Episode 35

The knight gripped his sword tightly and scanned his surroundings. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t make sense of the situation. Ian and his lackey, mere pawns in a peace offering, blended into the Cheonryeo tribe’s midst with unnerving ease.

“Beric, you think you can handle this? You’re not gonna die today, right?”

“Yeah, get lost. Why don’t you die instead?”

“Judging by your mouth, you’re in good shape.”

“Hey, knight of the Bratz! Someone needs to teach Beric a lesson—snap him out of it. Or I’ll kill you myself.”

“Ha! So the knight’s doomed either way? That’s just not fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Surrounded by Beric and the others, watching like spectators—it felt like being a dog in an arena. The knight glanced at Ian sitting beside Kakantir and was certain something was off. This situation needed to be reported to Derga immediately.

“Pfft!”

Beric spat, gripping his sword’s hilt tighter. He’d easily parried the knight’s earlier attack, but that was only because the knight had let his guard down. Beric looked back at Ian and asked,

“Hey, Ian! If this guy dies, how do we send the reply?”

“There are plenty of sturdy Kushiles. Don’t worry about that—just watch your neck. If you die, I die too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

Sending the reply wasn’t the real problem. Beric could just ride a Kushile himself and deliver it. He smirked at Ian’s words and settled into his stance. As Kakantir had said, a fight without intent to kill was just boring.

“Take it easy on me. I’m gonna come at you hard as hell.”

“Your tone’s vulgar.”

“That’s my charm!”

Clang! Clang!

Beric sprang forward, sand crunching beneath his feet. The blade sliced through the air so fast it was almost invisible. The knight methodically blocked each strike.

“Arrgh!”

Screech!

The clash of steel sent chills down their spines. The Cheonryeo tribe watched with keen interest, shouting encouragement.

“Knight! Kill him! Take Beric down!”

“Hahaha! Look at that, he’s already looking tired.”

“No way!”

At first, it sounded like they were cheering for the knight, but Ian and Beric knew better.

Kakantir had told them himself.

“Go, Beric!”

“Let’s see what you’ve got!”

The true path of a warrior leads through death.

They all hoped, with one heart, that Beric would be reborn as a true warrior.

“Like a mad dog charging without rhyme or reason.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Smack!

“Ugh!”

The knight seized an opening, elbowing Beric in the solar plexus. Beric’s face slammed into the sand, gasping for breath, clutching his chest.

“Looks like that one hit hard.”

“Beric! Get up!”

“Tsk, tsk. I knew he was reckless from the start.”

Ian chuckled softly. But as Beric collapsed, the Cheonryeo tribe’s mood turned grim. The knight, seeing no point in wasting time, gripped his sword again.

The fallen target’s neck was exposed.

Swish!

Just as the knight’s blade was about to strike Beric’s throat, Beric twisted away, throwing sand into the knight’s eyes. Then, he landed a punch in return.

Smack!

“That hurts like hell!”

Smack! Thud!

The fight was escalating into a brawl. The knight glanced skyward—the sun had fully risen. Every second counted, and he had no reason to toy with Beric.

“Don’t be a nuisance!”

Clang! Clang!

But the problem was that Beric was far from easy to handle. Every time the knight thought he had the upper hand, Beric surged back, leaving the knight both annoyed and unsettled.

“Arrgh!”

“Ugh!”

Their shouts rang out simultaneously as their blades locked, each aiming for the other’s heart.

Thud!

Finally, blood stained the steel.

The knight’s strike pierced Beric’s side cleanly. Blood dripped down the blade. Without hesitation, the knight twisted the hilt.

A faint smile curled at his lips.

“Gah!”

“Phew. Good skill, but this is where it ends.”

“Ugh! Arrgh!”

“I’m busy.”

The wound was deep, almost gutting Beric. He grabbed the blade barehanded, blood streaming down in rivulets. Ian frowned involuntarily, and the Cheonryeo tribe muttered grimly.

“Crazy bastard. If you’re gonna kill him, at least do it cleanly.”

A fight without respect was just mockery—and that was the one thing they hated most. Beric’s vision blurred; he shook his head a few times and looked down at the wound.

“…Damn it.”

He gritted his teeth and tried to pull the sword out. The harder he pulled, the more the knight pressed down, driving the blade deeper. Eventually, the tip pierced through Beric’s body and emerged behind him.

Smack!

The knight kicked Beric’s body. As Beric tumbled sideways, the knight strode toward Ian. Kakantir sat nearby, resting his chin on his hand with a bored expression.

“Ian Bratz. There’s no time.”

He drew a dagger from his waist. Unlike Beric, this would be enough for Ian. With each step he took, the surroundings fell silent. Only the sandstorm whispered eerily.

“Your death will prove Count Derga Bratz’s innocence. Consider it an honor to fulfill your duty before you die.”

He raised the dagger high. Ian’s gaze followed the blade, then shifted behind the knight. It wasn’t the reaction of a man facing death, and the knight hesitated, glancing back.

“Hah.”

Beric stood there, motionless. His head tilted back as if possessed by a demon, but his legs held firm. With one swift motion, he yanked the sword from his side.

Whoosh!

Blood sprayed like a fountain. From head to toe, he was drenched in red. Beric slowly lowered his head and muttered with effort,

“…I’m not done yet, you bastard.”

“Enough already…”

Ziiing.

At that moment, the knight faltered, sensing a familiar yet strange energy—like the aura he’d seen from the knight commanders in battles against monsters.

Swish.

Beric’s hair, once gently waving, now whipped wildly in the wind. The sand lines on the ground rippled like waves.

“I hit once, I hit back twice.”

“Damn! You’re really a pain in the ass!”

“Knight, use this.”

Kakantir laughed and handed over his sword. The knight’s blade, which had been stuck in Beric’s side, lay on the ground. Without hesitation, the knight accepted it and charged at Beric.

Whoosh!

“Even if I die, I’m not dying alone! You son of a—I’ll watch you die before I go down!”

“Shut up!”

Beric exploded forward with fierce energy.

Ian noticed his eyes shining with magic, just like before. Amid the bloodied face, only his pupils burned brightly.

Clang! Clang!

“Arrgh!”

“What the hell is this—damn it…”

Beric pressed forward at incredible speed. The knight, barely dodging, finally bled. His strength was heavier, far beyond before.

Blood splattered with every passing blade. No one could tell whose it was—Beric’s or the knight’s.

“Dieee!”

Thud!

Beric’s strike pierced the knight’s shoulder in one blow.

Time seemed to freeze. The knight trembled, pushing the blade away with his other hand, but…

“Arrgh!”

Like the knight before him, Beric put his weight into the strike. Raising the hilt, he pulled the blade toward the heart. The longer and deeper the wound, the more blood poured out with the knight’s ragged breath.

“Ah, damn…”

“Hah… hah…”

Beric clenched his teeth and pressed his knee against the knight’s neck. The blade slid free from the shoulder, pointing straight up like it could pierce the sun, then without hesitation, it plunged through the knight’s throat.

Thud!

“Damn it, really…”

And collapsed onto the sand.

Beric clutched his burning side and curled up. The once-quiet crowd erupted simultaneously with cheers and encouragement.

“Beric! Well done! You bastard!”

“Yeah, a fight’s about seeing it through to the end!”

“Better with a sword than I thought. Beric, can you pull yourself together?”

“Ah, don’t talk to me. It hurts too much…”

“Quit whining! A little blood won’t kill you.”

“Hey! Someone move him. Where’s the medic?”

Kakantir watched the commotion with a faint smile. Then he bowed his head and whispered quietly to Ian. For some reason, he looked genuinely satisfied.

“So that’s why Sir Ian brought this one along.”

“I didn’t bring him—I fought alongside him.”

“Hahaha. Indeed. You truly embody the virtues of a warrior. This Beric is no ordinary man.”

“Who else would be so damn stubborn and fierce?”

The sandstorm swirled, and eyes gleamed with unspoken power, but Ian brushed off Kakantir’s words playfully. He crouched beside Beric.

“Beric. Snap out of it.”

Snapping his fingers in front of Beric’s face, Beric grimaced and tried to bite Ian’s fingers.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“…This really hurts like hell.”

“Looks like it. Good job.”

The dormant power of the magic swordsman began to stir on its own. The magic Ian had infused to stimulate him was gradually awakening. Beric tried one last time to bite Ian’s finger, but then he passed out.

“Help me move him.”

“Right away. We’ll need to stop the bleeding, too.”

“Well, well. Is he asleep or just knocked out?”

“With a hole in his stomach? There’s no way he’s just sleeping. He’s out cold.”

The Cheonryeo clan members exchanged brief remarks as they carried Beric into the tent. A cloth was draped over the fallen knight’s body. Nersarn pulled out a message from his pocket and called for Su.

“Su. Prepare yourself.”

“Ah, please…”

Su instinctively knew he was being ordered to run an errand. He crossed his arms in protest, but Nersarn ignored him without hesitation. Then he gave a grim command to his subordinate.

“Cut off the knight’s head and place it in the box.”

“Ahhh! I’ll just take the papers! Please, Nersarn!”

“No. It has to be the head.”

There was no better proof to send to Derga.

Su jumped up, clinging to Nersarn, but it was useless. Soon, the knight’s body was dismembered. Nersarn turned to Ian and asked,

“So, now we wait for the right moment?”

“Yes. Now that ‘they’ know we want to break the truce, Derga will confront the central army head-on. Reinforcements are on their way, so dragging this out will only hurt us. He’ll try to eliminate the investigation team first.”

The best-case scenario was for Derga to put up a fierce fight, inflicting heavy losses on both the investigation team and the central army before being wiped out. Then, with Ian backing the Cheonryeo clan, their chances of victory would be much clearer.

“Demosha!”

A warrior carrying the knight’s body threw a fist toward Ian. It was a salute—blessing the gods, honoring Beric’s growth, and reaffirming their loyalty.

Ian lightly bumped his fist against the warrior’s in return.

“Demosha.”

The warriors’ burning resolve would only make the desert hotter. Like trying to catch the rising sun’s light, Ian’s fist was firm and unyielding.