Chapter – 33

“Uncle Giltmin, please fire an arrow at the two-o’clock direction from the front.”  

Hearing Pirancheva, Giltmin unstrapped the bow from his back, nocked an arrow, and drew the string.

“Do I just shoot?”

“Yes.”

Whish!

The fast-flying arrow left the bow, curved through the air, and dropped downward.

The mercenaries who didn’t know Pirancheva couldn’t understand what was going on.

“What’s happening?”

“No idea.”

“There must be something over there. She’s warning them with an arrow.”

“And you know that how?”

“Pirancheva knows. Her intuition’s sharp. Even if there aren’t any residents from the slums there, there’s no harm in being careful.”

Lumen explained to the others.

“Stop!”

As soon as Pirancheva shouted, the wagon halted.

“Uncles, people are rushing toward us. Get ready for a fight.”

Hearing her, Giltmin, Lumen, and the mercenaries who knew her hurriedly prepared for battle. Seeing them, the other mercenaries reluctantly followed suit—just in time for a dozen arrows to whistle through the air.

“Use the wagon as cover!”

The mercenaries reacted instantly to Pirancheva’s words. Jabes, watching all this, wore a fascinated expression.

This isn’t just intuition. Is her sense that sharp? Or is it spirit arts?

He observed Pirancheva as though enjoying the unfolding situation.

“Stay put. If you stick your head out, you’ll get it blown off.”

Pirancheva climbed atop the wagon and looked toward the people approaching them.

Something about their movements looked… unnatural.

She called out to Jabes.

“Sir Jabes.”

“What is it?”

“Can you tell what’s wrong with those people?”

Dwarves live much longer than humans. She was asking whether he had ever seen something like this among slum residents in his long life.

Jabes narrowed his eyes at the approaching crowd.

“From what I can see, they’re under some sort of mind-magic.”

Just as she expected, he immediately identified their condition.

“Mind magic?”

“It’s a kind of black magic. I heard the Prolant merchant group got hit recently—that must’ve been the work of a black mage.”

“So that means there’s a black mage behind all this.”

“That’s the most likely case. I’ve heard traces of black mages have been spotted throughout the Empire lately. Seems they’ve finished their preparations and are starting to act in earnest.”

Pirancheva narrowed her eyes at the incoming slum residents, then spoke to Giltmin.

“Uncle Giltmin, you and the mercenaries hold this position. There might be a black mage nearby, so be careful.”

After warning them, she drew her sword and dashed forward.

“Wait—!”

Before Jabes could stop her, she had already reached the slum residents and swung her blade.

“Oh ho!”

Jabes couldn’t help admiring her.

He’d thought that even if she had been a mercenary before, she was still young and would hesitate to kill people.
But Pirancheva’s strikes were cold, and depending on who was watching, maybe even brutal. She cut down her enemies without a shred of mercy.

“Just as I thought.”

The slum residents, seemingly under strong mind-magic, felt no pain even when cut. They simply swung their makeshift weapons at her.

If it had been other mercenaries, they would have let their guard down and gotten badly hurt.

But Pirancheva moved as if she had predicted this, and indeed she had.

“Uncle Giltmin, three arrows toward the four-o’clock direction!”

Even while fighting, she surveyed the battlefield and issued orders.

“This is beyond intuition… If it’s not spirit arts, then it must be magic. But I don’t see any spirits… so she learned magic?”

Jabes stared at Pirancheva controlling the entire battlefield, thinking through various possibilities.

“Her swordsmanship is good enough that I don’t need to step in… Should I gift her a sword so she fights harder? Now, where was that thing…”

He lifted the tarp covering his wagon cargo and rummaged.

“Ah, here it is.”

He pulled out a sword.

“I couldn’t find a proper owner for this thing, so I was about to sell it as decoration to Duke Durand… but perhaps I’ve finally found someone it suits.”

The sword, in a deep crimson scabbard, differed from typical knightly blades.

Judging from the curve of the sheath, it wasn’t a sword but closer to a dao.

In this land filled with armor made of iron and exotic metals, a cutting-focused dao was unpopular among knights—hence it had never found an owner.

A smile spread across Jabes’s lips.

“Pirancheva!”

He called to her as she fought and tossed the sword toward her.

He figured she wasn’t in mortal danger, so throwing it mid-battle wouldn’t be an issue.

Without even looking, Pirancheva reached out and caught the flying blade.

“Thank you, Sir Jabes!”

She used the dao to block an incoming attack, then cut the attacker down immediately.

The slum residents felt no pain, so they only fell after losing enough blood.

Under normal circumstances the fight would have ended quickly, but because of their numbed pain it took longer.

When Pirancheva felled the last one, a burst of magic struck her position.

Fwoooosh!

Thanks to mana-feeling, she sensed the flow of mana. Knowing a spell was incoming, she dodged it.

But to everyone else, it looked like she had avoided it by sheer luck.

“Yikes!”

With a startled expression, she ran back and hid behind the wagon.

“So that’s the black mage Sir Jabes mentioned.”

“A mage? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Giltmin asked.

“Exactly. And the residents under his mind-magic are swarming in again.”

“So what do we do now?”

Lumen asked.

“What else? You uncles have to fight the slum folks. They can’t feel pain, so don’t assume they’re dead just because they’re wounded.”

“I saw how you fought.”

She explained in detail so they wouldn’t let their guard down.

“Giltmin, give me your bow. I’ll keep the mage in check so he can’t cast.”

Without a word, Giltmin handed over his bow and quiver.

“Go. And be careful.”

At her order, the mercenaries charged the mind-controlled slum residents, while Pirancheva climbed atop the wagon and aimed toward the seven-o’clock direction.

Thwish!

The arrow arced through the air and fell precisely where the black mage hid.

“Huh?!”

The black mage, Diviner, recoiled in surprise.

“You little—!”

He tried casting a spell, but another arrow shot toward him.

He dodged again.

Here, a mage’s weakness became clear.
Mages needed time—casting time—to align nature’s calculations to manifest spells.

And if that casting was disrupted, they couldn’t cast properly. Black mages were no different.

Diviner grew enraged as Pirancheva repeatedly disrupted him whenever he tried to cast.

And it wasn’t random—she fired only when he began casting.

“How is that brat noticing every time I cast? To sense mana flow at this distance, he’d have to be at least a 5-circle mage…”

He stared toward the wagon, baffled.

She held her bow casually downward, but the moment he tried casting, she would draw and fire instantly.

“This insane—”

Unable to cast anything, Diviner found himself completely suppressed by her arrows.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries were fighting well thanks to her guidance, and none had died or been seriously hurt.

At this rate, all the slum residents would be killed. But Diviner couldn’t step forward—Pirancheva’s arrows made it impossible.

He judged that he could do nothing even if he tried.

“I’ll withdraw for now. There’s still plenty of time. Let’s have some fun later.”

As Diviner retreated, Pirancheva finally lowered her bow.

“You’ve been learning magic, haven’t you?”

Jabes asked as he approached.

“How did you know?”

“It’s not hard to figure out. No matter how good your intuition is, you can’t maintain that level of precision indefinitely. And since you were sensing the mana flow to keep the black mage in check, the answer becomes obvious.”

Pirancheva responded with a sheepish smile.

“The youngest son of Count Illia supposedly disappeared from Lawrence Marquisate six years ago… and you’re the youngest of Count Armand’s family, aren’t you?”

His tone and expression left no room for denial, so Pirancheva admitted it.

“You have good deduction skills, Sir Jabes. But please keep it a secret from the others.”

“Why?”

“No particular reason. But if they don’t ask, I see no reason to tell them first. The more hidden cards I have, the better my chances in competition.”

Jabes nodded.

“You’re clever, just as the rumors said.”

“I’ve learned a lot while traveling. I believe learning is based on what you see.”

Jabes looked intrigued.

“Learning is based on what you see?”

“Yes. Someone who lives their whole life in the Raymond Marquisate can only learn what exists there. No matter how many books they read, there’s a limit.”

Jabes nodded with interest.

“But traveling across the Empire lets you see and experience so much more. For example, each region’s—”

“Yes, I understand.”

“The more you see and experience, the more you learn without realizing it.”

“Hahaha, you talk like an old man who’s lived his whole life already, even though you’re just a kid.”

Pirancheva laughed too.

“I think that sometimes myself. But really, I’m just a clueless child who only sounds mature.”

“A clueless child would still be clinging to their parents. You’ve survived six harsh years on your own.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can tell from your actions. You say you worked as a mercenary for six years, but from what I see, they weren’t ordinary jobs.”

Pirancheva looked at him.

“You want to know how I know?”

“Yes.”

“We dwarves live far longer than humans. I myself have lived 200 years. In that long time, I’ve seen and felt much.”

Pirancheva was surprised—Jabes looked far too young to be over 200.

“Haha, the dwarf average lifespan is 500. I haven’t even lived half. In human years, I’m like someone in their twenties. You don’t have to look at me like that.”

“Oh…”

“Well, the black mage has fled, and things over there seem wrapped up, so let’s get moving.”