Demonic Beasts' Southward Advance (4)
Crackle— crackle—
In the silence, the campfire blazed. Most of the training ground had already fled this uncomfortable spot, but Julie and a few of her peers lingered.
“……”
Gwen watched Julie with her head bowed low. Rafel and Syrio exchanged wordless glances, their eyes flicking back and forth in silent conversation.
“……Wasn’t it some kind of magic cheat? No, probably not. But who the hell kicks in a knight duel anyway…… Oh, right, he’s not a knight.”
Gwen spoke first, then glared at Rafel and Syrio, urging them to chime in.
“Magic…… who knows. But you saw how Deculein wielded that sword, right? The guy looked full of openings, but there weren’t any. Even I probably would’ve taken a hit. It was swordplay I’d never seen before.”
“Hey, man, you calling that swordplay?”
Gwen’s twisted brow stabbed at Syrio.
“That’s just how it felt. Like the wind. Not as good as mine, of course. Ahaha.”
Deculein’s swordsmanship was more like a ‘gesture.’ Elegant as a waltz, never losing a noble’s grace. He dismantled Julie’s blade as if dancing.
“Well said.”
Rafel agreed.
“Moreover, Deculein’s frame is sturdy at a glance. Even you, Julie, would struggle to overcome that physical gap without mana.”
No knight could easily bridge a 20cm reach disparity without mana. It wasn’t some absurdly long spear; forcing her way in had only exposed her to lethal strikes.
“……I’m fine.”
Julie said, in a voice that sounded anything but.
“I admit it. I lost the duel. The professor saw through my forms completely.”
Julie closed her eyes briefly, replaying the match.
Every motion of his, every quiver at blade-tip and fingertip, flowed naturally. Her sword path was predicted, her forms dismantled.
“……Hoo.”
Gwen just sighed. Syrio and Rafel fell silent too.
Julie rummaged in her pocket and pulled something out.
A paper crammed with Deculein’s critiques.
“Obsessed with fundamentals. Seems to mix in variations at first glance, but closer inspection reveals rigid patterns. For instance, after a horizontal cut, options are limited to upper-left or upper-right.”
Julie recited a passage. Gwen, Syrio, and Rafel flinched.
“Also, unable to abandon the brute-force style of Phairden, especially Zeit’s—favoring charges, rushes, assaults……”
“Ah~ spot on. He read that and slammed his shoulder in. No wonder the counter was so fast. That shoulder bash hurt like hell, huh? Haha.”
Syrio clapped, chiming in. Julie bit her lower lip silently; Gwen glared at him.
“Shut it. You.”
“Ah, sorry, sorry.”
Then Julie shot to her feet and turned, walking off somewhere.
Gwen smacked Syrio’s back and followed.
“Julie. Where you headed?”
Julie didn’t turn.
“……Just something to say to Professor Deculein. Won’t be trouble—don’t follow.”
Rustle, rustle.
In the mansion’s backyard as heavy snow settled, I swung the broadsword.
No forms or techniques—just the most efficient motion of body and blade.
Whoosh……
Mukgang steel fluttered like flower petals along the unclear arc—vertical or horizontal slash, who knew?—nineteen blades trailing my sword path.
Not bad utilization. Pair it with Iron Man and Strong Bones, and it’d serve in sword dances, duels, even real combat.
……Still baffling, though. How had Julie endured these titanium-tough shoulders and legs without mana or armor?
“Not bad.”
Anyway, this sword-and-body training was solid. Viable in actual fights.
The issues remained absolute mana quantity and personality flaws.
A mage’s talent couldn’t manifest aura or sword qi easily; even if Metal Reinforcement compensated soon, the mere thought of sweat splattering or bodies grinding was unbearable.
For reference, Metal Reinforcement sat at 99% proficiency, stuck in cursed stagnation. Bottleneck or whatever……?
Suddenly, I halted the blade.
Due to approaching footsteps.
“……Dayia.”
I looked there. Julie stood in the shadows.
She bowed slightly.
“Yes.”
“Reason for seeking me.”
I tossed the broadsword into the snow and asked. Julie hesitated, then answered.
“For healthier review, an opponent’s perspective is needed.”
I nodded.
“Valid, but is review necessary? Your forms were all in my mind; your movements predictable.”
“……”
“Your blade’s quiver alone foretold the next move. A habit to fix—nay, your entire swordsmanship has issues.”
Julie clenched her fists but didn’t argue. She voiced her doubt.
“……Professor, how are you so certain I am flawed.”
“As you say, I am no knight. Yet pure learning knows no bounds of class or profession. I gladly admitted ignorance, learned from it, and understood through learning.”
Julie repeated my words, exhaling softly in acknowledgment.
She wasn’t one for stubborn denial, and she’d felt it most keenly.
“Then—”
“I shall compile all your habits and analyses. Many knights need review, but they refuse to admit I know better than they.”
“……Yes.”
Julie murmured softly.
“But first.”
I scanned her up and down.
Height known: 173cm.
Yet knights were muscle lumps; weight couldn’t be gauged visually.
“Your weight around 65kg?”
“……”
Julie’s lips sealed tight. Eyes wide with shock, she stared.
I waited for her answer.
“……”
“……”
“……”
“……”
Silence stretched; my brow furrowed naturally.
“Answer.”
Julie mumbled.
“Six…… ty…… six……”
“Speak clearly.”
“……”
Stammering faintly, she spat a tiny number.
I heard it.
“Heavier than thought. Fitting for a knight. Now go.”
“……”
Julie glared, dropped her eyes to the snow, glared again, dropped them…… repeating before trudging away.
I entered the mansion, mulling her height, weight, limb ratios, strength gauged in duel.
Then.
“You’re back.”
“Oh, Professor’s here.”
“You’ve returned?”
“……”
Greetings from Ihelm, Ifrin, Ruina. The three sat at the living room table, sipping drinks.
Ihelm spoke.
“Red Moon rose. Seemed like the last chance for drinks and chatter.”
Ifrin, receiving poured wine—glug glug—grinned.
“Ah~ this warms me up nice.”
“Your tongue’s already slurring.”
“Doesn’t feel like it?”
Ifrin forced her eyes wide. I shook my head and asked.
“Where are the merchants?”
“In their lodgings. Seem pretty anxious.”
Ruina answered.
“……I see.”
“What’s wrong?”
I gazed out the window.
Recalled today’s caravan: forty mercenaries and merchants. Their conversations.
“Tch.”
A scoff escaped. Lips twisted naturally.
“……Fools indeed.”
No anger—just absurdity, exasperation at their pathetic heads.
Ignoring me? Provoking?
“What’s that? Talking to yourself?”
Ihelm asked. I addressed Ruina instead.
“Ruina.”
“Yes? What?”
Why this caravan alone reached Recor Dak? Supplies could’ve been cut easily.
Miracle? Early start luck? Skilled mercenaries?
Unlikely.
Thus, the question shifted: not how they arrived, but whyAltiegue sent this caravan.
“……Surveil their lodging. Quietly—no detection.”
Problem: who among the forty.
Leader? Mercenary? Mixed? Or……
All forty Altiegue—or Altar—agents?
“……Yes.”
Ruina, sensing trouble, set down her wine. Ihelm caught on somewhat; puffy-cheeked Ifrin savored alone.
“Mmm…… tastes like grapes……”
“……!”
Meanwhile, Yeriel awoke somewhere unknown.
“……”
Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling between brows. Bound, mana unresponsive, a red-eyed woman stared.
“……Mmph!”
She tried speaking; mouth wouldn’t open. Tape.
“Mmph—! Mmphmmph—!”
The woman watched Yeriel’s struggles, wrote in a notebook.
—Don’t worry. We won’t harm you.
“……”
Yeriel worked her tongue silently. Licking the tape off.
The woman shook her head, ripped it off—rip!
“Ow!”
Lips torn. Yeriel glared teary-eyed.
“Ptoo! Who the hell are you! Know who I am?!”
The woman wrote.
—You’re Yeriel. I’m Elesol.
“I know that! Why do this? You’re in deep shit!”
—We’ve been in deep shit for ages. But we won’t kill you.
“……What?”
Deep shit for ages. Yeriel felt an odd pang.
Calming, low voice.
“You won’t kill me ‘cause it’d be worse. Fine, you talk sense—let me go. I’ll overlook it. Territory needs me now? Untie quick, no charges. Promise.”
—Don’t worry. Your doll’s filling in. No chaos in Yukline.
“……What? Then why kidnap—cut the crap, let go!”
Yeriel scowled. Their demeanor baffled more.
Why kidnap if this? Why get kidnapped?
Elesol wrote.
—You don’t know something you should.
“Argh…… fine. Spill. What? Hear it, then untie?”
—Can’t say yet. But we need you.
“Why.”
—Negotiation.
“Negotiation?”
—Use you as card in talks with Deculein.
Yeriel bit her lip silently.
One thing clear: this woman’s kind.
“……Altiegue, huh. But tough luck. You don’t know? Deculein hates my guts.”
She’d avoided feigning closeness precisely for this—minimize hostage value.
—Of course we know he dislikes you. But……
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Elesol just tapped her pen, sighed.
“Sigh……”
“……What the fuck, hey—!”
Yeriel roared. Elesol flinched back. No sound heard, but pressure tousled hair.
“Thinking on it, this is ridiculous. We’re saints compared! You ungrateful shits. Our camp? No gas chambers. Didn’t agree! Go to Betan instead!”
“……”
Elesol shook her head bitterly, wrote.
—I know. That’s why we’re hesitating. Rest till we reach Deculein.
“What…… wait. Reach?”
Now Yeriel focused on the space.
Rumble……. Rumble……
Faint shaking.
Carriage, train—some moving vehicle.
Next morning, dawn-lit training ground.
During drills, Julie received a report from Ifrin.
“From the professor for you.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Yeah…… yaaawn……”
Disheveled assistant Ifrin nodded off. Julie watched fondly, then took the report.
“……Hm?”
Thought slim at two sheets—magic paper. 100 pages each, total 200.
“……”
Julie read from the first slowly.
Knight Dayia: Long limbs relative to height, dense muscles add weight, but explosive speed exceptional. Strength above average; agility, flexibility, and elasticity superior to peers—maximize these. Thus……
“No, I’m not that heavy—”
“Oh? Isn’t it Knight Dayia?”
A mocking voice intruded mid-read. Imperial knight Delik and crew.
“A knight beaten by a mage…… Haha! Can we trust our backs to her?”
“““Hahahaha—!”””
Imperial knights’ laughter echoed.
Julie endured calmly. Defeat was fact.
“Heard you got careless bad…… Might tarnish knighthood’s honor. Oh, already did? Haha.”
Julie, staring fixedly at Delik, spoke.
“Sir Delik. Duel me later?”
“Hm? Sudden? Red Moon’s up.”
“Not now. We’ll win here anyway. Once before leaving. Tied, right?”
2-2 record. Delik loose-tongued but strong, frequent vice-captain candidate.
“Haha. Those two losses were mercy…… Fine. After I win, we duel. Teach you a move—no more mage losses.”
“Yes. Let’s both win.”
“Good. Deal.”
Julie bowed.
Passing Delik spotted the paper.
“What’s that?”
“……From Professor Deculein—”
“Huh? That knight critique from the prof? You actually took it?”
Delik scoffed incredulously. Julie answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Wow. Knight honor’s fall…… Tsk tsk. More than that, what’s your deal with him? Wasn’t there a broken engagement?”
Delik tsked pityingly—then.
─────!
Rocks rained from the sky.
Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!
Knights gazed up unfazed at the crashing boulders.
Delik gritted teeth.
“……Air raid! Flying beasts! Battle stations!”
“““Yes! For Zifreine!”””
Julie gripped her sword with them.
Boom—! Boom—! Boom—!
Screeeeech——!
Sky filled with grotesqueries. Ground-shaking steps, eerie cries spreading.
Vanguard of the southward advance signaling full war: trolls and gargoyles.