Episode 85

“Boss, you can’t fight that guy.”

“What?”

Doneor looked at his subordinate, a fellow agent of Count Lantarique, in confusion. The subordinate, having been with him for a long time, immediately advised against testing Azadine’s strength after seeing his intentions.

“If the rumors are true, the Count of Salasma transformed into a massive Naga and fought something before he died. And now, a member of the Messenger Clan has shown up, wanting to buy a Naga woman. Do you see what that means?”

“You’re saying that guy killed the Count of Salasma?”

“Most likely. If that’s true, he must be incredibly powerful. They say the Messenger Clan are all incomprehensible magicians who’ve been assassinating kings and lords with their abilities. We common folk have no chance against someone like him.”

Hearing this, the bandits who had been dragged here by Azadine nodded emphatically, silently pleading with Doneor not to provoke a fight.

“I’ve heard the Messenger Clan is impressive, but this is something else. Fine, I understand.”

Doneor opted to negotiate instead of fighting the Messenger Clan.

“A wise choice. Would ten silver coins be enough for her price?”

“That won’t do. You killed a lot of my men, didn’t you? I need to be compensated for their blood too, or I’ll lose face.”

“What?!”

Mediam bristled with anger, but Azadine calmed her with a smile.

“So, how much is your blood worth?”

“……”

The bandits froze, unsure how to respond.

‘What’s with this guy? How do I even answer that?’

Doneor felt chills down his spine at Azadine’s calm confidence.

‘If I name a low price, I’ll lose respect from my men. But if I name a high price, he might refuse to negotiate and attack us. Damn it. Am I really this scared of some brat?’

At that moment, smoke began to rise in the distance.

“Huh?!”

“What’s that?”

“That’s the direction of our base!”

The bandits began to murmur anxiously. Their hideout was on fire.

‘A stranger shows up, and suddenly the hideout is burning? Is this a coincidence?’

Though it was just a coincidence, the bandits seemed to think otherwise.

Suddenly, an arrow shot out from the forest. Azadine reached out to catch it but quickly dodged upon realizing the force behind it.

Usually, Azadine could catch and return arrows fired from short bows or light hunting bows. However, this arrow had been fired from an Ashwood longbow, a weapon requiring immense strength and skill.

Such bows were typically wielded by highly trained archers recognized as “Doppelzöldners” in mercenary groups, earning twice the wages of regular soldiers.

‘As I thought, Count Lantarique’s warriors are among these bandits.’

Azadine quickly deduced that while most of the bandits were common criminals, the group’s leadership included operatives of Count Lantarique. These agents had organized and directed the bandits to destabilize Salasma’s security.

“Damn it! Attack! Take him down!”

Doneor, watching Azadine easily evade the first strike, realized things were spiraling out of control but had no choice but to commit to an attack.

“I was hoping to avoid conflict, but it can’t be helped.”

Azadine sighed as he drew his blade.

“You bastard!”

The bandits charged, but Azadine activated Twilight Step and closed the distance to Doneor in an instant.

“Huh?!”

Doneor attempted to counter, but Azadine grabbed his wrist and twisted it.

—Crack!

Doneor’s elbow dislocated with a sickening snap.

“Gah!”

It didn’t end there. Azadine grabbed Doneor’s helmet, twisted his body, and used him as a shield against another incoming arrow.

—Thwack!

The arrow, fired from the Ashwood longbow, pierced Doneor’s armor and embedded deeply into his thigh. As Doneor groaned in pain, the archer hesitated momentarily. Azadine seized the opportunity, drawing a dagger from Doneor’s belt and hurling it at the archer.

“Gah!”

The dagger severed the archer’s fingers.

“Ahhh! My hand! My hand!”

The archer screamed in despair as he realized his injury would prevent him from ever drawing a bow again.

‘This guy… he’s ruthless in ways like this.’

Mediam clicked her tongue, watching Azadine deliberately inflict permanent injuries. With the skilled archer neutralized, the remaining bandits were terrified.

“I told you this would happen…”

The bandits who had already experienced Azadine’s wrath glared at their comrades for provoking him. Meanwhile, Azadine calmly dragged Doneor backward, securing an escape route.

“If you follow us, you’ll die.”

Azadine shoved Doneor toward the bandits, who scrambled to catch and support their leader. Taking advantage of the distraction, Azadine, Mediam, and Ismail swiftly left the area.

Despite their superior numbers, the bandits were so overwhelmed by Azadine’s combat skills and situational control that they didn’t dare pursue him.

“Gaaah! Damn bastards!”

Doneor writhed on the ground in agony.

“Messenger Clan! Those bastards… Argh!”

He clutched the wound from the Ashwood longbow’s arrow, wincing in pain. The shaft was deeply embedded, and every movement caused it to scrape against his injury.

Though he had broken the shaft to shorten it, removing the arrow entirely would require tools, not just bare hands. But the real issue was the attitude of his men.

“……”

Doneor, the Bandit King, was a former officer of Count Lantarique’s forces. He was renowned for his exceptional skills, ruthless swordsmanship, and the horrifying practice of killing humans to feed others, earning him a reputation of fear.

He ruled over the bandits through fear alone, but that fear was also his greatest weakness. Unlike leadership built on loyalty, his rule depended entirely on violence and the hoarding of loot, creating simmering resentment among his subordinates.

In the past, this resentment might have been negligible. But now that Doneor was injured, and their most dangerous ally—the Ashwood longbowman—was incapacitated, the bandits’ suppressed grievances began to surface.

Now might be the time to strike, some of them thought, their eyes glinting with opportunity.

“You bastards, stop glaring at me! I can see exactly what you’re thinking! Have you already forgotten who gave you this hideout, connected you to the slave traders, and turned you into something more than roadside scum?”

Doneor’s threats were met with cold stares. The bandits no longer feared him. His angry shouts only confirmed his weakened position.

‘Before, he’d threaten to kill us. Now he says we wouldn’t survive without him?’

‘He’s too injured to fight.’

The bandits looked at Doneor like ravenous beasts eyeing wounded prey.

Objectively, Doneor was correct. Without him, they would scatter into disorganized groups of highwaymen. He had organized them into an effective network, enabling them to profit more from raids by selling plunder and slaves.

But just as Doneor had relished his liberation from Count Lantarique’s army, the bandits yearned to escape his iron-fisted rule and take control of their destinies.

—Sching.

One bandit unsheathed his sword, and the others followed suit, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.

“You damn—”

Doneor and the remaining loyalists from Count Lantarique’s forces also drew their weapons. But before anyone could act—

“Hmm…”

A man in golden armor suddenly appeared behind them.

“Huh?”

“Ah, am I interrupting something? Please, carry on. Don’t mind me.”

The golden-armored man smiled as he casually adjusted his helmet.

“I was just in need of human flesh and blood. Once you’re done fighting and spilling it, I’ll make use of it.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just a passing Holy Knight. By the way, have you seen a young man traveling with a boy and a girl around here? They’re from the Messenger Clan.”

“……”

“Ah, it seems I’ve struck a nerve. Interesting…”

“What the hell is this?”

“A Holy Knight, huh?”

Doneor’s bandits had faced Holy Knights before. While ordinary bandits would never dare challenge such heavily armored warriors, Doneor’s group was different. They had previously captured and defeated a Holy Knight through group tactics and specialized training.

To them, this golden knight wasn’t a threat but an opportunity for plunder.

“Well, well…”

The golden knight looked amused at the open hostility emanating from the bandits.

“I’d suggest you step back.”

“Haha, step back? Are you serious?”

“Why should we listen to you?”

“Because…”

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed as something massive fell from the sky, crushing one of the bandits who had been preparing to attack the knight.

The creature was monstrous—a humanoid with elongated limbs and a grotesquely distorted form. It tore into the fallen bandit, ripping him apart alive. Blood sprayed into the air as the bandit’s struggles grew weaker, his screams fading.

“Aaaaargh!”

The horrific scene paralyzed everyone. The creature lifted its victim high, gravity pulling blood in streams from the mangled body. It was a spectacle of pure carnage, like a predator tearing apart its prey in the wild.

It was impossible to look away. Fear of becoming the creature’s next victim forced the bandits to keep their eyes on the grisly scene.

“This is why.”

The golden knight said, smiling.

“Sir Ject, going ahead like that…”

Emerging from the undergrowth were two additional Holy Knights—a man and a woman. They were Sir Zebec and Captain Maya, Ject’s retainers.

“A-Ah… What…?”

Maya froze, horrified by what she saw. Before her eyes, Sir Kazrek—who had been little more than a reanimated corpse—was now grotesquely transforming into an unspeakable monstrosity.

“Sir Ject, is this really okay? My fa—I mean, Sir Kazrek is growing larger and larger.”

“This is all because of the curse of unjust death. The forces that murdered and buried your father in secret failed to give him a proper burial, allowing the curse of dark magic to corrupt him further.”

“……”

As a Holy Knight, Maya understood the mechanics of such curses. Not all undead creatures underwent such transformations. For them to persist and evolve, they required human flesh and blood.

Sir Ject had been ensuring Kazrek’s continued existence as a Wraith Knight by feeding him human victims—either in secret or right in front of Maya.

Could a Holy Knight really do something like this?

Maya questioned the morality of it all but couldn’t challenge Ject directly. At that moment, one of the bandits raised his head.

“W-Wait. Did you say… Sir Ject? The Arbiter Sir Ject?”

A wounded bandit clad in fine armor, seemingly the leader of the group, interrupted the conversation between the Holy Knights.