Chapter 143 - The Frontier

Petty spirits and bandits occasionally appeared along the southern frontier. Cunningly targeting only small settlements, they plundered the poorly defended villages on the outskirts of the domain with impunity. Every attack brought considerable losses in money and lives, costing the lord dearly in taxes he could no longer collect.

Something had to be done about the petty spirits and bandits, yet, ironically, the baronial house had left the problem unattended for over a decade. It was all because of Grian Miyatro’s incompetence.

Grian had greed in abundance but no idea how to care for his domain. Chasing only immediate profits, he considered even a penny invested in the frontier a loss. Yet he never failed to collect his taxes. His people’s suffering was none of his concern.

As a result, most of Miyatro’s dependent territories had gone bankrupt. The people could not survive the depths of winter. Corpses of those who had frozen or starved to death lined the streets.

That had been the state of things just a year ago. These days, things were a little different. The people remained alive and breathing even through winter. They were hungry and cold, certainly, but they did not die.

It was thanks to their new lord. Yohan Miyatro had exempted every dependent territory from taxes that year, guaranteeing them at least the bare minimum needed to live. This winter, at least, no one had starved to death.

Instead, more people were dying by the blade. The bandit gangs entrenched in the south were running rampant that year. As soon as they learned the lord was not collecting taxes, they began ruthlessly plundering the frontier villages.

Countless able-bodied men died resisting them. Women were carried off alive, and the elderly met miserable deaths. A little hell was unfolding on the southern frontier.

“All right, let’s pull out! Hey, stop killing them! Leave enough alive so we can milk them again next year!”

“Load the young women onto this cart!”

“Don’t set anything on fire! Just give them a good scare!”

Twenty bandits had reduced a village to a shambles. With neither a militia nor a guard force, the village could only suffer helplessly. Wailing and screams echoed without end.

“Don’t take my mother! Please! Please!”

A bandit with an unkempt beard sent a girl flying with a kick.

“Get lost! Next year it’s your turn, bitch! Spend the year fattening up that scrawny body! Give us something to grab! Ha ha!”

Even as the girl lay sobbing on the ground, the bandits felt no pity. They merely laughed and joked.

“Should we just take this bitch too?”

“What for? She’ll be much riper for the taking next year. Growing brats shoot right up! Ha ha!”

“You sick bastard! You really are crazy!”

They were no different from Demons. They had already abandoned their humanity.

“Move out! Back to the mountain camp!”

“Don’t be idiots and leave anything behind! Pack the loot properly!”

The boisterous bandits began withdrawing in perfect order. Their many raids had made them quite proficient. All twenty headed in step toward the village exit.

As the crudely built palisade came into view, one of them cocked his head.

“Boss, do you see that up ahead?”

A woman stood at the village entrance. Her red hair stood out vividly against the snow-white landscape.

The largest man among the bandits spoke.

“... Red hair and light plate armor?”

He was the gang’s leader.

“That’s right. Could she be that bitch from the rumors?”

A strange rumor had been circulating along the southern frontier lately.

───A red-haired woman was mercilessly cutting people down.

───Red blood followed her like a shadow across the snow.

It was for this sight that the frontier folk had dubbed her the Crimson Shadow. The name meant a shadow of red.

The second-in-command spoke in a low voice.

“Looks like it. Crimson Shadow. That’s the bitch.”

A subordinate swallowed hard.

“... What do we do?”

Crimson Shadow had wiped out countless bandit gangs in the south. The dead already numbered around a hundred. There was some truth to the rumors, so the bandits could hardly help feeling a little tense.

The leader drew a long machete.

“Crimson Shadow or red fiend, she’s just one woman. And a beauty you’d never find in a backwater like this.”

He flicked out his tongue and licked his lips. Crimson Shadow’s looks were exactly to his taste.

“That’s our boss. Nothing scares you. Since we’re out for a stroll, let’s take that bitch along too.”

The leader snorted.

“Don’t get any ideas. Crimson Shadow’s my wife as of today.”

The subordinate smacked his lips regretfully.

“... Whatever you say, boss.”

With a smirk, the leader took a few steps forward.

“Hey, redheaded bitch!”

Crimson Shadow walked slowly toward him as well, her gaze sweeping over the surroundings.

“Twenty in all? A suitable number.”

Her calm voice carried across the snow.

The leader gave her a lewd smile.

“A voice like an oriole! Let me hear you cry in my bed with that voice! Ha ha!”

Crimson Shadow looked at him with contempt.

“Every last one of you speaks such filth.”

The leader grinned broadly.

“I love that look! You’re getting me excited!”

Crimson Shadow bit her lip. Disgust rose in her throat. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and spoke calmly.

“I, Shaperia, as a knight invested by the Watcher of the Abyss, sentence you to death for harming his property and threatening his safety. This is the duty my liege has charged me with, and a lawful procedure that does not violate the Great Saint’s law.”

Shaperia slowly drew the sword at her waist. Translucent aura rose with the blade like a heat haze. It made her red eyes shine as brightly as the sun.

An overwhelming fighting spirit engulfed the snowy field. Its heat began melting the snow. Every bandit stepped back without realizing it. The presence a knight radiated instilled instinctive fear in ordinary people.

Tension crept into the leader’s face. He ground his teeth.

“... A-aura? Can it be? You really are a knight?”

Knights were monsters, every last one. No number of ordinary humans could stand against them. And even among knights, Shaperia was staggeringly powerful.

She kicked off the ground and soared into the air. For an instant, her figure overlapped the sun. The bandits stared blankly upward. An even voice came from above.

“Fall into hell.”

Their vision suddenly lurched. The world tilted and spun. A brief slicing sound followed.

Shaperia touched down. At that same moment, fountains of blood erupted all around her. Headless bodies fell one after another onto the snow, while heads with eyes still open rolled in every direction.

Only the leader remained standing. He stared at Shaperia, dumbfounded.

“W-what just...”

All his men were dead, beheaded as though they had been sent to the execution block. His mind could not catch up with what had happened.

Shaperia strode toward him as he stood frozen. Terror seized him as though he had seen a ghost. He stumbled backward and landed on his backside in the snow, strange groans escaping his mouth.

Shaperia looked down at him.

“I will postpone your execution for now. Take me to your mountain camp. Your base.”

She would root out every menace on the frontier, carrying out her liege’s orders without the slightest deviation. This was how the rigidly earnest Shaperia fulfilled her duty.

* * *

Maphel’tan headed toward the outskirts of the domain to meet Shaperia. Life on the frontier was harsher than he had expected. The people were still hungry, and petty spirits and bandits remained rife. A frontier neglected for decades could hardly be rebuilt overnight.

He heaved a deep sigh.

“... I’ll have to send some supplies and troops as soon as I return.”

In a few months, the Miyatro domain would become a “duchy.” Countless distinguished guests would visit. A nation’s frontier could not be left in such a wretched state. It needed to look at least somewhat presentable.

‘I’ll get some support from House Marcano.’

Their money would put Miyatro’s frontier back on its feet. Maphel’tan nodded to himself, satisfied.

He rested his chin on his hand and was about to drift into another train of thought when a voice mingled with groans reached him.

“P-please. Please spare me.”

Maphel’tan looked toward the sound. A man was writhing in pain at his feet. He frowned.

“How are you still alive?”

The man had been stabbed by the fell spear Turabak. Every attack the fell spear landed on a human left a wound that could never heal. There was a gaping hole in the man’s belly, yet he had not died.

“I-I’ll give you this camp. I’ll give you everything we’ve amassed. Just spare my life!”

He was a bandit who operated on the frontier, and this was their base. No, now it was merely a ruin. Maphel’tan had utterly destroyed the camp.

While searching for Shaperia, he had wiped out a gang of bandits he happened to spot. With no particular reason to pass them by, he had killed them all. Or so he had thought; one had survived.

Expressionless, Maphel’tan stamped on the man’s head. His skull burst with a dull crack, scattering fragments.

He felt nothing in particular. Not even pleasure. This level of stimulation no longer satisfied him.

He swallowed a low murmur.

“... I should get back to looking for Shaperia.”

He rose from his chair. Just as he was about to step outside, he heard footsteps, followed by a familiar voice.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yes, I swear it. Please spare me.”

“Then why is everyone dead? Did you fight a war among yourselves?”

“I have no idea. It wasn’t like this even this morning.”

Maphel’tan stared quietly at the tent entrance. The footsteps abruptly stopped.

“You say these are your quarters?”

“Y-yes. There’s gold and treasure inside...”

Before he could finish, a chilling slicing sound rang out. The shadow of spraying blood patterned the tent entrance. Soon afterward, someone flung the flap aside and stepped in.

Maphel’tan’s lips stretched into a wide smile.

“It’s been a while.”

The red-haired woman froze at the sight of him. For a long while, she could not speak. Only after some time did a trembling voice escape her.

“W-White Horn...?”

She was facing White Horn for the first time in months. He now had two horns and had grown much larger. Though his appearance had changed considerably since their first meeting, Shaperia recognized him at once. That deep, sinister presence belonged to an Apostle alone.

Maphel’tan’s eyes curved into crescents, his mouth forming an eerie smile.

“Indeed, angel with broken wings. Have you been well?”

Shaperia had lost her holy energy because of Maphel’tan. She was no longer a holy knight, but her conviction to destroy evil remained.

She drew her sword. Her aura roared fiercely to life. She shouted with a roar of her own.

“White Horn! Whose land do you dare tread with those filthy feet?!”

This was the domain Yohan ruled. Shaperia could never tolerate White Horn defiling this land. She lunged straight at Maphel’tan.