam ignored Scott and turned back to Azadine.
“So that’s the plan?”
“That’s right.”
“No, wait. Why don’t I just change my appearance?”
Scott formed a hand seal, preparing a spell.
Zebec, alarmed, gripped his sword hilt.
A necromancer like Scott could never be trusted. Who knew what kind of spell he was about to cast?
Azadine, however, motioned for Zebec to stand down.
A moment later, Scott transformed.
His new form? A muscular, golden-haired human.
“How do I look?”
“Hmm. Unrecognizable.”
“Try not to fall for my handsome appearance. It would be embarrassing to be attracted to someone as intelligent as me.”
“…….”
Without hesitation, Ismail stepped forward and punched Scott in the face.
—Whack!
“Gaaah!”
Scott, despite his muscular appearance, had no skill in hand-to-hand combat.
He yelped in pain and clutched his face, rolling on the ground.
“Hey. Go easy on him.”
Azadine casually told Ismail.
He didn’t tell him not to hit Scott—just to do it more gently.
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