Settlement

Gish, who had appeared brimming with confidence like a belligerent battle junkie, ended up going out like that.

"You're going to be remembered in my mind as the blowhard Gish from now on."

He had definitely lasted longer than the others, as if he was on a different level, but that was as far as it went. Still, seeing that he immediately caught on to how I was mimicking that Demonfolk bastard from the abandoned dungeon, it seemed like not all of his talk was lies.

If his nickname The Butcher was genuine, it might have been because he killed messily rather than because he killed a lot. Of course, a slaughterer is a profession that requires very specialized knowledge, but aren't nicknames always like that?

"His sword was truly incredible, that's for sure."

I picked up the sword he had dropped and examined it; it had clashed quite a lot, yet it maintained a clean state without a single nick. The Magic Power I had channeled into it had been relatively less because I was reinforcing my body, but ordinary swords would have been on the verge of shattering after just four or five chops, so it was very interesting.

"Suppressing the urge to pump some excessive Magic Power into it and test how much it could endure was worth it."

The sensation of wrapping Magic Power around a blade was, if I had to compare, similar to turning an ordinary sword into a chainsaw. It wasn't something I intended, but the flowing Magic Power took that form on its own. The feeling of a disposable chainsaw that peeled off easily when trying to cut something with strong resistance? Naturally, the cutting power couldn't help but improve.

Of course, fighting like I did against the thugs I met in the alley would have had terrible fuel efficiency, so I'd fought with the output reduced somewhat, but even so, seeing it this intact meant it was definitely a good sword. For now, as a memento, I roughly strapped it to my right hip along with Gish's scabbard, then stepped onto the shattered stairs and headed to the second floor.

I had no intention of taking my time. With this reckless rampage, it was only a matter of time before every noble in the capital turned upside down. If I didn't kill Envelde before that, I'd miss the chance.

Fortunately, noble mansions were all similar, so I'd had no trouble figuring out where Envelde's likely office was. I'd considered just smashing my way in, but since I didn't feel any presence nearby, I decided to just enter normally.

Inside the office I entered that way, Envelde, who had been leaning against the desk with a very gloomy expression, greeted me with bleak eyes. It seemed like an expression composed of about 50% despondence, 30% disbelief, 10% annoyance, and 10% anger. That expression pleased me so much that I inadvertently raised my left hand and gave a friendly greeting.

"Hey Envelde. Why the long face this evening?"

But Envelde ignored my goodwill-filled greeting and started only saying what he wanted.

"...That sword. It's Gish's."

"Yeah. It's a pretty good sword."

"He's a guy who's crazy for battle, but he's one who wouldn't let go of his sword until he died. So it means he died at your hands."

"He died by my hands, that's true, but he did let go of his sword before dying?"

He'd let it go to attempt a fair sneak attack, but a fact was a fact. I shrugged and corrected him, but Envelde only raised both hands and wiped his face once.

"I'll give you one last chance, Eldmia. I say this because I highly value you, who even killed Gish without a single scratch."

Envelde, rising from his desk and looking straight at me with brown eyes that still held a subtle calm, said:

"Become my subordinate. The fact that you pulled off all those killings and crimes without a scratch means you're worth more than that. Help me overthrow Itisel and become the hero who ends this tiresome war."

He'd struck such a solemn pose that I wondered what he'd say, but even at this point he still hadn't come to his senses. While I was so dumbfounded I couldn't speak, Envelde continued as if he still had more to say.

"Originally, Ragnis was a discard pawn, but if you cooperate, naturally no harm will come to her. Covering up this incident isn't difficult. After all, it happened in my mansion. But if you refuse, you'll have to pay a price suitable for that."

His reaction was so brazen and matter-of-fact that I acted before I thought.

"Leave your last words. Cut the crap."

Envelde, who had been looking at my extended middle finger with still-calm eyes, closed his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be like that."

When he opened his eyes again, the calm that had remained in them was nowhere to be found, and only anger toward me flickered.

"That arrogance is what killed you, Eldmia Ega."

"Fuck, that's the third time today..."

I was about to reflexively retort because I was so sick of it that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I wished they'd stop, but I had to shut my mouth after receiving a strong impact. Not in a psychological sense, but in a real, physical sense. After a series of something hitting my face, my head twisting, and my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back slamming into something, and after rolling, colliding, and being sent flying mercilessly to the point I didn't know what was what, I could finally understand what had happened.

"Gish... you fucking lying bastard...!"

It was simple. Envelde had moved at a speed my eyes couldn't follow and clocked me one.

"What the hell was he basing it on, saying he was the strongest...!"

Amid the second-greatest physical shock I'd experienced since my past life, I barely managed not to lose consciousness, but my vision spun and my ears rang. If I hadn't kept my body strengthened with the intention of beheading him at any moment, my neck would definitely have been torn off, not just broken, by that blow.

"I came out of the Levien family, trained my sword, became a knight, and earned the title of count with nothing but a single sword. Did you truly think I tolerated your insolence because my personal force was lacking?"

Still, there was nothing I could fucking do about the concussion. I perceived Envelde approaching me without any sign of hurry, but my body wouldn't move as I wanted for the moment.

"What on earth did you believe in to be so arrogant? I even deliberately released my aura to warn you."

"Kak, ptui! Fuck, I'm a bit dull when it comes to that kind of thing, you bastard."

What good was releasing it all day? I couldn't feel a damn thing.

"With someone like Sir Ekaf, I'd get a nibble."

Only after I barely managed to get up did I realize I'd smashed into and was embedded in the wall of the mansion. Tch, was this something I could do too? It felt a bit different from denting an iron door.

"Your mouth is still alive until the very end."

"Bullshit. It's just getting started."

It was good that I'd trained for years, but my handling of such practical difficulties was still lacking. I should have noticed it a bit sooner. The only things outstanding about me were my superior body and Magic Power, so this ordinary modern person who had nothing special about him shed tears again today. But first, I was going to fuck that bastard up.

"You're awfully confident, aren't you. Without even drawing your sword?"

"Do I really need my sword to end your pathetic life? Your sword is enough."

"Whoa, you talk big too. Looks like your tongue only gets smooth when your eyes roll back? I'll definitely remember that and use it on some piece-of-shit bastard later."

I kind of understood why they kept talking and holding onto their senses next to a dying person. As I ran my mouth, my head seemed to function a bit faster. In truth, it might have been because I felt a threat to my life, but as long as my mind returned and I could move my body, I didn't care.

"Let's see what you've got, esteemed Count!"

With confidence that I could control my body to some extent, the distance to Envelde closed to sword range. Since it was obvious that fighting like before wouldn't cut it, I threw all thoughts of sustainability aside, pulled up Magic Power as much as I possibly could, kicked off the collapsed rubble, and swung my sword at Envelde's neck.

"A predictable trick."

Since I had just barely entered sword range, Envelde avoided my blade by simply leaning his upper body back slightly, as if amused. Fortunately, that was exactly what I intended.

"Those half-assed smart-asses always pull that shit!"

I didn't think it would land a hit, but to set up the next attack, I let go of the sword I'd swung like casting a fishing rod. It was Gish's sword I'd drawn for that purpose. If he had blocked, maybe not, but because he'd only leaned back to dodge, his stance had to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crumble significantly to avoid the sword suddenly flying at his face, and I drew my sword as fast as possible and swung at him.

But in that instant, when our eyes met and I understood that Envelde's gaze had followed me, my sword, and Gish's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sword flying beside him, I felt goosebumps all over my body. From that alone, I could understand what action he would take. Sure enough, Envelde turned his head to avoid the flying sword, snatched the handle of Gish's sword as it was about to fly past his ear as if it were the most natural thing, and swung it to block my attack.

-Clang!

What followed wasn't the grinding of blades against each other like in movies or comics. Instead, before the metallic sound even faded, it was just a battle of wits where counter followed counter.

It was the part I was most confident in, having practiced it the most diligently in my life, but fucking hell, as soon as we traded the fifth exchange, a sense of danger crept in.

Envelde was strong. In aura, and technically.

"I'll admit it. You had reason to be arrogant."

So this was how Gish felt just moments ago. Hearing his nonchalant voice amidst the fierce exchange was truly infuriating.

"But with this much talent, you should have known your place."

In Go or Janggi, professionals sometimes foresee dozens of moves ahead and declare defeat, right? I didn't understand that in the past, but of all days, I came to understand it today.

Seven moves.

I could see that I would lose in exactly the seventh exchange. In the process of blocking a low attack, my sword would be deflected, and if Envelde so chose, his blade would bury itself in my abdomen. Six moves left. What should I do? What moves and methods did I have right now? Five moves left. The option to trust the gauntlet, let go of my sword in advance, and block my abdomen was impossible. The situation wasn't leisurely enough to arrange that. Four moves left. Even while drawing on the Magic Power I'd been channeling into my sword, the situation was precarious. If I tried something half-assed, a counterattack I didn't expect would definitely fly at me. Three moves left. What I could use. What I had right now. Two moves left. Superior body, a sturdy sword, the magic-blocking gauntlet, the curse-blocking ring. And... One left...

-CLANG!

My sword got tangled in Envelde's blade as it coiled like a snake and slipped from my grip. And without a moment to watch my sword bounce off the floor and slide to the far end, he spoke.

"It's time to pay the price, Eldmia."

Without a millimeter of deviation, his sword stabbed into my abdomen.

A sensation that was far from welcome. Although the location was different, a chilly sensation that was perfect for recalling the shitty end of my past life traveled up my nerves.

"Fuck, life."

What the hell is it with this life having no middle ground?