Chapter 331
Chapter 331
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.69 – The Knight Cheers for the Youths (10)
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Scratch, scratch.
The only sound echoing softly in the office was that of a luxurious fountain pen filling the paper's margins.
Just as it revealed the office owner's personality, only the necessities were precisely arranged, and even the angles of the chair and desk hinted at the meticulous nature of whoever maintained them.
In this silent office, utterly devoid of any other sound besides the pen...
"Aren't you in a bind since it looks like you've been found out? What do you plan to do?"
"......"
Scratch....
A stranger's voice rang out.
"......"
Clearly, there was only one man in the office, yet at some point, a middle-aged man who was addressing him had appeared. For the first time, the fountain pen's movement halted.
"...I told you not to barge in whenever you feel like it."
"Sorry about that, but I was curious. I wondered if you weren't being too complacent."
"It's none of your business."
"Come now, how can you say that? We're in the same boat, after all."
"Know your place. Do you think joining hands briefly with trash like you makes us comrades?"
"How cold."
The two did not seem to get along.
No, it appeared the office owner was unilaterally despising the middle-aged man.
One might expect such a gaze to provoke discomfort, but the middle-aged man shrugged lightly, evidently unwilling to upset the mood of his host, who was sheltering 'them'.
"Well, I'll mind my words. I have no intention of defying the master of Roengrin, after all."
"......"
The man's brows furrowed even tighter.
Those words felt like nothing less than mockery.
- Rosess Tura de Roengrin.
He was none other than the current head of the sacred Roengrin family. Rosess set down the fountain pen and finally met the middle-aged man's eyes with full seriousness.
"They call you parasites out there, don't they? I can see why. Leeches who can do nothing but cling to others—utter incompetents."
"Hey, that's a bit harsh..."
"Am I wrong? You claimed that if you put your minds to it, there's nothing you couldn't do. Yet contrary to your boasts, you keep failing, getting beaten repeatedly by a single knight. Do you know what I think upon witnessing this?"
"......"
"'Regret.' Regret for allying with such an incompetent lot, and self-loathing besides."
"Hmm..."
"If there were a way to replace you, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. That's how useless you are, you worthless scum."
"......"
"It's time you stopped disappointing me. Otherwise, even I don't know what I might resort to. ......Show me results. Fail, and it won't be anyone else—your end will come by my hand."
"......"
"Out. Unlike you loafers, I'm busy."
It was a chilling send-off, and the middle-aged man had no choice but to leave with a wry smile.
He wanted to argue back, but...
'No ground to stand on.'
Every word rang true.
"......"
Thud....
Even after confirming the middle-aged man had left, Rosess couldn't bring himself to work, unable to suppress the surging displeasure.
Crush.
The fountain pen in his hand had long since crumbled to dust and vanished. Rosess let out a sigh.
"My temper is the real issue here."
What was the point of flying into such a rage over a pest acting a little obnoxious?
He should know how to calm himself somewhat, yet he berated himself for failing to do so.
And so, Rosess,
"......"
Click.
Confirming no presences lingered around the office, he opened one of the desk drawers and retrieved something.
Golden strands that gleamed.
It resembled human hair, and despite having sat in the drawer for ages, it retained its luster—clearly the result of magical preservation. As Rosess caressed the locks, he smiled faintly for the first time.
As if the mere sight filled him with bliss.
And then.
"...I miss you. So very much.... So please, wait. No matter the means, I will surely reclaim you."
Even if...!
"Even if it means offering your daughter—that filthy wench tainted by Galahad's blood—."
Rosess murmured it like a vow to himself and smiled.
Brilliantly.
"-What a mad bastard, the craziest I've ever laid eyes on. Where do they even breed types like that?"
Meanwhile, though Rosess believed himself alone, the middle-aged man mocked him from outside the window, watching his every move with a venomous sneer.
As if the man could not be more repulsive.
"Right?"
"Yes, it turns my stomach too."
"Heh heh, if that's affection, then it's affection. Twisted, obsessive love-hate."
"...To me, it just screams fixation. The kind only a lunatic would have."
"Can't argue with that."
The middle-aged man nodded readily in agreement.
As stated, Rosess—the master of Roengrin—had lost his mind long ago.
Otherwise, why would he ever cooperate with the likes of them?
It was no conduct befitting a great noble, head of a holy knightly house. He was little more than one treading a blood-soaked path.
Still.
"Well, it works to our advantage."
Thanks to that perfect shade of madness, they could exploit Roengrin—a stroke of luck, indeed.
Satisfied with that alone, the middle-aged man added, contentedly...
"Ah, speaking of which..."
"?"
"I heard someone from Roengrin dispatched assassins after an insolent fool using their family name. Fugitives from the Empire, apparently."
"...Of all the timings?"
"You know how nobles are about their pride. Probably wanted to punish the impostor tarnishing their name."
"What if that faker turns out dangerous?"
"That's my worry too, but they insisted not to fret. Said he's nothing like the known threats. Besides, what can be done? It's already underway."
"No, what the—"
The middle-aged man's eyelid twitched faintly.
Stirring up trouble when silence was called for?
When they knew full well 'they' were around?
...Great nobles, indeed!
"Sometimes, they're worse than us by a mile."
Insufferably deranged lunatics.
"Sigh, all we can do is hope it blows over smoothly."
Rather than fret over what was done, he could only pray for resolution.
......Well.
Crunch-!
"Is this all you've got?"
"......"
"Ah, what an idiot I am. Like conversing with assassins sent to kill me will get me anywhere. Just fight—that's the answer."
"......"
"─Here I come."
Whoosh!
...Contrary to the middle-aged man's hopes, Roengrin's choice proved disastrously ill-timed.
They had yet to realize they had stirred a hornet's nest.
Slash!!
The handaxe hurled by the knight did not strike the assassins lunging at him—it cleaved empty air.
Yet a sound like flesh being rent echoed from that empty space, and in an instant...
Thud!
...a human silhouette materialized, collapsing on the spot.
The short staff in hand marked him a mage, but it was hardly a good omen.
"Y-You scum!"
Crackle!
A ferocious storm of telekinesis laced with lightning.
Blood poured from his chest, but a mana barrier barely clung his life together. The mage, burning with fury, channeled every last drop of mana into a desperate all-out strike aimed solely at one target.
It was the death throes of a seasoned veteran mage—enough power to skewer even a massive beast in one go—but...
Splat.
Drip....
"...Huh?"
"Think I don't know spellcaster tricks?"
He shattered the telekinetic gale and barrier in a heartbeat, his blade piercing the mage's throat.
The knight fixed the mage with an impassive stare even as he finished him, then.
Crack!
wrenched the neck in an impossible direction.
"Banri Gong!!"
Assassin 3 wailed the dead mage's name, yet the knight merely shook out his hand and leisurely retrieved his handaxe.
"You dare...!"
Whoosh!
Assassin 3 charged with a hatred-twisted face, blade thrust forward.
The aura he exuded was no joke—air itself rippled around him, confirming mastery of fighting technique.
No exaggeration to call him top-tier knight caliber. And so,
Crunch!
"Aaaah...!"
"What a clown. You came to kill me first—why play the victim? You crazy?"
He casually parried the devastating blow with a handblade, snapping Assassin 3's wrist like dry kindling. The knight could only shake his head in disbelief once more.
"That spellcaster whose neck I just broke was bad enough, but you positively reek of blood too?"
"Th-This..."
"Hmm, seen it somewhere... that mage too, and you feel familiar?"
Crunch!
"!!?"
The knight's hand had already clamped the foe's jaw in a brutal vise. Alternating glances between Assassin 3 and the dead mage, his expression hovered on the edge of recollection.
As if he'd seen them before.
As he pondered,
Pew! Pew!
Soundless needle darts flew forth, but he batted them away with ease.
Yet it was a ploy.
They had anticipated the block.
However.
"Fool! Arachne venom rivals acid in potency! The instant you blocked, your hand should've melted—"
"Ah, right. You're Blood Wind, aren't you? The assassin crew operating in the Empire."
...It had zero effect on him.
"......"
"Kiddy name for such brutal work: a pack of psychos who'll butcher pregnant women or kids without batting an eye if it serves the goal. Targeted an imperial warlord, only to get your whole outfit wiped out and slapped with bounties. Bunch of morons."
Crunch...!
"No wonder you give off that nauseating stench. Makes sense now."
"P-Poisoned... why...?"
Assassin 2's pupils quivered as he watched the knight impassively recite their dossier while snapping Assassin 3's neck one-handed—the man who had brimmed with confidence moments ago.
He knew this wasn't someone who went down easy.
But the true shock was.
"Well, playtime's over..."
Groooowl!
......The knight's form—no, his very body—
──was [transforming].
Into something massive and hulking, and
"...Around fifty of you? Lucky. Leaving one or two alive makes squeezing out intel a breeze."
The assassins shuddered at the sight of the knight shifting—no, [evolving] into his 'supremely violent form'.
His upper garments had long shredded away from the explosive musculature, and even full plate armor paled before the natural armor of his overwhelming physique. The knight
Boom!
proceeded to upend the entire area.
Not figuratively, but
Rumble rumble rumble!
literally—the earth itself was overturning.
......That day, a magnitude 4.2 earthquake struck, but registering as mere window rattles, folk dismissed it as a trivial occurrence.
Unaware it was deliberate.
He could have unleashed far greater tremors had he wished, but thanks to the considerate knight cheering on the partying youths, the gathering—the young revelers' bash—continued uninterrupted.