"Damn it! Kill Guillaumevalt first!"
The Cell Sword Guild members decided to focus on their priority target, Guillaumevalt. Rather than getting distracted by arrows flying in from who knows where, they aimed to complete their mission quickly and escape.
"You bastards! You're ignoring me? Traitors!"
Guillaumevalt grabbed his sword and clashed blades with one of the Cell Sword Guild mercenaries.
—Clang!
In just a single exchange, the mercenary's sword deflected Guillaumevalt's, striking the back of his neck. If he hadn't been wearing a neck guard, he would have died instantly.
"Gah!?"
"Huh?!"
Everyone watching was stunned. The mercenary's sword had slipped through as if sucked into Guillaumevalt's neck—it was far too easy.
'Wait, what the hell? Is he really a noble?'
'Normally, nobles are at least decent at swordsmanship.'
Midiam and Ishmael, observing the situation while moving through the reed fields, clicked their tongues.
Unlike commoners, who were too busy making a living to train properly, nobles—especially the high-ranking and wealthy ones—had sword instructors from childhood and received extensive education. On top of that, did they not have the blood of the Yaegas Divine Clan flowing through them?
So how was it that Guillaumevalt was overpowered by a mercenary in just one clash?
"…Sir Guillaumevalt is a dullard when it comes to swordsmanship."
Brand provided a straightforward answer to everyone's confusion. Then, picking up a spear himself, he stepped forward and attacked the Cell Sword Guild mercenary in Guillaumevalt's place.
"What the—old man?!"
The mercenary who had defeated Guillaumevalt immediately tried to block Brand's spear with his sword, but…
—Thwack!
Shockingly, Brand's spear bent before scattering its force, striking the mercenary's upper arm. The blow was so powerful that, even through his armor, the mercenary's arm snapped.
"Argh!"
The same mercenary who had taken down a knight like Guillaumevalt in one exchange was now rolling on the ground after a single strike from an old former scribe. It was unclear whether Guillaumevalt was simply weak or if Brand was naturally strong.
'Probably both.'
That was the thought shared by everyone watching.
"It seems I won't be able to settle this peacefully while they try to paint me as a madman. Should I start working too?"
Scott, sitting in his wheelchair, asked. But Zebeck quickly objected.
"No! Do not use necromancy in front of me!"
Zebeck, wary of Scott's necromantic magic, stepped forward with his sword instead.
"What, do you think I'll be scared just because you're a Holy Knight?"
"You think we haven't fought the Holy Knights before?"
As the mercenaries charged in, sword light danced between them. In an instant, Zebeck overwhelmed four of them with swift and fluid swordsmanship.
—Clack, clack, clack!
The sharp sounds of impact echoed as the mercenaries hit the ground. Some had their helmets and armor dented, blood streaming from their noses, while others clutched deep gashes on their calves, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.
"Huff?!"
"No way… He's insanely strong!"
"Damn it!"
As Zebeck stepped forward to protect Guillaumevalt, the Cell Sword Guild mercenaries realized the battle was not going as expected. In the brief exchange, six of their men had fallen, and arrows continued to rain down on them from all directions. Nearly a third of their twenty-strong force had been wiped out in an instant.
With their morale shattered, the mercenaries began to flee. But arrows pursued them, piercing their backs and legs.
"Argh!"
Though they had the advantage in numbers, the Cell Sword Guild mercenaries were completely overwhelmed by the small group led by Azadin.
"Hmm… Watching this, I finally understand."
Scott McGreen turned to look at Shati, who was quietly sitting beside him.
"I see why you couldn't escape and ended up captured. If you try to run recklessly, you'll end up as a pincushion."
"Shut up. Betraying the Naga Empire… You won't have an easy death."
Shati snapped at Scott, her anger palpable.
"Well, if any of the Nagas who escaped are still alive, they probably think you are a traitor to the Naga Empire too."
"..."
Scott was right.
'Unless I return with the Book of the Divine King as an offering, I'll be dead.'
***
"This… This doesn't make any sense."
Guillaumevalt shook his head in disbelief at what had just happened.
"What's going on, teacher? Why did the mercenaries betray me?"
"When the count's communication was cut off, Young Master Adler set out to consolidate his position as the next Count Lantarik. All the vassals have already sided with him."
"No way… Adler did this? But these were my hired mercenaries, not my vassals!"
"Sir Guillaumevalt, you didn't personally go to the Cell Sword Guild with money to hire them, did you?"
"Well, no, I hired them through my steward, but… Wait, are you saying…?"
"It's not just the vassals. The steward, the servants—all of them are on Young Master Adler's side."
"W-wait, hold on. Why?!"
"Because Young Master Adler is the true heir chosen by the count."
"I know that already. What I'm asking is why! Is it because Adler is handsome? Because Father favored him and ate and slept with him since childhood?"
"…What? They ate and slept together?"
Azadin clicked his tongue at the remark.
"Alright, calm down. We need to leave this place first."
Azadin began packing up the campsite and preparing to move.
"But I'm the eldest son. Even if I'm ugly, how could they do this to me?"
Guillaumevalt was still grumbling, unable to comprehend what had happened.
"Sir Guillaumevalt, you do not know the true nature of the count. That's because you were the apparent eldest son. The real count…"
Brand sighed before revealing the truth.
"…is a black mage."
"What?"
Guillaumevalt's face twisted in fury.
"How dare you insult my father?!"
"Sir Guillaumevalt, I know the count better than you do. No, I'll go further—I know the count better than anyone, and you, more than anyone else, do not know the count."
"Take that back, teacher! Even if it's you, that's too much!"
"Be grateful that my words are harsh, because reality will be even crueler."
"You crazy old man!"
Guillaumevalt drew his sword, preparing to swing it, but Brand reached out and grabbed the hilt, stopping him.
"Let go! How dare you slander the bloodline of the Yaegas Divine Clan?!"
But Brand, gripping the hilt firmly, twisted Guillaumevalt's stance.
"Wha—?! Whoa!"
Guillaumevalt stumbled and fell sideways. The hot-blooded young knight had been physically overpowered by an old former scribe.
'Why is he so weak?'
Azadin was appalled by Guillaumevalt's pathetic state.
"Sir Guillaumevalt, I discovered the count's secret and tried to escape, but I was caught by Doneor, acting under the count's orders. I lost my entire family. No, if I had only lost them, I could have endured it. Doneor tortured me… and forced me to eat my own family. Do you understand what that means?"
"…Wha…"
"The count is my sworn enemy. That is why I like you. Because you are the child he loved the least. And yet, just imagining that his blood runs through your veins…"
Brand's breathing grew heavy, like a rabid dog growling. His entire demeanor became so terrifying that Guillaumevalt recoiled. The sheer strength he had felt when Brand grabbed his hand…
'This old man could tear me apart if he wanted to.'
Guillaumevalt shuddered as he sensed the depth of Brand's rage. But then, Azadin intervened.
"Wait. Calm down, Brand."
"…Huh?"
Brand suddenly lifted his head, blinking as if waking from a trance. His face, once twisted by suffering and hatred, now carried nothing but innocent delight.
"Oh! This young man truly understands chivalry!"
"…Huh?"
Azadin was taken aback by the sudden change in Brand's expression.
"Oh, and there's also that young lady, Shati. What happened to the others? I remember escaping from Doneor's den safely, but…"
"Ah."
The madness in Brand's eyes faded. He had returned to being the Brass Knight once more.
"Oh dear, I must have gotten too worked up."
"This is what happens when you bring a madman along."
Ishmael sneered as he scrubbed a pot with a bamboo brush before placing it on his goat's saddle.
"Wasn't Brand supposed to guide us to the Emperor's Mint? What do we do now?"
Midiam, flustered, asked the question.
"There's no choice. We'll have to wait until he regains his senses. Until then…"
Azadin turned to Guillaumevalt.
"Sir Guillaumevalt, it seems you'll have to guide us to Lantarik."
"Wait, do you all seriously think my father is a black mage?"
"I'm not sure if he actually uses black magic, but I did witness him massacring the people of Salasma. He wasn't exactly a good person."
"B-but…"
Guillaumevalt clutched at his own face, nearly clawing at it in distress.
"Wait a moment."
Midiam stepped forward.
"Why exactly do we have to take him with us? We can just go to Lantarik on our own, and he doesn't contribute anything to our goal. If anything, dragging him along will only make his enemies come after us."
As Midiam questioned him, Azadin shook his head.
"No, that's not the case. He's actually quite useful."
"Huh? Why? The vassals of the Count of Lantarik and that youngest young master he favors won't leave him alone."
"In return, we gain legitimacy."
"Legitimacy?"
"Yes. Officially, Sir Guillaumevalt is the rightful heir. If the vassals or the young master attack him, they become traitors. We'll be justified in cutting them down."
"Aha."
Midiam now understood what Azadin was getting at.
"We're also traveling with an orc in a wheelchair. People are bound to pay attention to us. When that happens, we need a strong justification."
"Can't we just put him on a horse instead of keeping the wheelchair?"
"No. My legs will build muscle."
"..."
Normally, people would say they gain weight, not muscle. But Scott rejected the idea with firm conviction.
"Well, since he's a prisoner, shouldn't he just endure gaining a bit of muscle?"
Ignoring Scott, Midiam turned back to Azadin.
"He says no."
"Wait, why don't I just change my appearance?"
Scott said this before forming a series of hand seals.
Startled, Zebeck instinctively placed his hand on his sword hilt. As a necromancer, Scott was unpredictable, so Zebeck remained on high alert. But Azadin motioned for him to stand down.
A moment later, Scott transformed into a muscular, blond human, still seated in his wheelchair.
"How's this?"
"Hm, you're unrecognizable."
"Just don't fall for my charming looks. Being attracted to a race as dim-witted as humans… That would be rather humiliating."
"..."
At that moment, Ishmael lunged forward and punched Scott square in the face.
—Smack!
"Gaaah!"
Despite his muscular frame, Scott was clearly unfit for close combat, as he clutched his face and rolled on the ground in pain.
"Hey, go easy on him."
Azadin intervened, though he didn't tell Ishmael to stop hitting him altogether.