Chapter 162
Chapter 162
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 162
Chapter Title: Sword Festival (5)
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There were no more forfeits. As the standoffs began to collapse one by one, the arena erupted into a free-for-all.
"Come on, you bastards!"
"You ugly scum! You think this sacred Sword Festival is some looting spree?!"
"Shut up! I like the look of that polearm you've got!"
People charged at each other. The smarter or weaker ones fought with their backs to the walls, while the stronger or stupider ones leaped right into the center, swinging their spears and blades wildly. Cheers, screams, and the clash of metal echoed from every corner. Sword auras of every color sliced through the air above the arena. Occasional sprays of blood cooled the heated atmosphere.
'As expected from the first test. Mostly mediocrity.'
Severed wrists thudded to the ground. Whether they'd aimed for weapons and missed or targeted wrists on purpose was anyone's guess. Ronan stroked his chin as he spectated.
Perhaps due to his fame for slaying the Winter Witch, no one dared approach him. Casualties mounted everywhere, but unlike Schlieffen, he felt no heroic urge to save anyone.
'They came here on their own accord. Fewer competitors just means good news for me.'
The survivors were all driven by desires lodged in their hearts like beating cores. There was no hierarchy among such desires that superseded life itself. Whether fighting to steal weapons or to claim the holy sword, it was their choice.
In truth, the woman who'd tried to stab him in the back hadn't been wrong. If you'd come to swing a sword, you needed that level of resolve. A sudden question crossed Ronan's mind. He looked down at the girl and asked.
"By the way, aren't you running away?"
"Why would I?"
"What if I break your sword? Looks like that's your only one."
"You won't. I can tell that much at a glance. You're a good person."
"Hah."
Ronan let out a hollow laugh. She must see him as a total joke. He felt like showing this little pervert what for, if only out of spite. Just as he reached for his sword hilt.
"Kuhahaha! Come here, missy!"
"What?"
Both turned their heads. The skull collector guy was charging at the girl with ferocious momentum. The two hand axes in his grip gleamed menacingly.
'Not bad.'
Ronan raised an eyebrow. Judging by his mana, he was no slouch. Blood drenched his well-honed axe blades, evidence of prior kills. The girl, locking eyes with him, stuck out her tongue in disgust.
"Eww. He's so ugly."
"He's calling you 'missy' politely. At least hear him out."
"Are you crazy? Are you the type who jerks off thinking it's okay if they're ugly on the outside but beautiful inside?"
"Depends on the case."
Ronan shook his head. Even as the distance closed rapidly, the girl showed no tension. Instead of fleeing or preparing to fight, she wasted precious time preaching her shallow looks-supremacist philosophy.
"Of course, personality matters too. A lady of my caliber deserves a kind heart as well. But first and foremost, it's the face. If they have long legs and a firm butt like you or your friends, even better..."
"Time to quench my axes with young blood for once!"
"Ah. Shut up."
The skull hunter roared again. With a heavy sigh, the girl reached back. She gripped the hilt peeking through her hair and yanked. Steel growled as a slender longsword slid free. Ronan's eyes widened at the unexpected sight.
"That..."
"Pretty decent, right?"
She twirled it once with a smug smile, as if to say what do you think? Ronan, stunned, spoke in a trembling voice.
"...Isn't it a bit too rusty?"
It looked fine enough. About one or two hundred years ago.
The longsword was in wretched condition. The blade was chipped all over, and rust bloomed like autumn leaves. Did she pick it up from a dump? Seeing his expression, the girl shook her head firmly.
"You don't get it. It's the wielder that matters, not the sword."
"I like that saying too, but."
"Whatever. Watch."
With that, she charged. Ronan's eyes widened. Her movements were impossibly light, defying human limits. The skull collector's face twisted in bewilderment.
"Wh-what?!"
The skull collector was indeed skilled. Just sensing her approach earned him that title. Ronan suddenly recalled she was the only one in the crowd who'd noticed his quickdraw.
'She really is skilled?'
Thud! She closed in instantly and leaped from a standstill. Like a rabbit made of wind. The panicked man hastily crossed his axes in defense.
"Uwaaaah!! G-get away!"
"Bye."
Her body spun in midair. Her flowing white hair enveloped her. The sword path, rotating around her torso, was flawless—even rivaling the Savior's swordsmanship. Ronan unconsciously clenched his fist and cheered.
Yeah, maybe that sword's just ugly on the outside but a legendary blade! The blade sliced smoothly through the air toward the axes. Clang! Her longsword shattered like a glass cup.
"Huh."
"Wha... huh?"
Plink. Hundreds of blade fragments rained to the ground. She landed lightly after. Staring blankly at the bare hilt in her hand. The skull collector, snapping out of it, raised his axe in fury.
"You damn brat! Playing games?! Die!"
"Ah."
The axe plunged vertically. She turned too late; the blade was already at her crown. As she closed her eyes in resignation. Slash! The man's head separated from his body at the neck.
"...Huh?"
The skull collector's mouth gaped. No sound came. Ronan, leaping in, kicked his side. Boom! The headless body flew back roughly.
His head arced high, plummeting into the cauldron's mouth. Splash! It sank into the boiling molten metal and didn't resurface. Ronan landed gracefully and looked down at her.
"Brat, so what about the wielder?"
"I trusted in your goodness."
She calmly brushed back her hair. No fear or remorse in sight. Ronan sighed in exasperation.
"Hah. This is hopeless. Now you've got no weapon either. What're you gonna..."
"Raaargh! Die!"
As he spoke, over a dozen participants screamed from all sides, charging him. Ronan yanked the girl toward him in alarm.
"Shit, what's this all of a sudden?"
"Can't... breathe."
She choked, neck constricted by his collar. Something was off. Even those mid-fight had turned and rushed them. The attackers' eyes were uniformly unfocused.
'Too deliberate.'
Ronan's eyes sharpened. No matter how taxing the melee, skilled fighters didn't snap like this without warning.
'This is...'
Soon, he sensed suspicious mana currents swirling through the arena. Ruddy flows snaked between participants like streams.
Not a natural mana type. Then, a huddled man in the corner inhaled the tainted mana. Exactly three seconds later.
"Raaaaargh!"
He bolted up and charged Ronan, eyes vacant like the rest. Ronan gripped his hilt, conclusion drawn.
'Aura. Or a weapon effect. But why me?'
Clearly some participant's ability, targeted at him. The chaos made spotting the caster impossible. Scratching his head, he sighed.
"Fuck it."
No choice but to fight. The weird mana kept maddening more. The girl, head tilted back, asked.
"Lots of them. Can you do your friend thing?"
"No."
"Then what? Kill them all?"
Ronan crouched instead of answering. His stance for big techniques. Positively, perfect timing to test one he'd wanted to try.
'Wonder if it'll work.'
Even he thought it tricky. One slip, and the twenty-ish maniacs would all die or be crippled. Not his problem, but for honing precision in real combat, nailing it first try was best. The berserkers closed to ten steps. Ronan muttered.
"You're all disqualified, you idiots."
He focused. Mana from his core dyed Ramancha red. The vivid crimson made eyes wince—the girl and nearby foes alike. As the lead attacker hit five steps.
'Now.'
His arm vanished from view. A red crescent moon slashed the arena center. Sword aura sprayed like water along the path—Ramancha's liquefaction ability.
But unlike usual, it targeted only their weapons. Precisely twenty-four red droplets weaved perilously between bodies. Schlieffen, watching from the cauldron, chuckled.
"He's gone that far."
The condensed auras avoided even fingers. As Ramancha arced back. Boom! Crash! Explosions chained; metal shards flew. Like steel flowers blooming. Officials gasped in unison. The girl clinging to him covered her mouth.
"Wow."
Screams of horror erupted simultaneously. Shrapnel embedded in flesh.
"Gaaargh! Aaaagh!"
"M-my face! My faaaace!"
Their dramatic reactions suggested the madness had fled their bodies. Shock therapy worked wonders. They collapsed, writhing. Confirming success, Ronan grinned.
"Well then..."
But his eyes narrowed soon after. Time to hunt the instigator. As he stepped to search. Bwooo! Horns blared from the stands. The announcer leaped in, shouting.
"Everyone stop! Ten weapons remain. First test ends now!"
"What?"
Ronan froze. Only then did he see the battlefield-like arena. Seven stood on two legs, him included.