Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego
Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego
How thick was that thing? About the size of my fist?
Anyway, to deal with his tower shield in a normal way, you'd have to flank it or employ magical means. That thing was less a shield and more a moving gate. Assessing Kakula's axe based on that fact, it was a goddamn 12 out of 10 axe.
Because it was sturdy and sharp enough to split the bastard's tower shield clear past the halfway point from the bottom up. Even if it couldn't surpass the feats of a siege ram, it was a satisfying enough result for now.
Instead of struggling to pull the axe buried halfway into his tower shield—which had suddenly been reduced to some kind of avant-garde art piece—I kicked the axe handle sideways with all my strength and drew my sword.
"You who are unprepared! Drop your weapon!"
Or else I'd have to kill you all.
I was a little worried given the bastard had the strength to run with a shield that massive, but fortunately he failed to control a shield heavier than a two-handed axe. If he were the type to just trust in his shield and charge in, that would've been the end of him, but even while losing his center of gravity, he managed to regain his posture as best he could and readjust his grip on his sword.
The sword, designed close to a gladius, was nearly half as short as mine, but the stability I sensed in his stance told me he had the skill to cover that gap with technique.
Thanks to that, I was certain. These western bastards, unlike in Itisel, excelled at technical fighting rather than power struggles.
It wasn't that Itisel swordsmanship had always been that way, but over a long time spent fighting Demonfolk, a strong tendency developed to fight with more emphasis on aura output itself rather than technique.
No matter how exceptional your technique, if you can be crushed a little faster by overwhelming power, you're bound to be crushed without a squeak. As long as the gap isn't child-versus-adult level, it's not much different from the advantages of being big or tall.
And for nearly seven years, Itisel's main enemy hadn't been humans but Demonfolk with overwhelming output. Watch someone get overpowered and killed a few times while trying fancy techniques, and change is inevitable.
In contrast, the west was all human-on-human fighting. Even with the orc barrier, unless it's a mad bastard like Kakula, they're all roughly the same level. Honing your skills to fight fellow humans was the natural course.
Why not polish both? It's an efficiency problem. The difference is which stat you invest in within a life and talent that have clear limits. The humans who surpass that are what they call superhuman.
The gap in swordsmanship Giswi and Envelde had shown must have come from that kind of place. Though I hadn't expected to figure it out here.
-Fweeeet!
I launched a needle at the soldiers hiding behind the shield and reloading their crossbows, and fired one at the knight too, but even while blocking my sword, he narrowly dodged the needle flying at his temple. He was wearing a proper helmet, so it was amazing he even had vision up there.
He didn't stop there; after forcing distance with several exchanges, he glared at me with eyes burning with fighting spirit and shouted proudly.
"I am Banalia Pantanada, knight of the Mekelin domain!"
"And what of..."
I reflexively almost answered, then barely stopped myself and gave a perfunctory nod.
That wasn't a request to exchange names.
Due to this unintended misunderstanding, my hostility toward him softened just a bit.
◈
Count Mekelin, upon receiving the telegram that the outer fortress had been breached, immediately kicked off from his seat and climbed the inner fortress wall.
He'd also been informed about the use of a magic tool, but to him, the fact that the territory and prestige of his family—which he'd guarded more dearly than his own life—might be getting shattered was more important right now.
"Father, I could go out and inspect things in your stead..."
His son, who had hurriedly followed him out, tried to dissuade him, but Count Mekelin silenced him with a single sidelong glare. His eyes were so sharp that even the royal observer following behind flinched for a moment.
"I am the lord."
It was a statement carrying several meanings, including a warning not to dare say 'in your stead': he himself was responsible for everything that had happened.
A person of Mekelin must be cautious down to a single word, a single decision, for the sake of the family. There is no good or evil, right or wrong in that. The only justice is the best choice for the family's prosperity. Count Mekelin himself had lived his whole life that way, and his ancestors had been no different.
And now, this was perhaps the moment he would have to pay the price for the worst decision of his life in the worst possible form.
If his sole heir were to act 'in his stead' here, there was no telling what disaster might unfold, so Mekelin was more deliberate than ever.
"The reason I permitted you to accompany me is solely for you to learn at least one more thing. It is not permission for you to intervene in this matter. Do not forget that fact."
"...Understood."
After delivering a brief lecture to his son and finishing his climb up the wall, what met Count Mekelin's eyes was the sight of Eldmia beginning a standoff with the crossbowmen in the plaza before the drawbridge.
Surely he couldn't have taken out all those outer fortress guards alone, he thought, turning his gaze to faintly confirm the sight of soldiers kicking up a dust cloud in the distance, running breathlessly. Quite a few troops seemed unharmed, but the knight who had gone out to the outer fortress on his orders was nowhere to be seen.
The troops, too, couldn't all be unscathed. In the worst case, some might be dead.
It was far too great a loss for facing only a single opponent, and on top of that, the enemy was still nimbly dodging the crossbowmen's shots right now.
"...Sir Banz."
Forcibly suppressing the sigh that naturally seeped out—at the monstrous strength that blocked the second volley with an unknown magic tool and split more than half of Knight Pantana's proud tower shield—Count Mekelin called the name of the most skilled knight in the domain.
Then the old knight who had lived as the count's closest confidant alongside the Mekelin family's butler stepped one pace forward without a word and looked where the count was looking. He was a man whose white hairs outnumbered the black, but his massive frame and upright posture held not a single tremor.
"How does it look to you."
This too was an implicative question, but Knight Banz, without asking for clarification, surveyed everything Count Mekelin had just seen in the same manner and answered briefly.
"First, it seems he will enter the inner fortress before the outer fortress troops arrive."
Just slowly shutting his eyes, which had been on the verge of squeezing tight, required tremendous patience. Count Mekelin felt as if opening them again would bring on vertigo, so he posed another question while keeping them closed.
"The damage?"
"That depends on how much mercy that man shows in his actions."
"...If you were to step forward... No. Never mind."
Taciturn and loyal as he was, the old knight Banz was by no means a passive figure. If he had thought this could be resolved by his own intervention, he wouldn't be engaging in this kind of Q&A—he'd be trying to get permission to step forward himself.
He had concluded that staying by his lord's side was the best way to protect him, which was clearly why he remained here. And his guess was accurate.
"Yes. The aura I sense is faint, but frankly, such things are meaningless in the face of those movements. I am ashamed to say I can never promise you certain victory."
If one were to choose a person in the Kingdom of Kaldar who could be described as 'aged' but read as 'survivor,' Banz would have to be included. His words, spoken after a lifetime spent raising the knights of the Mekelin domain and strengthening its forces, were enough to bring the count to a decision.
He didn't feel particularly wronged.
For most of his life, he'd occupied the position of the strong, and to maintain that status, he had done countless things. Count Mekelin had carried out every action—avoiding those stronger, relentlessly finding the weaknesses of those equal, and utterly crushing those weaker—based solely on his own judgment.
That was the life of a western noble. And in living that life, sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you get unlucky.
It was just that the worst luck of all had manifested right now. Just as it had for those he had trampled and made into cornerstones of his family.
He had two options left.
Bear the severe damage and aim for an uncertain victory, or pull back all forces, face Eldmia directly, and accept death in exchange for saving the family.
The former would clearly result in massive losses to the domain's main forces even if they won. Since this was a duel, he might be cleared of the attempted assassination of Eldmia Ega, but for having gotten involved in various illegal enterprises the kingdom turned a blind eye to, he'd still have to pay massive compensation and serve prison time. With his forces and funds gone like that, and the royal family keeping a close watch on him, the surrounding powers would never leave him be.
But if he chose the latter, the story changed. No additional damage would occur, and since the crime was punished by the death of a noble, the kingdom wouldn't levy excessive compensation. At worst, it'd only sever the connections related to the slave business Eldmia had uncovered and sent back from the Ear Hunter.
Additionally, only he would die. Nothing more.
Count Mekelin opened his closed eyes and spoke. It was an easy decision to make.
"Withdraw all soldiers. I will negotiate with Eldmia directly."
Everything for the prosperity of the family.