Chapter 63
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 63
The Arena sat at the heart of the Black Market—a place in the Lower District where administration and law enforcement particularly failed to reach.
The airspace above the Black Market was a tangled mess of illegally extended buildings, making it treacherous to navigate even for an aerial vehicle.
Whirrr, screeech!
The Black Taxi we were riding in squeezed through the narrow gaps between the buildings. The sound of scraping and colliding was constant. A normal taxi would never dream of approaching the Black Market's airspace. It was nearly impossible to keep a vehicle—their very livelihood—in one piece here.
"You're going to tear my house down, you bastards!"
Someone even threw open their window and jabbed a finger at us. Residents of the illegal structures. But no one needed to care about the screams of those left unprotected by the law.
Crunch!
The Black Taxi didn't just squeeze through the narrow gap—it smashed right through it. Part of an obstructing building shattered, exposing its interior. Of all places, it was a bathroom. A person in the middle of relieving themselves stared blankly at us.
Wee-woo, wee-woo.
As it neared the ground, the Black Taxi wailed its siren as if it actually possessed some legal authority. The crowd below spat curses up at it.
Vroooom!
After that brief warning, the Black Taxi landed right where it pleased, regardless of who stood in the way. Someone too slow to dodge ended up with their leg pinned beneath it.
—Please make your payment.
We couldn't see into the driver's seat. Only a modulated voice echoed from behind a pitch-black steel plate. Since it was a job that invited plenty of grudges, the drivers hid their identities thoroughly.
For the record, you can't get out of a Black Taxi without paying. I have no idea what happens to those who fail to settle their fare.
I entered the amount on the terminal and slotted in the credit chip. The moment the payment cleared, the chip—its balance now wiped clean—ejected back into my hand.
—Thank you for using our service.
The door slid open.
Clack!
Gabriel and I checked our weapons the instant we stepped out. Gabriel loaded two heavy pistols, one in each hand.
"Grace, you don't need to fight. This is our business," I said, glancing at Grace, who had followed us out.
"No. The Diva told me to actively assist you. Especially to protect Gabriel," Grace said, her lips curling up ever so slightly.
Gabriel, who was scheduled to sleep with the Diva, spat on the ground.
"...Damn it. I'd rather just get shot and die right here."
We turned our eyes to the Arena building.
It seemed word had already spread that something had happened inside. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"What's going on? I saw Aleph's guys heading in with guns earlier."
"Who knows. Maybe one of the Arena's beasts got loose."
Eyes drifted toward us. We stood at the entrance leading to the office.
Bam!
Gabriel kicked the door open, sweeping his guns inside. It was a hallway we'd walked countless times, but now it was so dark it felt unfamiliar. The power inside the Arena had been cut.
"Should I go first?" Gabriel asked.
"No, I'll go. Your gunshot wounds haven't even fully healed yet."
"Wow. Thanks for the concern."
"Don't mention it."
I took the lead.
There was a corpse at the first corner—a guard I recognized from seeing him around. His half-severed neck was split wide open. The cut was so clean that fresh blood was still spurting out.
None of us flinched at a mere corpse. We were all people who lived hand in hand with death.
"So this is why the drug dealer died."
I looked at the ampoule dropped on the floor. I couldn't identify the drug at a glance, but... it was almost certainly some kind of combat stimulant. And there wasn't just one or two empty ampoules lying around.
Is Ken living like there's no tomorrow?
Ken was deliberately pumping drugs into his body—forcing his ruined brain to keep running by greasing it up. At this rate, he wouldn't just malfunction. He'd shatter completely.
Squish, squish.
We pressed on toward the office, stepping through pools of blood. The hallway reeked of it. There were already over ten dead gang members, every one of them cut down by a blade.
The deeper we went, the finer the craftsmanship. The cut surfaces were clean enough to draw admiration.
Was Ken always this skilled?
He hadn't even bothered to loot the guns off the dead. He'd carved through the entire hallway with nothing but a blade.
No matter how many combat stimulants he'd taken, at best they should have restored him to his prime. For a gang member in the Lower District, his skill was far too exceptional. And it wasn't as if he had an extraordinary background like Grace, a former Imperial Guard Cadet.
"This is strange, Luka. We'd better be careful."
Gabriel's face had gone rigid. We didn't rush. From the looks of things, if Ken had set his mind on killing Aleph, we were already too late. Rushing would only get us killed.
He really did tear through the entire Aleph Gang alone.
With combat ability like this, he was easily on par with a second-year cadet. Quite the talent.
"Aaaaaaargh—!!"
A scream tore down the hallway from the far end. We all knew exactly whose voice that was.
Aleph was still alive. I broke into a sprint, no longer bothering to coordinate with Gabriel and Grace.
Leaving them behind, I practically burst into Aleph's office.
"The Young Master has arrived."
Ken Noma greeted me with a blooming smile. But his smile wasn't the only thing in full bloom.
"Guh, ah, uuuuh..."
I looked at Aleph, tied to a chair. A rather creative form of torture.
The skin of Aleph's face had been peeled outward like the petals of a flower, hanging in ragged strips. Clean work, worthy of a butcher. The grain of the muscle beneath was fully exposed, and the blood seeping through the fibers flowed thick and sticky as honey.
Click.
Ken pulled out another ampoule and jabbed it into the back of his neck. His pupils were turning so red they were nearly black.
"...You broke your promise to me, Ken."
"What promise? I've already left the protection of the Gabriel Gang. Since I don't need your protection anymore, I came here to accomplish my goal. There's an old saying—'A gentleman's revenge is not too late even after ten years.' Accounting for modern lifespans and the way we perceive time, those ten years back then would be more like twenty or thirty now."
Ken spoke fluently. It was hard to believe his brain dysfunction had ever been so severe.
Even with an overdose of stimulants, fighting like this should be impossible...
I shoved the question to the back of my mind.
"Hey, Luka! We're here too! Why'd you just run off on your own?"
Gabriel and Grace tried to follow me into the office. I threw out a hand to stop them.
"I'm capturing Ken alive. You two will only get in the way, so back off."
I wasn't trying to belittle them—it was simply the truth. More bodies meant tangled lines of movement. More variables for me to calculate. I wanted to eliminate anything unnecessary.
"In the way? No matter how great you think you—Ack! Fuck, you crazy bitch!"
Grace punched Gabriel in the stomach. He clutched his old gunshot wound and crumpled.
"I will protect Gabriel, Lord Luka."
Grace planted herself in front of Gabriel and raised her shotgun. If only I had three or four subordinates like Grace, I'd want for nothing. Right now, I was a little envious of Martina Diva.
"Hmm. As advice in return for getting me out—you'd better give up on capturing me alive. I'm like a venomous insect."
Ken said, stabbing another ampoule into his neck. He reached for a decorative longsword hanging on the office wall and drew it.
Clang!
Not just for show. The blade was smoothly honed, and judging by the clear ring, the quality of the metal was excellent.
Whirrr.
I drew my own sword for the first time in a while. The heavy blade released a long, drawn-out hum.
A highly compressed heavy weapon. Its name was 'Crucis', and its form was that of a sword.
This was Crucis's debut match.
* * *
Tsk-tsk.
Before we clashed, Ken clicked his tongue. I couldn't read the meaning behind it.
I expanded my senses as I always did. Aleph's office wasn't large. I filed away every piece of furniture and every minor object neatly in my mind. I could tell what was where even with my eyes shut.
Capture him alive.
If I cut his throat, I'd never learn what I needed to know. Even with a stimulant overdose in his veins, he wouldn't die instantly—so I wanted to pry more out of him first.
Any furniture or obstacle in my blade's path can be ignored.
Crucis was unlike any sword I'd wielded before. It was practically a bludgeon compressed into blade form. It would smash through anything in its way—provided, of course, the wielder had the strength to match.
Sever Ken's arms and put him out of commission.
I advanced slowly. The moment either of us accelerated, the real fight would begin.
By rights, I held the advantage—I carried the Empire's ultra-high-performance combat prosthetic, while Ken's was a budget model. But I didn't let my guard down.
I watched and calculated as if facing an opponent stronger than myself, drawing out the insight within me.
Akies. Its meaning: insight.
Slide.
Ken moved with heavy steps, never taking his eyes off me. Despite the massive dose of combat stimulants that should have left him drowning in euphoria, he was remarkably composed. His mental fortitude was well above average.
The initiative is mine.
When a prosthetic's performance was lacking, one had to surrender the initiative and the first strike to the opponent, no matter how skilled. To bridge the gap in output, you countered by exploiting an opening.
Bam!
I kicked a desk out of my path. The steel desk—bolted to the floor—tore free and shot straight toward Ken.
It blanketed his vision. I lunged forward, pressed close behind the desk, planning to slice through both it and Ken's arms in a single stroke. With Crucis's power, it would take no effort at all.
Thwip!
But the tip of Ken's blade punched clean through the desk, aimed right between my eyes. My eyes went wide as I snapped my head back.
The point grazed past my face. I swung my sword in answer.
Riiip!
The steel desk was shredded to ribbons. But Ken had already withdrawn his blade and slipped aside. His positioning was so precise it bordered on precognition. Fluid movements, without a single wasted motion.
I knew those movements all too well. Before he could counter, I kicked off the floor, then the ceiling, and threw myself backward.
...The Akies Combat Style! Son of a bitch.
The missing puzzle piece clicked into place. The mystery was solved.
The sponsor 'Noel', suspected to be Kinuan—it hadn't been Tora who received his backing. Ken Noma was Noel's true beneficiary! Tora was merely a figurehead.
'Most of the rebel leaders lived on near-lethal doses of stimulant-type drugs. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say their skulls were filled with drugs instead of spinal fluid.'
Kinuan's words came back to me. If Ken had mastered the Akies Combat Style, then his rapid rehabilitation and his tolerance for lethal drug doses made perfect sense.
"So you were the real boss of the Arena. Tora was just a cover."
I said, leveling the tip of my blade at him. For a brief instant, Ken's smile vanished.
"Well—it doesn't matter anymore. The past... Right now, I just want to indulge myself. Give me one hour alone with Aleph, Young Master. That's all I need to be satisfied."
I tilted my head and glanced at Aleph, bound to the chair.
"If Aleph agrees, I don't see why not. Aleph, what do you say?"
"Mmph! Mmph! Mmph!"
Even on death's doorstep, Aleph shook his head desperately. The peeled flaps of his facial skin flapped wildly, splattering blood in every direction.
"You heard him. Aleph says no."
"Tsk. Playing hard to get. We'll have a wonderful time together soon enough."
Ken wore a chilling smile. Urine and feces trickled down Aleph's pant legs.