Chapter 753: Chapter 753: First Strike (3)

When you live in the Barbarian Sanctuary, something you hear thousands of times a day is the battle cry. Even when eating, it’s “Behella,” even when chopping wood, it’s “Behella.” They shouted the name of their ancestral god at every opportunity, and thanks to that, Rotmiller gradually learned to distinguish them. Even though they all seemed the same at first, each battle cry actually had its own character...

This particular one had three distinctive traits.

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

First, the pitch of ‘Be’ ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ started low. Then there was a habit of taking a deep breath between ‘hell’ and ‘la’... and most importantly, the voice was female.

‘Ainard...?’

And that guess turned out to be right. When he turned toward the direction of the sound, Rotmiller spotted Ainard standing on the balcony of a four-story building.

Chwaaak!

A pair of wings spread behind her. From a distance, even at a glance, she looked impressive, holding a fine green glaive in her hand.

"A-a divine spear...!"

"I thought she was supposed to be in the plaza!"

Rotmiller didn’t know why Ainard was there, but the reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that their odds of turning this crisis around had just risen dramatically.

Boom—!

Ainard leapt from the rooftop of the four-story building and landed beside the cart, which had been charging forward like mad.

And then—

Neigh—!

Running at the same speed as the horse with an arrow stuck in its rump, she asked, "Tell me, guide. What should I do?" A question condensed down to only the essentials—very barbarian-like. "I’m not smart, so I don’t know. So tell me. What do I need to do to save Yandel?"

From that short question came a heavy sense of trust. Rotmiller, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of emotion, forced himself to remain calm. If he was trusted, he had to answer that trust.

"If we can just get to the wall, the Royal Army is highly likely to come out and help. So—"

"Make it easy to understand."

"Just clear the path up front!"

"...Simple enough."

The moment Rotmiller gave the order, Ainard’s figure surged forward.

Thwack—!

She swung and thrust her green glaive, cutting through the enemies blocking the path. Her wings fluttered behind her, and not a single enemy managed to block her spear properly. Watching her from behind, it was almost enough to make one believe that a warrior woman had descended from the heavens to save Bjorn Yandel.

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

Now, the enemies didn’t even dare to block her, and the cart began speeding up rapidly. The faster they moved, the closer they got to the wall.

But of course, things couldn’t go smoothly until the very end.

Shhk.

A man stepped out into their path—one of the few who didn’t shrink back. Rotmiller didn’t know who he was. But...

Ainard, who had been confidently laughing and swinging her spear at anyone who dared to stand in her way, suddenly froze. Even her voice dropped.

"From here on, you’ll have to go alone. I’m leaving Yandel in your hands, guide."

She said this while still running. And at that moment—

Fwoooooosh—!

The world darkened as if night had fallen, and goosebumps spread across their skin.

「Roland Banossant has cast [Black Evil Eye].」

Hundreds of eerie eyes opened in the darkness that spread across the city. In the same instant, everything froze. Everything—except two people.

"Good thing I showed up," said a man, calmly walking forward, his strange eyes glowing.

And then—

"Behell—laaaaaaaa!!!"

With a battle cry, the warrior woman thrust her spear.

Fwoooooosh—!

The powerful gust from her strike blew outward, but the tip stabbed only empty air.

However—

Crackle—!

The darkness shattered as if it were breaking glass, and time began moving again.

"Khk..."

The man, who had been so relaxed, staggered backward as if struck unexpectedly. Ainard charged at him and shouted, "Go!"

Rotmiller took the reins and drove the cart forward. Honestly, he hadn’t done much. The horse, already crazed, had kicked off the moment the darkness lifted. All Rotmiller did was guide it with the reins.

Rattle, rattle—!

The cart rolled forward.

Behind him, the sounds of superhuman battle rang out, but Rotmiller didn’t look back. He focused all his attention on one thing—getting the cart to that wall.

But...

"Catch him...!"

"Stop him!"

Once Ainard disappeared, the enemies who had been lying low started chasing him again.

And the problem was—

‘Shit.’

The cart was slowing down.

Well, of course it was. Even though it had wheels, it was still carrying a massive barbarian and a grown man. At this point, fatigue was unavoidable.

Thunk—! Fssshhh—!

Rotmiller dropped the reins, climbed onto the cart, and began shooting a crossbow at the pursuers.

But it wasn’t very effective. He wasn’t a powerhouse like Ainard.

"Just ordinary arrows with no special power!"

"He’s nothing!"

They’d stepped aside for Ainard without a word, but these men were still far stronger than Rotmiller. A few bolts did land on target occasionally, but...

"Catch him...!"

The distance between them and the cart narrowed quickly. At this rate, they’d catch up. A decision had to be made, but there was no time to calmly think it through.

"I’m out of bolts!"

He had no more crossbow bolts. And then—

Thwack—!

An enemy skill struck his right shoulder, rendering his arm useless.

To put it simply, staying on this cart meant doing nothing but adding weight. Countless thoughts raced through his head. Was this the end? When Yandel appeared in the Sanctuary, he thought there was still more story left for him. But is this really the end of his?

No—maybe not.

There was still one way. If he pushed this heavy barbarian off the cart, he might survive. They weren’t chasing him—they were after Yandel. If he did that, the cart would likely reach the wall safely, and Rotmiller would survive.

But...

‘Now I think I understand.’

Back in the Sanctuary, when he sensed death approaching, Rotmiller hadn’t fully understood. He couldn’t comprehend what his mage friend was thinking in that final moment. He could only guess, never truly grasp it.

But now, maybe he understood just a little.

‘No matter how scared you are—’

Like the barbarians who entered the labyrinth, like the warriors who smiled through pain—‘you just can’t run.’

Like a breeze clearing away fog, his mind cleared.

Dwalke hadn’t been great. He was just like Rotmiller—ordinary. He’d feared death, longed to keep living, looked back at his life and saw only regrets and mistakes. He probably wanted to flee and fix everything.

But he hadn’t run.

He’d done the best he could—and as a result, he’d saved everyone.

‘Yeah...’

If it weren’t for him, the story would’ve ended long ago. Even agonizing over this was foolish.

So...

"I’m sorry, but from here on, you’ll have to go alone."

He offered a final goodbye to the unconscious man who couldn’t hear him.

But maybe he really was just an ordinary person after all—because even at the end, he still had lingering feelings. So he took out a pen from the [Treasure Vault].

And—

Scratch, scratch.

He wrote something on his thick palm. He couldn’t write much, given the urgency of the moment, but even that small act helped clear away his regrets.

Maybe even that last message was selfish, but...

‘This much selfishness... should be okay.’

Rotmiller gripped a dagger in the same hand that had held the pen and jumped off the cart. He swung it at the enemies rushing toward him, again and again.

"What the hell is this bastard?"

Hot blades tore through his body.

Rattle, rattle.

The squeaky sound of the cart wheels grew fainter.

He didn’t need to turn around to know.

Rattle, rattle.

That cart would make it. To that towering wall.

***

It felt like waking from a deep sleep.

His body was heavy, but his mind was clear. It felt like he’d had a long dream, though he couldn’t remember what it was about.

"Where... is this?"

He looked up and saw what seemed to be the ceiling of a military tent. Slowly, he raised his upper body to look around. Nothing gave a clear clue about where he was. It looked like a Royal Army tent...

But why was he lying here?

"...Rotmiller."

As he tried to piece together his memory, fragments of what happened before he lost consciousness started to fall into place. The thunderstrike. Blocking it. And when he barely came to—Rotmiller had been at his side.

‘What... the hell happened?’

He was confused. He needed information. Just as he was about to get up completely from the bed, a knight entered the tent.

A familiar face.

"...Astarotta?"

Royal Knight, Astarotta Berun. A temporary ally who had disappeared along with Raven after being dragged to the Netherworld by the Corpse Collector.

"You’re finally awake."

"Why am I here? Where’s Raven?"

"One question at a time, maybe?"

Really now, a bit cold to someone who just woke up.

"Where’s Raven?"

"She’s safe. She’ll be here soon—she got word of your condition."

Phew... good.

"Then tell me. Where is this place, and why am I here?"

"This is the imperial capital, Karnon. As for why a baron like you is in a soldier’s tent—it’s for security."

"Security?"

"The moment your location is revealed, another thunderstrike will hit."

"...What?"

"Looks like the Chancellor’s getting heated. Every time your position is discovered, he starts firing off thunderstrikes."

So it really was the Marquis who did that.

That’s useful information—but it’s not what he was asking.

"Astarotta, what I want to know isn’t why I’m in a soldier’s tent. I want to know everything that happened while I was unconscious."

"Oh, that?"

Astarotta casually made a face and then explained what had happened.

It was pretty simple.

The second thunderstrike fell, and Baron Wilkins, commander of the 5th Legion, activated an ancient summoning spell embedded in the city. Because it required a long casting time and was used in haste, a "side effect" occurred.

That side effect: the summoning coordinates became randomized.

"So in the end, everyone there was scattered all over the city at random?"

"Better than everyone dying, right?"

Well... yeah, that’s true.

"So I just got lucky and landed here?"

"No way. You fell right in the middle of enemy territory—District 4. And someone else brought you here to the capital while you were unconscious."

"Someone else... Rotmiller! You mean Brown Rotmiller?!"

"Probably."

"What happened to Rotmiller?!"

He asked in a rush. Astarotta, unfazed, responded calmly.

"He’s dead."

".........What?"

"According to reports from the wall garrison, when the cart slowed down, he jumped off and held the enemies back."

Uh...

"And that shield warrior, Ainard Prnelin, who helped you escape? She was captured."

Rotmiller dead, Ainard captured...?

Too much information flooded in at once. His mind couldn’t keep up. Astarotta gave a dry chuckle.

"You’re way more soft-hearted than you look. I’ll step out until you pull yourself together. Oh, and one last thing..."

"...?"

"Your palm."

Leaving those cryptic words behind, Astarotta exited the tent. He sat vacantly on the bed, then raised his arm and flipped his hand upward.

There, written hastily, were a few words. And the moment he read them, it all became real.

[Treat Miss Shabin well. She’s a good woman.]

...It hadn’t been a dream.