The Imperial Supreme Commander Has Returned - Chapter 61

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Imperial Commander Has Returned — Episode 61

“Stupid bastard.”

Balga, the leader of the Human Trafficking Gang, let out a hollow laugh.
Six years now since he’d set up operations near Gwandо.
Though half of that time, he’d been forced to lie low.
Too many people vanishing had drawn the extermination squads.

Three years playing dead, terrified he’d be caught and hanged.
After that, he’d changed his methods.
Better to make less coin than to risk everything for greed.

He’d learned to hunt the solitary ones first.
Two at most.
He’d never touch merchants with affiliations.
That way the odds of a report were slim.

But people who traveled alone or in pairs were rare.
For days now, he’d been twiddling his thumbs.

Then today, luck had served him a morsel.
Some wet-behind-the-ears kid traveling solo, for reasons he couldn’t fathom.
The real prize was the horse the kid rode.
A well-trained mount fetched far more than a person.

So he’d sent a man to handle it.
The plan was simple: slip him a sleeping draught, then signal.

‘And now I’m out here myself.’

No signal came.
They say do enough dirty work and your luck runs out.
Balga’s instincts screamed something had gone wrong, so he’d come personally.

At the campsite, his fears were confirmed.
His subordinate lay crumpled in one corner, snoring loud as a pig.
The naive kid must have turned the tables on him.

‘Beaten by a baby-faced brat!’

He’d have to sell the useless fool off too.
Cut out his tongue first, make sure he couldn’t talk.

“Grab that one. Knock the little shit unconscious.”
“Yes, boss!”

Ten or so men surged forward at Balga’s command.
What was strange was the kid’s reaction.
He just stared, as if he didn’t even understand what was happening.

Which made sense, really.
Taking down one man was one thing; ten was another.
With that many descending at once, fear would freeze anyone solid.
Balga wouldn’t even need to step in himself.

“Pretty face on this one too. Make sure we don’t―”
Whoosh!

From behind came counsel, when suddenly a wet, squelching sound split the air.
After that moist friction—a geyser of blood, erupting like a fountain.
It came from the chest of the man leading the charge.

“……!”

The problem was that the boy had done nothing at all.
He’d simply stood motionless, then flicked his wrist—that was all.
If that was all it took, there was only one answer.

“A Mage! Rush him now!”
“Don’t give him time to cast!”

The Human Trafficking Gang didn’t hesitate, even watching their ally fall.
Instead, they surged forward with desperate, quickening speed.
That was because they were deserters—men who’d once worn a uniform.
Years rolling through battlefields had taught them well the Mage’s weaknesses.

First: magic required preparation.
Second: in that moment of casting, vulnerability was inevitable.

“Arrows!”
Crick-crack.

One thief drew a bow from his back and pulled the string taut.
His companions, warned, quickly parted left and right to clear the line.
After a brief aim, the Arrow flew.

Whistle!

The arrow of a seasoned archer was vicious.
At this distance too, there seemed no way it could miss.

But to be safe, another shot followed immediately after.
If he was a Mage, he might carry an artifact for defense.
Either way, with two shots, at least one was certain to land.

“Got him—huh!?”
Whoooosh!

The archer’s certainty crumbled as breath caught in his throat.
A sudden gust had swept across the field.
The Arrows tumbled helplessly, spinning down to gouge the earth.

Yet the archer’s rapid fire had not been wasted effort.
While he’d bought time, his companions had closed in on the boy.

“Gaack……!”

But something was wrong with several of them.
They suddenly clawed at their own throats, pounding their chests.
Their desperate thrashing availed nothing—they collapsed, faces gone blue.

“Die!”

In that moment, the remaining thief swung a rusted blade at Delram.
His voice was pure malice; capture seemed the furthest thing from his mind.
His face showed only one intent: to kill Delram, come what may.

A killing intent burning bright as flame.
But if you could kill everyone you wanted to kill, there would be no such thing as war.

A low whistle cut through the air.
“What—what is this…!”

The bandits cried out in confusion.
Their desperately swung blades failed to connect with Delram.

The sensation transmitted through their swords was utterly strange.
Like thrusting into fast-moving water, if you could describe it that way.
Though they drove their steel forward with all their strength, the blade tips veered off toward empty air.

The cause lay in the wind that enveloped Delram.
The wind was arbitrarily redirecting the trajectory of the corroded blades.
It was, in essence, a Wind Protection Barrier.

Yet it was not overwhelmingly strong.
If the bandits could only regain their composure and apply force with precision, they would have been able to strike Delram even through the barrier.

That was true.
If only they had time enough.
But the time afforded to these bandits had now run out.

A piercing howl split the night.
“Huh?”

Balga, the leader, suddenly blinked his eyes.
Something was amiss in the space above his subordinates—not far overhead.
The darkness made it hard to see clearly, but… something was churning.

Crack-snap-pop!

And the campfires all around them.
The flames thrashed about like madness, scattering sparks.
Like laundry hung out to dry during a typhoon.

Yes, it was a whirlwind.
Crouching silently in the darkness, gathering its strength.

“Damn it! Everyone down!”
“Good instincts on that one.”

Balga’s shout was followed by Delram’s quiet murmur.
No, there was one more thing that followed.
It was the [thing] itself that Delram released with a flick of his fingers.

A sharp snap.
Then a deafening howl.

The sphere gathering in empty space burst open.
What erupted was dozens upon dozens of Sharp Wind Blades!
Blades of wind were fired in all directions.

They were weaker than what Owl itself could launch.
Smaller in size, duller in cutting power.
But they came in overwhelming numbers.
A hundred blades rained downward.

“Argh!”
“Kraaagh!”

Brief screams echoed through the camp, then cut off just as quickly.
There was no time for them to linger—they all fell victim to the shredding wind.

The bandits, their bodies torn to shreds, writhed across the ground.
All that remained in the camp was the thick reek of blood.
Delram surveyed the scene and offered his assessment.

“Wind Protection Barrier, Asphyxiation Induction, Area Attack… all solid techniques. Just need a bit more practice on activation speed, Owl.”
—Hoot.

Owl’s long cry rang out in agreement.
Delram turned and wiped his forearm in one fluid motion.
The wooden bow materialized in his hand—Imir.
He drew the string and released a verdant arrow in a single breath.

Thwack!
“Aaaaaagh!”

The shaft found Balga’s back as he fled.
The chaos of the night came to an end.

* * *

Delram exhaled softly.

He surveyed the Human Trafficking Gang members now kneeling before him.
Five in total.
Half of them had fallen in a skirmish lasting barely three minutes.

The remaining five were hardly in better shape.
Their bodies were covered in cuts large and small—they were barely conscious.

“P-please, spare us!”
“We’ll never do this again, I swear!”
“My mother is waiting at home…”

The bandits writhed and begged, each pleading in their own voice.
But Delram’s gaze remained coldly impassive.

There was nothing unreasonable about it.
He’d given them chances—multiple chances—and they’d proven spineless to the very end.
If they’d fled when he’d hinted as much, none of this would have happened.

Besides, these men were the worst of the worst.
When he’d searched their belongings, he’d found claws and fur from Demonic Beasts.
It meant that whenever blood was unavoidably spilled during an abduction, they’d used these trophies to frame the murders as the work of monsters.

Stupid and cruel? There was no reason to let them live.
Of course, Nuark would have lectured him about mercy.
Because that’s what the God of Light teaches—forgiveness and light.

‘But I don’t worship the God of Light.’

So Delram’s Tarbing descended without hesitation.
It severed the particularly defiant bandit’s right arm at the shoulder.

“Craaaagh!”
“What, you’re screaming now? Where was that courage before?”
“Y-you demon… you monster…!”
“Keep talking.”

Delram hummed as he continued to wield the Tarbing.
One of the truly good things about the Tarbing was its cold bite.

He’d once had a friend who could dispatch villains swiftly and mercifully—Exsanguination Shock, as it were.
So torture had to be conducted with care.

But the Tarbing posed no such problem.
Whatever was cut froze solid the instant the blade passed through.

Presently, one of the thieves pitched forward with foam flecking his lips.
His tendons—both arms and one leg—had been severed.
One-armed and crippled, he wouldn’t be living any sort of proper life going forward.
Delram slung the Tarbing across his shoulder and asked conversationally,

“Do you lot believe in an afterlife?”
“Yes? No?”
“I do. I think when we die, we go somewhere.”

The thieves exchanged uncertain glances.
Was he saying they’d go to hell, so they shouldn’t live like this?

And yet a tentative hope kindled in their eyes.
Talk of redemption surely meant he’d spare their lives.

“But what if there’s no heaven or hell? Or what if everyone goes to heaven regardless of what sins they commit while alive? Wouldn’t that seem terribly unjust?”
“How… how would that be unjust, sir…?”
“Because scoundrels like you—the ones who peddle human flesh while you’re alive, who use the profits for drink and women and drugs—you’d all end up in heaven laughing and living well. And I’m supposed to watch that?”
“…!”

The thieves felt the blood drain from their faces.
What was he saying, exactly?
That since there’s no knowing what comes after death, he’d make the remainder of their living days a living hell?

Shortly after, the thieves became remarkably docile.
Especially their leader, Balga.
That resolve to die without yielding vanished in an instant.
They’d grasped that their opponent was genuinely, thoroughly mad.

“The atmosphere’s improved now. You—what’s your name?”
“I’m Balga.”
“Right, Balga… hm?”

Delram had been nodding when his gaze drifted downward.
The Brunnard, the plate armor that had played no role in this fight.
Was that bothering him?

A soft whisper of sound…

Suddenly the Brunnard emitted a faint luminescence.
Light composed of countless fine particles flowed through the darkness.
The strange thing was that it terminated at the leader.

“What is this?”

There was another peculiarity.
Normally the Brunnard was a symbol of the God of Light.
It naturally radiated warmth like the sun, emitting a bright, burnished scarlet.

Yet as it drew near the leader, the light dimmed.
As though marking something impure.

‘Could it be?’

A hypothesis surfaced unbidden.
Delram decided to test it at once.

Crack!
“Gaaaagh!”

Delram swung the Tarbing sheath and all, a vicious arc.
The leader’s head snapped back, his body sprawling like a frog.

He trembled as he rose, his eyes brimming with wounded indignation.
Why hit him when he’d answered so well?

“Your name.”
“I just told you! I’m Balga!”

Crack!

“Your name.”
“I—I am Balga, sir. I have no family name…….”

Swish—

“Your name.”
“F-forgive me. The truth is, my name is Balga.”
“Hmm?”

The leader trembled with fear, correcting himself at last.
The particles of light blazed bright once more.
As if to announce this was truth.

One fact emerged from this.
The Brunnard could pierce through truth and falsehood both!
What’s more, the particles seemed visible only to their master, Delram.

“Excellent. Excellent indeed.”

Delram smiled with genuine delight.
He’d acquired a power truly extraordinary.

When the Demonic Collaborators multiplied later.
Singling out those traitors would become child’s play.
Perhaps it was worth more than the Wind Protection Barrier or the Sacred Oath itself.

But that was then, and this is now.
Delram gripped the Tarbing tight.

“You dared deceive me? You’ll crawl on your belly for the rest of your days.”
“Wait, just a moment—kyaaaagh!”

Crunch, crack!

A piercing shriek tore across the encampment.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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