Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego
Exit Pursued by a Bruised Ego
When you read novels or watch anime, you sometimes see that kind of development, right?
The kind where the protagonist, once an ordinary modern person, started enjoying battle, or like they'd caught eighth-grade syndrome, got drunk on madness and delighted in overwhelming enemies.
I couldn't know whether crossing over into another world caused their suppressed violent impulses to explode, turning them as savage as a game character... but personally, every time I saw that, I couldn't shake the thought that just because their eyes rolled back in their head, casually committing mass slaughter against enemies and even enjoying getting hurt while fighting strong opponents made them pretty much a psychopath.
And that thought hadn't changed even now. Having somehow lived in this other world killing more people than monsters, killing people was still an unpleasant experience, and even though I'd literally died once and come back to life, the fear of death and injury was still there.
Even so, the reason I picked up a sword was because this world was that kind of world. I trained because I didn't want to die, studied to avoid being socially buried, and moved with strict standards so as not to become a reckless murderer.
But what was happening right now was no different from reckless slaughter.
No matter how much I tried to be indifferent, I couldn't help but know. That the man whose hands had just been cut off by my axe simply made a wrong choice, swept up in a moment's impulse. In modern society, resolving things through violence got you the hammer of the law; cases of acting 'in the heat of the moment' were common even there, so how much worse was it here?
Appealing to patriotism, appealing to camaraderie, appealing to a sense of duty—simply by doing that, they gave immense meaning to their actions and didn't hesitate to die.
The problem arose when that resolve was half-baked.
The moment an arm was cut off, they didn't die in one blow, and their own entrails spilled out, they reverted to ordinary small-time citizens. Even if there were potions and clerical healing, those were distant stories for them, and with no guarantee of a full cure, despairing over such a wound was the same here as in modern times.
And those in such situations uniformly fell into panic. Like the soldier who'd just had both arms cut off by me.
I thought I wouldn't die, I thought I wouldn't get hurt. If you truly wanted to know what it meant to speak with one's eyes, you only had to look at the eyes of a man who came charging as if to split the world in half and then got his arms cut off—I realized that as I swung my axe and struck his neck. His face, a mix of regret and despair, soared into the sky and fell among the soldiers, a sight that was no longer new.
How many would charge in knowing that such complacency would tighten around their own necks? At least, among the soldiers who'd faltered after Pantana was killed in a single blow, there wasn't a single one.
That didn't mean I could stop either. Because if I did, I'd be the one dead. The only thing I could do to extinguish the fire Pantana had lit in their heads was to overwhelmingly stomp it out.
So I didn't use the needles. Because those who died without knowing outnumbered those who knew and died.
That was why I swung the axe. To the ignorant, violence wasn't refined technique—it was mass.
I flung a man aside like swinging a half-attached piece of firewood on my axe and looked around; the soldiers who'd been surging in like a wave were now all retreating without exception. It was palpable that they were already broken in morale by Pantana's death and had only pressed the attack because they were swept up in the atmosphere.
This time, I didn't warn them to put down their weapons. Instead, I turned my gaze away from the soldiers who'd opened a distance more than twice my axe's reach and looked at Count Mekelin.
I'd already warned them several times. It was they who'd decided to ignore it, so now stopping them had to be up to themselves or the person above them. Count Mekelin, whose eyes met mine, swept his cool gaze over the soldiers to gauge the mood, then took a deep breath and shouted.
"Stop! Anything further is nothing but a dog's death!"
Even though it had reached a point where they might lose their lives, the reason the soldiers couldn't voluntarily lay down their weapons was also pointless pride.
If someone next to them started throwing away their weapon first, they'd all throw theirs and run, but if even the coward next door was holding his weapon, stubbornness would trip them up, thinking 'I can't be the one to lay mine down.'
This too was a tragedy that occurred because they were neighbors who'd lived face-to-face within the same territory. Count Mekelin also knew that fact, so he'd kept his mouth shut until the standoff and only now spoke up.
Furthermore, by using the phrase 'anything further,' he even showed the meticulousness of subtly planting the perception that those already dead hadn't died a dog's death, but from now on, the living would face a meaningless death.
"Everyone drop your weapons and withdraw! Do you want to leave behind the disgrace of the Mekelin territory, wiped out even after a cowardly ambush?!"
I didn't know if the cause of fighting for the territory still remained in the soldiers' heads, but Count Mekelin merely commanded them like a commander, not in the name of the lord. I also couldn't tell how effective that subtle word choice was on them, but the word 'disgrace' made the strength leave their grips.
Maybe it was because the word 'wiped out' no longer felt unrealistic. In an engagement that hadn't even lasted a few minutes, one-third of the gathered soldiers and one knight were dead, while I didn't even have a scratch.
From my perspective, I'd dealt with Pantana and then started the fight, so it was a natural outcome, but to them, it could only be a shocking result.
"This is... impossible..."
Only that single phrase, barely muttered as if someone's throat was being crushed, lingered in the square.
Like it or not, there didn't seem to be anyone who still had business with me, so I sauntered over toward Count Mekelin, swinging my axe lazily. Having already perfectly rationalized themselves under the justification of following the count's order, the soldiers, terrified by even that light movement, retreated in a huddle.
The aftermath of Pantana's stubborn assertion would certainly leave great damage to the territory. Thinking that, the situation didn't feel so bad. I gestured with my chin toward the old knight on the wall and asked Count Mekelin.
"What about that knight on the wall?"
"He will not fight."
Count Mekelin drew his sword with a clean posture, but the stance he assumed wasn't swordsmanship tempered in real combat; it was the dueling swordsmanship nobles learned as part of their refinement.
Created somewhere in the imperial borders and polished many times until attack and defense were codified into rules, dueling swordsmanship was nothing but a sport that had swept the nobility and spread not only across the Empire but across the sea to the continent.
If I had to compare it, should I call it body chess? Because of its distinctive grip, no joke, even without Magic Power, brute strength alone was enough to knock a sword flying and cut a throat. Count Mekelin himself probably knew that better than anyone.
Even so, he stepped forward. It didn't seem like his action was based on regret for his own mistakes, but I had no choice but to respect that resolve, just a little.
"...If you can use magic, I could wait."
"Regrettably, I have no talent for it."
Count Mekelin gave a short reply and nodded slightly to indicate he was ready, and I suppressed a sigh, set down the axe, and readjusted my grip on the sword.
"Haap!"
As if he truly couldn't use aura at all, his movement as he came at me was the epitome of ordinary.
His left hand on his hip, right foot stepping forward, his sword flew in not at my neck but aiming for my shoulder.
It was an attack that didn't even need to be blocked, but I deliberately raised my sword and blocked it. Then, even though I hadn't counterattacked, Count Mekelin's sword circled back and he took a high guard stance.
Truly, he had no talent for swordsmanship. He merely performed as he'd learned.
He himself must have known his next move could lead to death, yet he continued the motions without any hesitation, his face earnest. There wasn't even an attempt to exploit my openings.
If—really, if he were a third-rate villain, all bluster while performing such swordsmanship, I would've split him in half. But because he was clearly aware that this was his final dance to finish his life, I decided to receive his sword up to five times.
The bare minimum of consideration shown to an enemy? As if.
Rather, it was closer to the respect shown to one who didn't flee from the place of his own death.
At the moment he calmly attempted a sixth attack, I trapped his sword between my blade and crossguard and lightly flicked it upward, and without any resistance, the sword slipped from Count Mekelin's hand and soared into the sky.
"Ah!"
Did it look like Count Mekelin was fighting well? Sighs escaped from all around, but the man himself wore an expression of unparalleled serenity.
He calmly stared at me until the moment my sword swung horizontally, aimed at his neck, and met his end.
"Father!!"
Along with the long scream resounding from atop the wall, Count Mekelin's head fell.
I dodged the blood spurting from his body as it crumpled powerlessly to the ground, looked around, and then turned my gaze to the observer. He, who'd been watching me with an oddly calm look, cleared his throat briefly and spoke.
"The territory's forces have abandoned combat, and Count Mekelin has met his death. As an observer representing the royal family, I believe the Mekelin family has shed enough blood. Eldmia Ega, what are your thoughts?"
Since I'd originally intended to end it with only the count's death and wrap things up as cleanly as possible, my answer was already decided.
"I only wished to reclaim my honor; I don't desire a massacre. However..."
A child who lost their father might think differently. I turned my gaze toward the inner wall and looked at Mekelin's son, standing next to the old knight and shedding tears, as I continued.
"If they refuse to submit, it's not like I can't do it."
Everyone's gaze turned to the wall.
It wasn't hard to recognize the pained look Mekelin's son directed at me. The guy struggled with himself, over and over.
But when the old knight placed a hand on his shoulder, he shut his eyes tightly, and after a long silence, answered with difficulty.
"The... Mek...kelin... territory... declares... surrender."
It wasn't a loud voice, but in the deep silence, those words were heard all too well.