Chapter 735 - Brunhild, You’re a Genius
The ceiling over the waist-high burrow was woven from branches, dry leaves, and strips of leather.
Only a hesitant beam of sunlight found its way through.
’Where the ceiling’s thicker, it must stay gloomy even in the middle of the day.’
Humans can’t live without light.
So they probably don’t stay shut inside all the time. The structure of the dwelling was far from ordinary. Inside, there were separate nooks and crannies to hide in, like an anthill.
Of course, the man named Harkbent didn’t bother to explain all this as he showed him around; these were just the things that stood out at a glance.
The Luagarne-style Tactical Sword helped him instinctively sense his surroundings. Even if a fight were to break out with the man before him, a single movement would end it, regardless of the environment—but that didn’t mean he could afford to neglect reading the place. He was reminded again of the old saying: The sharpest sword that kills a knight is carelessness.
’A perfect hideout.’
It wasn’t built for fighting; it was made to survive. Deeper inside the sunken burrow, he spotted several types of herbs hung out to dry, but they had been left too long and were shriveled beyond use.
On one side, clay tableware—molded from the earth yet left coated with dust—was neatly stacked, and there was even a small table roughly hewn from wood in the corner. There was a bed too, though Enkrid would’ve bet a day’s wages from Krais that it wasn’t stuffed with decent straw.
"We don’t have much to offer. Times are hard here."
Enkrid saw anxiety and suspicion in Harkbent’s eyes. Still, he didn’t immediately tell him to leave.
Harkbent filled a clay cup with water and set it on the wooden table. The water was clear, and it even tasted good.
’They’ve been settled here for quite some time.’
You could tell by the shape and state of the house. This wasn’t a temporary shelter—it was a place they’d stayed for years, at the very least. Signs of survival wisdom were visible everywhere. The use of Nightmare Herb, the half-finished traps scattered around, all of it. Between the cured leather and dried herbs was a sharp scent he’d never smelled before pricking at his nose.
For people to survive, three needs have to be met: food, clothing, and shelter.
’They get their food by hunting and gathering.’
And even though there was no sign of weaving or cloth-making, their clothes were in good shape.
’That means there must be a merchant or peddler who trades only with this village.’
There are itinerant traders who profit by dealing exclusively with the Village of Hermits. Enkrid had seen them a few times before.
Harkbent let out another short breath, heavy with worry. The air around him radiated tension.
Clenching his fist, he asked,
"Did you, by any chance, come from the Southern Region?"
Enkrid read the intent behind his words but pretended not to notice.
"I just happened to pass by and stopped in, that’s all."
Though summer had arrived, a cool breeze blew through the mountains in the mornings and evenings. Of course, since it was midday now, the semi-underground house was growing uncomfortably warm. Sweat beaded on Harkbent’s brow—a duet of heat and tension was tormenting him. He let out another long breath, this time even deeper. It was a sigh of release.
"Well, if you were really from the Southern Region, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation."
To sum it up, these people were fugitives from the south, and Harkbent was both their leader and the closest thing the village had to a chief.
Most so-called Villages of Hermits were made up of people who had committed crimes, or fugitives fleeing lordly oppression.
If they tried escaping to another city, it was unlikely their pursuers would ever give up. At the same time, they lacked the skills to blend in and live in hiding inside the city. For various reasons, they’d chosen to live here—risking wild beasts and monsters as neighbors instead of thieves. Harkbent stroked his golden beard to the right several times as he spoke, an old habit, it seemed.
"It was a decent life, until the Beasts started showing up like that."
The exhaustion was plain on his face as he spoke. Of the roughly fifty people here, half were women, children, or the elderly They had never survived by force of arms in the first place.
’Traps and herbs.’
According to Harkbent, their original plan had been to lure the Beasts inside and kill them by dropping them into a few pits. Though, truthfully, their traps were rather crude.
’That probably would have worked on Beasts under normal circumstances.’
Enkrid thought so, too. Still, after battling the Beast pack himself, he had a different opinion now. These Beasts fought a war of attrition. Even if you managed to lure them into a burrow that resembled a house, how many would actually fall for it? It wasn’t likely that many would charge in en masse and get buried alive. Beyond that, the villagers also handled snares and poisonous herbs, but—
’If things go on like this, they’re all going to die.’
There was no need for gut feelings or intuition. Just thinking of the leopard Beast he’d seen watching from the distance made it clear enough. Their chances of surviving here were virtually zero. They used to live on the border between Monster and Beast territories, but at some point, the Beasts had crossed that boundary completely.
’The Beast pack killed off the Monsters.’
That was what the situation suggested. It was hardly a common occurrence.
"I think you can tell the folks outside with the clubs that they can head back in. Even if you brought this place down on me, I don’t think I’d die."
"...Sorry about that. Everyone’s just uneasy, that’s all."
The place Harkbent invited him into, which he called a home, still had traces of people having lived there, though a decent layer of dust had gathered.
This was a trap from the start.
Still, Enkrid had no intention of blaming them for that. How welcoming could people living in hiding truly be toward a stranger?
Between conversations, Enkrid asked a few questions out of genuine curiosity. For example, when he asked if they weren’t living in a dangerously exposed area— Harkbent replied that there were some herbs growing behind the shelter that fetched quite a good price.
As he suspected, a clever peddler had struck a deal here, and through him, they were saving up gold coins, hoping that one day they could hire mercenaries and start a pioneer town on flat land. It was an ambitious dream—one worth rooting for.
"Are you planning to stay for a few days?"
Harkbent had lived the kind of life where simply asking for a favor felt awkward.
Slavery was still widespread in the Southern Region, and this man himself had been born into slavery, escaping after losing his parents—or so the story went.
Among the village members were several others who had nearly lost their land to southern lords and come close to being enslaved as well.
They had truly managed, against all odds, to make it this far and settle down. If you examined each part of their pasts, a few books wouldn’t be enough to tell all their stories. How many crises must they have faced before settling down, and how many worries must they have struggled with? Even without hearing each story, it was easy to imagine.
Even though Enkrid had just driven away the wild dog Beasts, no one cheered. A few let out sighs of relief, but most remained wary.
It was only natural. Throughout all this time, these people must have fought desperately just to survive. Seldom, if ever, would they have depended on others for help.
"Let’s do that."
Enkrid nodded without hesitation.
"It’s not a place of abundance."
Harkbent added this once again, as if to emphasize the point. Enkrid already understood that well enough.
The people were different, and the circumstances had changed, yet somehow it felt like coming home. The place where he was born and raised had been much the same, so it wasn’t unfamiliar at all.
The place that had been set up as a trap became Enkrid’s lodging.
Perhaps his impressive feat of defeating the wild dog Beasts left an impression, because a few children watched him with sparkling, curious eyes.
One girl, her face smudged with soot, came right up to him.
"Mister, just how good are you at fighting?"
Her name was Brunhild.
Beneath the smudges, her skin looked extremely pale, her eyes were large, and her arms and legs were long and lanky. If she grew up like this, she would be quite the beauty one day.
Enkrid was sitting on a stump chair he’d made himself near the edge of the village, soaking up the sunlight, when she came over and asked. Outwardly, he seemed to be simply enjoying the sun, but inside, he was reviewing the sword techniques he’d organized so far. Still, he didn’t feel bothered by the interruption.
"Good."
It was hard to answer such a vague question. Naturally, any answer he gave would be just as unclear.
"Could you beat my dad?"
This girl called Harkbent her father. Seeing that there were more than six children like her and no wife in sight, it was obvious she wasn’t Harkbent’s biological daughter.
Harkbent was a large man, heavily muscled.
’He could easily make a living on the Continent as a swordsman.’
Yet, he stayed here. Was it out of responsibility or obligation? There was no way to know without digging into his feelings.
Anyway, to answer the child’s question: even if a thousand Harkbents came at him, there was no way he’d lose. But his answer was simple.
"I could."
"You really are good at fighting."
A child’s world is small. That’s even truer for those who grew up in a village with barely thirty houses.
Enkrid looked into the little girl’s eyes He hadn’t expected anything special, nor had he made up his mind to do something for them. So this was really just a whim, something to pass the time because the tangled threads in his head refused to unravel.
"You use a spear?"
If you could call it a spear, it was just a crude stick with a dull piece of metal strapped to the tip with Beast sinew.
"Yep!"
The child’s eyes sparkled. Maybe she was feeling more comfortable now, since some of the wariness had faded from her voice.
Enkrid’s original plan had been to track down all traces of the Beasts and eliminate them before leaving, but so far he hadn’t seen a single sign of them all morning. Time-wise, it was the morning after he’d arrived the previous day. As he was reorganizing his swordsmanship in his mind, he’d been thinking of expanding his search area. In the meantime, a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.
"So, did anyone teach you how to use it?"
"There’s nobody who explains it well. But I’m good at it on my own."
A child’s confidence like that could easily bring a smile to an adult’s face. But in this village, there were probably few who could even spare a smile for her. She was at an age where words like ’love’ and ’acceptance’ should mean something, but perhaps that didn’t apply here.
Would offering her a bit of kindness, just enough to comfort her heart, even mean anything for him? He wasn’t sure. He was just doing it because he felt like it.
"Okay, watch."
Brunhild gripped the crude spear with both hands. What stood out was that, whereas you’d normally hold a spear with your hands spread wide apart, the girl kept her hands close together on the shaft. Instead of the middle, she gripped near the bottom, which must have made it tough for her to hold—the spear tip dragged along the ground.
"You’ll be able to block it, right?"
"Go ahead."
He’d give her a bit of encouragement and praise, let her use up her energy, and then tell her to rest for a while. She was just a child—she couldn’t have handled even one Beast-dog if it attacked for real.
Brunhild took hold of the end of the spear and twirled around. Enkrid’s eyes widened slightly at the sight. She pressed the spear shaft against her waist, moved as if winding up a whip, and even before her motion finished, he could already see what was coming. Brunhild would swing the shaft properly, aiming right for his abdomen.
He waited a moment, and just as expected, that’s exactly what happened.
She spun her body to generate enough force for the shaft to bend, using the centrifugal force to send the spear tip flying accurately at him. With her weak body and that shoddy weapon, it was the best attack she could manage. The shaft wobbled awkwardly, a result of her lack of nourishment and training. In short, her strength fell short, but she had the technique to make the most of what she had.
Tap.
Enkrid reached out and grabbed the shaft just below the spear’s tip. After all, no matter how talented she was, she still couldn’t pose a threat to him.
"Wow. You caught it with one hand."
The child’s eyes sparkled even brighter than before as she spoke. He’d seen Harkbent wield a spear too, but purely in terms of skill, this girl was on a higher level.
’She’s a natural.’
She had figured out how to use a spear all on her own, without anyone to teach her. Even with little real combat or sparring experience, she had an uncanny sense of distance.
She understood how to maneuver the shaft and how to use her body to its full extent.
"Brunhild, you’re a genius."
Enkrid repeated the exact words he’d once heard as a child himself.
The phrase slipped out unintentionally, stirring up a sense of déjà vu and a peculiar feeling.
The struggles that had begun with those very words came to mind, which might be why the words kept coming.
"Ah, um, just take it with a grain of salt."
All of this was a reflexive response. Brunhild had surprised him that much.
"Huh? I’ve never heard that before. I’ve never heard anyone say that to me."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Well, there was probably no one around who would say something like that to her. In this small village, who would have the time or presence to really listen to this child, watch over her daily life, or take care of her? It was unlikely.
And then another thought occurred to him.
’It’s people who wield swords, after all.’
The core of weapon mastery lies in technique. Whether it’s a sword or a spear, the fundamentals of teaching how to use a weapon aren’t all that different. Maybe I should teach her a little? That’s what he found himself thinking.

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