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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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Chapter 31
1.
The night was alive with noise and motion.
From every corner of the forest came the clinking of glasses and the boisterous hum of drunken voices.
The lyrics were incomprehensible, but the melody and mood were unmistakably in sync.
Now and then, bursts of laughter wove through the noise, lifting the spirits like harmonious notes in a song.
The members of the Shadowfang Bandits were eating and drinking as if the world were ending tonight.
But not ‘all’ of them joined in the revelry.
Verdin, the second-in-command.
His eyes, already sharp by nature, glinted even more intensely as he stared into the central campfire.
He was chewing over what had happened earlier that day—especially the words he'd just heard from the boss.
"Hmm..."
The captain of the Blackleaf Merchant Guild’s guard—definitely not someone to underestimate.
The pressure in his stance, the elegance in his swordplay—far above the level of most swordsmen Verdin had faced.
Which is why he’d taken that fight more seriously than usual.
And in the end, he’d beheaded the man in a single strike.
But the boss broke his promise.
The reason? The opponent had been ‘too weak.’
'Did that really look easy to him?'
Verdin looked down at his sword.
A scimitar with a wide, curved blade.
But far from ordinary—its surface bore streaks of black patterns, like layered shadows.
This sword was the masterpiece of ‘Kelindra’, the greatest blacksmith in the eastern continent.
It wasn’t enchanted, but even after two years of use, its edge still gleamed razor-sharp.
That kind of unnatural durability was Kelindra’s signature.
A masterwork blade, capable of slicing through nearly any weapon whole—and Verdin’s swordsmanship, already on par with a Swordmaster.
That combination was how he’d felled such a formidable opponent so swiftly today.
'So what? I’m still stuck here.'
Verdin was sick of this wretched bandit life.
Pillaging and slaughter—it had nothing to do with what he truly wanted.
What he ‘really’ wanted was to get out and find someone.
‘Lilian…’
Lilian was a princess of the Kingdom of Altera, in the far south of the continent.
And Verdin—he had once been her sworn protector.
Verdin Lukas von Theodore, Knight of the Azure Wave Order.
That was his official title.
Two years ago, he’d been escorting the princess on royal command, en route to the Empire.
That was when they were ambushed and captured by the Shadowpeak Bandits.
He had wanted to fight.
But Princess Lilian surrendered first.
The mage traveling with them had already been killed by an arrow, and she likely saw no chance of victory.
'I should’ve risked everything to break us out back then…'
He could’ve cut a path for himself—but he couldn’t guarantee ‘her’ safety.
So, in accordance with the princess's command, he had surrendered.
And he’d regretted that decision ‘every single day since’.
The princess had believed she could negotiate with the bandits using the wealth in their carriage.
But they seized all the treasure and, one by one, violated her—then sold her into slavery.
Verdin had been locked in an iron cage, forced to watch it all happen.
The only reason he was kept alive was because of the current boss—Volg.
Back then, the leader had been Mikael, who wanted to kill Verdin immediately.
But Volg argued otherwise—he saw Verdin’s skill and said it would be a waste to kill him.
Eventually, Volg manipulated Verdin’s desires and used him to assassinate Mikael.
- Join me. Then you can get the princess back. I know exactly where she was sold.
- But first, help me. I’ll give you what you want after.
‘Is this really okay…?’
Verdin couldn’t decide.
Volg had saved his life—there was no denying that.
And he’d given him a shot at revenge.
But just earlier, Volg’s tone had shifted—like a hunter who’d already caught his hound.
- That guy earlier was too easy. Don’t tell me that’s all I’ve given you?
How far would Volg’s demands go?
This was only the first raid. What if even after a second or third, Volg still wasn’t satisfied?
What if he kept holding Verdin’s life over his head every time he refused?
‘If that happens... I won’t hesitate. I’ll leave.’
He made up his mind and picked up the cup he’d set down earlier.
Inside was a harsh, burning liquor.
They’d looted fine, fragrant whiskey from today’s caravan, but Verdin drank the rough rum he’d saved.
Luxury didn’t feel like something he was allowed to enjoy.
‘I have to find Her Highness.’
He might be part of a bandit crew now, but he was still a knight—one who had sworn an oath before the king and the gods.
That oath... he would not betray.
Verdin threw back the drink again.
The burning sensation crawled down his throat to his gut.
It hurt at first, but after a deep breath, the heat bloomed into a warm, tipsy haze.
Just then, two low-ranking thugs approached.
Their faces looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place them.
They grinned and sat across from him. One of them spoke up.
“All by yourself, huh? The party’s a lot livelier over there.”
“What do you want?”
He asked with a harsh tone, but the man brushed it off lightly.
“You just looked kinda lonely. We thought we’d come keep you company on a night like this.”
“Company? You’ve got some nerve.”
“Whoa now, no need to get scary. We’re just bored, is all. Figured we’d swing by and hear one of the boss’s stories.”
“Boss? You mean me?”
Verdin looked at them in disbelief. They both nodded.
He could tell from their eyes and smirks—they were doing this on purpose.
Verdin’s face hardened. He spoke coldly.
“Watch your mouth. Ears are everywhere.”
“So what if they hear? Around here, the strongest one’s the boss. And you’re the strongest here, aren’t you?”
Verdin didn’t answer.
Instead, a chuckle stirred inside him.
‘Even these nobodies can see it…’
But Volg still acts like he doesn’t.
Or maybe… he ‘does’ know.
‘Maybe he’s just pretending not to. Ignoring it... so he can use me longer.’
The thought left a bitter taste.
Verdin reached for his cup again—but it was empty.
Then, one of the thugs leaned forward and poured him a drink.
Glup, Glup, Glup…
The liquid flowed with a clear sound and filled the cup with a dark red wine—fragrant and rich.
Just one whiff was enough to tell—this was high-end stuff.
Wine like this wouldn’t be handed out freely.
Knowing Volg, it should’ve gone straight to his private stockpile.
Verdin narrowed his eyes on the man and asked.
“How did you get this…?”
The thug gave a wide, cheeky grin.
“We brought it for you. For the boss. But please don’t tell anyone.”
“You…”
Verdin gave a dry laugh and raised the cup to his lips.
He took a sip.
The flavor unfurled across his tongue—sweet and rich.
At first, it had a bold punch, but as he swirled it in his mouth, the tartness and sweetness danced together in a perfect blend.
When he swallowed, a lingering sweetness coated his throat.
Verdin recognized it immediately.
“Crimson Raven.”
At his words, the thug’s grin deepened, and he handed Verdin the bottle.
Verdin held it up—and saw the unmistakable symbol.
A blood-red raven.
This wine was a luxury reserved for the highest nobility.
A vintage aged over ten years could sell for hundreds of gold coins per bottle.
Considering a common peasant lived on 20 silver a year, this bottle was absurdly valuable.
Verdin felt a flicker of gratitude toward the men who had gone out of their way to steal this for him.
His voice softened, eyes gleaming slightly.
“What’s your name?”
“Does it matter? Call me whatever you like.”
It was practically tradition for the boss to assign names to his subordinates however he pleased.
Verdin smiled faintly and spoke.
“From today on, your name is Raven.”
“Thank you.”
“And you—you're Crimson.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Together, they made ’Crimson Raven’.
Verdin thought it was a pretty damn good name.
He took another sip from his cup.
Maybe he was used to the flavor now, because the sharp intensity from before was gone.
Instead, the soft sweetness mingled with a light tang that cleaned his palate.
Compared to rum, the alcohol content was lower, but it felt like he was getting drunk much faster.
That was fine, though.
Tonight, at least.
They’d looted a caravan from the Blackleaf Merchant Guild and even captured priests from the Holy Nation—but so what?
They’d kill them all and erase the evidence. No one would come looking.
Lost in thought and tipsy, he suddenly heard a voice.
“How did you end up here, Boss?”
It was the underling he’d named Raven.
Verdin, deep in his cups, began recounting the whole story…
That he was once the chief knight of the Azure Wave Order, sworn to the Kingdom of Altera.
That he was captured here while escorting the princess.
That Volg had helped him survive.
That, in return, he helped Volg kill Mikael, the previous boss, and became the second-in-command.
After hearing all of this, Raven nodded slowly and said.
“That’s a sad story… The princess’s fate, and you serving under that pig—there’s a reason for it all, huh?”
“…Yeah. Something like that.”
“But haven’t you ever thought about this?”
At that question, Verdin raised his head slightly.
Raven's expression had changed—there was a sharpness to it now.
“What if Volg lied?”
“…What?”
“What if the princess wasn’t sold off at all? What if she just… died here? And what if Volg's story was all lies—just a way to manipulate you?”
Verdin was silent.
He couldn’t argue.
He had ‘just’ been thinking the same thing earlier.
Verdin quietly let the possibility run through his mind again.
‘If it’s Volg… yeah. He’s fully capable of that. He lies constantly. Has he ever told me the truth, even once?’
Over the past two years, the only promise Volg ever kept was making Verdin second-in-command after taking over.
The realization hit him like a blade to the gut.
Raven’s voice slipped in like a whisper.
“Ask him yourself. Volg’s weaker than you anyway, isn’t he?”
His voice was sweet—sweeter and thicker than the wine Verdin had just drunk.
Verdin, drunk on wine and words, blinked and muttered.
“What if he really did lie?”
“Then get rid of him.”
“If I kill him… the others here won’t just let me go.”
To that, Raven gave a slow, knowing smile.
His next words slipped out soft and slick, like honey laced with venom.
“There’s no one here stronger than you, Verdin.”
At those words, Verdin slammed the wine cup down.
He stood, picked up his scimitar, and walked off.
He was headed straight for Volg’s tent.
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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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