Episode 110

A massive moon hung low behind the hill. The winter night made it especially clear and enormous—so bright that the two horses galloping ahead were silhouetted against its glow. They didn’t seem to be climbing the forested slope; it was as if they were leaping straight into the moon itself.

Clack clack!

Unlike Ian, who held Hasha tightly while guiding his horse, Berrick showed no hesitation. He impatiently jerked the reins and stamped his feet.

“Giddy-up! Let’s move fast! The moon’s setting!”

By now, even without Hasha’s input, Berrick seemed to have a good idea where the bandits’ hideout was. At the edge of the hill, instinctively, he felt the den lay just below.

Neigh!

“Look at this place, living high and mighty.”

Berrick peered down the steep slope. Among the tall grass, tattered tents formed a rough village. Ian, following behind, scanned the terrain and clicked his tongue.

“Roaming around stealing and pillaging, but at least they’ve got a decent eye for land.”

The geography was nearly perfect for hiding. They had to cross abandoned woods, race across hidden plains, and only at the very end did they spot the bandits.

“Good. Now that we’ve located their camp, let’s head to Karenna and bring some people.”

The stolen loot was piled in one spot, and Ian’s wagon was parked neatly beside it. There must be a path wide enough for the wagon to come through.

“Huh? Bring people? When exactly?”

Berrick’s eyes sparkled as he gripped his sword’s hilt, ready to draw at any moment. Ian shook his head.

“We don’t know how many they have.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re killing them all anyway. And what if they burn the documents while sorting their loot? Don’t you feel sorry for Romandro?”

“Berrick, I wish you’d at least wet your lips before speaking.”

Ian smirked, knowing full well Berrick’s concern for Romandro was just an excuse to go wild. He turned to Hasha.

“Do you know where your body is?”

—Central Barracks.

Hasha’s dark eyes fixed stubbornly on one spot. Just then, as Berrick predicted, a few bandits approached the wagon.

“See that? Romandro’s dead now! Newlyweds with a baby, and he’s about to get fired!”

“Berrick, we can’t let the bandit leader escape.”

“Yes, yes. Master, you circle around. I’ll clear the way.”

“…Do it without a hitch.”

As soon as Ian gave the go-ahead, Berrick kicked his horse’s side and shot forward like an arrow. More accurately, he practically tumbled down the steep hill.

Neigh!

Against the startled horse’s cry, Berrick’s laughter rang sharply through the night air.

“Ahahaha!”

A strange laugh under the moonlight. The bandits, busy sorting their loot, tilted their heads in confusion and looked up. Far off, a horse was barreling down the wall.

“Huh?”

At first, no one knew what to make of it. Even those resting in the barracks peeked out one by one.

“…What the hell?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard?”

“Isn’t that the one who followed us from the village?”

“No guard flags.”

They gripped their weapons just in case, but honestly, no one felt tense. They expected the horse to crash and die the moment it hit the ground.

Bang!

Sure enough, the horse couldn’t handle the speed and slammed straight into a nearby barracks. Objects scattered, dust billowed, blurring vision.

The bandits muttered under their breath.

“Tsk, tsk. Stupid fools should just die early. It’s better for humanity.”

“You still breathing?”

“Shut up. What the hell is this all of a sudden…”

Neigh!

The horse, dazed, staggered and fled. As one bandit cautiously stepped forward to brush away the debris—

Swish!

Berrick’s sword sliced through the air in a clean arc, stealing the man’s breath away. The movement was so smooth that the bandits watching from behind took a few seconds to register what had happened.

“Th-this lunatic…”

Only when the fallen comrade’s pant leg soaked in blood did they realize: this red-haired man wasn’t a madman, but an intruder. Nearby bandits swung their axes and charged at Berrick.

“Who the hell are you?!”

Shiiik!

Vwoom!

The axe was thick enough to shatter most blades in one blow, but Berrick easily parried it. The startled bandits stepped back, whispering.

“Did you feel that…?”

It was strange—a counterattack so smooth and slow it seemed to defy gravity. One bandit noticed Berrick’s red eyes glowing—not from the moonlight.

“Alright, hands up.”

Berrick grinned, pointing his sword at each bandit’s face.

“Who here was the one who raided Karenna today?”

“So, you’re from the village. What, here for revenge?”

“You? You came to the village?”

“And if I did?”

Whoosh!

A sharp gust of wind burst forth. Berrick unleashed the power of the magic sword. The magic energy Ian had passed on in the village still lingered.

“You’re telling me I missed someone. Annoying.”

Thwack!

Muttering to himself, Berrick plunged into the bandits. His sword danced at the speed of light. His bright red eyes shone like a beast of the night, hunting prey.

“Arrgh!”

“Die! Haha! I saw your face!”

“Damn it, everyone out! Emergency!”

“What’s all this noise?!”

“Ahhh! Help, help—!”

The merciless slaughter began.

Ian watched from the hilltop. Hasha, cradled in his arms, tilted her head in confusion, studying Ian’s expression.

—What’s going on?

“Hasha, does Berrick remind you of anything?”

—He seems like a total mess. He wouldn’t last a day in Astana.

“That goes for Bariel too. Enough. Let’s head down. Berrick said he’d clear the way for us.”

Ian guided his horse, leaving the chaos behind.

‘No matter how skilled a magic swordsman he is, Berrick goes too far. No fear, and he revels in blind slaughter. It’s… strange.’

If he went to the center where everything converged, he’d learn more about Berrick.

Ian descended the hill and reached the camp’s entrance. The gatekeeper was nowhere to be seen, likely drawn away by the commotion Berrick caused.

“Let’s go.”

Hasha stiffened as if tense. Inside, there was almost no sign of life. The bandits must have rushed off in a group to catch the intruder.

Bang! Bang!

Distant crashes confirmed Ian’s suspicions. Guided by Hasha, he moved toward the camp’s center. Finding the bodies was important, but even more so was the wagon.

“Hasha, if you want, I’ll let you down. But I need to check if the wagon’s safe first.”

—I can’t do much myself. It’s fine.

Ian dismounted and approached the parked wagons. When a bandit emerged from behind the cargo, Ian didn’t hesitate to fire magic.

Pew!

A flash of light sent the bandit sprawling backward.

‘One, two, three…’

Everything stolen was still there. Ian nodded after confirming the magic stones, piles of documents, and storage boxes were intact.

“No problem.”

Hearing Ian’s mutter, Hasha took the lead and started running toward the central barracks. Each step brought a cold air that seemed to freeze her mind. All her senses were fixed on the barracks.

Swish.

“Hm?”

As they reached the barracks, a massive man emerged. Hasha looked up at him, and he was so tall he seemed to almost touch the ceiling.

“What the—?”

The bandit leader. Hasha froze and stepped back. He grabbed the dog’s scruff and lifted her into the air.

“Dog bastard?”

Screech.

If she wanted to live, she had no choice. Hasha struggled hard, pretending ignorance to catch him off guard.

Then—

“Big guy!”

Blood-soaked Berrick shouted loudly. He was dragging a corpse behind him. The leader looked stunned, as if caught off guard by the scene.

“You’re the head, huh?”

“You bastard!”

Whoosh!

The leader threw Hasha aside and drew his axe. He’d thought it was just a minor disturbance. Usually, on a successful raid, his men would be drunk and restless all night.

“Your men are tough. The way you cut is deadly.”

“You crazy bastard!”

Clang! Clang!

No hesitation. The two charged at each other, weapons clashing with a piercing metallic screech. Hasha, who had been rolling on the ground, barely regained her senses and stepped inside the barracks.

“Arrgh!”

Thwack!

A fleeting expression of surprise crossed Berrick’s face. The leader’s strength matched his size—his axe swings were on a different level from the other bandits.

“Huff, huff…”

The leader dropped his axe, sweating profusely and gasping for breath. Seeing this, Berrick deliberately threw his sword to the ground.

“…?”

“You seem to enjoy hitting more than cutting.”

“Look at you—such an arrogant little punk.”

“How much do you think it’s gonna hurt to get slapped around by a guy like that!?”

Smack!

Both of them threw punches at the same time, trading blows back and forth. The gang leader felt a growing, instinctive sense of defeat as the fight dragged on. He realized that Beric was deliberately taking the hits.

Smack! Crack!

Beric’s strikes gradually increased in number. Blood began to stain his fists, but it was impossible to tell whose blood it was.

“Hahaha! Just as I thought! You’ve got some solid meat on you—makes a good target.”

“Ugh—! Huff!”

Thwack!

Boom!

With the final blow, the leader’s face was smashed beyond recognition. He staggered and finally lost consciousness. Beric lightly brushed his hands off and reached for his sword.

“Beric.”

Ian’s voice came from behind. Turning around, Beric saw Ian signaling with his eyes to stop.

“There’s a lot we need to ask him. We can’t just kill him.”

“Oh, the master’s here?”

Beric wiped his nose with his bloodied hand and smiled brightly, as if feeling refreshed.

“I cleared the way nicely.”

“The path’s a bit… blood-red, though.”

“High-ranking folks like walking on red carpets.”

The ground was a mess, soaked with the blood of the defeated bandits. The wet earth beneath the horses’ hooves sent a damp chill through the air.

Ian dismounted and carefully examined Beric’s condition. It was hard to tell if he was truly unharmed under all that blood.

“What about Hasha?”

“She went inside.”

“Keep an eye on the bandit leader, just in case.”

“Eh? I’m curious about what’s inside too.”

Ian ignored Beric’s protest and headed toward the barracks entrance. The stench inside was overwhelming, far worse than outside. Following Hasha’s footprints, Ian pressed on.

“Hasha?”

In a small annex within the barracks, Ian found Hasha sitting quietly with her back turned.

—You’ve come.

The corpse of a child with blue hair sat slumped in a chair. Bound with ropes to keep her upright, but limp and half-collapsed, her body was in an advanced state of decay.

Hasha muttered, staring at her own shell.

—So this is what death is.

She remembered her reflection in the mirror—the lively eyes, the pale cheeks, the dimples that once graced her face. Choking back emotion, she continued.

—I suppose it’s time to return to nature, as it should have been all along.

“Are you sure about this? There’s no guarantee your soul still lingers.”

—I don’t know how control of the spirit passed on. Before some greedier soul claims it, it must be destroyed. The bandits outside are still alive, right? If it wakes and casts a spell right away, that would be a problem.

Ian’s reasoning made sense. But acting on it required a courage of a different kind—destroying the chance to live again in a human body, by one’s own hand.

“Hasha. I commend your decision.”

—…

Hasha didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at Ian. She simply took in her final moments with her eyes.

Ziiing.

Ian condensed his magic and shattered the corpse’s head. Brain matter spilled out, and the once-whole child’s form twisted grotesquely. Unconsciously, a single tear slipped down Hasha’s cheek.

She had crossed a river of no return.

Dead, yet not truly dead—she had become something else entirely.