30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 108

The soft clatter of hooves echoed faintly through the quiet forest trail.

Each time the mule’s hooves touched the ground, the sound of clink, clink resonated subtly, blending with the serene surroundings. Despite the rough path filled with pebbles and tree roots, the cart drawn by the mule moved effortlessly without resistance. Watching the mule tirelessly pull the heavily loaded cart over a 20-kilometer stretch without showing signs of fatigue, it became clear why mules were the merchants' favored beasts of burden in the old days.

And then, suddenly:

“—Halt. We’ll rest here!”

“Stop!”

“Water the mule.”

“Make sure the soldiers finish their meals quickly.”

The harsh voices of men leading the procession echoed through the group, prompting the mule to halt its steps.

And for a moment:

“Ugh... k-kill me....”

“W-water...! Please, just some water....”

“Urrgh....”

Amid the once-quiet forest trail, human cries filled the air. The silence had been broken, though the cries were muffled by the gags strapped across their mouths—restraints meant for beasts, now affixed to humans.

But perhaps these faint murmurs irritated someone:

“You filthy scum!”

Whack! Whack!

One of the gruff men, or more precisely, one of the escort guards, scowled in disgust and began beating the prisoners who had dared to groan. The club in his hand was so large that a single misplaced strike could easily cripple someone for life, yet the guard showed no hesitation.

In fact:

“Die! Just die already, you criminal bastards!”

He didn’t hold back as he swung with all his might.

“Ugh!”

“Agh! P-please, spare me...!”

To an outsider, the victims of this beating might appear to be pitiable, powerless individuals. Among them, a young man moaning in pain or a frail old man might seem undeserving of such brutality. However, these were no ordinary people—they were heinous criminals.

The young man had committed over a dozen acts of fraud, ruining more than ten households in the process. The old man? A rapist—one who had assaulted children much younger than himself.

Feeling sympathy for them was unnecessary.

“Criminals don’t have rights. If they made others shed tears of blood, then let them bleed out entirely.”

This was one of the absolute decrees of Pendragon’s founding king, the Great Knight King. According to his doctrine, criminals, regardless of age, gender, or status, deserved to be reminded of the abhorrence of their mere existence.

However:

“Hey, rookie. Beat those guys all you want, but don’t lay a hand on that group over there.”

“Why not? They’re just criminals too.”

“...Kid, the way you question your superior makes you seem like a complete moron. Or, in this case, an overly eager moron.”

“M-my apologies...”

“Don’t apologize if you’re going to keep doing it. Anyway, since our overly eager rookie seems curious, let me explain. Those guys over there are heading to the ‘Tunnel.’”

“T-the Tunnel? You mean, that...?”

At the mention of the "Tunnel," the escort guard's face briefly showed a hint of pity. Those sent to the Tunnel were often dragged there under circumstances more unjust than the rest, unlike the irredeemable filth choking on their own breaths.

“Don’t waste your sympathy. Even they’re either soldiers or knights who killed our men during the war... or rebellious farmers who rose up against some rotten noble.”

“......”

“You’ll meet all sorts in this job, so don’t get too emotional. You’ll burn out quickly if you do.”

“...Understood.”

Yet, being new to the job, the rookie’s inability to hide his emotions was evident. His superior gave a bitter smile, as if to say he had expected as much. He reminisced about his own early days, recalling his struggles to control similar feelings. Then, casting a glance at the criminals bound for the Tunnel, his gaze turned sharp.

Unlike the rookie, he wasn’t gazing at them with emotions like pity or anger.

‘Hmm, so those two over there... are they the knights and the noble heir we were warned about?’

He had received intel that among the prisoners were notable individuals—figures of significant standing. Naturally, this drew his attention.

‘Wow, those two have quite the intimidating presence. Are all knights built like that?’

Most of the prisoners wore nothing but trousers, their torsos bare to prevent any hidden weapons. This made their physiques impossible to ignore. And among them:

“...!!”

The guard’s breath hitched.

‘What the hell... How can that even be a human body?’

Standing among them was a man whose body made even the robust frames of the two knights pale in comparison. The man’s physique was beyond what the guard could comprehend.

Muscles—if they could even be called muscles—intertwined as if forged from chains of steel. Just looking at him made it clear: no one here could possibly defeat him.

In fact, even if every escort guard present joined forces, the outcome wouldn’t change.

‘What kind of monster is this...?’

The mere sight of him was awe-inspiring and terrifying.

‘Thank the heavens he’s coming along quietly.’

Perhaps someone close to him was being held hostage, or maybe there was some other reason for his compliance. Whatever it was, the guard found solace in the fact that the man wasn’t resisting.

‘...In any case, it’s a relief.’

But then, a thought crossed his mind:

‘Wait, weren’t there supposed to be four knights among the prisoners?’

As the one overseeing the escort, he had been informed that out of the 48 prisoners heading to the Tunnel, four were knights. Yet, aside from the three individuals he had already identified...

‘I don’t see anyone else who fits the description.’

Granted, one shouldn’t judge a knight solely by appearance. But given his raised standards, he saw no one else who resembled a knight and scratched his head in confusion.

‘Did I hear wrong?’

What he didn’t know was that there were, indeed, four knights. One of them was a certain noble heir with unkempt gray hair that resembled a stray dog.

And that knight, Arend de Pendragon, was sitting with a dazed expression, unable to accept reality.

‘...Why me?’

He stared resentfully at the monster who had dragged him into this hell four days ago.

‘You merciless brute...!’

“Better keep your eyes open.”

“......”

“Unless you want them gouged out.”

“...My eyes are forward. I don’t see why you have to make such frightening remarks.”

“......”

“...Fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut too.”

Arend’s timid defiance was quickly quashed. After all, a fist nearby was far scarier than distant authority.

“—You really went all out.”

A clatter echoed as bricks—once a wall—fell to the ground.

“...I sincerely regret this time.”

“You’d better. You’ve caused such extensive damage to royal property.”

The aftermath of a clash between two men was catastrophic. Believe it or not, it took less than five minutes for about twenty iron bars to be utterly destroyed.

And yet:

“You look like a complete mess.”

The fight, it seemed, hadn’t been evenly matched but entirely one-sided. Ihan’s condition was a testament to this.

Bruises and injuries covered his body. Anyone who saw him might have mistaken his state for the result of rolling down a steep hill.

But Ihan muttered bitterly that rolling down an actual hill would’ve been less painful.

"It's because I got hit so much. The guy seemed to have it out for me today—he just went berserk."

Although it was described as a clash, in reality, Ihan was on the receiving end of a thorough beating from Baltar. Actually, even "beating" seemed like an understatement.

...Honestly, it’s more surprising that your body didn’t break after all that.

‘Didn’t these two have a bad history together?’

‘Same old story.’