I Became the Black Knight

After having dinner, the group took turns assigning the night watch and eventually went to sleep.

Dale also lay down in a suitable spot and closed his eyes.

In truth, Dale didn't need to eat or sleep. His half-undead body required no such activities.

Even so, he forced himself to eat and sleep. To remind himself that he was still human.

Dale shut his eyes deliberately. But no matter how much he wished for it, sleep wouldn't come. He simply lay there with his eyes closed, memories from the past looping through his mind.

Sometimes, those memories would suddenly become startlingly vivid—so real it was as if they were playing out right before his eyes.

Dale called this phenomenon a dream.

The most frequent visitor in these dreams was his grandfather—the man who had raised him.

Tonight was no exception. His grandfather looked at Dale, who was still human at the time, and said:

"There are two wolves inside all of us, my boy. One is good, and the other is evil. These two wolves are always locked in fierce battle. Which one do you think wins?"

"The one you fe—"

"Since you don't seem to know, I'll just tell you. It's the one you feed. Got it?"

His grandfather cut Dale off and hurried to explain the answer.

The Dale in the dream gave a wry smile. Clearly, his grandfather had come across the quote in a newspaper or something and wanted to share it.

It was a well-known tale, but Dale still listened intently.

Because even a cliché became something special when spoken from his grandfather's lips.

"You must always try to feed the good wolf, the kind one. Do you understand?"

His grandfather gently stroked young Dale's head as he spoke.

Dale nodded, thinking:

'I feel like he said something more after that…'

At that moment, Dale awoke from the dream—or rather, his thoughts were abruptly cut off.

His keen hearing had caught an unfamiliar sound.

'The sound of pages turning.'

Not something you'd expect to hear in a place like this. Dale opened his eyes and turned his head.

A small figure was sitting in front of the campfire, reading a book.

Dale was a little surprised when he saw the figure's face.

A gnome?

Gnomes—a small race whose appearance is somewhat similar to humans, but only about half the height.

Originally desert dwellers, their ears droop downward, and their eyelashes are thick and long.

Though they appear cute and youthful, Dale had heard they were just as strong as humans.

'Was there a gnome among our group? Oh, the porter.'

So the mercenary who'd always gone around with his helmet on was actually a gnome.

Feeling a bit intrigued, Dale walked over to the campfire.

The gnome, completely absorbed in his book, looked up in shock when a shadow fell over him.

"Eek!"

The gnome immediately bowed his head to the ground in apology.

"I-I must have been too loud! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't worry about it. I can't sleep anyway."

"Eh? Then why were you lying down?"

"I was just… going through the motions."

The gnome tilted his head at the strange answer.

Dale glanced at the thick book in the gnome's hands and asked,

"You can read?"

"Eh? Oh, yes. I had the chance to learn a bit of reading and writing."

"That's impressive."

Dale offered his praise honestly. In this world, there were far more people who couldn't read than those who could. Dale himself was no exception.

"Just learning the language was hell."

When he'd first fallen into this world—

He hadn't known a word of the language, and it had led to all kinds of trouble when he encountered people. He'd been mistaken for a monster and attacked more than once.

Just thinking about those times made him shudder.

"Being able to read is an amazing thing."

"Uh…"

The gnome's eyes widened. Then, all of a sudden, large tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.

Startled, Dale asked,

"...Did I say something wrong?"

"N-No, not at all. I'm sorry. It's just... This is the first time someone has ever praised me like that. Everyone else always said, 'What's the point of a gnome knowing how to read?' and just looked down on me."

"Isn't it easier to find work if you can read?"

"Well, gnomes don't really get hired much by people anyway..."

The gnome muttered bitterly.

Dale nodded in understanding.

'Even in the game, each race had different rankings and stereotypes.'

He remembered that gnomes weren't exactly a popular race.

Dale spoke.

"I'm Dale."

"Ah. I'm Leon, son of Aila. As you know, I'm a porter mercenary, and I don't have a rank or class yet."

"Got it. Leon, I'll take this watch. You go ahead and keep reading your book."

"Eh? A-Are you sure? I'd hate to be a burden..."

"I don't sleep anyway, so don't worry about it."

"Th-Thank you so much."

Leon bowed his head deeply and eagerly returned to reading his book.

In that moment, Dale saw flashes of his younger siblings from his previous life.

A faint warmth stirred in his otherwise cold heart.

Moments like this made Dale feel—just a little—as if he were human again. And that feeling… was pleasant.

The sound of turning pages and the crackling of the campfire filled the night as it deepened.

***

The next day, the journey remained peaceful.

The wagon moved steadily forward, and there were no notable threats.

It was so uneventful that it made one wonder—Could things really go this smoothly?

By late afternoon, the wagon came to a stop in the middle of a forest path.

Miles called out,

"Alright. We're not far from the owlbear's habitat now. Let's fill our bellies and make sure we're fully prepared before we proceed!"

The priestess asked,

"Did we really have to stop in the middle of this forest path? What if a monster shows up?"

Miles let out a hearty laugh.

"You clearly don't know, Priestess. What kind of creature would dare to wander around in the territory of a mutant owlbear? If there were anything that strong nearby, it would've definitely left traces behind."

"I see," the priestess nodded in understanding.

She still felt uneasy, but considering Miles was a seasoned mercenary with extensive knowledge in this field, she decided to trust him.

Miles took out a pot and declared,

"Now then! Today, I'll treat you all to a special dish prepared by yours truly!"

A mercenary with a bow looked doubtful.

"You're cooking yourself, Mr. Miles?"

Miles laughed again.

"When you've been a mercenary as long as I have, your cooking skills naturally improve. You'll see—my comrades always loved my meals. You're in for a treat!"

A mercenary who knew that all of Miles's comrades had died during the last mission corrected him.

"…You meant they used to like it, right?"

"Ah, ah. Yes, that's right. I misspoke. We were so close that it still feels like they're alive sometimes."

Miles scratched his head awkwardly. The other mercenaries fell silent, their expressions solemn.

Trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, Miles shouted cheerfully,

"Alright! I'll get started on the cooking, so everyone else, get your preparations done!"

The mercenaries nodded and each began checking their weapons.

In the meantime, Miles began to boil soup.

It wasn't anything special—just soup made by boiling jerky and dried vegetables.

Once the cooking was done, everyone sat around the pot with expectant expressions.

They were curious about the taste, especially after Miles had made such a fuss about it.

Miles served the soup into the mercenaries' bowls.

"Porter. And Sir Dale, please have some as well."

"Th-thank you."

"Much appreciated."

Leon hastily received the soup, worried he might get kicked again.

Dale extended his bowl indifferently.

Miles filled Dale's bowl to the brim with soup—much more than what the others received.

"You're a big guy, so you need to eat more than the rest, don't you?"

"…Thanks."

The mercenaries began tasting the soup one by one.

"Hm?"

The priestess tilted her head. It definitely didn't taste bad. But if asked whether it was worth all the fuss—probably not.

It was just… average.

'The scent is a little unusual, maybe.'

It seemed others felt the same way.

Still, it was made with genuine effort. No one wanted to complain.

The group quietly continued eating the soup.

Dale also brought a spoonful to his mouth. But just then—a tingling sensation ran down the back of his head.

Killing intent.

He sensed killing intent from beyond the bushes. It was faint—whoever it was knew how to suppress their hostility and murderous aura to some extent.

It was just that the Black Knight's senses were too sharp.

A monster?

Dale turned his head to alert the others of the abnormality. And then he saw it.

Miles, pretending to eat soup while glancing sideways at the mercenaries.

Dale lowered his gaze to the soup, his mind racing. He dipped a finger into it and brought it to his lips.

Without hesitation, Dale kicked over the pot. Hot soup splashed all over Miles's body.

"Gaaagh!"

"Everyone, spit out the soup!"

"Huh?"

The mercenaries froze, unable to react immediately to Dale's sudden action.

Dale drew his sword and moved to strike Miles on the spot.

But Miles quickly leapt back, dodging the blade. With a furious expression, he shouted:

"You bastard…! Everyone, attack!!"

At the shout that rang loudly through the forest, the mercenaries were momentarily confused—was he talking to them?

But he wasn't.

Thwip!

"Urgh!"

An arrow flew in from somewhere and struck the priestess in the shoulder.

Miles muttered with a sigh, as if disappointed.

"Damn. Priests fetch a higher price."

Only then did the mercenaries realize something was happening. They drew their weapons.

From the bushes, five attackers suddenly burst out and charged at them.

"You bastards! I'll kill you!"

One of the mercenaries drew his sword and swung it at the attacker.

But for some reason, his body wouldn't move properly. It felt like he had sandbags tied all over him.

Before the mercenary could even raise his sword, the attacker's blade had already slashed across his neck.

A fountain of blood sprayed out as the mercenary's body collapsed.

Dale shouted,

"It's paralysis! The soup was poisoned! Focus on defense!"

Just then, one of the attackers charged at Dale.

The man raised a warhammer and swung it straight at Dale's head.

He must have thought Dale was paralyzed too.

But he wasn't. Dale swiftly stepped aside and drew his hand axe, bringing it down directly onto the attacker's neck.

Crunch!

The sharp axe blade sliced through flesh and snapped bone. Hot blood splattered across his face.

Still in motion, Dale turned his gaze toward another attacker.

"Uh-oh."

The Black Knight, drenched in blood, exuded an overwhelming aura.

Was this what demons who ran rampant on the battlefield looked like?

The attackers hesitated.

But Dale had no intention of waiting.

He kicked off the ground and charged straight at the attackers.

Panicked, the assailants swung their weapons. One of the swords came at him with a sharp arc.

Dale read the trajectory with his eyes.

And made a decision—to just take the hit.

Clang!

The blade struck his armor. It was a fairly strong blow. But nowhere near enough to pierce through it.

"Huh?"

To the attacker's dumbfounded expression, Dale responded with a punch.

Crunch!

With a dull sound, the man's lower jaw was completely shattered.

Dale slammed his fist down once more, completely crushing the attacker's skull.

Blood splattered again, soaking Dale's armor.

Normally, he would've found it unpleasant, but the Black Knight's body was reveling in the slaughter.

Dale extended his arm and drove his gauntlet into the attacker's chest.

When he had first fallen into this world,

Dale had vowed never to absorb the life force of innocent people.

In other words, it meant he was willing to take as much as he wanted from those who weren't innocent.

The attacker's life force and lingering soul essence were drawn out and absorbed into Dale's body.

Dale felt a deep, cold satisfaction filling his heart.

Absorbing a human's life force felt completely different from stealing it from a monster.

The Black Knight's body took greater pleasure in human vitality, and the residual souls it contained were much denser.

Because the souls were richer, interesting phenomena would sometimes occur.

For example—seeing fragments of that person's memories.

The dead attacker's memories flickered before Dale's eyes.

'Just as I thought—he was one of Miles's former comrades.'

Fragmented memories surfaced quickly and then sank back down.

The successful owlbear subjugation.

A feast held in the village to thank the mercenaries.

The village chief's daughter—too beautiful to be called a simple country girl.

Miles losing control. Rape. Discovery. The villagers' rage. A fight. A massacre.

'Because of Miles's mistake, they ended up killing the villagers in a fight… and everything went to shit.'

It was an irreparable mistake—one bad enough to make them unable to continue as mercenaries.

The memory cut off there, but it wasn't hard to imagine what happened afterward.

Miles and his team must have decided to pull one last job before quitting the mercenary life for good.

They lied to the guild, recruited other mercenaries and a priest, and prepared paralyzing herbs.

Suddenly, Dale remembered something Miles had said.

"To avoid damaging the gold."

In this era, there was always an overwhelming demand for slaves.

As long as the body was intact, they could fetch a high price.

But then—a variable appeared that ruined their plan.

That variable was Dale.

"So that's how it all went down."

The whole picture of the incident became clear.

In the end, from start to finish, it had all been orchestrated by Miles.

Dale raised his sword and looked around.

Before he knew it, he was the only one still standing on two feet.

The mercenaries had resisted valiantly, but they didn't last long and fell under the attackers' blades.

The priestess being taken out at the start of the battle, along with the paralysis poison, had been too much to overcome.

Dale calmly assessed the situation.

"Four left to deal with. Three Iron Ranks and one Copper Rank. The Copper Rank… looks like a third-tier warrior."

Dale gripped his longsword and turned his head toward Miles.

Miles, his skin flushed bright red from the scalding soup, was glaring daggers at Dale.

Dale spoke.

"Just one question."

"What?"

"Why did you kill all the villagers? There must've been another way to resolve it."

Miles twisted his face in anger.

"How the hell do you… No, what kind of bullshit question is that?"

"I asked why you killed them."

"Why do you need a reason to kill someone? They were weaker than me, and killing them benefited me. That's all there is to it."

Miles answered without hesitation—not a trace of guilt in his expression.

Dale felt like he understood now—how this man had lived, and what kind of monster he harbored inside.

"…Yeah. Got it."

Dale gripped his longsword tighter.

It was time to feed the wolf within.