The Butcher of Sargon (LoL x Arknight Fanfiction)

"Kal'tsit, does it hurt?"

"..."

"If you don't speak, I'll just keep going."

"..."

"If it hurts, just scream. There's no one else here, and I won't laugh at you."

"..."

In the room, Kal'tsit, stripped down to just her white undergarments, sat expressionless, like a doll. 

It seemed like no matter what the crocodile man in front of her did, she wouldn't react in the slightest. 

Only when he spoke did she begrudgingly make any movement.

Garde: "Lift your hand a little, put it here."

Garde: "Can you turn around?"

Garde: "Yes, with your backside facing me."

Kal'tsit: "..."

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Kal'tsit snapped, "Garde, can you shut up already?!"

"Nope!"

Garde showed Kal'tsit no kindness. 

It was one thing when she was unconscious, but it was her faulty intel that had gotten them into this mess. 

The fact that he was even bandaging her wounds was more than she deserved.

Yes, Garde was bandaging Kal'tsit's wounds.

What else could it be?

Garde disinfected the wound on her lower back and wrapped it with cotton and gauze to prevent infection. 

In the wild, bleeding wasn't the most dangerous thing; infection was. 

Infection could trigger a series of inflammations, leading to fever and disrupting the body's temperature regulation, which in an extreme environment like the Hotlands, was undoubtedly fatal.

Kal'tsit was a Feline, but unlike most Felines, her tail wasn't very long—just a bit longer than a rabbit's tail.

After finishing up, Garde reached for her clothes to help her get dressed.

"I can do it myself!"

"Alright, Auntie Kal'tsit, don't push yourself. In your current state, you can barely even turn over."

Even Kal'tsit, hearing him call her "Auntie," couldn't help but want to summon Mon3tr and give Garde a beating. 

However, Mon3tr probably wouldn't even be able to beat Garde.

Having lived for so many years and seen so much, Kal'tsit knew there was no point in resisting, so she let Garde help her get dressed.

She actually felt a bit guilty. 

In that last battle, if it hadn't been for Garde, they might all have died in the control center of the factory core. 

So, it was only natural that Garde would be holding a grudge.

"Mon3tr, stay here and protect them. I'm going to go outside and bring in the supplies. I'll also see if I can find a transport vehicle."

After bandaging both Seleiya and Kal'tsit, Garde called out Mon3tr.

"Hiss!"

Emerging from its crystal state into the form of a large beast, the somewhat weary Mon3tr nodded. 

Its regenerative abilities were strong, but the battlefield conditions in the Hotlands weren't favorable for it. 

Each time it was shattered and reconstituted, it grew weaker.

The machines in the factory had all entered standby mode, and the disaster creatures surrounding the factory had long been captured and transformed by the facility. The area would likely remain safe for the time being.

Stepping out the door completely naked, Garde placed his hands on his hips, his thick tail smacking the ground in embarrassment. 

It was easy to discard shame during battle, but once it was over, it always crept back in.

Garde had considered borrowing Kal'tsit's cloak to use as shorts, but she had outright refused.

"Get lost!"

Garde sighed. 

Should he find something to cover his dick? 

Even though there was no one around, he wasn't fond of running around naked.

Garde thought for a moment, deciding he would hunt down a couple of factory-modified disaster beasts, skin them, and fashion some makeshift pants. 

After all, he was a civilized crocodile man!

However, Garde didn't notice a pair of eyes watching him as he left the building. 

A voice quietly murmured:

"He's left."

Scout slowly raised his sniper crossbow, aiming at the distant Garde. 

Honestly, at first, when he saw Doctor Kal'tsit seemingly defiled by a native of the Hotlands, he was filled with anger. But as a sniper, Scout possessed an excellent quality—calmness. What you see isn't always the truth. They had no idea what had really happened in this factory ruin, and it was important not to jump to conclusions before confirming the facts.

"Ascalon, I hope you can subdue the lizardman, but don't kill him. Misery, you and ACE, rescue Doctor Kal'tsit. Stay alert for enemies around. I'll cover you."

"Understood."

"Leave it to me."

"As long as he doesn't resist."

Behind Scout, Ascalon, cloaked in a hooded trench coat, melted into the shadows. Meanwhile, a Sarkaz wearing goggles and a Phidian wielding a large shield moved out from the other side. 

Though the Phidian wasn't a Sarkaz, the fact that he was participating in such an important mission spoke volumes about his strength.

Once Garde had moved far enough from Kal'tsit's building, the four-person Babel team sprang into action. 

Their abilities were formidable, their roles clear. Each of them bore the scent of warfare. They were warriors forged in the crucible of life-and-death battles.

Scout kept his crossbow trained on Garde, finger on the trigger. 

He wasn't aiming for Garde's head, but rather his thigh. 

However, Scout didn't think he'd need to fire. 

The natives of the Hotlands, these lizardmen, were stronger than even the Vouivre in terms of raw physicality, but just like the Vouivre, not all were equally skilled. Whether they had undergone formal training was a major factor.

The lizardmen of the Hotlands could rely on their sheer strength to overpower regular soldiers, and even some elite ones. But against him? Against Ascalon? This lizardman didn't stand a chance.

Scout kept his weapon raised out of caution. "Never underestimate any creature in the Hotlands!"—he remembered the Doctor's warning. So, as Ascalon closed in on Garde, Scout remained focused.

The next moment, every hair on Scout's body stood on end. Garde had glanced in his direction, his eyes filled with confusion.

"Has he spotted me?!"

Scout's heart raced, but it was too late to warn Ascalon.

On the street, ever since leaving the building, Garde had felt like someone was watching him. But oddly, there wasn't any murderous intent. Hesitating, Garde wondered if he should turn back to avoid any unexpected trouble.

What Garde didn't notice was the shadow quietly emerging behind him. Without giving him a chance to react, a figure struck with a dagger, aiming for his thigh.

Clang!

A crisp sound echoed through the street. Ascalon's dagger had struck, but it felt like it had hit a solid block of steel.

"Hmm?"

Garde turned his head, tilting it curiously.

There was no one on the street.

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