World's Best Protagonist [BL]-Chapter 95: Where Are They?

As soon as the sun rose, Claude’s figure was already moving. He had a lot on his mind because of last night’s events, so he volunteered to scout the area where Noir and Etienne went.

He narrowed his eyes as he moved like a shadow down the mountain. His steps were precise against the uneven terrain. He was fast, as though he was trying to exert all his energy on how to trek that mountain, rather than think of something.

The wind howled against the jagged cliffs behind him.

He stopped for a moment and gasped for air. But as soon as his body relaxed, his mind recalled what he had seen last night.

"Damn it."

He ran his hand over his face, frustratedly, erasing any thoughts that lingered in his mind.

After an hour of trekking down the rocky mountain, he finally reached a dense forest. Trees loomed like sentinels, and their gnarled roots curled from the forest floor like sleeping beasts.

"A dense forest hiding a rocky mountain infested by monsters," Claude murmured to himself.

Jade said nothing about Noir’s identity, nor did Noir. So, Claude began thinking.

Why would someone drop off a kidnapped victim right in front of the monsters’ lair, passing through this dense forest?

Claude looked around, heightened his senses, and put up his guard as he decided to step inside the forest.

It had been a full day since Etienne and Noir descended.

With Noir’s ability to traverse terrain through his Sensory Field, the forest should’ve been easy for them. But Claude felt a foreboding.

Forests like these—dense and too quiet—had a way of hiding more than just shadows.

He stepped past the first treeline, the earth soft and damp beneath his boots. His fingers brushed the hilt of the blade sheathed behind his back—not because he felt threatened, but because habit dictated caution.

His expression remained unreadable as he scanned the surroundings.

Claude had fought in wars back in his world. He knew the signs of traps, the silence of predators, and instincts told him something sinister lurked in that forest.

He began to worry about his two companions.

Passing through more bushes and lines of tall trees, he spotted a clearing from a distance, and a dilapidated house in the middle.

It was a small hut, crooked, but there were signs of living, judging from the clothes hanging on the slanted wooden column supporting the roof.

Claude’s eyes narrowed. Who’s stupid enough to live in a forest next to the monsters’ den?

The hut stood suspiciously, hence, he observed it behind the tree for several minutes. When no movement inside and outside was made, he decided to approach with slow, quiet, careful steps.

He didn’t knock. There was only silence inside. Claude assumed the owner went somewhere.

However, the moment he pushed the wooden door open, a man lunged from the shadows with a dagger.

"Gotcha!"

The man exclaimed gleefully, but the grin was wiped off his face when his attack landed in the air instead.

Claude dodged cleanly, stepping aside with cold precision, and struck the attacker’s gut with his elbow. The man flew back into the table behind him, splintering wood on impact.

"Fuck," Claude cursed under his breath. He was already convinced that something had happened to Noir and Etienne.

Another man charged from the left.

Claude drew his blade and swiped it upward in a single, fluid motion. The point of his blade pierced right in the man’s chest. He pulled his sword out instantly, and blood splattered along with it.

"Shit! He’s got a sword!" Another man shouted, assuming Claude was a knight.

Two more emerged—burly, frantic, and reeking of sweat and desperation. One had a crossbow. The other raised an axe overhead and let out a feral roar.

Claude parried the axe, the sound of metal meeting metal ringing loud inside the small hut. He shifted his weight, swept the attacker’s legs with a kick, and flipped the axe into his own hand mid-motion.

With a sharp turn, he hurled it at the crossbow wielder.

"Argh!" The man cried out and dropped his weapon, clutching his shoulder.

The man wielding a dagger bravely attacked him from behind, but Claude was quick. With a single motion, his sword stabbed into the guy’s chest.

The one with the crossbow fell on the floor and crawled to the corner. There were five of them—two were dead.

Claude advanced toward him calmly, the expressions on his face were dark and murderous.

The three men now lay either sprawled on the floor or backed against the walls, groaning.

Claude knelt beside the first man he took down and grabbed a handful of his shirt, yanking him close. His voice was low and deliberate, exuding authority and viciousness.

"Two young men passed through this forest. One pink-haired, loud. The other was quiet, golden-haired. Where are they?"

"We—we haven’t seen anyone!" one of them stammered, trying to crawl away.

Claude didn’t look at him. He rose to his feet and stepped toward the far corner of the hut. Something caught his eye.

A torn piece of fabric—tattered, but unmistakable. The same fabric as their team coats.

He plucked it off a nail, which was probably caught in it, and stared at it for a moment. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

He turned back to them.

"I’ll ask again. Two men passed by here wearing similar clothes to mine. Where are they?" He raised his hand holding the piece of cloth.

His voice became icy and deadly. He moved like a predator among the injured men, dragging one up by his collar.

"W–we don’t know!"

Claude stabbed the tip of his sword on the guy’s thigh without mercy. The guy screamed, shaking his head out of pain, saliva coming out of his mouth.

"You set up this hut to lure people lost in the forest," Claude remarked. "Don’t lie. Where are they? Did you hurt them?!"

The sword was pushed deeper and twisted, earning another agonizing scream from the man.

"No! No, we didn’t touch ’em! I swear—!"

Claude drove his foot into the man’s gut, letting him drop, and then he pulled out his sword.

"I won’t ask again," he threateningly said, eyeing the other two that if they don’t speak, his sword will strike them next.

One of them finally cracked under the pressure.