Chapter 299: Bandit Lycanos
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 299: Bandit Lycanos
Lycanos watched as the cultists' advance ground to a halt.
Across the field, a man was fighting a Dire Wolf bare-handed. There was no way such a spectacle wouldn't draw the eye.
Grrr!
The man took the Dire Wolf’s massive forepaw straight to his chest, but instead of collapsing, he let out a boisterous roar.
"Hahaha! How refreshing!"
What on earth was that body made of? Being struck by a monster’s limb had left nothing but scratches and yellowed bruises. Normally, a human would have been reduced to a bloody pulp.
After enduring the beast's strike, the man retaliated with a "paw" of his own.
Crash!
"Is that 'refreshing' enough for you?!"
Lycanos couldn't fathom what was refreshing about any of this. It was simply bizarre to see a monster staggering from a human's punch.
Is he insane?
He wasn't the only one. The cultists' entire formation was in utter disarray. They weren't fighting properly. Lycanos knew why by instinct: their command structure had collapsed.
The cultists were failing, and his own side was facing formidable opponents. There was that bastard Encrid, whom he had failed to kill, and another swordsman who was single-handedly slaughtering the elite unit Lycanos had personally raised.
That swordsman is no joke either.
Lycanos had clashed with him once. No matter how he looked at it, the man’s skill was at least equal to his own. Would the Fastest Sword work against him? The question crossed his mind, but he had no desire to test it. Whether it worked or not, he didn't want his final clash of blades to be with that man.
Was this a final act of selfishness? Or was it the warrior's fighting spirit he had suppressed until the very end?
What's the point of questioning it now?
He hadn't expected his end to look like this.
"Let's finish this, just the two of us," Lycanos said, his voice directed at Encrid, who had stepped aside from the main fray.
It wasn't that his blonde opponent didn't measure up; it was simply that Lycanos wanted to choose the manner of his own death.
The first one to block my sword.
The man who had actually reacted to the Fastest Sword lingered in his mind. It was the first time he had failed when he had truly set his mind on a kill. No, the second—but the first to evade it had been a Knight, and Knights were a different breed entirely. To Lycanos, this felt like the first true failure.
Encrid stared blankly at him. Rising on staggering legs, the youth gripped his sword, adjusted his stance, and tightened his hold once more.
What was visible in that posture? It was the image of a man who refused to retreat, one who would only press forward.
I shouldn't have left it to my subordinates in the first place.
That had been his mistake.
Let's fight.
It wasn't that he was determined to kill Encrid just because his own end was near. He simply wanted to clash with him again. His fighting instinct—the youthful ambition he thought he had long since buried—awakened.
You copied the Fastest? You're a genius? Then try to withstand the swordsmanship I have built over a lifetime. Let us compete in speed.
Lycanos's eyes shone like twinkling stars. These were not the eyes of a man who had given up.
Having caught his breath, Encrid gripped his sword. He finally felt at ease. "Let's do that."
Encrid did not refuse. He felt the same burning desire to clash.
Seeing Encrid step forward, Ragna cut down the surrounding enemies to ensure no one interfered. That was enough.
Encrid stood, limping. His legs were far from functional. Lycanos wasn't in perfect condition either; he had rushed in to block Ragna's blade earlier and had his right shoulder slashed. Blood dripped steadily from the wound.
The two stood facing each other as sleet fell between them, the snow on the field growing thicker.
"You have something good wrapped around your stomach, don't you?" Lycanos asked.
Encrid nodded. Wrapped around his waist was the item that had prevented his vitals from being pierced multiple times.
Lycanos nodded, his mind sharpening. My target is decided.
He let his arms droop. He would thrust with explosive physical strength in a single breath, aiming for a single point. He would strike with the optimal trajectory and end it all.
The end? Was this really the end? Dying after winning? Looking at his opponent now, the boy didn't seem all that impressive.
I will finish this, and then I will pick up the pieces.
Lycanos changed his mind. He was here today because he had never considered the end to be final. His will to live, the things he had achieved, the things he had yet to do—they all surged within him.
Lycanos's eyes grew cloudy, like pure white snow muddied by blood and dirt. Yet his momentum was like a well-honed blade. Sharp. Incredibly sharp.
Lycanos also wielded 'Will'. His 'Will' was confined to his arms. The moment his willpower infused the strength of his extending limb, it became the Fastest Sword.
Ready, Lycanos swung his sword back and forth in a strange, pendulum-like movement that drew the eye.
Encrid felt different than usual. How fast was it?
There was a time when Rem's axe looked like a ray of light. But Lycanos’s sword went beyond light; the moment it flashed, it was already through his body. That was why his right arm was currently useless.
Suddenly, Encrid recalled the moment he saved the child who wanted to be a herb-gatherer. He had saved that child thanks to a skill that concealed his intentions. Should he do the same now?
No. He didn't want to. Encrid wanted to pit his own sword against the swiftest blade he had ever seen.
Speed, too... is something I want to embrace, absorb, and master.
He had his repetitions. They had allowed him to chase down and catch two rabbits running in opposite directions. Now was the time to catch the second rabbit.
The Beast's Heart beat rhythmically. The moment he perceived his opponent's speed, his tensed muscles relaxed. Boldness settled within him.
His arms, filled with just the right amount of strength, held the sword softly. The tip of his longsword rose diagonally, pointing toward the sky.
Next was the Sensory Technique. He layered intention onto his Sense of Evasion. The only thought in his mind was the thrust. The focus he had cultivated through Single-Point Focus would unleash like an explosion the moment he swung. His body, forged through the Isolation Technique, was the foundation supporting it all.
Encrid recognized all of this, and then he forgot it. He erased everything from his mind—who he was, who his opponent was, and why they were fighting.
Only the swift sword remained.
Whoosh.
The wind was pushed aside. A sword faster than the gale reached for his throat.
Thuck!
The sound of tearing flesh erupted. Encrid collapsed. As he fell, the Ferryman appeared like an illusion, floating in the air through the falling snow.
Is it that good? the Ferryman asked.
A wide smile graced Encrid's face. At the moment of the final thrust, he had felt something akin to rejection. It was 'Will'. It hadn't settled in his arm to help him; this time, 'Will' had settled in the 'Moment'.
Though brief, the power traveled from his toes, through his knees and waist, past his shoulders, and into his fingertips.
For just that single moment, Encrid's sword had been faster than Lycanos's.
*
Graham did not spare himself during the raid. He stayed on the front lines, unleashing his martial prowess.
"Do not retreat!"
Midway through, Dunchabel had intruded and turned the battlefield upside down, while Sinar moved like a ghost, slitting the throats of the enemy mercenaries.
"Over there, that's the enemy commander," his adjutant said.
Graham stopped. Behind the adjutant, the enemy commander was visible—and so was Encrid.
Even though they hadn't swung yet, the atmosphere between them commanded the entire battlefield. Graham watched, his palms sweating. The tension made his hair stand on end. The falling snow seemed to vanish from his sight.
Most of the soldiers were in a similar state, drawn in by the storm of 'Will' emanating from the two fighters.
Ah... Graham felt a cold premonition. The enemy commander's sword was terrifying. He's going to die.
He could almost see Encrid's death. If the commander moved, Encrid's throat would be pierced. It was a certainty.
No!
He had to stop them. Encrid wasn't someone who should die here. But Graham had no chance to intervene.
Without a signal, the two moved. Their swords crossed—no, they passed each other. Even without blinking, Graham couldn't see the exchange. It ended the moment it began.
"Ah." Graham let out a short gasp of relief.
Lycanos collapsed. Encrid wasn't unscathed—blood dripped from his neck—but he calmly applied pressure to the wound and turned his head, showing he was alive.
Yes! Graham slammed his fist against his thigh.
"The Mad Company Commander!"
"The Company Commander of Pain!"
The soldiers let out a deafening cheer. They had won.
Graham thought the tide had turned. It was over. Perhaps it was natural to let their guard down. Graham hadn't, but his guards had.
Burst!
The earth erupted behind Graham. Three assassins had been hiding underground.
Swish!
They thrust at Graham's back. Only one reached him.
Thud, thud!
The heads of two assassins flew into the air, severed by a sword that looked like a leaf. Sinar appeared out of nowhere, swinging her Leaf Sword with lethal grace.
"Never let your guard down," the Elf Company Commander said, flicking the blood from her blade. She had stayed near Graham at Krais's request, fulfilling her duty.
However, the third assassin was persistent. He threw his arm into the path of the elf's sword, sacrificing it to plunge a short spear into Graham's back with his remaining hand.
Thud!
The spearhead was coated in poison.
"Fuck," Graham gritted his teeth, stumbling. It wasn't a fatal penetration, but it was deep.
"For a new world," the assassin whispered.
Sinar’s blade didn't hesitate. The elf's sword sent the man's head spinning into the snow.
*
Lycanos watched it all from the ground. He sensed death approaching. He didn't think of the reasons or the choices that had led him here. Only regrets remained.
Brother...
With a hole in his throat, he couldn't speak. He watched his subordinate die after stabbing the enemy commander. His gaze drifted to the sky. As blood filled his eyes, the white snow turned red.
As he faded, Lycanos recalled the past.
"If we're going to be bandits anyway, we might as well be bandits who steal the throne. We will create a new world. We will plunder freedom."
Just because we were born serfs, do we have to give up our lives? Is it natural to be plundered by those with power? If so, I shall live the exact same way.
"We will become kings."
That was the beginning of the Black Sword Bandits. Lycanos had been the leader's sworn brother and the symbol of their strength.
Was this the world we wanted, Brother?
Once they held power and coin, corruption had been swift. The vow to ensure no one else suffered had dissolved like melting snow.
Lycanos saw a glowing gate through the falling flakes. His sister, brothers, and parents—all dead since his youth—stepped out. His sister, raped to death by a lord; his parents, killed by bandits because they had nothing to give.
They welcomed him, blood streaming from their eyes.
You are late, my son.
Go to hell.
Lycanos's eyes closed. Beneath where his family stood, he saw his destination. A dark red river flowed beneath the glowing gate. He surrendered his body to the current heading for the abyss.
Beyond the gate, the surging river of blood welcomed him home.