Chapter 74 The Guard Dogs

“You know a lot about Oswell and this place, don’t you?” He asked.

“–” Lawrence looked down at him.

“Tell me the truth, Lawrence,” he stopped, blocking the path, “…Why’re you here?”

Obviously, there was a clear suspicion he had of the man being some sort of ploy for the hideout–a figure acting like a prisoner to fool people like him. Beyond that, there was something that served as the very basis for his suspicions: the “Chaos God Style.”

Lawrence smiled, stopping as well, “…I suppose I should stop pulling your leg, shouldn’t I? There’s no point in hiding it at this stage.”

“–” He gulped, holding his staff tightly to prepare for what was about to come.

The man began to regurgitate something, opening his mouth as saliva leaked from the corners of his lips.

Is he taking out his sword…?! He thought.

But, just as he was about to raise his staff to fling a spell, he witnessed something else be pulled out from Lawrence’s throat: a necklace.

It wasn’t just any sort of necklace, either.

What Lawrence withdrew was an unmistakable badge; one that served as his very ambition on this journey.

An adventurer insignia? He thought.

Lawrence wiped his mouth, holding the badge up, “I believe I mentioned when we first met, my dear friend. I am a world-class adventurer–right now, I am undertaking a “B-Rank” danger quest to capture the excommunicated adventurer, Oswell Trifus, and seize his criminal operations.”

It was the total opposite of what he had come to expect, but it was a relieving, yet confusing reveal to him as he lowered his staff and looked on in surprise.

“Quest?…Wait, then how come you were imprisoned? What about your story?” He asked.

“It was true; I didn’t lie, my dear friend,” Lawrence told him, “though, I went undercover and allowed myself to be abducted so I could get into this hideout, you see.”

These words made him see the clown-like man in a new light; it was almost imposing though, just how crafty this man seemed to be, but he was glad he was on his side.

“You should’ve told me that from the start,” he said, huffing and beginning to walk down the corridor again.

Lawrence smiled, following beside him, “You’re right. Many apologies.”

THUD. THUD. THUD.

–It came fast, just as they turned a corner to find another staircase, it was being guarded by two men, and what looked to be a wolf of some sort.

“Look a’ that. Ol’ Brisky was smellin’ somethin’ in the air, wun’ he, Terry?”

The red-haired man spoke in a rough dialect, dressed in dark, baggy clothes with a black bandana covering his mouth and nose.

“Seems so. Two intruders, it seems. I was just getting bored–let’s have some fun, Dingo,” the other man said.

The second of the two had combed-over, hazel hair and a more refined dialect, though a face covered in scars, wearing a black cloak.

Standing by the bandana-wearing man with the improper dialect was the black-furred wolf, snarling and foaming out of the mouth at the sight of the two.

“Well, which one would you like to face, my dear friend?” Lawrence asked with a calm smile.

“–” He didn’t know how to answer at first, but chose the man that wasn’t near the wolf, “…I’ll handle the one with the nice hair!”

“Noted,” Lawrence smiled.

With that decided, the orange-haired, newfound companion of his opened his mouth as he spat up his rainbow-handled sword.

The comment from the boy enraged the bandana-wearing man with the red hair, “Oi! Are ya sayin I don’t have nice hair!? I’ll shave your fuckin scalp off then decide who has the pretty hair ’round here!”

Just as Dingo, the red-haired man, unleashed his rage, drawing two curved swords from behind his back, Lawrence was already rushing towards him.

The wolf attempted to intercept, but the man as pale as a cloud itself swept his unsolid blade, using it like a sharp whip as it sliced straight through the canine–from the snout to the tail.

“You’ll be fighting me, I’m afraid,” Lawrence said.

“Huh?!” Dingo let out angrily.

As those two clashed blades, he prepared himself for his own opponent, who calmly approached him, bringing out some sort of weapon from behind his back.

This one is “Terry”, right? He doesn’t look very built. He looks like the type who will use a dagger or a shortsword, he thought.

Though his assumptions were completely dissuaded from behind the thin, scar-faced man’s back, a massive greatsword as thick as the man’s body was drawn. It had saw-like ridges around the sharp side, creating an imposing sight.

“–” He breathed out, trying to maintain his composure.

I’ve been in plenty of real fights. But, those were mainly goblins…Real people like this–battles to the death–it’s something else entirely, he thought.

“Come on, boy,” Terry said with a bored expression, “Let’s lighten up my shift.”

Immediately, he opened up with a wall of stone between him and the man with the gargantuan blade, hoping to create space to give him enough time to–

SMASH.

Used like a destructive hammer, the man with bored eyes, glazed over by sights of death that were mundane to his desentized, black irises, Terry cut through the shield of rock in a casual swing.

He broke it…that easily? He thought.

Terry continued slowly walking forward, “Poor little mage.”

In the face of that imposing greatsword, he turned the other way and sprinted around the corner, going into the next corridor as the man followed him.

“Running? A chase can be fun, too,” the man said boredly.

I’m not running–I just need more space! This corridor is more open, and Lawrence isn’t around–so I don’t have to worry about friendly fire! He thought.

As he raised his staff, he summoned multiple orbs of fire around his staff, aiming them towards the man.

“You’re going to regret underestimating me,” he said.

“I hate overconfident brats,” Terry responded with a straight face.

Propelled outward, he launched the fireballs towards the man, which were easily guarded against as the man spun his massive sword around, almost using it like a spinning shield to deflect the orbs of fire.

The man seemed quietly angered, spinning his greatsword around in the residual smoke from the fireballs, “…You’ve got a blade at your hip, don’t you? Use it.”