Reluctant as they were, the men had no choice but to accept Black's terms. With no other options left, they had to play along—especially the adventurers, who knew all too well the habits of wild beasts. Though their previous ambush had cost them several wounded, they had managed to injure the mutated creature in return. From experience, they knew that a wounded beast only grew more cunning. If it fled deep into the forest to lick its wounds, all hope of stopping it would be lost. That was why they had turned to Black for help—and why they agreed to his condition without further argument.
Ordinarily, adventurers avoided accompanying nobles at all costs. Beyond their arrogant demeanor, any mishap befalling a noble would spell disaster for those in their company. In this age, there was no such thing as assuming personal responsibility. Even if a noble's own foolishness led to their demise, those who stood beside them would face severe punishment. As mere mercenaries and farmers, they had no status to defend themselves in court—or rather, no one would listen even if they did.
For this reason, the adventurers were far from eager to join forces with Black. Yet given his reasonable tone—unlike the typical haughty noble who would dismiss their pleas outright—they had reluctantly nodded their assent.
Now, watching Black stroll casually through the undergrowth ahead of them, their confidence in that decision wavered.
"What do you make of him?" a young swordsman whispered to his companion, jerking his chin toward Black's retreating figure. To their eyes, this noble was utter fool. Venturing into the wilderness in formal attire was nothing short of absurd. While such finery might impress on city streets, it served no purpose in this desolate forest. Beasts cared not if their prey was a noble, an adventurer, or a peasant—all were merely food to them.
Worse still, Black's sword hung awkwardly at his waist, angled in a way that would hinder movement in combat. To the adventurers, he looked like a spoiled aristocrat chasing thrills, with no real combat experience to speak of. In their minds, he had proposed this expedition purely to satisfy his own reckless curiosity.
"We're in the right area, honored sir," the militia captain called out, hurrying to keep up.
As Black listened, he glanced up at the surrounding woods. This was still the outer edge of the Duskwood, yet few dared to tread here. Thanks to the notoriety of Duskhold Castle, the forest shared its grim reputation—rumored to be haunted by ghosts, fearsome monsters, and deadly curses. Even the bandits who made their lairs in the Duskwood avoided venturing too deep. That said, they often exploited these tales to terrorize unsuspecting travelers.
Today, however, bathed in bright sunlight, the forest looked serene and beautiful—nothing like the shadowy, cursed place of legend.
But Black saw something far different.
Branches lay snapped and scattered across the ground. Thickets had been trampled flat, and slender tree trunks had been broken clean through—signs of a violent, unstoppable force tearing through the forest.
"This is where we clashed with the beast last night, sir," the militia captain said, his voice tight with lingering fear despite his attempt at composure. A man in his thirties, he had faced his share of dangers, yet the encounter with the mutated beast had clearly shaken him to his core.
"We set traps and armed ourselves to the teeth… but we severely underestimated its savagery." He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "No matter how hard we fought, we couldn't subdue it. It broke free and fled… right this way."
He pointed to a crude path carved through the undergrowth—clear evidence of the beast's desperate, reckless escape.
"I see," Black nodded, striding forward without hesitation.
The adventurers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances before following.
"Sir, I think we've seen enough!" the young swordsman snapped, his voice rising with anxiety. They were already pushing the limits of the beast's sensory range. One wrong move, and they would be detected!
Black ignored him, his gaze fixed on the boar. A critical thought nagged at him. Mutated beasts were not common. Their transformation was triggered by one of two factors: exposure to intense magical energy or consumption of a powerful enchanted artifact. If it was the latter, that was one thing—but if it was the former…
A predatory grin spread across Black's face. He had set out merely to relive his mercenary days and kill time. Could he have stumbled upon something far more valuable?
"Hey!" Frustrated by Black's silence, the young swordsman stepped forward, intent on grabbing the noble's arm to force his attention.
Crack.
The sound of a twig snapping underfoot was soft, yet in the stillness of the forest, it echoed like a thunderclap.
The massive boar resting by the stream lurched to its feet in an instant, its eyes locking onto their hiding spot with deadly focus.
The young swordsman paled, staring down at the broken twig beneath his boot. He had made the very mistake he had warned Black against!
No one spoke. The air turned thick with tension.
With a guttural snarl, the boar snorted, its tusks glinting in the sunlight. Then it charged, crashing through the undergrowth straight for them.
"What are you waiting for?!" roared a burly warrior beside the young swordsman, yanking him out of the path of the oncoming beast. "Spread out! Prepare to fight!"
As he shouted, he drew his greatsword from his back. Taking a deep breath, he channeled his mana, and a faint glow erupted along the blade's edge.
Gasps erupted from the group.
A Mid-Rank Swordsman!