Chapter Sixty-Five: Resolving the Problem

"Ah!"
No one knew who screamed first, but suddenly a blinding flash of fire erupted amid the crowd. With a thunderous boom, the two men nearest Procis were hurled dozens of meters by the force of the explosion—one plunged headfirst into the earth, the other, pitifully, was left hanging from a tree.

"A... Spirit Master?!"
A man with slanted, predatory eyes staggered back in terror at the sight, only to trip over someone behind him and fall to the ground.

"Damn it! What are you afraid of? She's just a woman! Even if she's a Spirit Master, she's still only one person, while there are more than a dozen of us!"
A man who appeared to be the leader slapped the slanted-eyed fellow, drew a greatsword from his waist, and bellowed arrogantly, "Hey, girl, you'd better not make any sudden moves, or my sword won't show any mercy!"

Watching him wield the sword, Vil sighed helplessly. It was obvious at a glance that the man knew nothing of combat skills, and as for his sword... The hilt was gilded and overly slender, while the blade was forged from silver and far too broad—an ornate but utterly impractical weapon. Such a sword was fit only as a showpiece; brought to battle, it would only end up in pieces.

Seeing Procis unmoving, the man's face twisted with a lewd, triumphant grin. He waved his sword and reached out, actually intending to snatch the hat from Procis's head. But just as his hand came within inches, a scarlet beam of light flashed through the emptiness and severed his arm at once!

"Aaaah!"
He shrieked in agony, clutching his bleeding stump and writhing on the ground, while that bizarre blood spurted wildly, splattering even onto Procis's clothes and hat. Yet the woman remained utterly indifferent to his filthy blood and desperate screams. She slowly extended two slender fingers; a crimson spark glimmered, and with a casual flick, the red point shot forth like an arrow, piercing the man's skull and leaving a thumb-sized hole in his forehead.

His screams were cut off in an instant. Those around watched, horror blossoming in their hearts. In this town, death was a daily occurrence—death held no novelty for them. But to see a person’s head so easily pierced with a mere gesture, a life taken as simply as crushing an ant, clean and without hesitation—this, for all present, was a first.

As blood and brain matter seeped into the earth, mingling with the mud in a macabre display, the men who had moments ago been stirred by lust now wailed in terror, scrambling to escape. But just then, a wall of searing crimson flames rose around them, cutting off all routes of retreat.

"Hmph! Did I say you could leave?"
Procis twirled her slender pipe, took a deep, contented drag, and exhaled a delicate plume of smoke.

Unlike the harsh, acrid tobacco the townsfolk smoked, Procis’s tobacco carried a faint, exquisite fragrance, its price so exorbitant that even nobles could scarcely afford it. By rights, in this town, anyone seen smoking such luxury would be stripped bare within minutes. But after witnessing Procis's terrifying display of power, the townsfolk were struck dumb with fear.

Rob that woman? Hah! Did you not see how casually she kills—like plucking a cabbage? To cross her would be pure suicide!

And so, under Procis's threat and intimidation, the ragged men instantly capitulated, falling to their knees and begging for mercy, their ferocity utterly vanished. Vil was certain that, had Procis wished it, they would have scrambled over each other to lick her boots.

"Silence!"
Procis snapped impatiently at their wailing, her gaze sweeping the trembling men before resting on the one with slanted eyes.

Damn it! Is this demoness going to kill me?!
As Procis turned her head in his direction, his heart seized with terror. Though her face was shadowed by that enormous hat, the angle left no doubt—she was looking right at him.

"You..."
Procis pointed at him, her voice cool.

"It's over, she really means me!"
As her finger landed on him, the slanted-eyed man’s heart sank. In truth, Procis was simply pointing at random—at least, that was her intention, though he took it all too personally.

"Are you familiar with the Trolora Plains? I mean the forests where the wild tribes dwell."

"What?"
The man could scarcely believe what he’d heard. "You’re not going to kill me?"

"Hmph. If you can't prove useful to me, I will kill you!"
One had to admit, Procis’s moods shifted with alarming speed. One moment calm, the next, a surge of murderous intent that sent chills through everyone nearby.

"Yes! Yes! I know them well! Very well!"
Tears streaming down his face, the slanted-eyed man would have sworn upon his very life—never had he met a woman so terrifying, and beautiful, too!

"Good..."
Procis nodded in satisfaction, turning to glance at Vil by her side. "See? That’s just the result I wanted."

Vil was speechless. He eyed the other men, still kneeling and pleading, and asked, "What about them?"

"Kill them, of course. One guide is enough."
Procis spoke lightly—too lightly, as if she were merely discussing tea.

When most people declared their intent to kill, their voices would at least carry a hint of malice, hatred, or anger. But when Procis spoke, Vil was left with the strange illusion that she might as well have been saying, "Let’s have tea this afternoon... with a bit of sugar."

Vil sighed. He looked at the terrified men and turned to Procis. "These men must not be killed."

"Oh?"
Procis gave him a curious look. "Are you pleading for them?"

"Pleading? Hardly."
Vil’s tone was scornful. "This lot tried to kill us not long ago. I’m not so soft-hearted as to plead for them..."

"Then why...?"
Procis frowned in confusion.

"Very well, if you insist, you can kill them. But first, Lady Tris, may I ask you a few questions?"
Vil sighed and pressed on. "First, neither of us knows how to cook. When we enter the forest, what will we do for food? And don’t tell me you’ll survive on rations. After spending these past days together, I know how particular you are about what you eat—you wouldn’t even touch dried rations! Second, you’ve never set foot in the wild tribes’ forests. So if something unexpected happens, you’ll be fine, but as for me..." (Vil paused, skipping past himself) "...and if anything happens to our slanted-eyed guide, we’ll be lost in the woods. Don’t look at me like that—I’m hopeless with directions."

Procis’s eyes flashed with anger, but after a moment’s thought, she relented. The boy was right; she was indeed picky with food—she’d sooner starve than eat rations. She knew little about the forests, and if anything happened along the way...

"Well then, boy, what do you suggest?"
For the first time, Procis yielded to Vil, asking with a trace of helplessness.

Vil felt a surge of satisfaction—finally, a chance to show himself before this woman!

"Leave it to me..."
He cleared his throat and addressed the cowering men, "Listen up, all of you!"

Immediately, all heads snapped up, eyes wide with uncertainty.

"You lot—scum! Filth! The dregs of humanity! Parasites! You spend your lives in this wretched place, murdering and robbing—what else can you do? People like you would be better off dead, like this one here!"
He planted his foot on the corpse of the man Procis had dispatched and glared coldly at the others.

This, more than anything, struck terror into their hearts. They glanced fearfully at Procis, terror welling within them.

"As you’ve seen, it would be a simple matter for us to end you—just a wave of a hand and your miserable lives are over. But now, I’ll give you a chance. Tell me: do you wish to cling to your pitiful lives, or die here like this trash?"

"Live! We want to live!"
They all shouted, desperate to survive.

"Live? What use is your miserable existence? Will you return to murder and steal? Let me think... that seems to be your only ‘talent.’ If that’s all you can do, what’s the point of letting you live?"

Vil’s words plunged them into despair. At that moment, the slanted-eyed man shrieked, crawled to Vil, and clung to his trouser leg, wailing,
"No! I don’t want to die! I can do anything for you! I’ll be your slave, loyal to you forever!"

"Yes! We’ll be your slaves, loyal forever!"
With him leading, the others quickly followed suit. Cowards, they valued life far above their pride, casting away self-respect for a chance to survive.

"Very good..."
Vil nodded, looking to Procis. "I believe that solves our problem, doesn’t it?"

"Hmph, cunning boy."
Procis snorted, swung her elegant pipe, and in an instant, the ring of blazing flames vanished without a trace.