Sargon dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it grazed his shoulder, while reaching for the hilt on his back.
But Irene pressed forward, her silver blade flashing like a serpent snapping at its prey. She gave him no chance to draw his greatsword, forcing him to hastily parry with his shortsword.
The screech of clashing metal rang out repeatedly through the woods, each impact throwing off sparks.
With every blow Sargon parried, the arrow wound in his ribs bled more heavily. Yet, he gritted his teeth and stubbornly refused to leave a larger opening.
“Strike his center!” Roger's voice called out from behind a tree.
Hearing this, Irene suddenly shifted her stance just as Sargon raised his sword to parry, delivering a sweeping slash toward his abdomen.
Sargon hastily pulled back his stomach and retreated, barely dodging the blow.
A split second later, a fist-sized fireball shot through the gap Irene had left when she stepped aside, exploding squarely against Sargon's chest.
After the blast, Sargon stumbled back several paces, a thin layer of Life Energy enveloping his torso.
Most of the fireball's impact was absorbed by this energy, leaving his clothes and skin virtually unharmed.
However, the explosion had consumed most of his Life Energy, leaving only a few faint wisps of white light clinging to him before dissipating.
Sargon glanced down at the arrow shaft protruding from his ribs, turned, and bolted at full speed.
He darted left and right through the woods, constantly changing directions and using the trees as moving cover. Every time he veered, he managed to put a tree trunk between himself and his pursuers.
The arrow shaft in his ribs jarred against his wound with every step, forcing him to grit his teeth against the pain.
Irene pursued him relentlessly with her sword drawn, but Sargon continuously used the tree trunks to block her path, forcing her to take a detour every time she drew close.
Activating Windwalk, Roger leaped into the canopy, carried by wind elements as he bounded continuously from branch to branch.
From his high vantage point, Sargon's erratic path through the trees was fully exposed. Roger drew the Windwood Bow to its limit and released the string the exact moment Sargon emerged from behind a tree.
Four arrows struck Sargon's legs in rapid succession.
With a muffled groan, Sargon lost his balance at high speed and pitched forward onto the ground. He rolled on the spot, narrowly dodging a downward slash from Irene that followed immediately after.
He reached toward his pocket, but a second fireball exploded on his forearm.
Sargon let out a hoarse wail as his fingers spasmed open uncontrollably, allowing a glass vial to roll out of his pocket.
Before he could rise from the agonizing pain, Irene's blade descended, slashing down hard on his outstretched hand.
At that exact moment, an arrow shot down from the canopy, piercing Sargon's throat.
“Points +400, balance: 1,000.”
Hearing the system prompt, Roger finally jumped down from the tree. He walked over to Sargon's corpse, glanced down at the face that would never wear a sycophantic smile again, and squatted to pick up the nearby vial.
A dark purple liquid sloshed inside the vial.
After using Appraisal, a panel popped up before his eyes:
【Name: Fel-Energy Enhancer】
【Description: An enhancement potion infused with fel magic. Its effects are similar to the smoke produced by burning purple crystals, but the results are far more pronounced after being refined through alchemy. Consuming it temporarily boosts strength and speed, with an enhancement rate far exceeding other potions of the same tier.
Overconsumption will lead to irreversible corruption of the mind, eventually causing a complete loss of sanity.
Recycle Value: 300 points】
Having scanned the panel, Roger looked at Irene.
“Go keep watch outside. I'll handle the corpse.”
Irene looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she simply nodded. “Then make it quick.”
Watching her walk away, Roger set to work stripping Sargon of all his equipment, then tossed everything—including the vial of dark purple enhancer—to the system for recycling.
“Points +700, total: 1,700.”
Then, he spent a few dozen points to buy a shovel and found a spot with soft soil to start digging, not stopping until the hole was deep enough to ensure wild beasts wouldn't dig up the corpse.
He pushed Sargon's corpse into the pit and cast a Fireball at the bottom.
Flames erupted in the pit. Once the corpse was completely charred beyond recognition, he shoveled the excavated soil back in, scoop by scoop, until the mound was level with the surrounding ground.
He then found a few heavy stones nearby, hauling them over one by one to weigh down the dirt. Finally, he scattered a layer of dead leaves over the top, making the patch of ground look indistinguishable from the surrounding forest floor.
Only after finishing all of this did Roger straighten his back, hand the shovel back to the system for recycling, and let out a long sigh.
As for why Sargon, who was capable of solo-killing the chief mage, had been beaten so helplessly by the two of them, Roger didn't care much.
After all, the man was already dead; there was no point in overanalyzing it. Roger simply attributed it to his opening arrow, which had severely crippled Sargon's combat capabilities.
When he stepped out of the woods, Irene was waiting for him on the river shallows. Pretending nothing had happened, they walked back toward the camp, one behind the other.
“From here on, we know nothing,” Roger told Irene on the way back.
“Of course. We never ran into Sargon. He went missing after attacking Matilda, and we never saw him,” Irene replied, catching his drift perfectly.
If Matilda survived, she would name her attacker once she woke up, and her wounds would lend weight to her words.
They didn't need to be the whistleblowers; they just needed to fade into the background before everything came to light.
Upon returning to Baron Raymond's camp, the two immediately went back to their respective tents as if nothing had happened.
Later in the evening, Roger stepped out of his tent, planning to find an open space to continue practicing his skills.
As he passed through the main thoroughfare of the camp, he saw Baron Raymond hurrying toward Count Nigel's main camp with Knight Stine in tow.
Roger figured he had been called to another meeting.
By the time Raymond arrived at the tent serving as the war room, most of the nobles had already gathered. He bowed to Count Nigel in the seat of honor and took a seat near the back, just as he usually did.
Raymond had expected the agenda to be about battle plans again, but what happened next completely caught him off guard.
Count Nigel didn't spread out any maps, nor did he discuss any offensive plans. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Baron Barton.
The latter's face was much paler than usual. At the Count's prompting nod, he hesitated for a moment before speaking:
“This morning, a dispute broke out between two mercenaries I recruited near the riverbank close to the camp. One of them stabbed the other with a sword and fled.
The injured mercenary is a mage. After being found by a patrol, she was brought back to camp. Thanks to the emergency treatment from our military chaplain, she is currently out of danger.”
Raymond shook his head inwardly. A dispute between two mercenaries was hardly worth discussing at a high-level military council like this.
But since Baron Barton was doing so, it was likely at Count Nigel's direct prompting.
For the Count to personally demand this matter be brought to light, there was likely a hidden truth behind the dispute that Baron Barton didn't dare shoulder alone.
Baron Barton's next words made his brow furrow deeply.
“The attacked mage claims to be Matilda Stuart.” Baron Barton swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Silence instantly enveloped the tent.
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