"Could you guide me to where the captured people are being held?"
Encrid suspected that the person sent from the Gilpin Guild might already be dead.
Krais had also suggested as much.
However, if they were still alive, rescuing them was only natural.
Just before the fight, Encrid had asked the self-proclaimed lord about it, and the lord had mentioned something about people being detained.
Having heard that, rescuing them became Encrid's priority.
It was imperative to save those captured while doing their duty, especially when that duty was for the city where he now resided.
"Who are you?"
The lord asked in shock.
Encrid had never hidden his identity but had also not introduced himself by name.
Upon hearing the question, he realized no one had directly asked who he was.
"Encrid of the Border Guard."
With that brief introduction, the lord stared at him, unable to close his mouth, and asked again.
"...The Knight of the Iron Wall?"
Even with limited information, it was impossible not to have heard of the Knight of the Iron Wall.
The astonishment and disbelief in his eyes were refreshing.
It was as if he were asking why Encrid was even here.
Encrid nodded.
The lord's mouth opened wider.
He's going to start drooling at this rate.
Encrid thought but made no effort to push the lord’s chin up to close his mouth.
"Why are you here?"
A spear carrier standing behind the lord asked, his eyes wide.
Why are you here?
His expression was full of such questions.
Encrid answered kindly.
"I heard cultists were a problem, so I came. But other issues seemed more pressing, and I had to take action when they threatened me."
Encrid's response was casual.
He was unusually calm for someone who had just eradicated the top three criminal guilds causing chaos in the Cross Guard.
Blood was still flowing on the ground, while vagrants who had been peeking quickly disappeared into the alleys.
The few bold enough to linger were cautiously watching from a distance.
What just happened here?
The lord could answer that question simply:
"The city’s biggest problems have disappeared."
Yet the person who accomplished this was so composed that it made him seem even more formidable to the lord and his companions.
To Encrid, these people were like sparrows confined in a cage.
Believing the cage to be their entire world, they squabbled over dominance with pecks and flutters.
It was as if an eagle had entered the cage, making the sparrows’ efforts futile.
Even a single magpie could bring order to such a cage.
From what Encrid had seen so far, that seemed to be the case.
If this was all there was to the ferryman's warnings and the city's problems, he would be greatly disappointed.
“Misfortune? Misfuortunite?”
If he met the ferryman again, he’d have to start the conversation with that, just to see his expression.
Of course, this couldn’t be the whole story.
Encrid instinctively knew as much.
The snake-eyed administrator and the lord’s peculiarities alone were suspicious enough.
"The cultists are indeed a problem. They secretly hold gatherings here and there. But even knowing that, it’s hard to stop them. The criminal guilds are too chaotic to manage, and lately, there’s talk of vampires and werewolves appearing."
The lord, usually articulate, was so flustered that his words were coming out jumbled.
Still, Encrid understood well enough.
Listening carefully had always been one of his skills.
This was what you’d call a total mess.
The cultists were an issue, but the criminal guilds were worse, leaving no room to address the former.
On top of that, monsters seemed to be infiltrating the city.
Encrid recalled a similar situation in Naurillia, where a noble who had transformed into an owlbear had secretly hunted people.
He didn’t bother asking what the city’s militia or military was doing.
The answer would be predictable and could wait for later.
"So, do you know where they’re being held?"
Encrid maintained his focus on rescuing the captives first.
He wiped the blood off his sword and fixed his indifferent gaze on the lord as he spoke.
"There are dozens of guild members guarding the place."
The lord replied.
Encrid placed his hand on the grip of his sword, silently staring at him.
No words were needed.
Recalling how Windblade had been slain in a single strike and how the three guilds were crushed through sheer force, the lord spoke again.
"I’ll lead the way."
Following the lord’s guidance, Encrid walked through the city.
They passed through filthy streets and twisted alleys until they reached a staircase slanting down beside an old mansion.
It was both a tomb and a basement.
In the past, powerful figures had buried themselves in such large tombs.
The staircase Encrid saw resembled those but was partially crumbled, unmaintained, and likely belonged to a forgotten grave.
"Here?"
"Yes."
The staircase led into darkness, thick with a suffocating aura.
Even someone with poor instincts would feel the foreboding and avoid it.
Encrid stepped down without hesitation.
As a Knight, his vision pierced through some degree of darkness.
Even if he couldn’t see, the smells, traces, and sounds told him there were people below preparing for an ambush.
If you’re going to ambush someone, shouldn’t you at least hide your breathing?
They were amateurs at best.
What would Jaxon say?
"They’re practically begging to be stabbed. I’ll oblige."
That’s likely what he’d say.
But before Encrid could act, the ambushers spoke first.
"Hey, where do you think you’re going? Get out, or you’ll get hurt."
Instead of hiding their breath, they outright revealed their presence with words.
An ambusher speaking out of concern for their target?
Even Encrid was momentarily taken aback.
"Idiot! You’re giving away our position!"
"Well, maybe they just got lost."
From the base of the stairs came the sound of a scuffle.
Are they fools or just kind-hearted?
Encrid decided they were both.
He didn’t kill indiscriminately but still judged carefully.
To be honest, if he wasn’t in the mood, he usually refrained from acting.
Acting according to his whims?
Yes, and Encrid didn’t deny it.
He acted as he felt, which is why he offered his opponents a chance.
"Have you ever killed someone who couldn’t resist?"
"What? No."
The fool who had warned him answered first, only to be hit on the head with a loud thunk by his companion.
Soon, the sound of flint striking was followed by the flickering of a lit torch.
There were five people guarding the base of the stairs.
Three of them looked too simple-minded to be deceptive, even if they tried.
Even if they did try, Encrid wouldn’t fall for it.
What could they do, feigning innocence, with such a disparity in skill?
Even if they swung a sword right in front of him, Encrid could cut them into five pieces before the blade touched him.
"This is Windblade Guild territory."
One of them, who had a face worn by hardship and three deep wrinkles across his forehead, spoke.
Encrid didn’t bother responding with words.
He simply stepped forward.
"Wait! Don’t come any closer!"
The man in front panicked and grabbed the hilt of his dagger, trying to draw it, but Encrid’s hand was already on top of his.
"If you draw that, you’ll die."
To draw a weapon meant risking death.
It was a mercenary’s creed, one that had become universal for anyone wielding a blade.
If you swing a sword, be prepared to face death.
Encrid’s words carried that meaning.
One of the five caught on quickly.
These five had grown up together, begging like siblings, but their innate gentleness made them loathe killing.
That’s why they were relegated to guarding doors.
"What if we don’t draw?"
One of them, particularly slow-witted, asked.
It was the same fool who had warned Encrid earlier.
"Then you won’t die."
Encrid replied, and the man nodded.
"Then I won’t draw."
At that, another smacked his own forehead in disbelief.
The conversation was both absurd and strangely familiar.
One of their brothers always acted foolishly, yet everyone liked him for it.
He was slow, but his actions always led to good outcomes, which was baffling.
Even now, they all fell silent because of him.
With the atmosphere as it was, they naturally deferred to Encrid.
Judging by his stride and movements, he wasn’t an ordinary man.
Yet, if they let him pass, Windblade might later cut off their fingers, or worse, their heads.
Two of them had already lost two fingers each to Windblade.
By comparison, not losing their heads was fortunate.
"If we let you pass, Windblade will kill us."
Among the five, one seemed to grasp the situation—a man with deep wrinkles across his forehead.
Encrid removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and said,
"Windblade is dead."
The five blinked in unison.
What?
Their expressions mirrored each other, all equally baffled.
Now, the choice was theirs.
Whether they believed him or not, whether they fulfilled their duties as part of the criminal guild and faced death, it was up to them.
Would they draw their weapons?
Four of the five were sweating profusely.
What should we do? Let him pass? But what if he’s lying?
The one they had initially dismissed as a fool turned out to be their central figure, the one they relied on for decisions.
"Let him through."
He said.
The other four nodded in agreement.
It wasn’t just about believing Encrid, it was also that they had no real choice.
If they were wrong, Windblade might draw his blade like the wind and kill them. But what else could they do?
There was no alternative.
‘Wise decision.’
Luagarne thought from behind as she watched.
They had no option but death if they confronted him.
"Alright."
Encrid tapped a few shoulders as he passed the guards of the underground tomb.
"Here."
The fool handed him a torch.
Encrid nodded and accepted it.
Inside, it was larger than expected, and the structure appeared remarkably sturdy.
The walls were straight, with barely visible seams.
When he tapped them, there was no hollow sound. it was solid stone.
"This doesn’t look like a tomb."
Encrid commented.
"It doesn’t, does it?"
Luagarne agreed, adding,
"I heard it was once fashionable for wealthy merchants and nobles to build these kinds of shelters.
"A way to survive even if the city fell.”
This place seemed suitable for hiding.
Block off the entrance, and it would be quite secure.
As Encrid inspected the area, he noticed a faint airflow—someone had thought about ventilation.
Yet the musty smell of the underground chamber was still present.
As he entered, a cold chill wrapped around his skin.
This level of cold might help preserve stored food, though it would likely struggle in the height of summer.
He didn’t map out the entire underground structure.
But he understood it would be an excellent shelter in a time of war if the entrance were fortified.
Although it seemed spacious at first glance, it wasn’t vast enough to get lost in.
It felt like a large mansion with three or four rooms.
Including a reception hall and kitchen, it was relatively expansive.
This level of craftsmanship was extraordinary.
Could it be the work of dwarves?
Perhaps.
Even as he walked through the underground shelter, Encrid felt a peculiar sensation.
It was the same feeling he had near the city—like someone was watching him.
But when he tried to pinpoint it, nothing was there.
The sensation was too vague to articulate.
Previously, he had thrown a fork to investigate but found nothing.
‘Maybe it’s just a bad feeling.’
Perhaps.
As he scanned his surroundings while walking, he sensed a presence and approached.
Inside a stone chamber, he found a man shackled in chains.
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