Gangs of Rome (12): Turquoise Blue Overdrive

I kept a close eye on that bastard’s every movement while pressing my hand to my chest. A sharp whirl cut through the air as I drew runic mana from the imperial seal and reinforced one of the runes I already carried. Just as a brilliant scholar might grasp the laws of physics while submerged in water, the true meaning of the rune characters surged upward from the ocean of my neurons.

The moment I activated the spell, the black mage Krüntus spoke.

“What about my other comrades?”

“Until the moment you die.”

Krüntus burst into delighted laughter at my reply and swung his arm. Purple mana erupted into a bloody tidal wave. I answered with flames while keeping the people behind me in my peripheral vision.

The wall of fire, launched at full power, surged forward like a ruin trap and collided with the sea of blood. The blood evaporated into a crimson mist, and through that fog a cross-shaped slash came flying.

Hans canceled the slash with the same technique. The mage, evidently no stranger to real combat, summoned crackling electricity in his palm without even chanting.

A spell that was probably Chain Lightning slammed into Krüntus with a thunderous roar. He endured it with raw armor and deflected Primor’s arrow by wrapping it around his forearm. Yet the silver arrow imbued with light mana still left deep scratches across the black-magic plating. Krüntus’s face twisted violently.

“To kill you, I’d cooperate with devils themselves!”

The Yesugei-devil-collaborator theory. I gave a bitter smile, but Primor’s arrows—now laced with lethal venom—only flew faster and faster.

“Tsk.”

The black mage tried to catch the arrows as before, but my constant feints forced him to accept the damage to his armor instead. Apparently he judged having his plating shaved away was preferable to taking direct hits from me. Seeing the scratched sections already regenerating, it was the correct choice.

The female thief who sneered those words assisted the mage’s spell by driving an ice-pick-shaped awl into the flow. The electricity refused to weaken; trapped inside the barrier, it roasted Krüntus’s body. Scorched by the current, he lowered the visor of his helmet.

Click.

Krüntus, clad in blood armor, drew his sword behind him like a thug preparing to swing a bat. In an instant, an enormous amount of mana condensed at the blade.

I clicked my tongue the moment I saw through the mana gathering on his sword. Even if Krüntus was trash in close combat, his technical proficiency was abnormally high—an aberrant warrior. Like a pay-to-win character lagging in a game, a shit player. Yet that lag and poor control stopped being weaknesses the instant he focused everything into a single strike.

An attack powered by armor-enhanced strength! Blood Hand Demonic Art could not block this!

“You heretical bastard. Spouting nonsense.”

So I yanked the mana of Beast Regression to its absolute limit. The power I had kept stored beneath my skin surged outward, wreathed in blue ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flame until I became a living human candle. I stretched the extracted fire into a long pole and swung with all my might.

The three-meter flame bat smashed into his sword with a deafening clang. The slash that had been about to launch flew off in a completely wrong direction. My palms stung.

Odin’s Eye finished analyzing the magic. I had tried to avoid using it mid-battle because of the side effects, but against an opponent of this caliber the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. Upon analysis, the blood armor operated on the same principle as Beast Regression.

That armor isn’t mere defensive gear. It’s body reinforcement.

It had probably been developed to mitigate the penalties of black magic. He must have joined Immortalis after using that same magic to commit mafia-like atrocities. Yet as the level of his black magic rose, the armor alone could no longer suppress the bodily corrosion. That was why he began stealing other people’s martial arts to reinforce his foundation.

After finishing my analysis I narrowed my eyes.

Healing that cured Primor, defensive armor, and offensive power all in one. A perfect fusion of offense and defense. Small in size, yet its raw strength might rival a giant golem.

I reached my final verdict.

No problem.

I transformed the pole into a whip and linked our forearms together. Instead of tearing it off or trying to reverse its effect, the black mage actively exploited the specs of his main weapon—his armor.

The fight accelerated. With a body that was now faster and stronger, I blocked, evaded, and countered. The unicorn black mage was powerful. But that strength had been built on long preparation to snipe Nefertiti. Even though the variable called “me” had ruined everything, whether one prepared or not still decided a mage’s victory or defeat.

“You didn’t expect us to go at it this seriously, did you? Leaving zombie dolls at your stronghold must have been terrifying. Especially with the church right under your nose, ready to stick their heads in at any moment!”

Thinking back to when he had controlled Temurgul, his usual tactic was probably to gather two or three corpses of masters he had killed and gang up on his enemies. That tactic was now sealed. It was no different from the unicorn black mage being unable to use barriers—he was in a weakened state.

I slid my fist across the back of his hand and wrapped his forearm like a whip. The flames and blood armor that had grazed each other tangled together as tightly as if caught in a press. I extended the claws of Beast Regression. My five fingers curled like a beast’s maw. Then I yanked the arm and tore the armor apart.

The right arm—already weakened by the constant barrage of silver arrows—shredded like rags. Instead of the mangled limb, Krüntus headbutted with his helmet. I stepped on that knee and drove a knee strike into his forehead. The black mage’s head snapped back. I spun in mid-air, executing a perfect 360-degree somersault kick. The flame blade that had grown along my heel tore a long gash across his shoulder.

“Kuh, huk—! You… that technique—!”

“Can you see how it’s used? Here’s a sample.”

I lifted my fists into a weaving stance and drove punches into every opening I saw. It was Matei Rossi’s fist style that targeted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only vital points. Mixing flying punches with footwork, I shattered his legs. The kneeling Krüntus swung his elbow like a cannon. I countered with the exact same technique, killed the recoil with a spin, and drove the blade on my heel between his ribs.

“Kuaaaaaaaaagh!!”

Krüntus exploded with eye-light between his visor. That glowing gaze fixed on the flame whip connecting us.

“Oh. You noticed already?”

“You damn thief—!!”

He somehow tore the burning whip apart and glared at me with murderous intent. To me, the sight was merely comical.

“You didn’t copy it after watching the technique! You imitated my magic?!”

“It’s basically possession or an oracle-like spell, isn’t it? Crude magic. Easy to copy.”

I laughed while activating the Kenaz rune. Krüntus’s magic extracted techniques from the body. I had analyzed the framework with Odin’s Eye, stripped away the black magic, and—much like when Veronica linked telepathy—connected myself to the bastard using Kenaz. The flame whip served as a USB cord preventing data leakage. From the moment I wrapped it around him, I had been continuously copying techniques from his body and pasting them onto my own.

Disassemble the enemy’s magic and reproduce it with my own. That was what analyzing another’s magic with Odin’s Eye truly meant.

I sent the telepathic message while demonstrating, one by one, the forms of the martial arts I had stolen—no, reclaimed—from the black mage. The fist techniques suppressed straight lines; the footwork drew circles. In the short time I had obtained them, I only possessed one or two fist and kick techniques. Yet the depth of understanding was on a level the black mage—who had merely stolen and used them—could never imitate.

Perhaps he could sense the profundity of the techniques I displayed through the knowledge he had extracted. The black mage fell silent like a Twitter artist staring at a masterpiece by a grand master.

I took an elegant stance as if presenting a sample of the basic form, then made the sign of the cross.

I realized even that description was insufficient. A professor at least possesses deep knowledge in their field. Unless they obtained their position through gambling, even if their creativity or research perspective was lacking, the sheer volume of their knowledge should surpass any graduate student’s. Krüntus could not even manage that. His understanding of martial arts was lower than mine.

Not someone who exploited the weak to solidify his position, but a petty thief who stole secret manuals from those more outstanding than himself and flaunted them. There was already a perfect term for such a person.

The techniques I displayed were the accumulated resentment of the spirits whose precious martial arts had been stolen by that bastard.

“……Ha.”

Even without understanding Earth’s language, he seemed to grasp the meaning. Krüntus let out a hollow laugh like a pig that had been stored in a refrigerator after slaughter time ended.

Then, like every thug whose shallow pride had been provoked, he began screaming like a madman.

Purple mana linked us—the exact same magic I had used. I wrapped it around my arm and chuckled.

From the mana wrapped around my arm, Krüntus’s consciousness bored inward. It felt as unpleasant as blood flowing backward during a blood donation, but I simply snorted.

“They say seeing once is better than hearing a hundred times, yet there is shallow knowledge whose bottom is exposed without even that single glance. Deeply linking minds between bodies that possess souls carries the risk of genuine possession, doesn’t it?”

At my ceaseless harsh criticism, Krüntus’s eye-light exploded like a broken red traffic signal. I blocked the wicked ego digging into my body with a bored ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expression. As my mind was invaded, the boundary between reality and illusion blurred. The enemy’s shadow swelled, and an aura of death loomed over me. I squeezed out my own mental strength to resist, but it was like pouring water on a heated stone. The speed was faster than I expected; I frowned.

To be honest, Krüntus was right. I didn’t believe my mental strength or resolve surpassed that of a two-hundred-year-old insane black mage. If things continued this way, he would steal my body and turn me into an undead macho, or I would have to think of my wives’ faces at the end of the mental battle and pull off a dramatic comeback.

“It’s unfortunate you’re trying so hard, but as you can see, I’m a safety-first kind of guy. I have about three women waiting just for my safe return home.”

From behind me, threads of mana flew out and wrapped around Krüntus’s body. Even in the mental world—which moved several times faster than reality—the hand was fast enough to seize his body in an instant.

“What? W-who are you?!”

Krüntus, who had neglected control of his own body while invading mine, helplessly lost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dominion over his main form. I clapped as I watched the pink mana threads.

“Oh. One-second cut?”

“Yes☆! Senior, this thimble’s performance is no joke!”

Larilura laughed brightly while wiggling the finger thimble she had stripped from Krüntus’s wrist. It was the magic item he had used while hiding inside Henry’s corpse to control the undead. Thinking it would also help with her Puppetry, she had swiftly picked it up the moment the bastard hid inside the cocoon to transform.

I shrugged and chuckled. “The worse they are at the game, the more they obsess over item power. If that retard had hidden with his bare body without any lingering attachment, this mess wouldn’t have happened.”

Hadn’t Larilura and I kept our minds connected from before we even arrived here? Krüntus had charged in without realizing it was two against one and essentially stuck his own neck into the jaws of the trap.

“Y-you dog bastards!!!!”

He realized it too late and desperately tried to cancel the magic. The struggling consciousness traveled along the mana only to be seized by the nape by my willpower.

“Let go! Let go!!”

“Hey. Do you know what your fatal flaw is?”

I whispered while holding onto his consciousness that desperately tried to return to its body.

“It’s that you’re stupid, you mafia bastard.”

The fist of Krüntus—now controlled by Larilura—punched straight through his own stomach. They say a healthy mind dwells in a healthy body. Even though the body felt no pain, the fatal wound disrupted Krüntus’s magic. His consciousness regained its sense of reality.

I used the dash technique I had learned from Primor’s guard to land beneath his chin. Then, with a fist brimming with blue flame, I threw a sincere punch.

A pillar of fire erupted, smashing the black mage’s helmet and head together in a single strike before evaporating them completely.