Suddenly, I found myself longing for a poem.
It’s because the enemies in stories are always unmistakably clear.
The mage plotting the end of the world never moves from his eerie, towering spire, and the evil dragon plundering the kingdom’s riches stays holed up in its cave, never to leave.
The fearsome leader of marauding bandits always lounges arrogantly deep within the ruins of a mountain fortress or stronghold, and even the general of an enemy nation will willingly reveal his position by setting up camp right in the open.
Oh my, it’s almost enviable how simple it all is.
After all, if you know where they are, you just need to storm in and cut off their heads, and that’s the end of it.
Our job as adventurers is basically to go after such clearly defined threats. Whether it’s a village troubled by barbarians or a newly discovered dungeon, the “location of the enemy to be dealt with” is usually spelled out for us.
In fact, we, who often surround our foes and set fires, should really be the ones doing that.
“Ah, I wish someone would just come out and start a fight clearly… Anyone will do.”
“What’s wrong with you? Have you finally lost it after digging too many holes?”
Frustrated with the lack of progress, I found myself uttering something rather dangerous without realizing it.
Well, the messenger horses have been out for two days, and we’re still hard at work digging holes.
We’ve moved on to creating concealed pits as planned.
In the midst of this monotonous task of digging holes and ferrying dirt, I found myself caught in a never-ending cycle of thought: “What exactly is an adventurer?” The answer that eventually surfaced was surprisingly simple.
The neighboring Siegfried looked at me as if I were someone he’d never seen before. It’s true, even I thought I might be losing it, but he didn’t need to make that face like he’d just spotted a street slayer in the middle of a battlefield. You shouldn’t make such expressions towards your fellow combatants.
Attempting to clear up the misunderstanding, I let out a sigh to express the toll of the endurance battle and, in response, Siegfried wiped the sweat from his brow and made a rather pained face.
“Can’t really say I don’t get it, you know.”
“Right? And to begin with, work like this isn’t suited for adventurers.”
“Damn right… No one tells you that fort defense stuff is such an ordeal. You’re the weird one.”
“Yeah…? Don’t they show up in poetry or something?”
“Nope.”
Though he was somewhat engaging with the topic, Siegfried was still acting stiffly. Based on what I’ve heard, he’s been gathering with a few members recently, chatting about something, but really, what should be done?
I don’t consider myself obtuse, so when I put things plainly, it’s clear that Siegfried has his suspicions about me. And yet, despite these thoughts, he continues to focus on the task at hand.
It’s not that I can’t think of a few reasons why.
There might be enough room to deceive the members of the Sword Friends Association, but there’s no way I can fool my childhood friend, Siegfried, with Lady Kaya’s tricks.
Even though she’s a sorcerer and possesses knowledge outside his specialty, it’s strange that she would know anything about ominous and dangerous explosives—or herbal medicine linked to necromancy. It’s natural for him to have questions.
For personal reasons, I’ve kept my identity as a sorcerer a secret. While Lady Kaya unfortunately already knows due to a moment of overconfidence, I’ve yet to tell Siegfried.
We’ve known each other for a long time, yet reflecting on my reasons for staying silent, no clear or reasonable answer comes to mind.
It’s not that I don’t trust him. Even if I told him I’m a sorcerer, it’s not like I’d be talking about it freely with just anyone, much less causing harm to me in the process.
Still, there’s an awkwardness that comes from a relationship lasting so long.
If asked, “Why didn’t you say anything for all these years?,” I doubt I could provide a decent, common-sense answer that would satisfy him.
To be honest, I initially wanted to save my grand magical debut for the right moment—wanting to appear like a hero wielding magic at the crucial hour. That’s an embarrassingly shallow thought, but I admit I entertained it originally.
Yeah, it’s cool and all. Imagine how it might seem to others like an awakening?
What a joke—now, of course, I realize how ridiculous this reasoning was. Hiding something for such a trivial reason, only to feel too awkward to admit it now… How can I possibly look him in the eye and explain this properly? It’s probably inevitable that we’d end up in a serious quarrel.
Just imagine, for example, if Siegfried had hidden the fact that he was a monk capable of performing high-level miracles. You can almost picture someone grabbing their chest in frustration, yelling, “If you had that, how many jobs could have been done so much easier!” I understand how egregious this behavior truly is.
Naturally, I’ve been following my mentor’s orders to keep this a secret, but those instructions were more about not using it publicly—not about keeping it a secret from everyone. If that were the case, it would already be a problem that Margit and Lady Kaya know, wouldn’t it?
Fortunately, because I’ve refrained from using magic, there hasn’t been any harm caused—or any job failures for that matter. I don’t think I’ve caused any major breaches of trust, but it’s difficult to imagine getting through without any serious arguments.
Now, I recall with deep feeling the advice I received from my seniors in my past life and passed down to juniors: “If something goes wrong, speak up immediately. The faster you let it linger, the quicker it’ll rot and become unpleasant.”
If I truly value our friendship, what should I do?
“…Hey, did you see that?”
“Again?”
As I was pondering aimlessly and venting my frustration on my shovel, Siegfried shouted out. Upon looking, I thought I spotted a vague shadow moving through the forest.
“One person… maybe?”
“Pretty well armed, a human?”
“No way to tell from here.”
For the past few days, reports have been coming in from watchtowers and scouts about shadowy figures lurking around the forest edges. Of course, we’ve checked to confirm whether it was just prankster kids, by counting the number of residents, but it seems even the surprise tactics worked, as everyone is accounted for.
Both the Sword Friends Association and the trade caravan took extra precautions, but as we always work in pairs at a minimum, it’s unusual to spot a lone figure wandering around. So, we started thinking this might be reinforcements. When I took a group of a few into the forest to investigate, no one was there, but we couldn’t afford to spend hours wandering aimlessly and ultimately had to return. This continued: spotting a shadow, heading out to investigate, only to realize, “It’s just a nuisance,” after which the pattern repeated for half a day.
Whether it’s leftover bandits or someone who wandered in from afar, our opponent seems uniquely talented at doing things people would find annoying.
This has left us in a situation where we can’t move freely. Without understanding the enemy’s true objective, we can’t take action, and contemplating future moves makes us hesitant to use drastic measures like setting fire to the forest, which we would have done without hesitation in our old troupe. We can’t afford to leave the manor short-handed either, so sending a large group to search house by house isn’t an option.
It’s like catching a glimpse of a profound truth: you can’t have one side without the other.
If only the Sword Friends Association members I left behind due to circumstances could be here, we could assemble a team of around ten and conduct a thorough search of the area. Defense in warfare truly is a challenge—something only hired warriors or regular troops with extensive training can manage.
If only Margit and the others would return soon.
Even better, if only the patrol officers or the military could return with reinforcements, the rest could be resolved with the state’s power in no time.
“How should we proceed? If you’d like, I’ll head out with five men.”
“…No, it’s fine. It’s obviously a provocation. They probably just want to hinder our work or keep us from resting. If we move unnecessarily, it will delay the project, and everyone will be exhausted and miserable at night.”
Though equally disturbed, Siegfried seemed ready to act, but it’s best to hold back here. The enemy is likely annoying us by showing themselves—possibly out of irritation from our pit traps—to hinder our progress. If we keep calmly continuing the things they dislike, we can welcome them properly when they lose patience and charge in.
“Damn. If only the forest were closer.”
“We can’t place manors too near forests used for windbreaks or forestry. It’s just too dangerous.”
“…Really, you know too much, it’s frustrating.”
“Is that so?”
Upon hearing his disgruntled comment, I began to wonder if I might have shown off my knowledge a bit too much. Normally, in everyday life, these things wouldn’t even be noticed. People don’t usually think about why their wells are placed a certain way or why manors often have artificial forests on the side prone to strong winds. In this era, such matters aren’t easily studied unless one takes a genuine interest. The information advantage I have due to movies, books, and the glowing tablets readily available to answer any question doesn’t often cross my mind, but sometimes it’s truly potent.
And it can also lead to suspicion.
After all, even hero or military epics don’t bother explaining intricate battle formations or tactics when they describe combat poetry.
Learning through various media can be educational, and in my case, this knowledge became unexpectedly useful. However, the random nature of such knowledge sometimes makes it seem odd.
“Siegfried, I…”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You were a servant of the nobility, right? Let’s stick to digging,” he said with obvious disinterest.
When he cuts me off like that, it’s hard to argue further. With a sigh, I reached for my shovel…
【Tips】 Experts often withhold detailed knowledge of simple matters to preserve their value and authority.
As spring was drawing to a close, an unusual air of unease hovered over a certain manor, distinct from the bustling agricultural season.
“What in the world…?”
The spiderman riding a horse along with the guards showed clear discomfort at the sight, wrinkling his nose with disgust.
“Miss…”
“Yes, be vigilant,” Margit whispered upon dismounting from the heavy horse that was straining under her and Yorgos’s combined weight. Standing two meters tall with an alloy skeletal frame, her body was as imposing as a knight clad in metal plate armor.
Despite her size and weight, the horse, Castor, proved himself as magnificent as his reputation suggested. Though old, he carried her as swiftly as the faster messenger horses.
But feeding Castor the copious amounts of water and hay he needed would be challenging.
Instead of the lively work songs of farmers, the area was filled with mournful cries. The fresh scent of freshly plowed fields was replaced with the stench of burning wood and decaying blood. Instead of children running around on the streets, there lay the hastily arranged bodies that couldn’t be properly buried.
Such horrifying scenes, though common for adventurers, were something the Sword Friends Association had never faced before.
“What… What has happened here!?” cried Yorgos, pushing through the guard formation astride his magnificent warhorse. As the son-in-law of the lord of the manor, he was selected for the dangerous task of carrying urgent messages to authorities, chosen not only for his proximity but also his standing.
When delivering news of crisis, one must choose a representative with a respectable position. Not only is a proper level of courtesy toward officials necessary, but someone capable of making decisions on the spot is essential. Otherwise, sending someone with no decision-making power is as fruitless as sending a homing pigeon.
And Yorgos, who had previously worked as a tax collector, was considered capable by Margit. His ability to quickly devise a journey that would not unduly tire the horses but still remain vigilant against enemy approaches was impressive. When praised, he modestly admitted that familiarity with the terrain was essential for estimating proper taxation rates of a specific location. This practical knowledge made him ideal.
However, even such a competent individual was visibly pale. Despite leading the evacuation efforts alongside the lord, he lacked the resilience to endure the sheer brutality of the carnage.
“Pardon me, but are you from Mottenheim…?”
From the ruins of a home set aflame arose an old man stained with soot. His face, weary from fatigue and despair, had once likely been full of life and vigor. The singed remnants of fine clothing and a rather plump frame for an old man only highlighted his current state of desolation.
It wasn’t until standing beside the tall messenger that one realized the old man’s height was not so disproportionate. His imposing stature was now diminished, a reflection of his exhaustion.
“Oh heaven, what has happened?! What is the meaning of this?” asked the messenger in a tone heavy with anguish.
“We don’t fully understand… but suddenly, thugs appeared…” the elder replied.
The tragedy that befell the manor was as inexplicable as it was devastating.
In the middle of the night, thieves launched a surprise attack, setting flames to homes and killing several families along with half the hastily assembled militia. Among the victims were the elder’s successor, the lord of the manor, and his son and daughter-in-law, who perished in the fire.
Ordinary banditry, albeit tragic, was not uncommon. But what set this attack apart was its deviation from conventional methods. These marauders showed no interest in abducting women or looting grain and wealth from storerooms.
Instead, they acted with the sole purpose of killing. They set fires at the entrances of houses and viciously targeted those who ventured outside. Before the sun rose, they disappeared into the night.
It was an unthinkable act. To prepare a meal, only to leave untouched and abandon the home—such behavior defies logic.
So, what was the motive behind this ruthless attack? The question remained difficult to answer.
Murder and ambush are, in principle, acts aimed at acquiring something or achieving a specific goal.
Though Margit was intelligent, her knowledge of military tactics and strategies was not deep. While she could speculate about the actions of small groups, this attack hinted at a higher level of strategic planning far beyond her expertise as an outsider.
She could piece together some speculative inferences, but the exact reasoning remained elusive.
The spiderman, frustrated by the limitations of the sound-amplifying magical device provided by his partner, took a gulp of water and urged the party to press on more swiftly …
【Tips】 It is not uncommon for clerks, tax collectors, or assistants close to the deputy to marry into the family of a manor’s successor or serve as an aide. Often skilled in reading, writing, and accounting, they also possess essential knowledge pertinent to the politics of deputies and manorial management.
Congratulations! Volume 4 is confirmed for release!
And it’s going to be in two parts! Expected release around June! Stay tuned!
