Chapter 108

“Mutation”

The one who greeted Besimer when he opened his eyes was Enette, nodding off repeatedly in exhaustion.
Her neatly parted light-brown hair had long since fallen into disarray, and around her small, pointed nose and cheeks, dried blood had darkened.

Besimer swallowed a groan as he forced himself upright.
It felt like his abdomen would tear apart.
His stomach was tightly wrapped in layers of bandages.

It seemed Enette had changed them while he was unconscious.
Feeling a hint of gratitude, Besimer briefly wondered if he should take her as one of his women.
But in the end, he shook his head.
The kingdom practiced monogamy.
Judging by how Bill had raged over Ingueris, it was obvious.
And besides—Enette belonged to Isaac.

‘I can’t touch my elder brother’s woman.’

He had only just regained consciousness, yet already desire stirred within him, making Besimer grin.
The pain in his abdomen was severe, but bearable.
Enough to move.
And his desire was not merely of the flesh.

‘My body’s itching.’

Besimer wanted to fight.
He didn’t know how many days had passed, but lying in bed for so long made him restless.
Especially that knight of Rutger’s.

Though the man had fought in a cowardly manner, defeat was still defeat.
He wanted revenge.

After rinsing his stale mouth with beer, Besimer immediately questioned the soldiers and made his way to the tents where the captives were held.
There were fourteen prisoners in total, and aside from Rutger and Bishop Alquin, the rest were said to be confined in pit cells.

The pit prison was exactly as it sounded—
a hole dug into the ground, sealed above with iron bars, each holding a single captive.

“Oh? Captain, you’re already awake.”
“Shouldn’t you be resting more?”
“Guess you’re not called Baitur for nothing.”

The soldiers greeted Besimer warmly upon seeing him awake.

“Cut the nonsense. Tell me where that knight bastard is.”
“That knight?”

“The one who stabbed me in the gut.”
“Oh, him. Over there.”

Besimer entered the tent the soldier pointed to.
Five pits had been dug, each holding a prisoner.

“Where the hell is he?”

No matter how hard he looked, the man he knew wasn’t there.
That slender knight with venom in his eyes—
the one he had wanted to beat to death—was gone.

Then Besimer noticed something strange.

At his presence, the prisoners all raised their heads or at least glanced at him—
except for one pit.
The figure inside didn’t move at all.

The reason became clear soon enough.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The earthen wall between the pit and the outside had been dug through.
And the one inside the pit wasn’t a prisoner—
but a tribesman.
A tribesman with his throat pierced, dead.

“You fucking idiots!”
“C-Captain?”

The soldiers guarding the tent were startled by Besimer’s thunderous roar.
They, too, realized the situation belatedly.

“…How the hell did he dig through frozen earth with his bare hands…?”
“Give me a sword.”
“Sir?”
“The sword!”

Snatching a blade from a soldier, Besimer burst out of the tent and began to run.
His combat instincts guided him—
toward the direction where killing intent could be felt.

Without hesitation, he hurled the sword.
It tore through the wall of the tent where Rutger and the bishop were staying.

—

From inside came the sharp clash of metal.
Besimer immediately ripped through the torn side of the tent and charged in.

“Hah… so the snake was here.”

Inside, blood was splattered everywhere.
Soldiers lay collapsed, each pierced precisely through vital points.
The same was true for Rutger—the enemy commander.

Besimer’s eyes widened.

“What the hell is this—”

The only one still alive was the bishop, eyes shut tight, hands clasped together.
Urine streamed down from his trembling legs, soaking the floor beneath his red leather shoes.

Standing before him was the Chevalier, his sword hanging loosely at his side, fresh blood dripping from its edge.

Besimer’s judgment was immediate.
Rutger’s knight had killed his own master—and now sought to kill the bishop as well.
He didn’t know why.
But he had to stop him.

Besimer lunged at the Chevalier.

The blade came for his neck.

Clang!

Rolling across the ground, Besimer grabbed a fallen soldier’s sword and blocked the strike.

“Ghk—”

The blow was heavy.
Because he had forced his body to move, blood seeped through his bandages.
If the barely healed flesh tore open, his insides might spill out.
But he had no time to think.

The Chevalier’s sword came again.

A savage thrust—
completely different from their duel before.

Kiing—
Clang!
Kang!

Blood sprayed from Besimer’s forearm.
Though their blades clashed and the Chevalier’s weapon never directly touched him—
he was still cut.

Aura.

“…Damn it.”

His body wasn’t fully recovered.
Instead of his usual axe, he now wielded a sword in haste.
Its length, its weight—everything felt unfamiliar.
He was at a disadvantage.

Yet Besimer grinned.

“Looks like you’ve gotten more interesting.”
“Step aside, barbarian. Or this time, you die. For certain.”
“Old man! Get the hell out of here. You’re in the way.”

Being saved by someone he despised was absurd,
but the bishop had no room for such thoughts.
He scrambled out of the tent, nearly crawling on all fours.

The Chevalier tried to pursue him,
but Besimer was faster, swinging his blade.

Their swords collided.

“You brought this upon yourself, barbarian.”
“Still mad? Orphan knight? If you’re that shaken by a little provocation, you’re weaker than I thought.”
“I have a father.”
“I’m sure you do. Don’t get so worked up. I’ve got more than twenty parents. They take turns to spread strong seed. To me, they were all siblings and parents—”

Clang!

Kagakang—
Kakak—

Besimer couldn’t finish his sentence.
The Chevalier’s blade overwhelmed his vision.

Fast.

And every strike carried weight.
The blade would vanish from sight for an instant—
then appear right before his throat.

Unable to track it with his eyes, Besimer relied entirely on instinct.
At some point, his waist had grown soaked with blood.

‘When are you coming… Isaac, Carlson…’

Besimer gritted his teeth.

From the very first clash, he had known—
he couldn’t win.

The conditions were bad, yes—
but more than that, his opponent had changed.
No… it was as if he had become a different person entirely.

Gone was the knight who avoided injury, slipping away like a loach and refusing to enter striking range.

The Chevalier’s eyes glowed with a sinister blue light.

Besimer felt a chill run down his spine.

The knight Besimer had thought to be cowardly and despicable—
was, in truth, a genuine powerhouse.

His instincts told him so.

“Carlson!”

Isaac’s voice rang out.
Behind it came the sounds of approaching soldiers.
Thinking it was finally over, Besimer let out a breath—

“I warned you.”

A cold blue light gathered along the Chevalier’s blade.
In that instant, Besimer thought:

‘I’m screwed.’

Kagagagagak—

Everything along the Chevalier’s line was shredded apart.
Even the Wolf King could not have produced such power.
Besimer instinctively knew—this was death.
There was not even room for wounded pride.
He had seen knights before, many times in his life,
but never one at this level.

Boom!

It was like the sound of a catapult smashing through a stone wall—
yet its origin was the clash of two blades.

—

Besimer’s vision, once blinded by the flash of swordlight, returned.
Carlson stood before him.

For some reason, the Chevalier called him by another name.

“Kyle.”

“That’s enough.”
“Father is waiting for you.”
“I don’t have a father.”

Carlson replied curtly.

Both blades that had collided were shattered.

“And you die here.”

Carlson raised the broken sword.
He still stood firm,
but the Chevalier staggered.

The Chevalier had intended to exhaust his aura in a single burst, create chaos, and escape in the confusion—
but Carlson’s arrival had robbed him of that chance.

“…I cannot die here.”
“That’s just your opinion.”
“It is Father’s command. I will return alive.”

Crunch—

The Chevalier bit down on something.
The sound of something hard cracking between his teeth echoed from his mouth.

“I’ll borrow this.”

Carlson discarded his broken blade, seized the sword in Besimer’s hand, and charged.
Whatever the Chevalier was attempting, he had no intention of waiting to find out.

He meant to end it quickly.
Sever the Chevalier’s arm, render him incapable of fighting, and extract information.

The air around Carlson’s blade shimmered.
It was a perfect strike—
but it was blocked.

“I still have things to do.”

The Chevalier’s voice had changed.
If a beast spoke, it would sound like that.
Each breath he took carried a low growl.

Carlson’s two-handed strike was stopped—
by the Chevalier’s one-handed grip on a broken sword.

Clang—

With a single motion, the Chevalier knocked Carlson’s blade aside.
Though it was just one-handed, the force pushed Carlson back several steps.

“…Is that thing even human?”
“I don’t know.”

Carlson answered Besimer’s question.

The Chevalier was clearly swaying.
He looked as though he might collapse at any moment.
His skin was pale, dark veins bulging beneath it.
Sweat poured down like rain.

The air around him had changed—
like stepping into a demonic realm or a black forest,
thick mana suffocating everything.

Soldiers with spears cautiously tried to circle behind him.

“Don’t move if you don’t want to die!”

Besimer shouted.
The soldiers froze.

Crack—

At that moment, the Chevalier’s foot pressed into the ground.

A sickening sound rang out—
as if bones were breaking, muscles twisting.

Whoosh—

In an instant, his figure blurred—
and he had already retreated more than ten steps back.

“He’s running!”

Besimer shouted.

At the same time, Carlson pursued him.

It was a feint.

The Chevalier only pretended to flee.
He had another target.

By the time Carlson realized, it was too late.

The Chevalier kicked off the ground and leapt.

It was a height and speed beyond human limits.
Not something Carlson could follow.

His target—
Bishop Alquin, hiding behind the soldiers, trembling pitifully.

The Chevalier’s broken blade sliced through the air.

As if wielding a massive longsword,
the soldier standing before the bishop was split clean in two—upper and lower halves separated.
A grotesque aura.

But the Chevalier’s aura did not reach the bishop.

Ragged soldiers with ghostlike faces stepped in his way.
Unlike the Vinfelt soldiers, frozen in terror—
the Winterband soldiers, led by Sigbrand, were calm.

With expressionless faces, they blocked the Chevalier’s aura.
One lost an arm, another a leg—
yet they fought on,
as if it were someone else’s body.

Severed limbs and corpses rolled across the ground.

The time they bought was only a fleeting moment.
Still, the Chevalier advanced toward the bishop.
A dark blue swordlight gathered on his blade.

“Enette, lend me a hand.”

Isaac placed his hand over the back of Enette’s.

A crimson flame ignited in her palm.
In an instant, it turned blue—burning fiercer.

Then it spread in all directions, radiating a violet brilliance.
The purple-tinged flames engulfed the Chevalier.

He twisted and writhed—like dancing.

The world, once burning violet, suddenly turned black.
Nothing could be seen or heard.

His body collapsed—
like ruins crumbling into ash.

It all happened
before Carlson had even taken ten steps in pursuit.