9. Rescue (3)
Just five minutes ago, the reception room had brimmed with ornate decorations, lascivious scents, and voluptuous whores overflowing with erotic allure.
But now... it was a scene so wretched that calling it hell would be no exaggeration.
Blood pools had risen so high they swallowed the carpet whole. Over twenty corpses lay spilling even more blood than had already poured out through the front door. Guts spilling out, eyeballs popping free—anyone without iron guts would have puked their insides out on the spot.
"Huuuuh..."
At the center stood Lumentar, slowly regulating his breath. His silver hair, which gleamed like it held moonlight, was now stained with blood. Chunks of scalp and flesh clung to his tightly gripped sword and light armor. Yet no trace of exhaustion showed on him. Instead, the thick murderous intent rolling off him burned even fiercer in his eyes—a blaze of vengeance hotter than before.
The next instant.
"Krrrind..."
In one corner of the reception room, still untouched by blood, Lumentar glared at the bald giant standing there—a brute a full head taller than him—and ground his teeth.
That set it off. The killing intent pouring from Lumentar grew savager still, while the lone giant remaining cackled and peeled his back off the wall.
"Heh heh heh... Now that's more like it. I heard dark elves fight well, but I didn't expect this level..."
"You're Igor, then?"
"Thanks to you, I got to savor a thrill I'd forgotten for years. Limbs tearing off by the dozens, them wriggling in blood-soaked filth... See this? It's been damn near three years since I got this hard and thick."
Ignoring Lumentar's question about his identity, the giant flicked his towering crotch and hefted the greatsword propped slantwise against his shoulder.
Lumentar asked no more. He simply edged his left foot forward a touch.
Shwaaa...
Blood sloshed aside in small ripples. The giant wiped the grin from his face and leveled his greatsword at Lumentar.
For a brief moment, the death-drenched reception room echoed only with their breathing.
Craaaang!!
Both lunged. Their bodies overlapped in a flash of red sparks.
Before the sparks faded—
"Ngh!"
Lumentar, clashing blades, was hurled back. He skidded over three meters, blood splashing up from the floor in the shockwave. Astonishment rippled across his face as he barely regained his footing.
Not only had his slash at the giant's side been blocked—he'd been overpowered and flung away.
Which meant this brute's skill was no mere red-light gangster boss.
Lumentar's stance sharpened instinctively. The vengeance roiling in his eyes cooled to calm focus.
His left hand—the one not on his sword—slipped discreetly toward his waist.
That's when the giant, stepping back a pace, flashed another grotesque grin. He slung his greatsword over his shoulder and spoke.
"Looks like you're surprised. Well, a pimp scraping by with whores blocking a dark elf's strike? Yeah, that's a shock."
"You're... an ex-knight."
"Ho... You figured that out from one clash? Spot on. I was once in the proud Northern Border Knight Order. Until those 'brothers' exiled me over my tastes."
Igor spat the words with mockery and rage. Veins bulged on his bald scalp. But his stance didn't waver—old habits from his knight days kept his fury in check. A knight controls emotions in battle, always seeking efficient moves.
Before two breaths passed, the veins subsided. Igor leveled his greatsword horizontally, signaling the end of talk.
"Enough chit-chat. Time to settle this. Gotta catch your fleeing bitch-kin before she leaves the village."
The air in the reception room grew heavy again. Igor whipped his outstretched arm forward in a powerful swing.
Whoooosh!
The greatsword carved a destructive arc through the air with a heavy whoomph, sweeping where Lumentar had stood.
But Igor felt no impact. Lumentar had left only a faint afterimage, slipping to a spot just beyond the blade's reach.
Their first clash had taught Lumentar a head-on fight was a losing game. Time to adjust.
Igor, knowing the dark elf could dodge that easily, used the blade's momentum for a barrage of follow-ups. Each swing sealed off Lumentar's evasion space, herding him craftily toward the corner.
Whish! Whoooosh!
The thick blade scattered silver arcs in half-moons time and again.
Thud...
Like a leaf drifting on wind, Lumentar flowed around the greatsword—until his back hit the wall.
"Hup!"
Igor, waiting for this, inhaled sharply and smashed his raised sword down from above. With power and speed beyond anything before.
Shrieeeee!
The greatsword screamed through the air, poised to cleave Lumentar's skull in two—
Claaaaang!
Lumentar's sword appeared from nowhere, parrying it. The tip angled toward the floor, deflecting the heavy blow.
Boooom!
The blade veered left, shattering stone instead of elf skull. Lumentar's form blurred again, slipping to Igor's right flank.
He pressed his slanted blade tight to the enemy's side. Feet planted firm on blood-slick ground, he twisted his torso in a spin.
All in the blink of an eye. Igor, sword still stuck in the floor, had no choice but to expose his side—
Screeeeech!
Instead of flesh tearing, a chilling metallic ring filled the bloodied room. A solid resistance jolted up Lumentar's sword arm.
He used the remaining spin to pull away, creating distance.
In his sight: through the tear in Igor's clothes, something gleamed beneath.
Soon after—
"Keh heh heh... They say dark elf swordplay's shit against plate armor. Looks like it's true."
Igor yanked his sword free and rapped the plate armor encasing his torso, chuckling. A show of his advantage, to pressure the dark elf.
But then—
"Urk?!"
Igor's arm trembled as he reared back for another swing. The grin froze on his face.
Lumentar revealed his left hand, hidden at his waist. It gripped a dagger—blade and hilt pitch-black, oozing menace.
The sight triggered a memory in Igor: amid the sharp slash at his side, a faint prick at the back of his thigh. Too minor to notice then.
"Fuuuuck..."
Lumentar closed in and swung.
Shluck! Slash!
Igor's hands and head parted from his body in sequence.
....
Splish... splish...
The dark elf's footsteps echoed in Igor's fading ears, squelching through blood-soaked floor—growing distant.
Half-submerged in blood, Igor's life flashed before him.
'Yo, I'll smash that old fuck's skull—you grab the bag while he's down. Try running off with it alone, you're dead.'
Abandoned by unknown parents, his childhood in the slums amid every crime imaginable.
'Ship all these maggot shits north. Word is they're desperate for bodies up there.'
Caught robbing, forced into northern border penal service as a youth.
'Penal soldier Igor, your merits outweigh your crimes. We pardon you and induct you into the knights. Are you prepared to bear this honorable duty with pride?'
Luckily racking up kills for a pardon—and knighthood, the peak for a gutter rat. A time when even Igor thought he might become honorable.
A faint smile ghosted his severed face—until—
'To forsake honor and pride for such depravity! We strip Igor of his knighthood, demote him back to penal soldier, and punish his crimes!'
His secret taste discovered during prisoner interrogations. Caught secretly toying with captured barbarian women by a knight-order priest. Exiled.
His face twisted in injustice and fury.
'Fuck... They made a fuss over me just fucking around with bitches they were gonna kill anyway. Hypocrite scum... Dragging in hairless little brats every night themselves...'
Deserting the penal unit, back to the alleys. His earthly time dwindled to seconds.
Then—a sweet, chilling voice whispered directly into his mind, bypassing his ears.
'Isn't it a shame to end like this?'
Moments later, Igor's corpse sank into the blood pool his dead underlings had made.
And vanished without a trace.