In truth, there had been more than a few strange things from the very beginning.
The Turncoat Pawn was strong.
Not just "strong," but overwhelmingly so—strong enough that even if the entire recon team attacked at once, excluding Carl Marcus, they couldn't inflict even a decent wound.
And yet… for some reason, the Turncoat Pawn had almost never inflicted serious harm on them.
Considering the gap in power between it and the recon team, it wouldn't have been surprising if they'd been wiped out long ago.
But that wasn't the only strange part.
Each time, the one who managed to drive the Turncoat Pawn away was none other than Carl Marcus—who always happened to be away on some supposed mission.
No one knew how he always returned at just the right moment, but regardless, thanks to Carl Marcus, the recon team had avoided annihilation.
Not a single member of the team found this coincidence unusual, and yet they could say nothing.
After all, Carl was the only witness to what actually transpired each time.
But there was one detail that increasingly nagged at them—
Not one of them had ever seen Carl Marcus actually fight the Turncoat Pawn.
It was for this very reason that Hildegard had asked Carl to remain at the camp tonight, even if it meant postponing his mission.
Both Carl and the Turncoat Pawn felt suspicious—
So much so, she had no choice but to make such an unreasonable request.
And yet, she had also thought—
'If Carl Marcus really is involved with the Turncoat Pawn, he'll definitely refuse this request.'
But what happened?
Carl Marcus accepted the suggestion without hesitation, and just as he said, he had stayed at the camp today without heading out on any mission.
'This isn't over yet.'
If the Turncoat Pawn didn't show up now—with Carl Marcus present—
Then Hildegard's suspicions would transform into near certainty.
And so, she waited.
Holding her breath in silence, as night slowly fell.
Waiting for the unwanted midnight visitor.
* * *
'Hmm…'
Honestly, I had known from the start that these nightly assaults couldn't continue forever.
Even if the recon team trusted me, it would be suspicious if the Turncoat Pawn kept attacking only while I was conveniently away.
'Well, that's that…'
Regardless, my objective hadn't changed.
To make them stronger.
For that reason, training couldn't be neglected.
"First one there!"
"Waaagh!"
"Run!"
As I'd observed while facing them as the Turncoat Pawn, the training was producing results.
The greatest achievement by far was how much the recon members had begun to understand one another.
This led to tighter coordination in battle.
'There's no better way to understand an opponent than through competition.'
The recon team was clearly getting stronger.
But no matter how realistic the training, it wasn't truly real.
'They're starting to feel comfortable.'
They were beginning to believe the Turncoat Pawn wouldn't kill them.
That thought had begun to settle into their minds.
But that was dangerous.
The Turncoat Pawn had to remain a lethal threat—a symbol of fear.
'In that sense, this is perfect timing.'
Hildegard's suspicions, in that regard, were something I had been waiting for.
It was a natural doubt—one that had to arise eventually.
And now, I would use it to erase their complacency and tighten their tension.
"I can't go on…"
"Haah, haah…"
"But if the Turncoat shows up tonight after all this... we're screwed."
"Carl is here. It'll be fine."
"You and your blind faith in Carl…"
Training neared its end, and dusk slowly descended.
Night had arrived.
"Alright, wrap it up."
The moment I gave the command, the recon team—who moments ago looked like they'd collapse—leapt up and began setting up camp.
["...What even are they."]
Even Esther was dumbfounded, clicking her tongue at the sight.
Regardless, the camp was built, and the night fell.
Though it was time to assign night watches and rest, no one entered their tents.
"They'll come again tonight, right?"
"Most likely."
"Sigh... I hope not."
"Now that you said that, they definitely will."
"Should I say I hope they do, then?"
Dmitri and Iris bickered lightly.
Not long ago, they were openly hostile. Now, training had forged a tenuous camaraderie.
"...Not sure this is gonna go well…"
At Klutz's anxious murmur, Kurilta replied from beside him.
"Hmph. Don't worry about it. Carl's here tonight."
"I get that Carl is impressive. But can he really handle the Turncoat Pawn? Wasn't it always that the Turncoat just fled on its own before? If we actually fight it, who knows what'll happen?"
"Trust in Carl."
"I wish I could, like you."
Klutz shook his head, polishing his Ark-15 Automatic Conversion Rifle and the DR-404 Revolver.
The DR-404 was technically Dmitri's, but since Klutz was clearly the best marksman among them, it had been decided he'd carry it for this mission.
'The R-1 Plasma Sword would probably be more effective in the hands of Kurilta or Iris... but it's better not to bring that up.'
The revolver was one thing—Dmitri might've allowed it.
But if someone suggested taking his R-1 Plasma Sword too?
That'd be a disaster.
Sure, if things got worse, it might become necessary, but for now, leaving it alone was the better choice.
'Now's not the time to crush Dmitri's pride.'
A bit of ego helps grow leadership.
Dmitri's talent hadn't even fully bloomed yet—no need to crush it prematurely.
["Master, it's here."]
Unfortunately, that train of thought didn't last long.
The guest I had summoned from afar had arrived.
Step. Step. Step.
"…Everyone, get ready."
"It's coming."
The recon team, including Hildegard, watched the shifting darkness with held breath.
As the shape emerging from the shadows became clear, someone gulped audibly.
The Turncoat Pawn.
It had arrived.
["Keeeeh, keekeeeh…"]
A bone mask in the style of Kupf's.
A cloak made from the hide of a sky whale.
A thick bone spear clutched in its hand.
Visually, it was identical to the Turncoat Pawn they had faced before.
But appearances deceived.
Only Esther and I knew its true identity.
'Turncoat Knight.'
To be exact—this was a Turncoat Knight disguised as the Turncoat Pawn.
Which meant the others wouldn't know.
That unlike the Turncoat Pawn, the Knight held no mercy.
'This won't be easy.'
This wasn't simulated training anymore.
This was real combat—disguised as training.
The next phase had begun.
* * *
There was no clear signal for who moved first.
As the recon team swiftly fell into position and began firing all at once, the Turncoat Pawn let out a ghastly shriek and surged forward.
BANG!
RATATATATATA!
Smoke and muzzle flashes filled the air.
Yet through the thick haze, the Turncoat Pawn emerged, completely unfazed.
"Kurilta!"
"Understood!"
At Iris's cry, Kurilta stepped forward, wielding a pair of Smel Workshop hand axes in both hands.
They were newly replaced—his previous ones had been damaged in prior encounters.
CLANG!
Kurilta's axes clashed against the Turncoat Pawn's bone spear in a contest of brute strength.
But no matter how well-trained, a human could never overpower a monster in raw strength.
Screeech, scree—!
With a sickening metallic squeal, the bone spear twisted aside Kurilta's axes.
Then, without pause, it drove straight into his thigh.
"Gahhh!"
Normally, this would be where the Turncoat Pawn stopped.
But this time, it had no intention of stopping.
The spear twisted again.
"Aaaaargh!"
Even a hardened warrior couldn't withstand that pain—Kurilta screamed.
Seeing this, Klutz and Hildegard sprang into action.
"Let go of him!"
The DR-404 Revolver snapped into aim.
But the Turncoat Pawn calmly dodged the shot, leaving the spear lodged in Kurilta and lunging straight for Klutz.
It didn't need a weapon.
Its entire body was a weapon.
Slither, slither—!
Bone tendrils burst from its body, lashing toward Klutz.
Klutz did his best to respond with the DR-404, but he couldn't block them all.
"Urgh!"
The tendrils pierced through his arms and legs, wrapping around him like thorny vines.
If left unchecked, he'd be dragged off and killed.
"You bastard...!"
Zzzziiiing!
Unable to bear watching, Dmitri lunged in and slashed with the R-1 Plasma Sword.
Thanks to him, Klutz was freed—but the damage had already been done.
"…Thanks."
"Save it. Eyes forward."
The situation was dire.
Kurilta wasn't down, but he'd lost most of his mobility.
Klutz had survived, but he was all but combat ineffective.
"Damn it..."
Standing beside Dmitri, Iris retrieved the DR-404 from Klutz.
Among the recon team's arsenal, only the R-1 Plasma Sword and the DR-404 were capable of dealing meaningful damage to the Turncoat Pawn.
Someone had to use them.
Meanwhile, the Turncoat Pawn approached.
Not fast, not slow.
Just steadily advancing.
Under the tightening pressure, the recon team felt something different—something they hadn't felt before.
"…Did that freak eat something bad? It's acting way more lethal than usual."
"Seriously. At this rate, we're all dead."
"Hmph. Who's dying? Cough!"
Watching the scene unfold, Hildegard couldn't help but feel something was off.
'…This isn't like before.'
Before, the Turncoat Pawn had been fierce—but never truly lethal.
It had never struck to kill.
But now, everything about it had changed.
The murderous aura it radiated—
The bone tendrils lunging like vipers—
It looked ready to tear through throats without hesitation.
Unfortunately, she didn't have time to dwell on it.
The Turncoat Pawn moved again.
Slither—!
Tendrils shot from every direction.
With nowhere to run, the recon team fired desperately, pulling their triggers in a frenzy.
BANG!────
One single shot echoed, sharp and clean.
But its effect was anything but small.
CRACK—!
Bone tendrils shattered, raining fragments onto the ground.
At least that weapon could hurt the Turncoat Pawn.
"That was…"
Hildegard's gaze turned slowly toward the weapon's user.
But she already knew.
There was only one person at this camp equipped with something that powerful.
"Everyone, fall back."
"Carl Marcus…"
Until now, Carl had remained on the sidelines—watching.
Now, he was finally stepping in.