Going Out (3): Maxwell Crisis
Maxwell Crisis. An executive ranked 11th in the Black Lotus Society, a Sword Graduate who had reached the 6th Hierarchy. He was a knight skilled enough to command a knight order even in a lesser noble house. Of course, he had only just ascended to the 6th Hierarchy—what one might call the entry level of Sword Graduate, if pressed. Even so, it was more than enough to lord over dozens of underlings in the Black Lotus Society and earn a measure of trust from the Society Leader himself. At the very least, Maxwell had lived until now without ever buckling against any so-called sword masters.
However.
"Did the Black Lotus Leader send you? You ragtag bunch."
Right at this moment, in some northern city, he was staunching the stump of his severed arm. His eyes endlessly quivered, refusing to accept the reality before him.
...What... what the hell is this?
The pain had been fleeting. As a 6th Hierarchy knight, Maxwell knew how to circulate his aura to numb his senses. There was no need for unseemly screams. But...
He clenched his teeth and avoided looking that way, lest the mere sight of his severed arm lying haphazardly on the ground trigger a massive mental breakdown.
He focused solely on stopping the bleeding.
Invisible.
Of course, he couldn't stop the thoughts that naturally welled up. Maxwell's eyes trembled as he recalled the strike that had claimed his right arm moments ago.
At the 6th Hierarchy, one could fairly say a person began transcending human limits. With focused vision, he could even track falling raindrops. Maxwell was such a superhuman. Even if caught off guard by an unexpected ambush, there was no way he wouldn't have seen it coming.
...7th Hierarchy? No, higher?
It was an unbelievable reality, but what was done was done. The evidence was plain as day. Maxwell bit his lip against the dull ache that persisted despite blocking the pain.
His breathing grew ragged, but he forced his head up to glare at the man who had unleashed sword aura at him. He met that unyielding gaze head-on.
Black hair fluttering in the wind, thin-slitted eyes revealing faint gray glints between strands. A smile played on his lips, but it didn't look pleased at all. It was a sneer.
...Chilling.
A gut instinct told him that if this man got serious, his head could roll right now without anyone batting an eye.
Damn it...
Maxwell's trembling gaze shifted with effort to the girl clinging to the man's side. Deep blue hair like the ocean depths, striking beauty that shone even under the dark night sky. And beyond, hidden by the man's hand, ruby-red eyes surely gleamed with bloodlust.
An unforgettable appearance.
No doubt about it. She was Beatrice Edenberg.
The girl exiled from the Edenberg count's family five years ago, presumed to suffer from the Blood Death Disease. She was definitely the one Maxwell had aimed to abduct from Edenberg City.
That had been his primary mission as a Black Lotus Society executive.
The Society Leader's wish: to kidnap children scattered across the continent. More precisely, those rare carriers of the Blood Death Disease.
A few months back, Maxwell had heard rumors of the count's former daughter. After wrapping up his current task, he planned to head to Edenberg. But upon arrival, days of searching the city yielded not a single strand of that famed blue hair.
It hadn't been a problem yet, but if he failed to find and abduct her after wandering for over a month...
He might face the Society Leader's direct reprimand, who would suspect incompetence. Knowing the Leader's temperament all too well, Maxwell desperately wanted to avoid that. He pursued every trace of Beatrice like a madman.
And finally, after pouring gold into Edenberg's underworld information guilds—
Handel...?
He'd caught the tail. About a week ago, some out-of-towner man had boarded a train to the northern city Handel with a girl lacking identification.
That was enough. Even after scouring all of Edenberg, he hadn't found the blue-haired girl occasionally sighted in the back alleys over the years. She must have left the city.
With a clear destination, it was actually good news. Maxwell led dozens of underlings straight to Handel.
Less than a day later, spotting the pretty blue-haired girl strolling the shopping district in fine clothes, he thought his luck had turned. Just like in Edenberg, no more wandering—he'd confirmed the target.
All that remained was to deal with the annoying man beside her and execute the abduction as planned. The man carried a sword, but his aura wasn't particularly strong, so it should be easy.
That was his thinking right up until then.
His optimistic notions shattered the moment the man's sword strike severed his arm.
"Kuh...!"
Grit!
But what could he do? The arm was gone. Unless he picked up that limb rolling in the dirt and rushed to the Papal State's saintess, there was no reattaching it.
Yet he still clung to life. If he didn't want to beg pathetically, he had to do something.
Maxwell's eyes bulged as he bellowed at his frozen, idiot underlings—who'd been stiff as statues since his arm flew off.
"What the hell are you doing, you morons?! Kill him now! Swarm him all at once!"
"...!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Fortunately, even after losing an arm so absurdly, his command over the underlings held firm. Maxwell inwardly praised his usual reign of terror.
Thwip—!
A crossbow from the farthest underling launched a heavy bolt at the man, and that sparked the rest to draw their weapons en masse.
Clang! Chclang!
"Rush him together!"
"He's just one guy!"
Their weapons were crude, and aside from Maxwell, none exceeded the 4th Hierarchy. But still, overwhelming numbers. Over twenty fighters charging as one could at least buy time.
Tch...!
Having ordered his men into a desperate stand, Maxwell—without looking—reached out, snatched the greatsword his severed arm had held, and prepared a powerful technique that might even work against a 7th Hierarchy+ superhuman while they stalled...
Am I insane?
...No, he didn't. Instead, he gave his loyal underlings one last indifferent glance and bolted.
Maxwell wasn't the righteous type. He was thoroughly selfish. Whether his men died to that monster or not, as long as he survived, that was fine.
With that mindset, he wrapped aura around his legs and fled at full speed.
Pat-pat-pat!
Even one-armed, he'd stanched the bleeding in time. Not swinging a sword, just footwork for evasion—he could unleash it at full power.
Darting through dark alleys, weaving between buildings to throw off pursuit, Maxwell ground his teeth.
Fuck, how did it come to this...?
Returning to the Black Lotus Society like this would be trouble. The Leader wouldn't tolerate an executive who lost his men and left an arm up north.
No choice. Die to that unfathomable monster, or to the monstrous Leader—same difference?
Death had no degrees.
His only path to survival was finding some rural village to hide in, undetected by the Leader.
First, escape this city.
Of course, priority one: flee the black-haired monster with all limbs intact—save the lost arm.
Beatrice Edenberg or whatever—who cared about the girl now? The Leader wanted her secured, not him.
"Huff, huff...!"
No time for leisurely trains. Escape to the city outskirts first. Grab a horse or carriage, then bolt to the boonies.
Maxwell drew aura from his dantian to the limit and sprinted. It had been less than thirty seconds since sacrificing his men.
...That's when it happened.
Kwaaaaaaaa──!!
"...!?"
A deafening roar pierced his ears, followed by ground-shaking vibrations like an earthquake. Then, a gray flash briefly lit the dark night sky.
"Guhk...!"
It was like a bolt of lightning bridging heaven and earth. No—a spectacle.
A prickling pain raced up Maxwell's spine. He grimaced and halted.
What the...?!
Not by choice. It was pure killing intent forcing him to stop.
Not a tangible attack—just raw intent to kill.
"Kuhk, heuk, guk."
Maxwell felt his breath catch, eyelashes fluttering. Instinct and gut pulled his head back toward his escape route.
The direction he'd fled—the spot where that mystery swordsman should be butchering his men by now.
"...Ah, aah."
Seeing the pillar of light soaring skyward, Maxwell lost all will to resist.
It flickered like a massive wildfire, an aura pillar overlooking the entire dark city. In the face of that indescribably majestic sight, profound helplessness washed over him, and he collapsed.
Thud!
Impossible to fight. Even the faintest spark of defiance was extinguished by the awe-inspiring scene.
Maxwell... spotted the gray reaper approaching as he withdrew that immense aura.
"Where are you running off to so desperately?"
"..."
"Even if you flee from me, the Society Leader won't spare you for failing the mission anyway."
The same serene expression as last time, with a faint smile. And tucked cutely against his side hung a petite girl like a pendant.
Ignoring her, Maxwell's gaze instinctively dropped to the man's sword.
"...Ha, haha."
He burst into mad laughter. He had no choice.
Contrasting the man's spotless clothes—not a drop of blood—with the silver blade soaked in what must be his underlings' gore.
He knows the Leader.
And casually mentioning the Society Leader's temperament, not widely known.
Gray sword aura like embers...
Only then did Maxwell dredge up a buried memory.
The Black Lotus Society Leader aiming to topple the Empire, the Dark King—included among the continent's Seven Strongest absolute powerhouses, also called the Chilgang.
Two sword wielders among them.
One: Duke of the Empire, the continent's greatest sword, Sword Emperor Dietrich Teiran.
The other...
A mercenary king who erupted like a supernova seven years ago, sweeping battlefields and hotspots to claim fame.
"...Sword Ghost, Kyle..."
"..."
"Why... why the hell are you here...?"
No answer to his hollow question.
The man—Sword Ghost Kyle—merely raised one eyebrow briefly, as if surprised to be recognized.
In other words.
Slash—!
That was it.
A flicker of mild curiosity, nothing worth dwelling on.
In the end, Maxwell's head was severed. By Kyle's casual swing.
Why...?
Even as his head sailed through the air and hit the ground, he couldn't comprehend.
Why was a Chilgang-level monster glued to some ordinary girl with a rare disease?
Incomprehensible.
And now dead, it was a mystery Maxwell Crisis would never solve.
Soon, the light faded from his dull, lifeless eyes.