Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.24 – No Excuses in My Life (6)
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Among the enemy nations that had clashed with Pendragon in war, there was no one who didn't know the name Tristan.
Was it because of the Red Blood Vultures, the elite knights clad in white armor?
No.
Was it because of their prestigious family lineage spanning centuries?
That wasn't it either.
Simply...
"Damn it! How the hell is there an archer that terrifying?!"
Tristan's archers.
The successive heads of Tristan, called master marksmen or divine archers—and sometimes [Sniper of Magic Bullets]—would always rack up feats on the battlefield that overwhelmed even knight orders.
Enemy commanders always died to Tristan's arrows, and there was no escaping them.
Not even with magic barriers.
Not even surrounded by soldiers with shields.
No matter how far they fled...
Despite countless efforts, Tristan's arrows mocked them all, piercing the heads of commanders and enemy leaders with unerring precision.
Thus, some say:
The heads of Tristan must possess some mystery.
No matter how much fighting technique they train, it's impossible to display archery like that divine skill without a mystery.
But every time they heard such words, the successive heads of Tristan would only smirk.
"A mystery, hmm... Doesn't take one to pull it off."
Tristan says:
With systematic training from childhood, honing senses sharp enough to catch the sound of a leaf falling from afar. Shooting thousands, tens of thousands of arrows a day through relentless effort—anyone can become a master archer... or so.
Yes, with 'effort' and 'a bit of talent', anyone can acquire talents akin to a mystery.
However.
"Even if I tell them, no one pulls it off, so they don't believe me."
They would shrug, lamenting that no one believed the plain truth.
Yet...
'...How the hell is that even possible?'
Is this how enemies facing Tristan's bows always felt?
Jenimia blinked at the knight who had blocked his 'bullet' with a mystical—no, bizarre—method, and unwittingly asked:
"How do you do that?"
"With effort."
"...Doesn't seem like effort alone would cut it."
He had blocked Jenimia's strike with his teeth—more precisely, the power of his jaws.
Biting force.
Jenimia couldn't help but be astonished at the sight of him snaring the bullet precisely with nothing but his bite, and his opponent said:
"It's not that effort won't do it—it's that your effort falls short."
"......"
...Hearing from others the very words he always said to them left Jenimia with a complex, subtle feeling.
'Whoa, shit. That was way too close...!'
His gums throbbed.
He'd bluffed in front of the marquis, but truthfully, Lee Han had never intended to block that bullet with his teeth.
He'd planned to dodge or deflect it with his hand axe, but he'd missed the timing to evade or parry.
- Silent Bow Shot.
An arrow with no sound, existing only in the act of release.
His acute crisis detection had luckily allowed him to block it.
Had he failed, it would've been a gruesome end.
'This is insane... Why are all the high nobles in this country monsters?'
The grand duke and duke from yesterday were the same...
High nobles more terrifying than knights, opponents where a single mistake could mean death. Damn.
Hoo...!
Lee Han forcibly relaxed, no time to wipe the cold sweat soaking his back.
Any muscle tension, and...
Bang!
Baaaang!
Booom—!!
...he'd get hit without a chance to dodge.
The marquis's bullets fired at him again.
"Dodged this time!"
"Don't treat people like lab rats!"
The old man was thrilled.
Amazed by his teeth-blocking trick, he drew the bowstring without pause, unleashing volleys too fast for the eye to follow.
Hands are faster than eyes, they say?
Now he knew why.
This guy's firing rate nearly matched a gun's reload speed.
A massive composite bow taller than an average man.
Handling it like a toy proved his draw strength matched Lee Han's.
How could that slender frame wield such power?!
Booooom!!
"!!?"
"Finally hit you. But how'd you train that body? It should've shattered bones... Am I getting old?"
"...No need to correct yourself."
He'd barely activated Indestructible Training.
Without the habit, his skin would've torn or bones cracked.
A frightening man.
But positively:
'My reactions are keeping up.'
He was dodging and reacting to archery near divine—nay, rivaling mysteries or magic.
After dozens of shots, he'd started blocking, dodging, or deflecting.
His reaction speed was rising.
Meaning counterattacking the marquis was now...
Halt!
"Remarkable. Your body's a wreck, yet with extraordinary senses and bizarre techniques, you're reacting to my shots. At my age, I've seen most mysteries and skills, but I guess I was still a novice, haha!"
"......"
...Lee Han chose retreat and catching his breath over countering.
Something told him closing in would end him.
"Good instincts. Right, you can't get cocky over beating parlor tricks."
"How many of those parlor tricks you got left?"
"Sadly, that's all. Time to get serious."
"......"
Shwaaaa!
A vortex—no, all surrounding flows converged on the marquis.
Air and wind sucked into a point, forming a tiny typhoon's eye.
Kwaaak!
Lee Han planted his feet hard, fearing he'd be pulled in, enduring the marquis's vortex.
'Holy shit! Is this even human!?'
His own words, but the sight drew groans.
Attraction force.
The marquis generated it with that tiny frame.
No mere human feat, and more terrifying for lacking magic or mystery.
Then it hit him.
'This guy's one step from superhuman!'
Superhuman, calamity in human form: Aura User.
A man who'd reached that threshold.
Just one step short, unmet conditions barring ascent—yet the marquis teetered on the edge.
Lee Han let out a hollow laugh.
Body battered, stamina unknown limits.
Even at peak, victory uncertain—now fighting this.
Despairing.
Charging now was suicide—
Kwaang!
"......"
"Hmm, reactions to this technique are twofold: beg for life in terror, or flee."
"Smart folks. I wanna bolt right now."
"Haha, yet here you stand?"
"...Regretting it already."
Lee Han stomped away despair, coiling to charge.
The marquis's eyes gleamed at the fighting spirit in Lee Han's gaze.
"-You can admit defeat. Fear before the strong isn't shameful—survival matters."
"I know. My life's creed: live happily, long."
"Then why push so hard?"
"...Don't wanna make excuses."
"......"
Bad shape?
Or facing a 50-year-old monster who'd brush off tales?
He voiced his pent-up sincerity.
"I've already lived a life of excuses. Can't do this, can't do that. Reality's harsh, so give up. Always excusing."
Wuuuung!
"But chance came to this pathetic guy. Promised: no more excuses. Live without regrets!"
Yes, he'd quit the knights now, retire.
Live peacefully with a cute dog and cat.
Power, honor, knighthood—meaningless.
Foolish? He wanted a better life than his past.
But!
'Cowardly excuses? Once is enough.'
Happy life, not cowardly.
Repeating past in reincarnation? Pointless miracle!
"I didn't train to bow heads, watch allies suffer, live suffocating!"
Lee Han roared his resolve.
Live happily.
But not cowardly.
Thus he fought.
Mages.
Millennium troll.
Now marquis.
And...
"I'll live damn cool, zero regrets!"
Blood Plum Blossom
Plum Blossoms in Full Bloom
Flowers—plum blossoms—bloomed.
Not from his sole hand axe.
- Blood Plum Blossom.
Blossom petals born from his aura, his shed blood as offering.
Plum Blossoms in Full Bloom.
Lee Han's petals blanketed the marquis's sky.
"...Strong, truly strong! Haven't seen strength like this in ages!"
For the first time, Jenimia praised another so highly in his life.
Not for the beautiful plums.
His resolve deserved it.
Who truly lives each day like a lifetime, not just lip service?
Not even the 'late king'.
"One shot. Block it, and I concede defeat."
"......"
"Not dismissing you. Archers settle with one shot."
Kwaaaaa!!
Krunch!
"Kuhk!"
Lee Han swallowed a groan at the marquis's strike shredding his body.
Vast pressure swallowed wind and sound.
Lush plums barely held, soon to break.
Before unstoppable flow, he felt a bug crushed by a giant.
Touch alone lethal.
Stamina long drained blooming plums.
Vision blurring, consciousness fading.
'...Dying?'
Lee Han envisioned death.
Is this it? His limit?
—Not yet.
'Not yet!'
He'd promised.
Return not late.
So survive and return.
That pure maid would wait forever!
Thus.
'Must return!'
Shwaak!
...Thud.
Lee Han moved instinctively.
Body's ingrained natural motion.
Swoosh.
Clench fist.
Bend waist slightly, step left foot forward.
White Lotus Divine Fist?
No.
Similar principle, but if example needed:
- How do you do that?
- Read the wind's grain; anyone can. Spellcasters love it.
- ...First time knowing magic without incantations.
- Martial world is endless. Effort lets you mimic spellcasters easily.
- Bullshit.
Ah...
Remembered.
Before instructor post, sparring that guy.
Showed slicing wind grains.
Wondered how...
'Didn't need much strength, right?'
No great power.
Light swing parried his full-body tackle.
Now, Lee Han replicated.
'Like this?'
Battered, low stamina—perfect to mimic.
Hwaaak!
Light yet heavy, heavy yet free, reverent.
Yes, like Buddha's merciful fist.
'Arhat...'
Paaaat—!
—The maid still dozed leaning on the tree.
Instead of going home to sleep, Leira Winter guarded silently, unwilling to leave.
Squirrels, sparrows gathered around her.
Deer, wolves appeared too—predator-prey together, yet no flight or attacks.
Just guarding the dozing maid.
Mystical sight.
Like a fairy tale.
But unlike tales, no prince in finery or crown awaited her.
What Leira Winter awaited:
Twitch!
"...You're late."
"...Hehe, you're here."
Rough but promise-keeping, warm man.
As if never dozing, Leira Winter greeted with bright smile.
Messy, bandages sloppily wrapped, returning man.
To him who'd given his all today, Leira:
"Good work."
"......"
As always, hugged smiling.
"...I'm filthy."
"Wash up."
"...Geez."
Man smiled wryly; Leira beamed.
As if joyful at kept promise.
Whiiiish.
"...What a personality."
Dawn breaking.
Gazing at dim sky, Jenimia shook his head.
"...Should've gotten proper treatment before leaving."
He regretted.
He wanted tea and chat; he left coldly.
Jenimia stared at his spot, savoring regret.
And.
"...Sir Baltar found an amusing one, haha."
Last strike.
His, unmistakably.
Yet not identical.
Raw flavor of self-made through blows.
'Doesn't raise disciples, but doesn't block self-learning. Odd men met.'
He laughed purely, childlike, joyfully.
Thought post-late king, motivation gone—like him.
But now:
"Keeping the fun to yourself."
He patted his abdomen.
No pain, no wound.
Yet...
"Heavy."
Heavy aura, 'will', lingered.
"Ahahaha!!"
Refreshed like never, he laughed heartily.
Thinking:
Cooler, fresher than dawn air...
Truly rewarding 'defeat'. Truly.