[Młynar’s break with the Armorless Union—and even with the wilderness itself—came so quickly that it caught you somewhat off guard.] [But when you thought about Grandpa Kirill’s condition, you understood.] [The magnificent epic Kirill had written in the prime of his life brought him immense status and the respect of countless people, but it had also left his body with extremely serious injuries.] [Although Kirill’s health was still far from the point of collapse, his body could no longer withstand too much strain.] [You understood Uncle Młynar very well, and at the same time, you couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.] [Life in the wilderness continued as usual, but the aftermath of Młynar’s departure affected everyone in the camp.
For a long time, the atmosphere there never quite recovered.] [Darksteel stepped forward, while the equally disheartened Toland accepted a long-term bounty.
Darksteel took Młynar’s place as the soul of the camp.] [But you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be a good thing.] [After reorganizing the camp, Darksteel began bringing members of the Armorless Union in to live there.] [The result was a kind of fanatical personal worship of Darksteel within the camp.
It was no longer simply a place where refugees gathered to live, but had become the headquarters of the Armorless Union and a resting place for bounty hunters.] [Although everyone in the camp, as well as the members of the Armorless Union, treated you—the Platinum—with great respect, you still couldn’t get used to it.] [You preferred the old atmosphere, when everyone joked around and lived together happily, rather than the current one where every conversation was about bounties and missions.] [You also knew very well that you alone couldn’t shake Darksteel’s will or position, while Toland, the one person who might have been able to influence him, wasn’t around.] [So you chose to move out of the camp.] [Inside the refugee settlement, a new mud-brick house was built in only two or three days under the supervision of Beast Gang members carrying whips.] [As it turned out, even the Beast Gang members themselves considered their lives cheap.
After you offered them a generous payment, you even received an invitation to dinner from the Beast Gang’s boss.] [The entire dinner was filled with empty pleasantries and false smiles.
In the end, you still gave them a promise: you would do one job for the Beast Gang.] [Of course, when the job came, you would still be free to decide whether or not to accept it.] [Favors are the most expensive currency.] [You began living in the refugee settlement.] [In truth, places like refugee settlements weren’t very popular even among refugees.
There were simply too many ways to contract Oripathy there.] [Of course, that wasn’t a problem for you.] [Time passed quickly.
You could hardly ever keep any money.
Aside from daily expenses, most of your bounty earnings went toward buying supplies and cheap Oripathy suppressants, turning you into what others saw as an easy mark and a great philanthropist.] [After enough time passed, every time you returned home, you had to help one kneeling refugee after another back to their feet before they could kowtow to you.
By the time you reached home, your back would already be aching.] [You simply couldn’t stand seeing children around Maria’s age go to sleep one night and never wake up again.] [Of course, as more and more people appeared—and some particularly shameless ones began trying to guilt you into helping them, or even outright stealing your supplies…] [You simply raised your communicator and called the Beast Gang over to clean things up.] [You didn’t even raise your hand.
A shadow spike pierced straight through the throat of one sticky-fingered bastard.] [Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, a year had passed.] [Terran Year 1088.] Clarus sat on a sofa gifted to him by the Beast Gang, one leg crossed over the other and a plate of sliced watermelon in his hands, watching a recording of a knight competition on television.
“Holy shit, this woman is fucking terrifying.” Watching the Caprinae woman send her opponent flying with a single swing of her sword, Clarus’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.
Forget him—even Margaret might not be able to take a direct hit like that head-on.
That was pure, overwhelming force.
Who needed fancy techniques when you could just smash straight through everything?
“What’s she called?
The Black Knight?” Clarus silently decided that the next time he returned to the city, he’d go watch one of her matches in person.
He might as well become a fan.
There was just something about that kind of pure, brutal violence that got his blood pumping.
His entire youth had been filled with Margaret, Zofia, training, and Oripathy.
He’d barely paid any attention to knight competitions.
It was only recently, with fewer high-value jobs available, that he’d finally had enough free time to watch this stuff for entertainment.
He flipped through a few programs before finding another one of the Black Knight’s matches.
Clarus hugged his watermelon and watched with complete satisfaction.
Just as he was really getting into it, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in.
It’s unlocked.” Clarus set down the watermelon and slowly shifted closer to the window, one hand quietly settling on the hilt of his sword.
An expert.
He hadn’t sensed any presence approaching the house at all.
Definitely nothing like those useless bastards from the Beast Gang.
The person outside heard him and pushed open the door.
Clarus tensed, ready to dive straight through the window at a moment’s notice.
Toland walked in, scratched his head, and stared at the door lock.
“Wait, you’re living this badly?
You can’t even afford a lock for your door…?” “You fucking bastard!” Clarus cursed outright.
There was barely anything left of the polite young knight he’d once been.
The wilderness had already turned him into an old hand.
“You come to someone else’s house and still fucking hide your presence?!
You scared the shit out of me!” “Huh?” Toland scratched his head blankly, then gave him a bashful smile.
“Aww, sounds like you’re still pretty weak, then.
You can’t even sense my presence.” “Fuck you.” Clarus rolled his eyes and sat back down on the sofa.
Toland spotted the watermelon on the table, and his eyes immediately lit up.
He walked over, grabbed a slice, and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Mm!
You’ve actually got this stuff?
Give me another couple slices.
I’m dying of thirst.” Clarus rolled his eyes.
“You finally finish that stupid job of yours?” “Yeah.
Took me a ridiculous amount of effort.” Toland dropped heavily onto the sofa.
“No idea what was wrong with the client.
Wanting rare animals is one thing, but they wanted a huge batch of them too.” “Those little bastards are ridiculously alert.
If you fail to suppress your presence for even a second or make the slightest sound, they’ll bolt so fast you’ll never find them again.” “No wonder.
Hiding your presence has basically become a passive skill for you now.” Clarus looked Toland up and down.
“What animal were you catching?
Tell me so I know which jobs to avoid in the future.” “Stimtoxin Frogs.” Toland spread his hands.
“The only reason they’re rare is because they basically made themselves rare.
They’ve got this hormone in their bodies that can instantly boost their physical abilities, but the downside is that it gradually damages their nervous system.” “They aren’t immune to their own toxin?” Clarus looked surprised.
“Then how the hell haven’t they gone extinct?” “They breed like crazy.
Hundreds of eggs at a time, and they mature fast.” Toland shrugged.
“The problem is, the moment something scares them, they use that toxin.
So they die fast too.” “You have no idea.
They see a person, immediately pump themselves full of that hormone, and shoot ten or twenty meters away in an instant.” “And they’re so light that even if they step on a trap, sometimes they don’t trigger it.” “The most ridiculous part is when you just bought information saying there’s a whole nest of them somewhere, but you arrive a little too late and—” Toland slapped his thigh.
“Hey!
They’re all lying there belly-up!
Little addicts!
They just can’t stop using their damn stimulant!
And every now and then, campaign knights come through on patrol too!” “The suffering of a poacher, QAQ…” “The client wanted them alive?” Clarus watched Toland nod miserably and gave him a thumbs-up.
“Moron client.
Thanks for the warning.” “Only money can soothe my wounded heart…” After finishing his complaints, Toland grabbed another slice of watermelon and shoved it into his mouth before looking at the television.
“Oh?
Isn’t that the Black Knight?” He watched for a moment.
“Damn, this woman is fierce.
I like her.” “Way too violent.” Clarus nodded deeply in agreement.
“Feels like one punch from her would crack open both our fragile little skulls.” Toland imagined the scene.
He immediately shuddered and waved his hands repeatedly.
“Terrifying…”