The Indomitable Martial King

[ Chapter 34 ]

In the central garden of the inn, Sillan and Siris were leisurely spending their time when their peace was abruptly disturbed.

“There you are.”

Loud footsteps announced the arrival of a group of men through the main pillar, making their way into the garden. Leading them was a middle-aged man wielding a sword, at whom Sillan frowned.

It was a familiar face. He was the very man from the street earlier, who had tried to buy Siris.

“What do you want?”

Sillan stepped in front of Siris, on high alert. Romad, observing this, wore a pleased smile, thinking things were going as planned.

‘Such a greenhorn. To think he hadn’t considered the possibility of this happening.’

Originally, he had planned to lure Repenhardt away by sending someone for him, and in his absence, snatch the elf maid. After all, one cannot simply kidnap a slave in front of their owner. Yet, upon arriving at the inn, he found his target conveniently alone.

“I have no business with you. Move aside!”

Romad barked an order, then gestured with his hand.

“Come, elf wench. I’ll take you to your rightful master.”

His voice was shamelessly bold. Three robust men, armed with ropes and clubs, approached Siris, effectively surrounding her. In a panic, Sillan shouted again.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Sillan glanced at the inn’s windows, puzzled. Despite the commotion, not a single person looked out. Romad let out a guffaw.

“I see what you were hoping for, but the guests are all in the hall right now.”

He had already bribed the innkeeper to gather all the guests in the hall under the pretense of a free dinner banquet. Given their lodging in such a place, it was presumed they were well-off, yet none could resist the lure of a complimentary meal.

“No, we already said we wouldn’t sell her! What kind of outrage is this!”

In a fluster, Sillan faced aggression as one of the men swung his club at him.

“Ah, such a noisy brat!”

In a flash, Siris stepped forward, quickly positioning herself in front of Sillan and skillfully disarming him of his dagger. The swift action left even Sillan, who was disarmed, clueless about what had just happened.

Then, she lunged forward with a low stance.

“Ugh?”

The man, taken aback, swung his club down in a well-trained and deliberate attack, not merely flailing but executing a skilled move. However, Siris deflected the attack with the dagger and struck the man’s throat with the other hand, using a technique known as the “night fist,” where the middle knuckle is slightly protruded.

“Argh!”

It was a movement swift as lightning. The man choked and collapsed immediately.

The two fellows to his left and right rushed over in panic.

“This… this wench!”

The two men charged at Siris, attacking her from both sides. They cleverly used the snap of their wrist to swing their staffs, striking both vertically and horizontally at the same time, effectively blocking any escape.

However, Siris was not at all flustered. Maintaining her usual expressionless face, she stood her ground, twisting her body. She narrowly dodged the left attack over her shoulder and caught the opposite stick with the side of her blade. Riding the momentum, she slashed at the man’s wrist.

“Argh!”

Blood spurted as the man clutched his wrist in agony. Seizing the moment, Siris spun around and swung her dagger widely at the opposite side. The motion was so large that the other man easily dodged and counterattacked.

In that instant, she used her rotational force to plant a back kick into the man’s solar plexus. The swing of her dagger had been a feint all along.

“Ugh!”

The man groaned in pain as his stomach turned. Siris’s dagger then danced, targeting his vitals. In a flash, the mithril blade deeply pierced the man’s shoulder.

“Agh!”

As the blade was withdrawn, red blood soaked his garments. Overcome with pain, the men staggered back. Romad’s expression hardened in surprise at the ease with which Siris dispatched the three formidable men.

‘Huh, what?’

Although they seemed easily defeated and unimpressive, in reality, the three subordinates he had sent were far from weak. Romad knew well that Siris was a Slayer, an elf slave trained in combat skills. He had chosen men capable of facing a Slayer to come here. With Teriq, who also had three Slayers under his command, Romad had a good grasp of a Slayer’s combat capabilities.

But Siris’s skill was unexpectedly beyond anticipation.

‘She’s too strong, isn’t she?’

Her ability to exploit the weaknesses in an attack and the speed with which she switched between offense and defense were practically invisible. Romad felt even he might not stand a chance against her. Moreover, her indifference to shedding blood? That was a level of prowess expected of a skilled knight or an experienced Slayer, not something a newly made (?) Slayer would possess.

“What, what’s this?”

“Did brother Smith get defeated?”

The murmurs of the men who had come with Romad were audible. Although six of his underlings remained, all of them were significantly less skilled than the three who had just fallen. Their usual roles were to act as lookouts or to intimidate with numbers, so they stood no chance against that elf girl.

“Damn it…”

Romad clicked his tongue, finally snapping Sillan out of his daze, his face flushing with anger. It was clear he was highly agitated. Sillan raised his divine power and shouted.

“You scoundrels! I’ll wash your faces with sulfuric acid!”

Despite his pretty appearance, Sillan had quite the temper. Moreover, he was a high-ranking priest in the Philanence Order. To swing a club at him?

Sillan immediately began to pray.

“Oh Philanence, bestow your divine mace upon these irreverent souls………..”

At that moment, Siris grabbed Sillan and yanked him to the side. The sound of the wind whistling past Sillan’s ear followed as he failed his prayer in surprise. A dagger was deeply embedded in the tree trunk that was behind him moments ago. Romad had thrown the dagger at Sillan as he attempted to cast a divine spell.

Sillan’s face turned pale.

‘Is he trying to kill me?’

Romad stared at Sillan with a stern face and warned.

“Shut your mouth. Even a murmur, and the next one goes through you.”

It was a chilling voice. Sillan, overwhelmed by the intense murderous intent, cried out in astonishment.

“I am a servant of Philanence!”

It was uncommon for even the most corrupt individuals to harm those who served the goddess. Romad scoffed at Sillan’s outcry.

“Hmph. Just a pilgrim brat. No one’s going to fuss over one or two dead bodies.”

Romad, in fact, had no interest in Sillan’s life or death.

He had already identified Sillan as a clergyman by his attire when they met on the street. However, the robes Sillan wore belonged to the Philanence Order. The Philanence Order’s influence was growing mainly in the southern part of the continent, and there was yet to be a temple in the Chatan Principality. This meant the kid was undoubtedly a pilgrim, a soul no one would miss if killed.

“What kind of people are these?”

Sillan ground his teeth in anger, but his complexion was pale. He had often heard tales of pilgrims dying on the streets, but he never imagined he would end up in such a situation.

Then, Siris whispered to Sillan, comforting him.

“It’s okay.”

Sillan turned in surprise. The voice was not the cold one he had grown accustomed to. It was soft, even tender to the ears.

“Siris?”

She took a stance. Slightly bending her knees and aiming her dagger at Romad, she brought her other hand under her chin. With a determined attitude, she muttered,

“There’s no problem.”

Sillan was a bit startled. The appearance Siris presented now was unlike any Slayer he knew. Slayers who swung their swords solely for their master’s praise never had such a look in their eyes.

It was a determined gaze, filled with resolve and pride, the gaze of a warrior.

Romad was certainly taken aback by Siris’s skill. However, he wasn’t embarrassed.

He was cautious by nature and fully aware that he might have to face Repenhardt if things went south. Even if deemed a novice adventurer, being able to earn 300 gold coins as a Slayer’s fee clearly indicated significant skill. Thus, he had prepared another strong contender just in case.

‘Just didn’t think I’d have to use him against a rookie Slayer, though.’

Clicking his tongue, Romad called out,

“It’s time to work. Talkata!”

“Yes, master.”

With a deep voice, a figure emerged from the shadows behind a column. An Orc man with gray skin, a flat nose, and thick tusks. He was about the same height as Romad, but his build was entirely different. His shoulders were incredibly broad, and his body was covered in bulging muscles.

Sillan immediately recognized the identity of the Orc.

“An Orc gladiator….”

He was protected by leather armor at vital points, but the exposed areas were covered in scars. The fact that an Orc, a slave race, had so many scars, and was still alive, proved that he was a professionally trained gladiator.

“Talkata works. I catch that elf.”

“That’s right. Work. Catch her now!”

“Yes, master.”

As Talkata sluggishly walked away, Romad sent a confident gaze towards his back.

Slayers and Orc gladiators, although both specialized in combat techniques, differed fundamentally in their innate combat abilities. Unlike ordinary Orc slaves, who were brainwashed from a young age to suppress their ferocity, gladiators retained their barbaric strength.

“Moreover, it’s unthinkable for a female to defeat a male, isn’t it?”

With a triumphant smile, Romad shouted, “Finish it quickly! We can’t afford to waste time!”

It was nearing the end of dinner time. It would be troublesome if the inn’s guests started returning to their rooms.

The Orc gladiator, Talkata, walked towards Siris, his expression hardening. Although his life had been that of a slave, he had fought only warriors as a gladiator, never oppressing women or children. He had no desire to follow such a despicable order.

But he couldn’t defy the command of humans. He murmured through his tusks in a gloomy voice, “I’m sorry. It’s your fate.”

He wanted to say, “I’m truly sorry, young Elf girl. But this is also your destiny, and there’s nothing you can do but accept it.” However, the complex nuances of human language were beyond the Orc’s vocal capabilities. Begrudgingly clicking his tongue, Talkata drew his sword.

Swoosh!

Romad exclaimed in horror, “Hey, you! Don’t damage it!”

“No harm will come. Talkata will just capture her.”

The sharp longsword reflected the winter sunlight, shining brightly. Siris’s expression turned stern. She was confident she could defeat these humans, but this Orc was different. She instinctively felt wary of him.

‘But I can’t back down.’

Siris glanced at Sillan. The small boy was trembling with fear, much like she had been when slave hunters attacked her village when she was young.

And now, she stood in front of him, sword in hand, just like her parents had done for her.

Suddenly, a smile appeared on her face. For some reason, she felt good.

“Taah!”

With a loud yell, Siris charged first.