Kbang!
Kbang!
Kbang!
It turns out I was greatly mistaken to think their naming sense was desolate.
The Iron Can Band.
The absurdity of that name was announced through the satisfying sound of impact that matched its stupidity, and each kick against their “cans” produced a delightful rhythmic thud that was quite addicting, prompting me to give the fallen ones another whack.
Kbang!
Kwa-crash!
“Ah, it broke.”
As I smashed the head of one thug after another, my weapon finally snapped, and I picked up a nearby new cudgel lying on the ground.
The reason I referred to their heads as “pots” was due to the flimsy brass helmets they wore; each time I brought my club down onto those helmets, the delightful sound and the feeling in my hands were simply exquisite.
“Here’s ten years’ worth of tolls!”
Kbang!
Kbang!
“Stop! We’re sorry…!”
“I’ll generously cover the tolls for the residents of the Northern Regions. Take it.”
Crash!
Kbang! Kbang!
Kbang-kkarang!
“P-Please! My head is ringing so much…!!”
“Oh? So does that mean I’ve fully paid the toll here? Even for the Northern residents?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“Good. One last thing.”
Crash—!!
“Here’s your tax.”
I wrapped up the payment of ten years’ worth of tolls with the final installment for taxes to the last thug who appeared to be their leader.
True to his title as the head of the Iron Can Band, his brass helmet responded with a ringing clarity that served as my receipt.
What kind of nonsense did he pull to make that flimsy piece of metal produce such a clear and cheerful sound?
The rhythm was so good that I could have lined them up and performed a full-on drumroll with their heads.
Tap-tap.
After thoroughly enjoying myself bashing their pots, I dusted off my hands.
Looking around, I saw that the toll collectors, deeply moved by the generous payment of tolls, were lying about defeated.
Rachel, having swung her sword through the air to shake off the blood smeared on the blade, approached me while navigating through the fallen toll collectors.
“Are you hurt?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m fine too. By the way, there were quite a few of them.”
“True. It seems the toll collection was pretty lucrative, huh?”
“There might be a stronghold nearby.”
Even just the ones dispatched for the toll ambush counted to nearly thirty.
Such a size is quite extraordinary for the mountain patrol unit, and based on my experiences over the past six months, there’s a high likelihood of a stronghold being near.
And there’s a fair chance it also holds captives.
Just moments ago, those thugs had drooled over Ariel and Rachel, hadn’t they?
“Seems so. With an ambush this large, the stronghold must have at least fifty members.”
I glanced over at Rachel.
Smirk.
She wore a smile as if her disciple’s suffering was her own source of happiness.
Or perhaps, she put on an act to tease me.
“You’d better be on guard, right?”
Rachel had drilled into me that for a smooth culinary journey with monsters, knowing how to deal with humans was even more critical than facing monsters.
She always said that whenever I displayed signs of annoyance or questioned, “Do I really have to?”
And each time, she had retorted with, “What’s more dangerous in the wilds is not monsters, but humans,” with a sharp look in her eyes.
I’m worried about missing out on my fair share of the spoils, especially since this mountain path leads directly to Gelida Village. It’s not far, so it’s likely that the villagers are also suffering humiliation.
“I’m not worried at all,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal.
After all, I had no thoughts about declining this duty. Rachel is my mentor, and as a disciple, I am obliged to follow my teacher’s commands.
The culinary journey through monsters might be the main goal, but I didn’t want to ignore the unjust oppression I witnessed along the way.
Oppression and injustice.
Turning a blind eye to what I, as Lee Joon-woo in my past life, had to endure felt akin to ignoring my own past self.
There was no reason to go against the legitimate calling to help those in danger, nor was there any reason to fear bandits like before. So, I picked up the cudgel that I had set aside.
Perhaps feeling a lack of agitation, I seized the collar of a thug squirming on the ground with one hand. Then I inquired about the location of their stronghold as an additional toll payment.
“Where is the Road Traffic Authority?”
I demanded the location of their base.
“…What?”
After a brief silence.
Crash—!
With a cheerful clang of my cauldron, I collected what felt like my retirement pay, and together with my companions, I began heading to their stronghold.
Kbang!
“A-A monster—!! Run away!!”
Kbang!
“Help—!!”
Kbang!
“Damn it!! Kill those bastards—!!”
The Iron Can Band.
They were a band of bandits that had nested in the low snowy mountains west of Gelida Village for six years and had grown in number to the scale of over a hundred—a whole company ruling the surrounding area.
Their main source of income came from tolls collected on the mountain path, supplemented by forced contributions from Gelida Village and robbing merchants and travelers who circumvented the mountains.
In the stronghold of the Iron Can Band, where peaceful (?) days had gone on for too long, the sudden attack by two individuals felt like a natural disaster.
Those who had long been the aggressors found everything crumbling in an instant, and the members of the Iron Can Band began to fall, unable to even put up a fight.
A man with flowing black hair.
And a woman with flowing purple hair were turning their stronghold into a total wreck.
By the time they realized that these two were the recently famous Blood-Sucking Young Master and a former battle maid who had been well-known on the Northern battlefield, it was already too late, and the ragtag band of bandits, untrained in military tactics and lacking individual skills, was easily shattered.
“Cough… Damn it….”
“Such fitting words for a third-rate villain. Farewell, Iron Can Heads. No, I mean, Iron Can Band.”
Kbang!
After wrapping up with the last member of their team, Elden began searching their headquarters with Rachel, and the captives scattered around began to hug each other joyfully or tearfully express their gratitude to Elden and Rachel.
Ariel and Rendler then entered, leading the freed individuals out of the stronghold, and among this flurry of activities, one woman was observing closely.
Lumia Winterfell, who had just dismounted from her carriage, wondered whether she should offer help.
With her hood pulled deep, Lumia’s gaze was fixed on one spot.
“Thank you. Hic. Really, thank you…!”
“I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
Elden replied with a bright smile as he greeted the freed individuals. He casually held the hands of common folk, showing humility to those who were joyful, even occasionally patting the backs of those who hugged him a bit too rudely. From a distance, Lumia observed him intently.
That scene reminded her of a memory.
“I’m just curious about that image.”
“The image of Elden helping those struggling under adversity…”
“The image of Elden helping those pushed to the brink of the world…”
“I’m simply, simply curious.”
It was something she had written in her diary long ago. It recalled the rumors of the day of the Grand Ducal Betrothal Contest when he helped a woman and child who nearly became victims of brutal violence under the name of family. She had found it hard to believe and wrote about it in her diary.
The man who used to disdain the weak and find them pitiful; the man who merely watched the suffering of those oppressed was now stained with the blood of his fists, fighting for the weak. Lumia observed Elden closely.
“Thank you, mister! You’re our hero!”
“Hero, what hero? Just take good care of your parents.”
“When I grow up, can I be like you, mister?!”
“If you want to be.”
“Really?!”
“Sure.”
Elden affectionately ruffled the hair of a little child’s head at his waist.
A little one who wanted to be like Elden.
That pure admiration echoed in Lumia’s ears.
‘……’
It was a sight she had been so curious about but could not even imagine. When she tried to visualize it, all that came to her were the contempt-laden glances he had shot her way.
Though she had seen eyes that had grasped her roots, and lips that had spoken to her with warmth, the magnificent Elden she had heard about from the common people was something she simply couldn’t picture.
Yet here Elden was, exterminating the bandits and liberating those imprisoned in their stronghold—an image that felt entirely alien to her.
And then.
“Just like the rumors said…”
He was magnificent.
The image of Elden swinging a cudgel for the sake of the victims, something unimaginable until now, became comprehensible to her; the sight of him comforting and cheering for those he saved sharply contradicted the Elden she had retained in her memories.
A new picture of Elden Raphelion was overlaying the old one in her mind.
The moment she began to see him through the eyes of a third party, her imagination could finally take shape, and when that image was completed, she could finally come to understand.
Just before death.
“L-Lumia?”
In his voice, which had called her name, she felt warmth behind the bewilderment.
That outreached hand towards her was the Elden she had been so curious about, the one she had desperately tried to envision.
“You are a hero sent to us by the Almighty. Please, reveal your divinity.”
“There’s no need for such flattery.”
“It’s the Blood-Sucking Young Master!”
“R-Rachel…!”
“Everyone, praise the Blood-Sucking Young Master!”
“Whooaa! Blood-Sucking Young Master! Blood-Sucking Young Master! Blood-Sucking Young Master!”
“Oh dear…”
Thus.
“…”
For a while.
Lumia stared intently at her imagined Elden.
As if she were gazing upon a divine beast from a mythology.
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