WeTried Translations

Translator: Dawn

Editor: Dawn

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Genius Knight of a Fallen Race

Chapter 2

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An Elephant Needs Its Tusks

Flames, drifting ashes, and the stench of blood and screams.

Philog narrowed his one remaining eye as he looked over the battlefield—so familiar it felt like home. It wasn’t because his long-abandoned conscience, left behind in his mother’s womb, had suddenly resurfaced.

Two of them have died in a place like this. Idiots.

Considering that barely fifteen of them had slaughtered an enemy nearly ten times their number, it would be more accurate to say the losses were few. However, given that they weren’t some ordinary bandit rabble, it was a pathetic result. Clicking his tongue, the second-in-command of the unit supporting him approached and spoke.

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to give them a bit of rest this time? They don’t show it, but there’s a lot of discontent.”

Originally, mercenary warfare wasn’t meant to be this kind of one-sided massacre. Raiding villages was, at its core, about securing supplies and money while satisfying more primal urges. But in this battle, neither of those could be fulfilled.

“I told you. If it gets out that we attacked this place, it’s straight to the gallows. After it’s over, search their belongings. If anyone took something, make them throw it away.”

“...Understood.”

“And tell them they’ll be compensated later for what they couldn’t take here. They can endure that much.”

What Philog’s employer demanded was the complete erasure of several villages in the northeastern part of the kingdom without leaving a single trace. It was a task utterly impossible for typical mercenaries—thugs who picked up weapons because they didn’t want to farm.

Gather enough people to destroy villages of this size, and the movement alone would spread rumors everywhere. Worse, they might be repelled by local militias. What was needed in situations like this were true professionals like Philog and his men—those raised in mercenary villages, trained in weapons and discipline from the moment they could walk.

In truth, even he didn’t know exactly why the job had to be done this way. Negotiating directly with the employer was the village chief’s role. He was merely a commander who carried out orders. If he had to guess, it was probably some kind of power struggle among the higher-ups.

Lost in thought for only a moment, Philog suddenly noticed someone bursting out from a barn near the center of the village. It was a boy with messy black hair, a frail frame, wearing patched, ragged clothes. The boy held a short, curved sword. After quickly scanning his surroundings, he dashed in a direction where no mercenaries were blocking him. 

But the reason they hadn’t blocked it was that the terrain itself was...

“...What?”

With a single leap, the boy cleared a wall over two meters high. The mercenaries’ eyes widened in shock. Even if children were lighter than adults, such movement was impossible without the training of a skilled acrobat. 

Of course, that didn’t mean the boy could escape alive. Archers had already been stationed around the outskirts to shoot down fleeing survivors. Yet, as if mocking that expectation, the boy simply glanced over. With a single swing of his blade, he knocked aside the arrows flying toward him. 

Not once by chance, but three times, as he ran directly toward the source of the arrows. Moments after the boy disappeared into the forest, screams rang out one after another, presumably from the archers.

“...What the hell?”

“Who the hell is that kid!?”

“Did I just see things?”

Even seasoned mercenaries and most knights wouldn’t dare attempt such feats. Yet a rural boy had just done exactly that. The mercenaries stood there, stunned. Philog was the first to snap out of it, barking sharply,

“What are you standing around for? Chase him! Check if the archers are still alive! The rest of you finish up here and follow!”

“Yes, sir!”

A few lightly equipped mercenaries immediately sprinted after the boy.

“Huff... huff...”

Somewhere deep in the dark forest, Shan finally stopped running once the village was no longer visible, catching his breath. He had never struggled to control his body before, but now his heart pounded as if it might burst out of his chest, driven by extreme excitement and fear.

I made it...

The moment the arrows had flown from the village outskirts, it felt as though time had stopped. In that slow-moving world, only the arrows aimed at him moved quickly. Swinging his heavy blade, which felt like moving through water, he deflected them one by one. It was easier than he expected. Though knocking away the last arrow, fired from less than ten steps away, had been close.

After reaching the forest, dealing with the three archers lying in wait had been even easier than his first kill. Facing an unknown being that advanced while deflecting arrows, the archers had lost all will to fight and turned to flee. Like a predator, Shan chased them down and tore into their necks one by one.

Sitting on a stump that made for a decent chair, Shan massaged his trembling legs. They had clearly intended to leave no survivors in the village. Of course, he could simply run and survive. However, Shan chose to fight them. It wasn’t for revenge. The boy, who had lived his entire life as prey, had, for the first time, become a predator. And the act of tearing flesh with fangs and claws he never knew he had was exhilarating.

I wonder when they’ll be coming...

He had fled into the forest instead of fighting directly because it would’ve been too dangerous to engage them head-on. Even if they were some clumsy fools, there were over fifteen of them. But here, things were different.

This was a dense willow forest, so thick that even moonlight barely penetrated it. It was also the very reason the village was called Willow Village. Here, he was confident he could win against fifteen half-blind men relying on torches. Because these cursed eyes of his could pierce even pitch-black darkness as if it were broad daylight. After making a few quick preparations, he waited. Minutes passed. Soon, with noise, a distant glow of firelight approached.

“Ugh, what’s with all these roots...?”

“Shut up. Sound carries far in a forest like this.”

There were about sixteen or seventeen of them. It seemed that everyone left in the village had come. Seeing how three archers had been taken down, they must have realized that Shan was stronger than expected and capable of ambush. Watching silently from the darkness, Shan drew his bow once they entered range.

Let’s see...

He had never properly learned how to use a bow. Skills that could earn a living were valuable property. Thus, it was never taught to lowly Alto slaves. But simply mimicking the archers he had seen earlier was enough to make him somewhat competent. He couldn’t yet predict and hit fast-moving targets, but hitting slow-moving ones like this was easy after a few practice shots. 

He put his feet slightly apart for balance with his back straight. His left arm extended, and his right arm pulled the string with his weight—

Thrum.

The arrow flew, embedding itself in the chest of the torch-bearing man at the front.

“Gah!”

“It’s an arrow!”

“That brat’s shooting the ones he stole from us!”

As the panicked bandits raised their shields, Shan rapidly fired the arrows he had planted in the ground beforehand.

Two. Three. Four.

Two struck shields, and one hit a knee.

Not as good as I thought...

The bow was much larger than the one used by a hunter he had seen before, and each shot left his arms and fingers tingling. Though the arrows flew faster and hit harder. Feeling like he’d lose the strength to swing his sword if he kept shooting, Shan tossed the bow aside and faced the charging mercenaries.

“You damned Alto brat—!”

“Kill him!”

Men much larger than him charged forward with weapons. The sight was enough to make any ordinary person freeze in terror. But Shan widened his eyes, analyzing their speed and formation.

And then—

Now.

Crash!

With a single kick, a large tree beside him tilted and fell, crushing the charging bandits. It was a crude trap he had prepared earlier by cutting halfway through the trunk. The blade he had taken from his first kill had broken in the process, but he still had the daggers from the archers. And if he ran out, he could just kill them and take theirs.

“Ugh!”

“H-help me lift this!”

“Damn it—”

Their formation collapsed naturally. Shan pushed through the fallen tree’s branches and leaves and drove a dagger into the neck of the enemy beyond. The bandits, seeing their comrade drop without even managing a scream, shouted in panic.

“There he is! Beyond the branches!”

“I can’t see well! Shine the torch over here!”

Naturally, there was no reason for him to fight them in the light. After all, those carrying spears, two-handed axes, or swords and shields couldn’t also carry torches, so at most they only had three or four. 

Shan moved along the flickering torch shadows, slashing enemies with the dagger, then throwing a hand axe from a dead enemy’s belt into another’s chest. Even while both hands performed different actions at once, there was not the slightest disruption, as if two people were controlling one body simultaneously.

The mercenaries quickly reacted as well, surrounding him and thrusting with spears, as if hunting not a person, but a large beast. But Shan immediately climbed a nearby tree, then lightly escaped the encirclement by leaping between trunks several times. Already gaunt to begin with, and lighter than others even for his size, his movements were almost like a monkey's.

“What the—”

“What even is that...?”

The bandits stared blankly, looking exactly like some dogs chasing a monkey. Shan dropped from the tree, hid in the darkness, and grinned as he watched them. 

The sensation of carving flesh and crushing bone with a blade, the chill of weapons brushing past his face, the eyes fixed on him not with their usual contempt but full of fear. He had never imagined that wielding violence freely as the stronger one could be this enjoyable. Now he felt like he finally understood why the villagers had been so eager to torment him.

After that, it was more of the same. Attack, get surrounded, climb a nearby tree, or kick one down to break through. And in the course of that fighting, Shan learned many things.

He learned that if he shoved a torch right in front of their eyes, their night vision would temporarily darken, making them seem almost blind. If he moved at the exact moment they blinked, they couldn’t perceive his movement at all. When someone had swung their weapon with full force and lost their balance, a light kick was enough to knock them over. He even learned that when stabbing a blade into the torso, it was best to turn it sideways to avoid the ribs.

A boy who had only ever slit the throats of dead animals, and so had only known to aim for the neck, was in that brief span reborn as a skilled killer capable of targeting every vital point on a human body. By the time more than ten had died, the surviving bandits had lost all will to fight and began crying out as they fled.

“H-Help me...”

“Run! That bastard’s a demon! He’s not human!”

“Anyone who flees will be executed by discipline! Attack! He’s just one brat!”

The one-eyed captain even roared and personally cut down one of the fleeing men, but even that couldn’t stop the collapse. In the pitch-black darkness where they couldn’t see an inch ahead without torches, their fear of the monster that flashed green light and killed them one by one ripped out even the discipline buried deep in their bones. At last, realizing he was alone, the captain met the gaze slowly approaching him and asked,

“You... what the hell are you?”

“Shan.”

Caught off guard by the sudden question, Shan hesitated for a moment before answering. He had no desire to introduce himself as some lowly Alto slave of Willow Village, and beyond that, he didn’t know how else to define himself.

Apparently unsatisfied with such a simple answer, the bandit captain twisted his face and charged at him with a shout. He was far faster and more disciplined than the first bandit Shan had killed. But to Shan, he looked no different from the rest—just another flailing man.

In fact, having only one eye and thus only half the field of vision of others, he was even worse. The moment the captain blinked, Shan lowered his body. The man guessed Shan must have moved to the left, his eyepatch side, where he couldn’t see, and swung his sword. But the spear came in from the right, piercing through the leather armor, slipping between the ribs, and shredding his entrails.

“Ghrk, ghk.”

Shan quietly looked down at the one-eyed bandit coughing blood from his mouth as he died, then threw aside the spear and picked up the sword the man had been carrying. It was stained with blood and grease from however many people it had cut down, but it wasn’t bent, and the edge wasn’t chipped, making it seem far better than the other bandits’ weapons. 

The handle, wrapped in leather from either a pig or a cow, was just large enough for one adult hand. The blade was a little longer than his arm, with a deep groove running down the middle. Unlike the things he had hastily picked up and used just to survive the fight, this was the first possession he had ever obtained in his life.

“Heh.”

Letting out a laugh of satisfaction, Shan’s legs suddenly gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground. It was the result of a body that had moved past its limits in excitement, finally declaring that it could work no more.