Tars watched the red-haired woman, Kanaya, as she hid a flicker of tension beneath her stern expression, and he realized then that this situation would not be easily resolved. Moreover, it was likely not a random event. If this was a targeted strike, there was only one person worth the effort—and it certainly wasn't a nameless kobold like him.

  Rodrigo suddenly reached out to pull Kanaya aside and stepped toward Tars, looking closely at his canine face covered in fur and small patches of scales.

  "Wizard Tars, can I trust you?"

  Rodrigo's expression was gravity itself.

  Being stared at so intently at such close range made Tars feel distinctly uncomfortable. However, he could sense the man's sincerity—or more accurately, a sense of desperation, the raw honesty born of a man with no other moves left to play.

  "These Atoners couldn't have appeared here by chance. Their presence is likely tied to me. They might want to stop me from exploring the ruin, or they might simply want my life. I lean toward the latter. The ruin might not even exist. They must have accounted for Kanaya; anyone who knows me knows she is always by my side. Therefore, there must be a hidden supernatural practitioner in the shadows capable of countering her..."

  Young Master Rodrigo spoke with startling clarity. The sounds of slaughter surrounding the camp made his complexion turn increasingly pale, but they did not scatter his thoughts.

  This was also the first time Tars had seen Rodrigo acknowledge her role so directly. But it raised a question: why would a caster—specifically a wizard—just happen to encounter them in a filthy, chaotic Abyssal town? It was suspicious. No wonder Kanaya had looked at him with such wariness from the start.

  "If you wish to believe, then you may trust me. Shout the name of Lord Tars and your safety tonight is guaranteed," Tars let slip, a line from a knightly romance novel he'd recently read. He quickly pivoted to a different topic: "Since we met, you've been dying to see me perform a spell, but out of respect, you never asked. Tonight, behold: Kobold Summoning!"

  With a wave of his hand, a localized spatial gate opened, and Aiskin and Big Dumb Hum stepped out, weapons in hand. The sudden appearance of the two hulking, ferocious figures sent Rodrigo stumbling back in shock.

  Tars caught Aiskin's eye. "From this moment on, protect this Master Rodrigo. Do not let anyone harm him," Tars commanded.

  The two massive kobolds nodded and took their positions, flanking Rodrigo like living shields. Kanaya opened her mouth to speak, but Rodrigo waved her into silence.

  "My thanks for your intervention, Master Tars," he said, bowing his head.

  Tars gave a casual wave and began casting Cat's Grace and Bull's Strength on himself. He strode toward the swirling chaos of the battlefield, heading straight for the center of the fanatics.

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  He leaped from the edge of the camp into the fray and activated Fetid Skin. The densely packed crowd began to collapse in waves. Some mercenaries recoiled in terror, while others, blinded by bloodlust, took the opportunity to stab at their fallen foes. A few mercenaries were caught in the spell's radius and affected, but Tars ignored them; if they were affected, it meant they harbored ill intent toward him.

  He moved through the battlefield as if taking a stroll, single-handedly shifting the tide. Because of his overwhelming power and the sheer gap in strength, the bloody, cruel struggle was transformed into child's play.

  As he wandered through the crowd, accompanied by the thuds of falling enemies and the awestruck gazes of the mercenaries, every movement felt like a miracle. Some veteran mercenaries were already whispering that Tars was nothing like the wizards they had seen before.

  Tars looked at the people collapsing before him and couldn't help but sigh.

  "Your faith... it isn't pure enough!"

  If these people truly believed their theories as fervently as Bahunt had, they shouldn't have been so easily affected by Fetid Skin. If they truly believed everyone—including themselves—was a sinner and that swinging a weapon was an act of helping others atone, then they should have maintained a helpful heart. Whether the blade fell on themselves or another, it should have been seen as salvation.

  He began to circle the camp. So far, no one had appeared who could even offer a moment's resistance. He wondered if the supernatural practitioner in the shadows was too intimidated by this unknown power to show themselves. Logically, if the goal was to kill the young master, they would have sent at least two or three supernatural entities to be safe.

  After all, Kanaya was a caster, and the makeshift mercenary band included three supernatural practitioners: the captain and vice-captains. One was a low-tier Knight, while the other two were Combatants who had succeeded by consuming alchemical potions.

  Many wild wizards survived by brewing low-quality Combatant potions. There were many types; for instance, a Life Combatant required a desperate will to live combined with the potion to manifest their "Combatant Mark," which allowed them to store vitality. Essentially, their specialty was being very hard to kill. Strength Combatants required a lust for power, which granted them great physical might. It was a "fast-track" path to power, often looked down upon by Knights as a dead-end road.

  Amusingly, the resilient Life Combatants often died faster than the Strength types—a common topic of tavern gossip. Drunks would mock them over cheap ale, even though most of those patrons would never save enough Sun Coins to buy a potion in their lifetime. Combatants were the most accessible—or rather, the only accessible—supernatural path for commoners. If one could save the money and find a dealer, the path was open.

  As Tars walked with measured steps, he knew that in the eyes of a truly powerful supernatural being, that Knight captain and the two Combatants were likely insignificant.

  Finally, a figure unable to contain themselves any longer lunged from the shadows. They had been hiding within the camp all along. As expected, the assassin went straight for Rodrigo.

  Tars glanced back.

  Big Dumb Hum took a massive stride, interposing himself between the assassin and Rodrigo. He swung his heavy iron hammer in a wide arc—a strike that no one on the field could afford to ignore. Tars even considered finding a Combatant potion for the big guy later.

  The assassin seemed incredibly confident in their agility, refusing to change course. Just as the hammer's shadow overlapped with the figure, the assassin flickered and appeared behind Big Dumb Hum—only to be swatted away by a cheap longsword swinging in from the side.

  Tars noticed that Kanaya had yet to move. Clearly, there were more enemies in the dark that she was waiting for. Perhaps this master and servant had already guessed who was playing this "little joke" on them and were prepared for the coming storm.

  For a moment, Tars found it all quite amusing. It felt as if he had truly become a character in one of those knightly adventure novels.