Colombo was a villain.
He was vicious, despicable, and shameless enough to feast on the misfortune of others without a shred of guilt.
But despite being the worst of men, people still flocked to Colombo.
Though his character was far from admirable, even with the most generous of words, his abilities were exceptional.
Colombo had a silver tongue.
He had an eye for digging into the weaknesses of others.
And above all, he possessed the overwhelming martial prowess to command the bandits of the surrounding area.
The dark blue energy that flowed from his curved sword was proof of his power.
Sword energy.
The name varied by region, and there were slight differences in its principles and levels of mastery, but the basic concept was the same.
The strengthening of a weapon through mana.
Its effect was so great that it allowed a person to cleave through massive logs or boulders with a single swing of a mere blade.
Though it depended on the thickness, metal was no exception.
This was why Colombo had inwardly scoffed at the sight of the Tin Knight in his plate armor.
He must have had a grand time running wild against my underlings. I'll shatter that arrogance of his.
Armor that encased the entire body in metal plates was, in itself, a powerful weapon.
It could withstand most conventional weapons, allowing the wearer to cut down opponents with impunity.
However, those who had surpassed a certain level of skill did not favor plate armor.
For a master capable of wielding sword energy, slicing through a thin metal plate was no difficult task. And if the armor was made thick enough to withstand sword energy, then simply moving became an ordeal.
It was a tool for measuring skill—nearly invincible against the weak, but useless against the truly strong.
That was the general perception of plate armor.
The shield equipped on the Tin Knight's left arm was another reason for Colombo's low estimation of his opponent.
A well-made suit of metal armor was more than sufficient to serve as a shield on its own.
Since it possessed the defensive power to withstand most attacks head-on, it was far more efficient to use both hands for offense than to bother with a shield.
In fact, the knights from the central continent—Colombo's homeland, famous for its many powerful warriors—preferred large, heavy two-handed swords over a one-handed sword and shield.
To Colombo, who had grown up watching such knights, the Tin Knight, who not only wore sturdy armor but also carried a shield, looked like a coward afraid of even the smallest scratch.
CLANG!
The blade Colombo swung with all his might easily snapped the Tin Knight's sword in two.
Cheering at the expected outcome, Colombo pressed his attack.
He intended to sever the Tin Knight's right arm, which still held the broken sword.
Crunch.
Colombo's eyes widened.
His curved sword had undoubtedly struck the Tin Knight's right arm.
The problem was that while Colombo had expected to 'sever' it—meaning, to cut it completely off—the actual result was a gash that only went halfway through the forearm.
More than anything, the sensation was strange.
It wasn't like a metal plate covering flesh and blood, but as if the entire arm was made of metal—
"—This bastard, he's not human…?!"
THWACK!
The Tin Knight's low kick slammed into Colombo.
A normal person's leg bones would have shattered from the force, but for Colombo, who had reinforced his body with mana, it was an attack he could just barely withstand.
However, he couldn't prevent his stance from breaking.
And before Colombo could correct his posture, the edge of the Tin Knight's shield slammed into his side.
"Keuk!"
His mouth was forced open, and his body bent over.
The Tin Knight clasped his hands together and brought them down on Colombo's head, which was now in the perfect position.
Even then, Colombo tried to roll to the side and get back into a fighting stance, but the Tin Knight had no intention of letting him go.
He had to take the boss's head before the time limit ran out.
The Tin Knight was the type who wasn't satisfied unless he cleared every side mission perfectly.
The Tin Knight's left foot stomped on Colombo's chest, pinning him down.
Then, dropping down as if to sit, his right knee came down precisely on Colombo's neck.
Crack.
With the sound of vertebrae shattering, Colombo's eyes shot open.
His hands flailed in the air as if trying to grab something… before falling limp to the ground.
The Tin Knight quietly rose to his feet and forcibly pulled the curved sword from his right arm.
No blood flowed.
Visible through the crack in his arm was an interior packed with metallic mechanisms.
The Tin Knight stared at it for a moment with a look of curiosity, then, as if losing interest, he looked around.
"G-get away! Don't come any closer!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Shit, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you over and over!"
It was a bizarre scene.
Some crawled on the floor, desperately trying to escape. Others clutched their heads, repeating the same words over and over. One man swung his sword wildly, drenching himself in the blood of his own comrades.
Dorothea approached the bewildered Tin Knight.
She glanced at Colombo's corpse, his neck crushed, and spoke with a hint of admiration.
"You really did kill him in under ten seconds. And a guy who could use sword energy, at that."
[The 'Tin Knight' asks if they have something like sword energy here, too!]
"I don't know what you mean by 'here, too,' but you just experienced sword energy firsthand, didn't you? Though I have no idea why a guy who could use it was playing bandit."
It wasn't quite the answer he'd expected, but the Tin Knight accepted it.
If there was magic and dolls that moved with mana, it made sense for sword energy to exist as well.
Besides, the memory of the bandit's attack still tingled in his body, and he had a gut feeling that he could do it himself if he tried.
The Tin Knight pointed at the surrounding bandits and asked.
[The 'Tin Knight' asks what's wrong with them!]
Dorothea shrugged.
"I just asked some nearby souls to whisper a few things in their ears. And wouldn't you know it, a whole swarm of spirits, eager as bandits themselves, volunteered to jump in."
[The 'Tin Knight' wonders why you didn't just use such a convenient skill when you were being chased in the first place!]
"You've got it backward. It's because of that experience that I prepared magic for dealing with large groups. It's a pain carrying around a specific catalyst for every single spell, you know?"
Grumbling under her breath, Dorothea crouched down and approached Colombo's body.
The state of the corpse, its neck mangled, was truly gruesome, but Dorothea's expression was utterly indifferent as she placed a hand on its head.
"■■■■■"
In a pronunciation the Tin Knight couldn't understand, Dorothea began to chant a long spell.
"You, you bastard. What are you doing to the boss—Keuk!"
A few bandits, seemingly snapping out of their trances, charged with wide eyes, but they all became new notches on the Tin Knight's belt.
The sharpness of his new weapon, 'Colombo's Curved Sword (named on the spot)', which he had acquired after defeating the boss, pleased the Tin Knight.
Some time passed.
Finally, Dorothea's spell came to an end.
And then.
Twitch!
Colombo's body, which had been unmistakably dead, began to stir.
The Tin Knight's body flinched in response.
[The 'Tin Knight' cheers, asking if this is a phase-two boss!]
Humans have the ability to infer meaning from context, even without knowing the words themselves.
Dorothea, having a rough idea of what the Tin Knight was trying to say, shook her head.
"This isn't for you to fight, so cut it out. And bring the other guys you cut down over here."
Though disappointed, the Tin Knight did as Dorothea said, neatly stacking the corpses.
Objectively, it was an incredibly macabre scene, but neither the Tin Knight nor Dorothea realized it.
Truly, a master and servant cut from the same cloth.
*
Willem, a member of the Colombo bandit group, was running through the streets with a frantic look on his face.
Damn it, I'm fucked.
It had all started when he spotted a stunningly beautiful woman at a tavern, exactly his type.
He was dying to hit on her right away, but it was obvious that trying to make a move with his damn comrades around would end in misery, whether he succeeded or failed.
Since most of his companions were dead drunk anyway, Willem boldly decided to act alone.
It was against the second-in-command's order to always stick together, but Willem didn't care much.
As long as you didn't get caught, it was fine.
Willem's bold adventure was a success, and after a pleasant time, he snuck back to the inn before his comrades woke up.
He had been on cloud nine until that moment, but when he saw that not a single one of his comrades was left at the inn, he felt a chilling premonition.
The dread grew even stronger after the innkeeper told him that his companions had rushed off in a hurry to the main hideout where the boss and second-in-command were staying.
Shit, did they find out I went off alone? Did the second-in-command punish our entire squad because he wasn't managing his men properly?
The thought of just running for it crossed his mind, but in the end, Willem headed for the hideout.
If things were as he suspected, he'd get an earful when he got back, but if he made the wrong move and bolted, he might lose more than just his pride—he could lose his head.
Praying that this whole mess had nothing to do with him, Willem ran as fast as he could.
To get straight to the point, Willem's prayer was answered.
"All the slaves were stolen?"
"Yeah, some monster bastards broke in and…!"
The story he heard from a comrade he was close with was as follows:
An unknown knight and his gang had stormed the hideout, killed the second-in-command, and stolen the slaves.
The boss, upon returning from the castle and seeing the disaster, had gathered his men to attempt revenge, but the other side used some kind of strange magic, causing everyone to hallucinate and pass out.
"Hallucinations? What the hell was it?"
"Agh, shit. Don't ask, it just makes me remember. It was horrible, anyway. It's a good thing they didn't seem to want to make a bigger deal out of it and just left after showing us the hallucinations. If they'd attacked us while we were out… ugh, gives me the creeps."
"So no one died?"
"Right. But the boss's orders are to drop it and not mess with that knight or the slaves, since we might face something worse next time. You should know that too."
"The second-in-command and the others died, and the boss gave that order?"
Willem couldn't quite understand.
The boss he knew was certainly a cruel and wicked villain, but he was also a leader who took care of his own people.
For that same boss to declare surrender after being so thoroughly beaten was something Willem found impossible to believe.
"Well, what else could he do? We can't all die fighting monsters. The boss must have had no choice. Besides."
His comrade, glancing around furtively, whispered in Willem's ear.
"Even though the other slaves were taken, it seems the most valuable one the boss took to the castle sold for a huge price. In a few days, after that slave is sold at auction and the contract is finalized, he's going to give a huge reward to all the members. And since our numbers have shrunk from this incident, won't everyone's share be bigger?"
Only after hearing that did Willem understand the strange atmosphere among the bandits.
It was certainly humiliating to be beaten by outsiders and forced to back down without getting revenge.
But considering the profit they stood to gain, it wasn't all bad.
That must be why everyone was so obediently following the boss's orders.
But is this really okay?
While relieved that he wouldn't be in trouble for now, a question lingered in a corner of Willem's mind.
It was only natural. Handling things this way was bound to shatter the bandit group's sense of unity and belonging.
It would foster an attitude that as long as an individual profited, it didn't matter if their comrades died.
That might be the norm in other bandit groups, but for the Colombo bandits, who had been building a sense of camaraderie around their boss and second-in-command, it was a fatal blow.
Above all, it was sure to leave a huge scar on the authority of the boss, Colombo.
The bandits would still follow him, but they would no longer revere him or serve him with genuine loyalty as they had before.
The boss I know would rather charge in, no matter how scary the opponent, than see that happen.
Willem peeked at the boss, who was sitting in a corner of the hideout with a few of the top members.
The boss's eyes were incredibly vacant.
He seemed to be lost in deep thought, or perhaps, not thinking at all.
It wasn't just the boss; all the leaders were sitting in silence, not uttering a single word, casting a gloomy pall over the area.
Suddenly, Willem noticed that the boss was wearing a scarf.
The way his neck was tightly wrapped in a season that wasn't particularly cold felt strangely bizarre.
Not only that, but the boiling heat that he used to radiate, which one could feel just by looking at him, seemed to have vanished without a trace.
"Don't the boss and the others look a little off?"
At Willem's question, his comrade replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"It'd be weirder if they were perfectly fine in a situation like this."
Right, Willem thought, nodding.
Thinking about it calmly, he had no obligation to seriously worry about the future of the bandit group or the state of his boss.
They were bandits.
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