EP.80 – The Knight Sets Out Once More (3)
The fist came down like thunder. It shook the earth, tore the waterfall apart, and threw up a gale fit to kill. Any man that blow struck would have died on the spot, and the one who threw it had swung with the full acceptance that his own skull might burst. No human being could take a hit like that and walk away whole. Shattered to pieces, and still there would have been nothing to say.
And yet a sharp electric crackle split the air.
"Pretty sturdy for your age. I'll give you that, old warlock."
"......"
His fist had failed to take the shaman apart. He had landed it clean, and still there was no satisfying impact in the hand. If anything—
"Only my hand hurts."
The hand that struck was the one in pain. How long had it been since he had felt anything like that? After mastering Diamond Body and reaching the realm of Unbreakable, he had been certain that his defense, at least, stood at the highest peak. His throbbing hand made a mockery of that certainty. It had been nothing but arrogance.
As if he had taken his own strength straight back.
"Young hero. I would not recommend facing a seasoned shaman head-on. The stronger your power, the more that power simply returns to you."
The blind shaman declared it as though confirming the sensation was exact, and Lee Han gave a slow nod.
"Attack reflection. Annoying as hell. Just what I'd expect from a warlock."
"It is how a shaman survives."
"Hm. But you can't reflect all of it, can you?"
"......"
"Wipe the blood off, warlock."
"......"
Blood trickled from the corner of the blind shaman Amos's mouth. No wound showed on the outside. The blood was proof the shock had reached within. He had reflected Lee Han's blow, but not completely. Some of the impact remained.
Which meant—
"So if you can't reflect it all the way, I just have to brute my way through my own attacks, and sooner or later I drop you. That about right?"
"A foolish method. Do that, and your body will collapse first."
"I don't know about that. I figure I could take about a thousand. Test me if you want."
"......"
"If you're going to do it, you'd better mean it."
There was not a scrap of warmth in Lee Han's voice. It was the sort of tone that lifted the hair on a man's arms, and it made plain the words were no bluff.
"...Frightening."
A shaman's talent was said to be rarer even than a mage's, the sort born once in ten thousand, and among such shamans the one rumored to hold power beyond an Archmage was the great shaman. Because of that, anyone who stood against Amos—Archmage or Champion-rank knight alike—had looked to him like something equally low. Even the Mercenary King was merely an irritation. Amos had never believed he could lose.
...Then why?
This young man is dangerous.
He might actually be able to kill him. The premonition struck hard, and a shaman's premonitions had a nasty habit of coming true. For the first time in his life, Amos felt it with terrible clarity. Today might be the day he died.
...Just as that sick unease of standing on death's edge washed over him—
"......Well. I'll let it go once. Trying to play me with a lie was pretty damn insolent, though."
The killing intent that had been spearing upward settled all at once, and he shrugged.
"...?"
Amos was thrown, but the words that followed forced his eyes wide for an entirely different reason.
"You're not the Prophet, are you?"
Amos went rigid.
"Summoning the Ghost King—that part feels true, and also not. You probably helped. But you didn't actually know it could be summoned for real, did you?"
"......"
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
"......Has the young man learned to read minds?"
"Nothing like that."
He tapped his nose, then his ear, playful as anything.
"My ears and nose are just sensitive."
He said it lightly, but Amos could not laugh. Not even a little. All he could think was that this was a truly frightening young man.
He had known from the start that the warlock's words were a lie. Truth and falsehood had been mixed together, and that was all that had confused him, so he had thrown the punch. Truth mixed in meant the warlock had something to answer for.
And if the man could not block it and died, what then?
Not my problem.
The warlock had provoked him first, and it was the warlock who had tried to toy with him through lies. If he died, that was his own fate.
"How did you know?"
"Hm?"
"You said what that shaman was saying was a lie, didn't you? Look at his face. The man looks like he's seen a ghost. Heh."
Caesar was openly shaken. It was the first time he had ever seen a shaman of that caliber lose his composure, and he plainly wanted to know how the lie had been caught. Lee Han answered as if it were nothing worth mentioning.
"Looks like he forced his breathing, the sound of his heart, even the scent of his body into shape with shamanic arts. My ears and nose run sensitive. Artificial sound, artificial smell—I catch those cold."
"...A remarkable ability."
"Wouldn't call it an ability. Just a little sensitive."
"It does not look like 'a little' to me..."
Caesar sounded thoroughly done with him, but Lee Han meant every word. He had reason to. The keenness of that nose and those ears was the fruit of effort honed across long years. If he could not even trust his own effort—
Then what was the point of any of it?
Which was why he turned back to the shaman.
"Hey. Fake Prophet. Got a question. You come here because the real Prophet wants to meet me? Or because he wants to dig something up?"
"......"
"...Hm. Not particularly eager to meet me, then. But the Prophet himself being interested in me—that part checks out."
Lee Han was no fool who failed to use his own ability to the full, and no idiot who let a chance to pull information slip past.
The blind shaman's fingertips twitched.
"Next question. You climb this mountain to kill me? Or were you going to offer me a job?"
"......"
"Both. You thought about killing me, and you thought about recruiting me. Killing me was the bigger thought."
"...Enough."
"A warlock paired with a spell-peddler. Looking at that combination, you lot came out of the place they call the Torn Wing. Which means you know the Prophet. They say the Torn Wing is the organization's brain."
"I told you to stop!!"
The blind shaman shouted it, as if begging him to stop reading what lay underneath. Lee Han did not stop. The man could not even bring his full strength to bear, too busy minding Vulcan's temper. Whether his opponent raged was none of Lee Han's concern, and the angrier the man got, the better Lee Han's luck.
"You know there are three reasons I decided you aren't the Prophet? One. The bastard they call the Prophet is someone who made me taste defeat. An enemy, but a hell of a man I can respect. You don't look threatening to me at all. Being called a great shaman, you've got some power, sure. Threatening? I wouldn't say that. Two. From what I've seen, the Prophet is not the kind of man who walks this stupidly onto enemy ground. A strategist who played every genius in the kingdom—would he pull something this dumb? Three. This one's just my personal take, but I don't think the Prophet is a man with magic, or shamanism, or a Mystery. Why do I think that? Because his strategies had it in them. That sorrow. That anger. The kind that comes from understanding people with no power. Looking at that, there's a real chance the Prophet is an ordinary man. Maybe even someone who used to be loyal to the kingdom—"
The blast tore the air apart.
"—maybe even a civil servant."
"......You are dangerous. Far too dangerous."
Was this what a shaman's curse-power amounted to? A curse-like force tried to swallow Lee Han whole, but his Intent, Unbreakable, struck it aside with perfect precision. And the instant the shaman showed his power, a bolt steeped in Vulcan's wrath came screaming down on him.
"Ghk—!?"
"...See? Told you. Too damn stupid."
Lee Han said it as if he were toying with the man, but Caesar, watching, knew perfectly well the shaman was not stupid. How could a great shaman be dull-witted? So this was only—
...I have never seen a natural enemy quite like this.
He had simply lost his calm under the pressure of real danger. The natural enemy of mages and shamans. At least to Caesar's eye, Lee Han held an overwhelming advantage against both. Their shamanism and their magic did not work on him at all, and whatever they tried to hide, he tore open. Deception and arrogance, the mocking of the world's own laws—that was what mages and shamans were. Lee Han's senses, which crushed that deception, would be pure terror to every mage and shaman alive. How many mages did a man have to cut down before he came by a knack and a history like that? Honestly.
And then the natural enemy of mages and shamans spoke.
"......"
"If you don't have that resolve, leave. Luck doesn't come twice."
If they wanted to live, they could get the hell out of his sight.
Clap. Clap.
Caesar caught himself applauding before he knew he was doing it. Even he would not have dared handle a great shaman so lightly, and yet—
Those Pendragon bastards. What in hell were they thinking, driving out a man like that?
......Short of being morons of a truly rare breed, he could not imagine how they had managed it.