Rogue grew increasingly interested in the relationship between Keevey and Daur. His smiling eyes continuously scanned them, catching every subtle expression that passed between them.
Daur wore an earth-yellow half-plate armor, its defensive capability second only to full warrior plate or Paladin armor. Every piece was immaculately clean, gleaming with oil. Beneath the armor was a sky-blue undergarment made of high-quality hemp. Inside the broad, high-standing gorget, one could see a silk white shirt, impeccably ironed. Daur also wielded a greatsword. The crossguard was made of copper-clad mahogany, the hilt wrapped with exceptionally neat hemp cord, and the pommel was set with a ruby. Rogue quietly probed with his psychic power; aside from the sword being magically enhanced for hardness, it had no other special properties.
Daur's brow was tightly furrowed. Under the dual pressure from the merchant association leader and Keevey, an internal war raged within him. His gloved hand repeatedly gripped and released his sword hilt. His cheek twitched, sometimes gritting his teeth, sometimes sighing, his Battle Aura flickering on and off.
Noticing Daur's leather gloves, Rogue had a sudden idea. A drop of oil flew out from the dish in front of Daur and splattered onto his armor with a *smack*. "Ah!" Daur's expression changed dramatically, as if he had just swallowed a dead rat. He stumbled back two large steps, pulled out a snow-white handkerchief, and meticulously wiped the tiny grease spot, repeating the motion for a long time until not a trace remained, then disgustedly threw the handkerchief far away.
Rogue smiled.
If one were to rate smiles, the fatty's smile was absolutely first-class. If a maiden's smile could light up the world, and an elder's smile could soothe the soul, then the fatty's smile was one of understanding, of ordinariness, the smile between long-lost friends. When the fatty smiled, his eyes became slits, brimming with cheer. So when he smiled, no one noticed the faint silver threads flickering in his eyes, especially since they were so fine that even without squinting, no one would pay them any mind.
Keevey gazed lovingly at Daur's resolute face. Only she knew how much sweat and blood Daur had shed to attain his current status.
The old Guild Master was fair and selfless, demanding far more from his foster son Daur than from others. Only after Daur's merits were sufficient for three promotions to captain was he finally appointed as a mercenary captain. Only she knew that Daur practiced his swordsmanship madly in solitude every night, and rose earlier than anyone else at dawn to cultivate his Battle Aura. Only she knew the ambitious dreams and fanatical dedication to his career buried deep in Daur's heart.
And only she knew how much Daur had sacrificed for her. Three years ago, when she was hunted by the alliance forces, her companions fallen, and at the end of her rope, it was Daur who took her in. Over those three years, how many times had Daur shielded her with his sword, his shield, even his own blood, sheltering her under his arm? On their wedding night a year ago, Daur, who never touched alcohol, got drunk for the first time. The drunken Daur hugged Keevey and wept, pouring out countless secrets buried in his heart for thirty-five years. What more could she ask for, having a husband like this?
Yet Keevey felt immense guilt towards Daur. Daur, who pursued perfection in all things, also had a flaw: mysophobia (extreme cleanliness). When Daur proposed, Keevey, already deeply in love with him, hadn't dared to speak of the events of three years ago. Human nature is inherently somewhat selfish, and Keevey, having endured too much pain, didn't want to let go of the hard-won happiness.
Three years passed. The bureaucrats of the Lyon Alliance had long forgotten the small, wanted mercenary group. Only then did Keevey return to the Lyon Alliance with Daur. Little did they expect to encounter her fate's demon star, Rogue, here.
"Ah!" Keevey sighed inwardly, the image of Daur's bloody, mangled wrist flashing before her eyes. Back when the two were on a mission, they encountered a large group of magical beasts and were forced into the Tashkent Desert. After two days without water or aid, Keevey finally collapsed. Daur carried her the whole way, often biting his own wrist to keep her alive with his blood. A day later, they finally met a passing merchant caravan and were saved.
It was that time that Keevey's already dead heart came back to life.
"Gods, why! Must I endure so much suffering, why must my happiness be so brief!" Keevey wept inwardly, but her face adopted a calm expression. She took Daur's hand and said softly, "Daur, I..." A chill like ice water poured down her back; a woman's intuition told her it was Rogue's gaze.
Rogue laughed heartily. "Kee—"
The fatty watched with satisfaction as Keevey shuddered violently, then continued, "—You see, I misspoke again, it should be Mrs. Daur! There were indeed some misunderstandings between us back then, and I am very sorry about your brother's death. Ah, truly, if your brother had been a bit more patient back then, had listened to our explanation, he wouldn't have mistakenly attacked the City Defense Force officers. What happened afterwards... no one expected it to go that far, alas!" The fatty let out a long sigh, seemingly melancholy and lost.
Keevey was furious. She was no longer that young girl from years ago and clearly understood now that they had fallen into Rogue's trap. Yet she couldn't erupt now, only staring deathly at Rogue, breathing heavily.
Daur pondered for a moment. He was no fool; he knew Keevey's origins weren't simple, given that it was the Lyon Alliance's police force that had hunted her. But as time deepened their bond, Keevey had eventually confided the bitter story of her past, only omitting the part about the violation. Seeing Keevey so agitated now, this Rogue was undoubtedly one of the perpetrators back then. Keevey's current reaction was clearly because she didn't want to ruin his future, preferring to let her brother's killer go.
Back then, Rogue and his friends were just minor nobles of no consequence, yet they could mobilize the police to hunt Keevey. Now, just three years later, this Rogue had actually become a Knight Regiment Captain. He looked amiable and smiling, his composure admirable, yet he didn't have the aura of a true expert at all. He must have gotten here through schemes or flattery, nothing to worry about.
However, Daur's twenty years as a mercenary had given him sharp eyes and keen insight. He immediately sensed something amiss. Although Rogue only brought ten knights and one... wait, why did that guy look more and more like a bandit? Never mind that. Those ten knights were at an absolute numerical disadvantage, yet showed no fear. The hand crossbows were powerful; at this close range, probably only he himself could dodge them. If a fight broke out, his side would surely suffer heavy casualties.
He slowly glanced at his subordinates. Everyone was armed and ready, waiting for his order to swarm the enemy. Keevey was beautiful, forthright, and highly skilled in martial arts, well-respected within the mercenary group. Mercenaries were mostly bold and desperate types, and the Hundred Battles Mercenary Group was large; its members were used to throwing their weight around. Seeing Keevey's enemy now, they were itching for a fight. Those directly in the line of the crossbows wore fearful expressions but forced themselves to appear calm.
Looking back at the Dragon and Beauty knights, they actually looked excited. Several were even lightly licking their lips, clearly bloodthirsty butchers with countless kills under their belts. Their equipment was extremely refined. While not magical, its quality was so high that even his own gear as a mercenary captain couldn't compare. These were clearly the elite of an ace knight order! That regiment banner was imposing, but he couldn't recall which knight order it belonged to.
Although a fight might not break out immediately, the Dragon and Beauty knights showed no signs of relaxing. Roblasky, observing Daur's expression, whispered a few words to the knights beside him. The knights adjusted their crossbows, half now aimed at the obviously younger and less experienced Hundred Battles mercenaries, the other half at the caravan leaders.
The elders of the Clark Merchant Association turned pale. Only the leading old man remained as calm as ever. Seeing this, Rogue scolded his men, "This dispute is between me and the Hundred Battles Mercenary Group! How can you involve the esteemed elders of the Clark Merchant Association?! Don't you have any common sense? Put those crossbows down now!"
Several knights immediately acknowledged, but didn't lower their crossbows. Instead, they shifted aim, with five bolts now pointing directly at Keevey.
The Clark Merchant Association elders looked much relieved, secretly wiping their sweat, their gazes towards Rogue filled with gratitude. The leading old man gave Rogue a slight smile.
Daur suddenly let out a long sigh and shouted, "Everyone, lower your weapons!" The mercenaries, though puzzled, obeyed the command and lowered their blades.
Roblasky praised, "A wise man submits to circumstances!" followed immediately by an "Ouch!" as Rogue picked him up and threw him heavily to the ground. Roblasky knew he had misjudged the flattery opportunity again, put on a smiling face, and began a careful self-critique in his heart.
Daur reached up and tore the Hundred Battles Mercenary emblem from his chest. Calmly, he addressed an older mercenary behind him, "From this moment, you are the captain of the Hundred Battles Mercenary Group's Seventh Battalion, responsible for safely escorting the honored guests of the Clark Merchant Association to their destination."
Keevey panicked, clutching Daur's arm tightly, crying, "Daur! You... what are you doing? Don't do anything foolish!" She paused, glanced at Rogue, and his confident smile sent another chill down her spine. She held onto Daur's arm desperately. "Daur, I... I recognized the wrong person. He wasn't one of those people back then! It was just a misunderstanding between us! Please, let's just go, let's leave!"
Daur gave a faint smile, gently stroked Keevey's hair, and said, "Keevey." Keevey was shocked, her whole body numb and immobile, staring dumbfounded at Daur.
Daur pulled Keevey into his embrace and said tenderly, "You know? You're a child who talks in your sleep. So, actually, I've known everything for a long time. This past year, watching you wake up from nightmares every time, my heart would break again. I practiced swordsmanship like a madman, just for this moment. You were afraid I would leave you if I knew what happened to you. Silly child, marrying you was like gaining the whole world. How could I ever abandon that world?"
Daur looked up at Rogue, his Battle Aura slowly rising. He said calmly, "We both know the rights and wrongs of what happened back then. As a captain of the Hundred Battles Mercenaries, I should hold the clients' commission as the highest priority. But now, I am no longer a mercenary. I am just a husband who deeply loves his wife. In life, there are things one must do, and things one must not. Sir Rogue, I hope you possess the minimum dignity of a knight and accept my final request."
Daur took a deep breath. A pale red Battle Aura enveloped his body. "I, Daur, hereby challenge Sir Rogue and all his subordinates!"
Another figure stepped forward. "I, Keevey, hereby challenge Sir Rogue and all his subordinates!"
What joy is there in life? What fear in death? Though against thousands, I go.
Lightly lifting his battle-axe, Rogue smiled. "You truly wish to challenge me and my subordinates?" He emphasized the words "and my subordinates."
Daur stood firm as a mountain. "Exactly! But I still have a small request. I hope that regardless of victory or defeat in this fight, Sir Rogue will not make things difficult for my subordinates here."
Rogue glanced at Keevey, who also wore a resolute expression. He sighed and said, "Fighting against many alone, your request isn't unreasonable. But Keevey, did you forget to remind Mr. Daur that I am a mage?"
The tavern immediately erupted in an uproar. For a warrior to fight a mage protected by a squad of knights was practically suicide. The tavern owner, already pale-faced at the prospect of a duel in his establishment but too afraid to intervene, now heard that one of them was a mage. Gods, a single fireball from a mage would render everything in his tavern scrap! His eyes rolled back, and he finally fainted.
Daur's face also turned deathly pale. But looking at Rogue, who didn't resemble a mage in the slightest—wearing shining full plate armor that only the strongest knights could bear, wielding a long-handled battle-axe—if this was a mage, then perhaps orcs could become archmages. Keevey's mouth felt bitter as she remembered the past, her voice filled with bitterness. "He... he really is a mage!"
"Dammit! Let's rush them together, kill these bastards!" The Hundred Battles mercenaries began shouting, raising their swords again, ready to swarm forward. A particularly burly man wielding a heavy warhammer stood at the front, pointed at Rogue and cursed, "You fat pig, why don't you slit your own throat? Must I do it for you?"
Rogue chuckled. "Heh, why is everyone today wanting to beat or kill an Alliance Knight Captain? As if I'm just waiting to be slaughtered! Roblasky! What does the Lyon Alliance legal code say about attempting to kill an Alliance officer?" His tone turned extremely stern towards the end.
Roblasky, once a top student at the Dero Imperial Military Academy, had some substance in his belly. After transitioning to a bandit in the Lyon Alliance, his primary task was studying the Alliance's laws—who not to target, what minor offenses were acceptable—all researched clearly. Thus, his banditry avoided major crimes while committing minor ones constantly. The local guards were unable to suppress them, and the offenses weren't serious enough to warrant army intervention, so his bandit business thrived, until he met Rogue and was captured. Truly a defeat not of his own making.
Hearing Rogue's question, the sycophant immediately stepped forward to curry favor. "Sir Rogue, attacking an Alliance officer (you are a Lieutenant Colonel Captain, definitely an officer) is one of the twelve capital crimes in the Alliance legal code. Gathering a crowd with intent to attack Alliance forces, if proven, is punishable by death for the ringleader, equivalent to attacking an officer! Accomplices face five to fifteen years of hard labor!"
"So..." Rogue eyed the leading big man. "It means nothing if I kill him?" Wherever his gaze landed, the big man felt as if pricked by needles, sharp pain coursing through him.
"Precisely, Sir. The owner, waiters, townsfolk, and patrons here are all witnesses. This man indeed intended to gather a crowd to attack an Alliance officer!"
Daur saw things turning sour and shouted, "Everyone, shut up! All of you, stand down! No one from the Hundred Battles is to interfere in this matter today!" But the big man was still defiant. "You fat pig, just come over here! See if I don't smash your turtle shell with one hammer!"
Rogue let out a wild laugh and roared, "A mere mercenary, so arrogant to this extent! What of the Ice Silver Fox Mercenary Group?! Their leader Snow Fox died by my hand! If I don't execute you today, you'll think I'm afraid of you!" With that, a white halo rose from his feet and enveloped his body with a *whoosh*—the 'Bull's Strength' spell had been activated.
The battle-axe 'Soul Shackler' was swung for the first time, chopping towards the big man. The axe wasn't fast, but it carried a strange, mournful "woo-woo" wind, as if demons from hell were struggling to cross over and devour flesh and blood.
Daur was horrified and cried out, "Show mercy!" His Battle Aura flared brightly, illuminating half the tavern! He lunged forward to save the man.
The big man was scared but still said, "Watch me smash your broken axe with one hammer!" He swung his hammer over. The iron hammer's head was easily twice the size of 'Soul Shackler's' blade; smashing it didn't seem an idle boast.
Hammer and axe met. *Snick!* 'Soul Shackler' cleanly sheared the hammerhead in two. The big man shook as if struck by lightning, vomiting blood violently from his mouth. Rogue grinned狞笑 (viciously), twisted his wrist, and 'Soul Shackler' drew an arc, chopping down vertically again.
Daur arrived just then, swinging his sword to block. Battle Aura spread over his blade, blazing like flame!
A black light flashed in the air. The big man was instantly diagonally cleaved into two sections, a pillar of blood spraying skyward!
A massive scythe then revealed itself!
The scythe spun following its momentum, its hilt stabbing towards Daur's face like lightning!
Every hair on Daur's body stood on end. He had never been so close to death!
At the last possible moment, Daur roared, unleashing all his latent potential, finally managing to block the hellish demonic blade just two inches from his throat!
*BOOM!* A ball of purple electrical fire exploded on the scythe's hilt, blasting Daur far away. He crashed heavily to the ground, tiny electrical sparks dancing all over his body. With each spark, Daur convulsed once.
Fengyue then stepped out from the Otherworld.
Rogue immediately felt a headache coming on.
This Fengyue was now half a head taller than Rogue. Its skeleton was a crystalline, jade-smooth black. The bone wings on its back were much larger than the last time Rogue saw them, nearly the height of a person when fully spread, covered with a black membrane. The enormous scythe was held diagonally in its hand, constantly flickering with purple electrical fire.
An invisible force field spread out from Fengyue's feet. Those touched by it were immediately struck with terror, crying out, "Demon! A demon!" scrambling and crawling, desperate to get further away from Fengyue. The Hundred Battles mercenaries, who had been ready to swarm, were instantly cleared from a twenty-meter radius.
In contrast, the Dragon and Beauty knights held up much better. Having followed Rogue for a long time, they had all seen Fengyue before, and although it looked different each time, they were at least mentally prepared. Moreover, they were all strong-willed, bold, and unscrupulous individuals, their resistance to this fear-inducing force field far exceeding that of ordinary people. Though their faces were grim, they all remained standing firm. However, each time the knights saw Fengyue, they became more convinced that Sir Rogue must have sold his soul to a devil, a belief corroborated by Rogue's usual deeds.
But gods or devils, as long as they were on their side, they were acceptable.
Only Roblasky, cowardly by nature, was so terrified he nearly lost control. Managing not to cry out was an achievement. Seeing him disgrace himself too much, a Dragon and Beauty knight, gauging Rogue's intent, hauled him up and pressed a dagger against his waist. If Roblasky took even one step back, the blade would pierce his flesh. This proved an excellent courage training method; Roblasky indeed dared not move an inch, but fainted from fright.
The tavern fell deathly silent. No one dared to breathe loudly.
Fengyue looked left and right across the field but found no opponent daring to step forward for a fight. Finally, it settled on Rogue, the flames in its eye sockets burning brighter and brighter, staring intently at the fatty.
Rogue immediately broke out in a cold sweat.
The fatty desperately tried to communicate with Fengyue in his mind, mentally reciting every incantation he knew, pleading three times, begging five times, even promising countless grand vows. Fine food, drink, poultry, and meat were already beneath mention; luxurious carriages and beautiful women were deemed too ordinary. Only then did he manage to send this jinx back to the Otherworld, and even then, it seemed reluctant to go.
After Fengyue left, Rogue cleared his throat lightly and said, "Everyone..."
This soft sound was like a thunderclap in everyone's ears. The tavern immediately erupted again into cries of ghosts and howls of wolves and a chaotic stampede.
Now, the scene was an empty space with two sections of corpse on the ground, a mess of blood and entrails. Rogue stood alone in the center. If anyone claimed he wasn't a demon in human skin, probably no one would believe it. Now everyone was convinced Rogue was an extremely powerful summoner. As for why a mage wore full plate armor, their own cultivation was insufficient, so they presumably couldn't comprehend it.
Whether novice mages would start trending wearing full plate armor for melee combat years later was something no one could know at this moment.
Rogue felt extremely awkward. Again, using his gentlest voice, he said, "Everyone..."
"Demon!" "Lord, save your servant..."
Rogue fell silent for a moment, then suddenly bellowed, "Your grandmothers! All of you, stand up straight! Not a single one of you moves! Or I'll chop you all into pieces!" The entire crowd immediately stood stiffly at attention, listening for instruction.
Rogue cursed inwardly. He hadn't even prepared a scroll of the 'Dispel Fear' spell because it countered his own magic, leaving him helpless now. It seemed he needed to plan before acting in the future, prepare thoroughly for all eventualities, and absolutely must not act solely on personal preference.
He also grew more wary inwardly. In the future, he must not rashly stir the desire to kill. Seeing Fengyue's rapid evolution rate, it must have had some great nourishment in the Otherworld. Now it could kill without even showing its face, but afterwards, all the black pots and messy situations still fell to him to clean up, one by one.
Daur, supported by Keevey, struggled to his feet. His greatsword was already broken into several pieces. With nothing to lean on, he had to lean obliquely on Keevey. Keevey hadn't fought, but after witnessing Fengyue's might, she no longer dared to step forward.
Of course, she never imagined that Fengyue was the little skeleton that played dead three years ago.
Rogue walked over to the two, axe in hand, and sneered without speaking.
Daur struggled to wipe the filth from his face, gently pushed Keevey away, forced himself to stand upright, and said in a low voice, "Archmage Rogue, your magical power is divine. My challenge to you and your subordinates was arrogant presumption. Since I am defeated, please proceed."
To face death with heroic fearlessness —this noble, passionate sentiment, how many could truly understand?