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Chapter – 39
Talent, by its nature, tends to reveal itself.
Marder was one of those cases.
Born the son of a hunter, Marder had been close to the bow since early childhood.
He played with toy bows as soon as he could walk, and by the time he was three he could hit apples on the tree in front of his house.
Seven years old.
“Stand up straight. Good. Take a deep breath. Yes, that’s it. Hold your breath. Release gently.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, like that.”
His father began to teach young Marder how to shoot properly.
Two years later, when Marder turned nine, he followed his father on a hunt and spotted a badger. He took up the bow himself.
Ssshk!
Pwoosh!
“Kaaagh!”
The badger let out a single cry and collapsed.
“……!”
Marder never forgot that moment; he would most likely remember it until the moment he died.
The thrill when his arrow struck the prey was an indescribable pleasure.
From that day on, Marder ran through mountains, fields, and forests with his father, earning a reputation as a young hunter.
Those years were the happiest time of Marder’s life.
For more than a decade he had learned hunting and archery from his father, shared hunts with him, and enjoyed their father-son bond….
But happiness did not last forever.
When Marder was nineteen, the father and son, out on a hunt as always, unfortunately encountered barbarians who had crossed the border.
What followed was a desperate chase.
Being excellent hunters, the pair didn’t give up easily against the barbarians.
But however skilled they were, it was never easy for ordinary hunters to completely escape and survive once pursued by barbarian warriors.
“Go!”
“Father…!”
Marder’s father sacrificed himself for his son.
“Live! You must live!”
“But… but….”
“Go! Now!”
With tears in his eyes, Marder fled and, in the end, survived.
“He’ll be alive. Father wouldn’t fall so easily.”
Marder couldn’t bring himself to doubt his father’s safe return.
It was a desperate wish that a miracle would happen.
But cruelly, no miracle came.
A few days later.
Marder’s father was found cold and lifeless by Decaron’s knights.
“Don’t look.”
“I will.”
“You’ll be shocked.”
“I still want to see.”
Against the knight’s warning, Marder insisted on seeing his father’s mangled corpse with his own eyes.
“I’ll never… forgive them… Never… I will take revenge. I will, I swear….”
Marder vowed resolutely.
He would take revenge on the barbarians with the archery his father had taught him….
A year later.
Marder enlisted in the army and became a soldier of Decaron, pleading to be sent to the blood-soaked land of Kuberin.
The reason was simple: he could frequently encounter those barbarian enemies there.
Sent to Bowden Fortress, Marder made full use of the hunting skills and archery taught by his father, earning recognition and serving as a scout.
And today.
“I won’t let him go.”
Marder’s eyes tracked Vionsen flying in a curve.
“Whooo.”
“Take a deep breath. Yes, that’s it.”
His father’s voice seemed to whisper in Marder’s ear.
“Hold your breath… and release gently.”
Ting!
Marder let the bowstring go.
Following the teachings of his father, who had been a great hunter and archer….
Sssshhh!
Pwoosh!
The arrow of vengeance struck Vionsen’s back.
Thud!
Vionsen, who had been flying over the palisade, was hit by Marder’s arrow and plummeted.
Although he had already cleared the palisade and didn’t fall inside the fortress, it was indisputable that he had fallen mid-[Thunder Leap].
“……!”
Everyone was stunned.
Not only the Decaron soldiers but even the enemy barbarians’ eyes widened—what a shot.
To think someone could hit a barbarian mid-[Thunder Leap]!
“Ooooh!”
The scouts’ gazes turned toward the watchtower where Marder stood.
Casually, Marder lowered the rim of his helmet with the hand that had just released the bowstring, acknowledging his comrades’ awed stares.
Meanwhile.
“Fall back!”
“Everyone, fall back! Retreat!”
The barbarians retreated like a receding tide.
Vionsen’s order as commander, and the stubborn resistance of Bowden Fortress, made continued assault impossible even for them.
“Waaaaah!”
A cry of victory echoed through Bowden Fortress.
“You bastards! How does that feel?”
“Puhahaha!”
“Yeah! Run off like frightened dogs, you barbarian scum!”
The fortress soldiers hurled insults and jeers at the retreating barbarians, reveling in their victory.
Helen, however, did not indulge in triumph.
As commander, she knew exactly what needed to be done immediately after a battle.
“First, gather the wounded! Quickly!”
“Yes!”
“There might be additional enemy attacks! Post guards in all directions and thoroughly secure the perimeter!”
“Yes!”
Someone else was not intoxicated by victory either.
“He probably didn’t die.”
Carlyle was confident Vionsen was alive.
To kill a 4-star barbarian with the [Primeval Vitality] tattooed on him with a single arrow was too naive a notion.
If the arrow had hit the head, that would be different, but penetrating only the back hardly suggested Vionsen’s death.
In Carlyle’s experience with the Vionsen depicted in [Overlord], the surest way to kill a barbarian marked with [Primeval Vitality] was to destroy the heart, sever the throat, or blow the head to pieces.
If he let Vionsen live… the man would certainly be a headache. Barbarians could be cunning; he might show up in a few years and trouble Frey.
Carlyle knew exactly what kind of man Vionsen was—relentlessly persistent, crafty, and irritating.
“If he decides to come after me, I’ll be in trouble before I get to Frey.”
Vionsen had a personality that could easily merit such behavior.
Then….
“I’ll take him out now.”
Carlyle made up his mind.
It felt like an ideal chance to remove a future nuisance by killing Vionsen now.
“Helen.”
“The matter can wait.”
Helen seemed absorbed in tending to the wounded and didn’t look at Carlyle.
“This is important.”
“Is there anything more important than helping the injured right now?”
“No, but it will only take a moment.”
Helen sighed deeply, stopped what she was doing, and turned to Carlyle.
“What could be so important, Private Carlyle?”
“Do you intend to let the enemy commander go?”
“If he’s a commander, he’s probably dead.”
Helen frowned, thinking of Vionsen’s fall.
From that height, struck by an arrow and falling, she judged that no barbarian could have survived.
Having fought barbarians in this blood-soaked land for five years, her judgment had some weight.
“He’s probably alive. The tattoo on his chest is—”
“I know. You mean the [Primeval Vitality]. Do you think I don’t know? Those with that mark don’t die easily. But falling from that height could be different.”
“Then at least let us confirm whether his body is there.”
“I can’t allow it.”
Helen shook her head.
“The area outside the fortress is unsafe. If you go out recklessly you might walk into a counterattack.”
“I have my succession sword. If there’s an ambush we can detect it in advance—”
“Stop.”
Helen cut him off, as if there was no more point in arguing.
“Even if the enemy commander isn’t dead, I will not let you leave the fortress.”
“But….”
“You’ve probably earned enough glory for today.”
“…….”
Carlyle realized she misunderstood his intention.
She seemed to think he wanted glory and recognition. He couldn’t tell her otherwise.
“If I say it’s because Vionsen is Vionsen, she would never believe me.”
Even Carlyle wouldn’t have cared if it had been some other barbarian; he had no real excuse.
He had to think of something.
“…Ah.”
A thought suddenly came to him. He hardened his expression and told Helen.
“Private Derek was slain by that man.”
“That….”
Helen’s face hardened.
As commander, she had been repressing grief over Derek’s death in order to continue her duties.
‘That should do it.’
Carlyle expected this ruse to work.
“Are you telling me you won’t even confirm the fate of the enemy commander who killed our scout? There’s no time to waste. If we move now….”
“Derek’s death is unfortunate, but we cannot carry out a reckless operation. Private Carlyle, stop. That is an order.”
“…….”
Carlyle had to relent against Helen’s obstinacy.
He knew her judgment and decision were not necessarily wrong.
Then.
“Well said, rookie.”
Scout leader Begman stepped up and supported Carlyle’s argument.
Begman was only the beginning.
“I’ll skin that bastard tonight if it’s the last thing I do!”
Wilson pounded his chest and said.
“We must have revenge.”
Kudo smiled fiercely.
“If he’s alive, I’ll sink an arrow in his skull this time.”
Marder, who had come down from the watchtower, now shared the scouts’ resolve.
“We can’t just let the man who killed Private Derek go. I want to at least see the corpse.”
Russell, having come out of a berserker’s frenzy, could not hide his boiling hatred.
And it wasn’t only the scouts.
“Request permission for the operation.”
“Please, Lady Helen.”
The rest of the scouts implored Helen to pursue Vionsen.
“But….”
Helen couldn’t make the decision lightly.
She knew too well how dangerous it was to send men outside the fortress in the current situation.
“Lady Helen, Derek is dead. That good lad died without even closing his eyes, all torn to pieces.”
“Begman….”
“Please, for old times’ sake, grant us this one operation. I beg you. I won’t ask for another reckless favor after this.”
Helen showed signs of conflict listening to Begman’s plea.
She and Begman were close; it was not easy to refuse his request.
After a short while, Helen spoke.
“I authorize the operation.”
A smile crossed Carlyle’s lips.
