The Hunted Regressor: My Heretic Saint System-Chapter 42: Deserting? Or...

The transition from the chaos of the duel back to the tavern was surprisingly quiet.

Ignotus didn’t walk away from the carnage; rather, he walked back into The Broken Mug with a bucket of water and a rag.

While Gorm’s men were still processing their leader’s unconscious state, Ignotus spent the next minute scrubbing the blood off the floorboards and uprighting every chair that had been tossed.

The owners of the bar watched him with wide, trembling eyes, expecting a finishing blow or a demand for their deed. Instead, Ignotus finished the last spot of grime, tossed the rag aside, and looked at them.

"We’re staying the night in the best rooms you have. Free of charge, of course."

That somehow didn’t sound like a threat.

"I fixed your floor, didn’t I? I’m not a mean guy, you know... despite the fighting."

The irony of a man who had just dismantled a giant claiming he wasn’t "mean" sent a ripple of nervous laughter through his own people and the tavern staff, though they didn’t argue.

They gave him the keys, the best stew they had, and didn’t mention the bill even once.

Meanwhile, Gorm, now barely returned to consciousness, watched as Ignotus casually passed.

There were levels to this... way more than he, in his little world, knew.

Though he already understood that fact, this encounter had engraved it in his mind.

Much like Felix in the kitchens, never would Gorm forget this moment.

He was a tadpole in a puddle.

...

Early morning on the next day, the road away from River’s End was a lot louder than it had been before.

Instead of a handful of people and one nervous butler, the group had swollen into a small platoon. Between Lykos’s seven guards, the five Ironhead mercenaries, and Gorm himself—who was currently trudging along with a face that looked like a bruised plum—they totaled fifteen people.

"My ribs..."

Gorm wheezed, clutching his side.

"I think your little one cracked a rib."

Felix, who was walking a safe ten feet away, immediately looked at a very interesting tree on the horizon. He didn’t acknowledge Gorm, nor did he acknowledge the fact that he was this supposed ’little one.’ He didn’t even dare breathe in the man’s direction.

The sudden bravery from the day before had vanished, replaced by the terrifying realization that he had spent ten minutes stomping a near seven-foot giant.

Ignotus, meanwhile, was calmly leading the march at the front.

"Stop whining, Egg-man."

He called back without looking.

"Movement is medicine, or... it’ll just hasten your death. One way or another, my problem gets solved."

Surprisingly, Gorm didn’t try to kill him for that insult or even talk back.

Even though Ignotus hadn’t forced the mercenaries to swear a Rune Oath, the giant stuck to his word. Maybe it was pride, or maybe he was just genuinely terrified of the way Ignotus had dismantled him.

Either way, the Ironheads followed, carrying their gear and acting as the outer perimeter.

And they were needed, because, as it turned out, the cohort was very fond of giant, ugly crabs, or perhaps the crabs were very fond of them.

SKREEEE!

A massive, armored claw burst through the tall grass on the left.

"Another one?"

Ignotus sighed without bothering to stop.

"They’re like cockroaches, but with much better defense."

The hours turned into a cycle of violence, but it wasn’t exactly grim.

It almost became a game for the cohort.

The mantis stalked the cicada, the oriole waited behind, and Ignotus—Calamity’s Heir—waited behind them all, having the time of his life.

Many a time, he would go in alone. Disappear into the grass, a blur of black cloth and flashing steel, all to test his limits and practice his techniques. He was feeling the weight of his body, the timing of his strikes, and the way his system ticked up his Soul Fragments.

Other times, when a whole swarm of the crabs skittered out, the guards and mercenaries would team up.

"Twenty coppers says the big one loses a claw in ten seconds!"

A mercenary yelled, and a guard roared back:

"You’re on! I say it takes fifteen!"

They turned the slaughter into a tournament, betting food rations and bragging rights. The Ironheads weren’t half-bad company once you got past the smell and the constant threats of robbery. They were professionals, in their own messy way.

After every fight, Ignotus would pull out his knife and gather everyone around.

"Watch closely."

He would say, stabbing the tip into a specific joint.

"You don’t just hack at it; you find the soft spot under the hinge. Twist, pull, and the whole leg comes off. Save the white meat near the torso—that’s the good stuff."

He’d start a fire right there on the road, roasting the crab meat until it was tender, and he’d take a bite, closing his eyes in half-lidded bliss.

"Mm... sweet. It almost makes the lack of salt bearable."

Slowly, the atmosphere shifted.

The mercenaries and guards stopped asking him who he was or why a human kid was leading them. They didn’t care about his past or his House. They just saw a guy who knew how to fight, how to eat, and how to keep them alive.

He became part of the pack without even trying.

Ignotus even started ’mentoring’ Lykos, though it was mostly just an excuse to poke the kid.

"Boss, you’re twitching."

He commented, standing behind the wolf-boy during a break.

"The crab’s leg moves before the claw strikes. Watch the leg; if it bends left, the strike goes right. Simple."

Before he realized it, a messy training circle formed around him.

Everyone—mercenaries, guards, and even a very reluctant Ulv—joined in. They threw punches, practiced dodges, and learned the ’Ignotus way’ of fighting dirty.

Ulv looked like he wanted to swallow a sword.

The wolf-man looked like he wanted to claw his own face off at the shame of being seen training under someone objectively weaker than him, but he did it anyway.

"I am only doing this to ensure the Young Lord’s safety."

He grumbled, his ears flat against his head. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Sure you are."

Ignotus smirked.

"Now, try not to fall on your face this time."

Lykos, of course, was the most stubborn.

"I’m not learning from him!"

He shouted, his tail wagging furiously despite his angry face.

"I’m the one teaching! I’m just... checking his form!"

"Of course, Boss~."

Ignotus teased.

"Stop calling me that!"

The guards laughed, Ulv groaned, and the days rolled on in a surprisingly pleasant rhythm. During that time, it felt like they were just a group of friends on a weirdly dangerous camping trip.

But the Third Stratum always found a way to ruin the mood.

On their third morning, the sun rose over a camp that felt too quiet.

Ignotus stood up, stretching his arms, and did a quick headcount.

Fourteen.

He counted again.

’...still fourteen.’

One of the Ironhead mercenaries—a quiet one—was gone.

There was no bedroll, gear, or any sign of a struggle, simply an empty patch of dirt where the man had been sleeping.

Ignotus looked at the empty space, his eyes narrowing.

’Deserting? Or...?’

He looked at the surrounding tall grass.

’Dammit.’

The silence of the morning suddenly felt a lot heavier.