Return of the Max-Level Lord Chapter 78
Ragged breaths echoed through the forest.
Twelve dwarves, each wounded in some way, were running desperately through the woods.
Behind them, fierce pursuers were closing in.
They were mercenaries from the Kingdom of Rozarin, located south of the Canel Kingdom.
The dwarves had originally lived in a small southern village of Rozarin before being captured by those mercenaries and sold into slavery.
But after barely managing to break free from their chains, they had fled—ending up in their current state.
“Just hold on a little longer!”
The dwarven chieftain, Varka, kept his eyes on the others while pressing forward to the north.
If they could cross the border into another country, the Rozarin mercenaries might no longer pursue them.
Their flight continued as day turned to night.
They had neither the strength nor the time to cover their tracks—escape was their only option.
“Chieftain… I don’t think I can go much farther.”
A tribesman named Deirka was dragging one of his legs.
An arrow was still lodged there, blood streaming down from the wound.
He had failed to dodge the volley of arrows that had rained down from behind earlier.
“Deirka! Endure just a little longer! We’ll be free of Rozarin soon!”
A vast mountain range loomed ahead.
It was the outer edge of the Clamen Mountains, where the border between Rozarin and Canel began.
“What if they chase us even after we cross the border?”
“Well…”
Even Chieftain Varka had no good answer.
Then, his gaze fell upon the very mountains they had just spotted.
“We’ll head there.”
He pointed toward the Clamen Mountains.
“Inside there? But that place is…”
It was a region swarming with terrifying monsters.
Even the most skilled mercenaries and adventurers risked their lives crossing it.
“Either way, our lives are forfeit no matter where we go.”
For now, they had managed to shake off pursuit slightly, buying themselves a little time.
But that wouldn’t last long.
The trail of blood would surely lead the mercenaries to them.
“Our lives may end here… but let’s walk on. Dying to monsters might be a kinder death.”
The dwarves, once captured from the village they had built with their own hands, had been tortured in ways worse than death.
Even now, iron collars clung around their necks.
They had only managed to snap the chains connecting them and run.
Of course, not without loss.
Out of the more than thirty dwarves who had originally been captured, only twelve remained alive.
“Let’s go! Better to die as monster fodder than live like dogs under their chains!”
Varka and his clansmen clenched their teeth and pressed forward.
Crossing the mountains in their current state was impossible.
Their only hope lay in reaching the entrance known as Drak Gorge, a path through the Clamen Mountains.
It offered the highest chance—however small—of survival.
The sun, which had stood high overhead, was now sinking below the horizon.
Torches flared on the hill below, and Varka’s heart thumped violently.
“They’ve already come this far.”
The sacrifices of the dwarves who had stayed behind had bought them distance.
But exhaustion had slowed them, and the gap was closing fast.
Varka gritted his teeth and lifted Deirka’s sagging shoulder.
“Just a bit farther! We’re almost there!”
They stumbled toward the entrance of Drak Gorge, barely keeping their feet under them.
As they staggered along, they came upon strange structures.
Huge square pillars stretched across the gorge at regular intervals.
The dwarves stopped in their tracks, awed by the precise, unnatural symmetry.
Deirka felt a chilling pressure emanating from the stonework.
“What kind of mark is this?”
The dwarves hesitated, thinking it might be a warning sign—perhaps one meant to keep travelers from straying into a monster’s territory.
Shuuk! Pak!
“Argh!”
“Gah!”
Suddenly, arrows whistled in from behind, striking several dwarves in their backs and legs.
The Rozarin mercenaries had nearly caught up.
There were twenty of them.
Once their escape was halted, being overtaken happened in an instant.
Arrows continued to fly relentlessly.
“Take cover behind the pillars!”
The dwarves quickly dashed for the nearest cover.
The gorge was otherwise open terrain—aside from the pillars, there was nowhere to hide.
Escape was no longer an option.
“To have come this far…”
“Chieftain… doesn’t something feel strange?”
“What do you mean?”
“There are no monsters. If this is truly Drak Gorge… shouldn’t something have appeared by now?”
“Now that you mention it…”
Before entering Drak Gorge, they had been constantly on alert, carefully avoiding the monsters they encountered along the way.
That was likely why their pursuers had been delayed.
But since stepping into the gorge, not a single monster had appeared—just as Deirka said.
“In a time like this, I’d rather face a monster… but of course, when we need them, they’re nowhere to be found.”
Despair deepened in their chests.
Then, from the direction where the dwarves had been hiding, something fast approached.
Tatadadadak—!
Two shadows.
They looked like monsters—perhaps a Giant Mantis or Saliva Wolf.
The dwarves, overcome with dread, squeezed their eyes shut.
Tatadadadak! Shwaaaa!
But the shadows darted past them, rushing beyond the pillars.
Even in the darkness, they could make out who—or what—they were.
“H-Humans?”
Two knights, fully clad in armor.
They were none other than Calsios and Derek, once members of the Red Sand Mercenary Corps, now under Raion’s command.
They charged toward the mercenaries loosing arrows, swords flashing.
Shwaaaak! Cha-cheng! Ching!
The startled mercenaries dropped their bows and drew their blades to meet them.
A loud clash of steel rang out through the darkness.
The mercenaries could not easily block the swords of the two men. Each strike forced them back or made them drop their weapons.
Their fierce assault cut down the mercenaries one after another.
After a brutal exchange, the surviving mercenaries regrouped and pulled back to one side.
The difference in skill was too overwhelming—they had to negotiate.
The mercenary leader, Frang, stepped forward.
“Who in the hell are you people?”
“Us? We are knights of the Kanas Territory. And you—who are you?”
They had run into knights from the territory.
As mercenaries, they were not bound by any nation’s authority.
But creating trouble with territorial knights would not end well.
“We are mercenaries. We came here only to capture runaway slaves. Let us take the slaves, and we’ll cause no trouble.”
At that, silence hung in the air.
As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the mercenaries began to make out the faces of the two men.
Then Frang recognized Calsios’s face.
“You’re from the Red Sand Mercenary Corps, aren’t you…?”
Mercenaries often worked across borders, so it wasn’t rare for them to know each other by face.
Especially the Red Sand Mercenary Corps—originating from the Edina Kingdom, they were once renowned even within the Canel Kingdom.
Frang had worked with them on a few assignments before, so he remembered the faces of Calsios and Derek.
“Are you from Rozarin’s Crimson Ants?”
At Calsios’s question, Frang slowly smiled.
“That’s right. I’m Frang, the vice-captain of the Crimson Ants. I heard the Red Sand Mercenary Corps was wiped out by the Canel Kingdom after committing treason… Yet here you are, a knight?”
The rumor of the Red Sand Mercenary Corps’ destruction had shocked mercenaries in the neighboring nations.
To see one of those same men now serving as a territorial knight—it was indeed strange.
Moreover, Calsios and Derek were not merely boasting; they wore proper knightly armor.
That alone proved their words were no lie.
Calsios frowned at the souring tension.
“And what does that have to do with you?”
“If you’ve hidden your past to become a knight, I can keep my mouth shut. Just let us take the slaves quietly, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
He clearly thought he had found leverage.
Calsios let out a dry, humorless laugh.
“…Will you, now?”
As he asked, he began to slowly walk toward Frang.
Frang’s grin widened, thinking the negotiation had succeeded.
“Of course—”
The moment the distance closed, Calsios’s sword sliced horizontally, cutting through Frang’s neck.
With a single stroke, Frang’s severed head tumbled to the ground.
About fourteen mercenaries standing behind him froze in disbelief.
At the same time, Derek, who had been a few steps behind, charged in and slashed through the confused mercenaries.
Calsios joined him, cutting down every last one of them.
The leaderless mercenaries panicked, scattering in fear, only to be cut down from behind.
Once it was over, Calsios flicked the blood from his sword.
“Vice-captain, are we really allowed to kill them all like this?”
Derek’s eyes showed faint concern.
“I told you before—I’m no longer a vice-captain. I’m just a knight, same as you. So drop the formality.”
“I couldn’t possibly…”
“And as for them, I’ll explain everything to the Master myself. For now, let’s take those people with us.”
Calsios walked toward the dwarves hiding behind the pillars.
The dwarves were frozen in terror.
They had just watched the infamous Crimson Ant mercenaries—known for their cruelty—get slaughtered helplessly.
Naturally, fear gripped them even tighter, afraid of what worse fate might await.
“Can you speak the Common Language?”
Sometimes, members of other races spoke only their tribal tongues.
“Y-Yes, we can.”
“Is that so? Then follow me.”
At his command, the dwarves stirred nervously.
But they had no choice—they supported their wounded and followed.
As they walked, they came across more of the same stone pillars.
Beyond them, a large encampment came into view.
Around it stood others in the same armor—knights and soldiers.
Upon arrival, Calsios and Derek knelt on one knee in front of a tent and spoke.
“We have completed the task as the Master ordered and have returned.”
The air grew heavy.
After a moment, the entrance to the tent opened, and two figures stepped out.
They were Raion and Patrick.
Their appearance sent the dwarves into a panic.
Raion glanced past Calsios to look at the dwarves trembling behind him, all bearing the marks of terrible suffering.
“What’s the situation?”