Ragnis Lien da Levien
Ragnis Lien da Levien
"Ha! You little shits are fucking hilarious. A street punk picks up a sword and suddenly thinks he's hot shit?"
With sneering faces—some twisted in anger at being so obviously underestimated—they grabbed whatever weapons they had: daggers, swords, axes. A perfectly normal reaction. No matter how incompetent they were, these men wore adventurer badges. They'd have some kind of pride.
Adventurers.
With their eight-color ranking system—probably inspired by the seven colors of the rainbow—they wandered the world with no obligation to pay taxes and no resulting protection from the state.
The bottom three ranks were adventurers in name only. Most were barely a step above sword-wielding bandits. The only real difference between them and bandits was whether they made even a token effort to follow the country's laws.
I knew this because I'd stopped by the guild often enough. The requests they could take on were mostly jobs that could be handled with numbers and gear.
Problems you could solve by staying calm, swinging your weapon properly, and landing actual hits—whether by gathering comrades or buying better equipment. Obviously, the pay wasn't great when you weighed the risks. Even on those requests, people still died. Honestly, day labor like repairing outer walls was far safer and paid better.
These guys were no different. Looking at the rank tags hanging from their necks like dog tags, most were plain iron or yellow. That meant the eighth and seventh ranks out of eight.
"Look at that shiny blade. You ever actually killed anyone, you punk-ass bitch?"
In other words, they were just runaway kids who'd been roaming around without growing up for a long time, now evolved into runaway adults.
I tapped Ragnis on the shoulder and gently moved her back, then gave an honest answer to the guy standing at the front—probably the leader, judging by how hard his mouth was running.
"Not with my sword."
"Then where the hell do you... what? Your sword?"
"Yeah. My sword."
I had no idea just how much they were underestimating me, but the guy walked right up into my range without a care. No point even using my sword—I just lunged forward and kicked him square in the solar plexus.
-THUD!
"Gukkh!"
The bastard, wearing nothing but leather gauntlets and greaves with no proper chest piece—I couldn't fathom where his confidence came from—crumpled to the ground, making sounds like he was dying.
"Huh? Huh?"
"Why do dumbasses all make the same sounds when they open their mouths? Stab wound number one."
I'd landed the kick properly, so he'd be unable to move for at least a minute, and his hands and feet would keep trembling afterward. There was no need to check; I drove my sword straight into his thigh.
-Thunk!
"Aaaaaagh!!!"
"I poked you gently, you little shit! Don't be so dramatic!"
I frowned at the ear-splitting scream—louder than I'd expected—and stabbed the other thigh too. That should make me look sufficiently insane.
"Aaaaaack!!"
"Th-that crazy bastard! What the fuck are you all doing?! Kill him!"
Only after the second scream erupted did they react exactly as I'd intended, charging at me.
It was plain to see they had no swordsmanship or anything—they were just rushing in to swing wildly. It was so frustrating watching them show off their individual running speeds as they scrambled toward me in total chaos that I couldn't help but give some advice.
"Hey, hey! The blade's still sharp. I've got plenty of stabs to go around, so don't fight—form a line and come at me one at a time."
"Die, you fucker!!"
"Even when I'm giving you advice, you little shit?"
The guy who'd been boasting the fastest sprint raised his sword high overhead for a downward slash.
Not threatening in the slightest. At a glance, the blade he was holding was about 70 centimeters long. He'd need to take at least two more steps before that swing could reach me.
"If you've got a one-handed sword, thrust, you idiot."
What the hell was he thinking going up against me when I was holding a long sword with an 80-centimeter blade? No need to see more—the moment he took one more step, I stepped forward and planted a stab in his thigh.
"Ggiyaaaack!!"
"They really gathered nothing but idiots, didn't they? Spent all their money bribing the patrol?"
I didn't even need to hold my sword properly. Two guys already had ventilation holes in their thighs, and the others were still charging in bravely with zero preparation. At the very least, if they had the idea to throw their weapons, it might be threatening—but from the look of it, they had nothing else to rely on and clearly had no intention of letting go of what they were holding.
No one had a longer weapon than the first two bastards. It wasn't even worth thinking about anymore, so I gripped my long sword in reverse, like a javelin.
In this moment, it wasn't a sword. It was a belief syringe.
"Don't worry. They're just being dramatic. Getting poked gently doesn't hurt. Don't forget to rub it afterward."
I didn't even need to draw on Magic Power. There was nothing to dodge. I just watched them charge, lunged forward about two steps at the right instant, and stabbed at their thighs. They got hit every time. Fish were smarter than this.
"Gaaaagh!"
"Aaaaaagh!"
"Fuuuuuck!"
"Moooom!"
"The fuck did you just say mommy?! You've got extra punishment coming, you piece of shit! Give me your other thigh too!!"
"Ah, no! Pl-pleaseeeeeee!!"
How the hell does a common criminal call for his mother when he's hurting and in pain? Even I, diligent and innocent, didn't have a mother to call for.
It didn't even take three minutes to dole out a round of stabbings like stamping a 'good job' sticker. Listening to the bastards bleeding on the ground and wailing, I gestured at Ragnis.
"Go inside the inn for now. Don't know how this'll play out. If anything seems off, scream immediately."
"Ah, okay."
As Ragnis scurried around the bastards and escaped into the inn, I started disarming them—throwing the weapons they'd dropped or were clutching toward the inn, or stomping on them and then tossing them aside.
Selling all this would fetch a decent price. Just as I finished cleaning up and was about to strip their shitty armor and pockets too, one bastard started screaming at the top of his lungs.
"You fucking bastard! You piece of shit! I'll fucking kill you!"
I looked and saw it was the one who'd charged at me first.
I walked casually up beside him. He was drooling and thrashing, still trying to spit at me and curse however he could.
"Do you have any idea what you've done, you fuck?! Do you know who the fuck hired us to do this?! You're dead! I'll tear you limb from limb and kill you! That whore hanging onto you too! I'll burn down that fucked-up worthless inn and kill everyone inside!!"
"Yeah? Then I guess I've got no choice. Since that can't be allowed to happen, let's cut off one foot and both arms as well. I won't cut above the elbows. But I should take the forearms too—if I leave those, you might strap on some prosthetics and swing them around. If you bleed out and die, just consider it bad luck."
"Ah, no! No! Nooooooo!"
It wasn't hard. Before the bastard could thrash, I swung my sword and cleanly sliced off his left arm. Just as I'd said, I left the upper arm intact.
"Ggiyaaaaaaaaack!!"
The other bastards lying on the ground stared pale-faced as the one who'd run his mouth wrong lost his left arm. I'd cleanly sliced the arm off a guy who was flat on his stomach in an awkward, half-contorted posture—maybe they finally got the sense that something had gone very, very wrong.
It's fascinating, really. Do they think that because I'm not killing them on the spot, they can run away fine? And then wait for the next chance to get revenge? Was this world really that merciful to them?
Even in back alleys, people died on a near-daily basis, and outside the cities people died without question. Hell, murders from duels between adventurers were so common that even the state didn't bother with them. I just chose not to pay attention and kept that kind of thing at arm's length—but killing was rampant in this world.
I couldn't understand how a guy who lived as an adventurer in a world like that could so casually threaten to kill someone when he was completely helpless.
Thinking that, I kicked the bastard's body to roll him over and cut off the other arm too. He immediately started begging in a desperate voice.
"P-please! No! I was wrong! I was wrong! Please, just forgive me this once!"
"I introduced myself earlier, didn't I?"
"H-huh? Yes?"
"My name is Eldmia Ega."
I stared down at the bastard, who was clutching his already-severed left arm with his right hand and struggling to stop the bleeding. The eyes that had just moments ago been filled with venom and rage now held only fear and anxiety. Just from his face, I could tell he was trembling in terror, unable to even guess what the madman who'd cut off his arm and put holes in his thighs was about to say.
Not that I enjoyed this sort of thing. I was someone who possessed the normal sensibilities of a modern Earth person. Meaning I wasn't a psychopath who got excited at the sight of blood or laughed at severed limbs. Cutting people, seeing blood—it was far from pleasant, and the sight of a cross-section honestly made me sick every time. Seeing things that shouldn't normally be visible brings a surprisingly huge sense of disconnection.
It was just that an incident in my eighth year of reincarnation had made me realize this was the kind of world where such things were necessary.
"I have one lifelong ambition. What do you think it is?"
"Sniff... sob... I-I don’t know."
"My ambition is to warn shits like you that no matter what happens, you must never, ever touch Eldmia Ega—and to make it so no one dares touch me."
That's why I didn't smile. Unless provocation was the goal, I didn't bother getting angry either. Because I knew each of those emotions could drive you to your death in this world.
"Bastards who threaten to kill me. Bastards who touch people close to me to threaten me. Bastards who try to harm me. Bastards who try to use me. I have a grand ambition to make an example of every last one of them, so that no one ever dares touch me."
I tapped at his remaining right hand with my sword, but as if he believed it would get cut off if he tried to run, the bastard didn't even move, holding back even his sobs. Without any particular thought, I wiped the blood off my sword by wiping it on the bastard's shoulder, and now he was trembling so hard he started pissing himself.
"So now I'm deeply troubled. If I take you at your word and leave you your right arm and both legs, won't at least one bastard clearly think I'm soft and try to take revenge? That's how I see it going."
"N-nooooo!! Absolutely not! Never! That will never happen!! I was the one! I was the one spouting crazy bullshit!! I was wrong! Please let me live!"
"When did I say I'd kill you? I'm just going to cut off your limbs. Though if you lose them all and go blind with rage and try to kill me, I might kill you then."
"H-hngh... please. I was wrong. I'll never come near you again. Please..."
Still, maybe because this was a fantasy world, as long as it wasn't too late, you could go to a temple, pay the appropriate price, and get severed limbs reattached. Of course, 'appropriate price' was dirt cheap compared to being saved from the danger of permanent body loss. If this guy emptied his pockets, he'd probably be able to reattach his arm.
"What's your name, friend?"
"Huh?"
"You rolling that pea-brain of yours? Want me to start by cutting your ankle? Or maybe your thinking'll change once your severed arm is wrecked beyond reattachment?"
Even so. Even if you had that certainty. Losing a body part that wouldn't normally grow back was still terrifying. It would be for me too.
"It's Abnam! I'm Abnam, a Yellow-rank adventurer from Guld village in the western region of the Kingdom of Itisel! I became an adventurer there, Eldmia!"
"Your attitude's improved nicely. You understand why I asked for your name, right?"
I'm letting you live for now. But if you act up, I'll track you down and kill you.
Abnam seemed to have understood that perfectly.
"I understand! I will never touch you again, Eldmia! I won't come anywhere near you! And if anyone else ever thinks of it, I will absolutely stop them!"
"Glad you're smart. Take good care of your arm. You'll need to reattach it later."
"Th-thank you! Thank you!"
"You. Help him stop the bleeding, or do you want to lose your arm like he did?"
"I'll help!!"
The second guy I'd stabbed sprang up as if he'd forgotten the pain in his thigh and hopped over on one leg to help stop the bleeding.