Gunter suddenly felt his knees tremble, and he looked around warily.
Though the cold could certainly make one’s knees weak, this sensation felt different.
It was more like the well-honed instincts he’d developed over years as a mercenary warning him that this situation was dangerous.
But there was nothing threatening around him—only cold snow falling softly.
“What’s wrong?”
“…Nothing, just a feeling.”
They had only just begun the job, so he couldn’t voice a “bad feeling” without jinxing things.
Mercenaries who risked their lives for pay believed in all sorts of superstitions, and Gunter was no exception.
“Don’t be a jinx,” he muttered to himself, turning his gaze forward again.
Another mercenary was wrestling with a lock pick in front of a door.
“Hey, what’s taking so long? You always brag about being able to crack a lock in no time.”
“Shut it. Do you think this is as easy as eating and—”
“Enough with the backtalk.”
Gunter growled, and the chatter instantly died down.
It was only natural.
Gunter had more experience than even Hans, the seasoned veteran, and had played a greater role in founding their mercenary group.
There were others who’d been around since the group was established, but Gunter had done all the running while they had simply watched.
That’s why no one dared challenge him.
“Got it,” muttered the lock-picking mercenary, stepping aside as the door clicked open.
Gunter moved forward cautiously.
He grasped the cold door handle, feeling that same tingling in his knees again as he opened it.
‘Guess it was just the cold,’ he thought, trying to rationalize it.
It would be ridiculous for someone as seasoned as Gunter to sense danger in a remote, rural village.
A gust of cold, snow-laden wind swept into the building through the open doorway.
The mercenaries, relieved to feel the lingering warmth inside, began to relax as they entered.
“This place is warm. Is it the kitchen?”
“Seems like it. Maybe there’s a cauldron with some leftover soup?”
“Yeah, right. Like we’d have time for that.”
Ignoring the banter, Gunter advanced quietly, though the snow melting under his boots occasionally betrayed him with a squelch.
“Is this really the kitchen? I don’t see anything.”
“Can’t see a thing in this darkness.”
“Can we light something?”
“Why not just wake someone up and ask for directions?”
“Gunter, have you found the door yet?”
The kitchen was much larger than they’d anticipated.
Although they had been briefed on the layout by Joseph, navigating in pitch-black darkness wasn’t easy, even for Gunter.
“Let’s get some light,” Gunter finally conceded, motioning with his hand.
One of the mercenaries stepped forward, holding a thick tallow candle. “Find a flint or embers somewhere—there should be something in the kitchen.”
The mercenaries spread out, moving carefully on tiptoes to avoid making noise.
Before long, a flickering flame illuminated Gunter’s face, thanks to an ember found in an old hearth.
“Now we can see,” one of them murmured.
“Didn’t find anything in the cauldron?” someone else asked.
“Are you that hungry? Enough already.”
“Quiet. Let’s get moving…”
Just as Gunter was about to look for the door, a loud clatter echoed through the room.
Gunter and the mercenaries turned to see that the door they’d unlocked to enter the kitchen was wide open again, snow-laden wind howling through.
Outside was nothing but darkness, thick and foreboding. In the doorway stood a massive figure, almost filling the entire frame, holding a torch that flickered in the wind.
The dim flame revealed his armor: a glinting chainmail under a dark blue surcoat, emblazoned with a bear rearing on its hind legs.
A helmet shaped like a barrel slowly turned, cold, sharp eyes scanning the room through its visor.
He looked over each mercenary, from Gunter on the far left to the smallest one who’d opened the door.
With a soft, scraping sound, the man drew his sword.
“It’s…a knight…” one of the mercenaries whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
It was indeed a knight—one of the few who could kill mercenaries as easily as squashing insects. The first to recover from the shock was, naturally, Gunter.
Drawing his falchion, he shouted at the mercenaries who were still paralyzed by fear.
“What are you waiting for? The job’s ruined! Draw your weapons!”
The others snapped out of it and began pulling out their own weapons: a short spear, a two-handed axe, and two with makeshift clubs reinforced with iron.
But just then, a cold gust of wind blew through as the knight began to move.
The massive knight closed the distance in a single step, and sweat trickled down Gunter’s temples.
He couldn’t tell if the pounding sound in his ears was the knight’s approach or his own hammering heartbeat.
His back was already damp with sweat.
“Spear! Get over here!” he shouted.
The mercenaries had spread out while searching for fire sources around the spacious kitchen.
Though it had helped them find light, it also left them vulnerable to being picked off by the killing machine in front of them.
And that vulnerability was about to become deadly.
The mercenary with the spear tried to step forward, but the knight lunged at him before he could even close the distance.
“Aaah!” the spearman screamed, thrusting his weapon, but in his panic, it missed the mark entirely.
The knight’s gloved hand seized the spear shaft, and before anyone could react, his armored boot connected with a thunderous thud that reverberated through the kitchen.
“Ugh…!”
The mercenary stumbled back, clutching his chest.
But the knight was far from finished.
He effortlessly swung a sword that looked too heavy to lift with one hand, slicing through the throat of the mercenary who stumbled back several steps.
“Guh, kuh!”
The mercenary, with his throat half-severed, fell backward, spurting thick blood.
His eyes quickly began to lose their life.
It all happened in an instant.
The phrase “in the blink of an eye” was no exaggeration—it was the truth of the situation!
Blood splattered on the knight’s helmet as he calmly adjusted his sword, his gaze now fixed on the remaining mercenaries.
The mercenaries, who had quickly gathered around Gunter to form a defensive line, realized this might not make a difference.
“Damn it… damn it! Why did a knight have to show up at this hour?!”
“This is it! We’re done for!”
These mercenaries were veterans.
They’d seen knights from a distance on the battlefield more than once and knew what they were capable of.
If mercenaries were the enemies of peasants, knights were the predators of mercenaries.
If mercenaries were caught by the gaze of a knight, they were as good as dead.
The only way to survive was to flee as fast as possible.
Knights often killed mercenaries just for fun, sometimes even making bets on the number of kills with other knights.
“There were five more trying to enter from the front courtyard…”
The knight’s deep voice echoed from within the large helmet toward the tense mercenaries.
“I dealt with them all. So, it would be wise not to resist pointlessly.”
With blood splattered on his helmet and surcoat, and his sword coated in thick blood, the knight’s words carried a different level of intimidation.
It sounded almost like he was suggesting they surrender, so the mercenaries glanced uneasily at Gunter.
“G-Gunter, let’s just do as the knight says…”
“Y-Yeah. That might be best. Surely, we’re not planning to fight him?”
Gunter hesitated.
He, too, was caught in a serious internal struggle.
Should he fight the knight head-on?
Or should he side with the knight, spill everything, and at least try to save his life?
The other mercenaries, gripped by fear, seemed inclined toward the latter, but Gunter, who quickly gathered his thoughts, was different.
“If we’re captured, we’ll either die or be sold into slave labor until death.”
He had just heard directly from the knight’s mouth that Hans and the others in the courtyard had been killed.
Knowing they were on the same team, Gunter was certain that even if he surrendered, he’d suffer a brutal fate.
“Shut up and draw your weapons! Do you really think we’ll live if we surrender here?!”
Hearing Gunter’s shout, a momentary hesitation flickered in the mercenaries’ eyes before it was covered by a shaky resolve.
Gunter was right.
Surrendering would only change their fate from a meaningless death to just death.
Escaping was out of the question too, as the huge knight stood near the entrance, making it impossible to flee.
“Remember where that knight bastard is standing!”
In the end, there was only one option.
There were four of them near Gunter; the knight was alone.
If they extinguished the candle and hid in the darkness, the knight wouldn’t easily find them.
If they attacked from all sides at once and put out his torch, what could the knight, whose vision was limited by his helmet, possibly do?
Though they entertained that hope, Gunter was halfway resigned.
Knights weren’t so easily fooled by such tactics.
But they had no other choice.
As soon as the knight took a step, Gunter snuffed out the wick of the candle.
The soft light that had been illuminating the kitchen vanished, leaving only the knight’s wavering torch in the darkness.
The mercenaries, seemingly forgetting their previous fear, quickly scattered into the shadows, moving quietly beyond the reach of the torchlight.
“Is this really going to work?”
Even Gunter, filled with a sliver of hope, moved swiftly and precisely in the dark.
Meanwhile, the knight took a step forward, and Gunter shivered involuntarily, his eyes sharper than ever in the darkness.
His gaze, carrying both cold determination and fear, pierced through the helmet’s eye slit, prepared to strike if the chance arose.
The mercenaries quietly took their positions, forming a formation to attack the knight from three sides near the entrance.
At that moment, the torch in the knight’s hand flickered.
Gunter couldn’t believe his eyes.
He, who had keen eyesight able to spot distant bandits, caught a glimpse of the knight’s closed eyes in that fleeting moment of flickering torchlight.
“What?”
Crack!
The knight suddenly tossed the torch to the ground.
The flame, already weak, went out instantly.
The acrid smell of burnt wood rose, embers scattering before quickly disappearing.
And just like that, the light vanished.
The kitchen was once again shrouded in pitch-black darkness, where one couldn’t see even an inch ahead.
Keldric quietly opened his eyes, which had been closed.
The world beyond his helmet was now filled with darkness.
When a light source is suddenly extinguished, it’s difficult to adjust to the darkness right away.
But since Keldric had kept his eyes closed, he could adapt to the darkness more quickly.
“Wh-What the hell! Damn it!”
“I can’t see! I can’t see anything!”
“You idiots! Get the light back on! Light it back up!”
The voice of the only slightly rational mercenary echoed, but Keldric ignored it.
“You, you…! Just try to come closer! Just try—Ugh!”
Without hesitation, Keldric swung his sword at the dark shape that appeared before him.
The silhouette, sliced diagonally from the shoulder, grabbed at the wound near its trapezius muscle, spraying something hot as it slowly began to slump.
Keldric had fully adjusted to the darkness.
And the mercenaries hadn’t.