Chapter 117
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Pato (3)
Corner of the banquet hall.
The Modificata father and son faced each other.
Viscount Mugello said to his son Ditun.
"You moron! Why the hell did you pick a fight there?"
"......"
Ditun turned his head with a sullen expression.
Viscount Mugello pressed his forehead with his hand.
A father and son are closer than anyone else in the world, yet sometimes farther apart than anyone else.
Viscount Mugello hadn't known until arriving here that Ditun had been harboring a crush on Cardina or that he felt inferior to Icona.
If he had paid attention to his son's friendships, tastes, or interests as usual, he might have prevented today's fiasco...
But it was already too late.
"Damn it. Why couldn't you just fool around with the commoner girls in the territory like always? Why go after a lady of House Meursault...? Are you trying to humiliate your father? What the hell were you thinking, you little shit!"
"Enough already! I get it! I know everything!"
Ditun yelled back defiantly.
Viscount Mugello raised his hand for a slap across his pathetic son's cheek but held back, mindful of the surrounding gazes.
'What do you know, you crazy bastard. If you weren't the eldest son, I'd have demoted you to commoner on the spot.'
He turned his head with a deep sigh.
"At least they say we can nominate a great warrior. Stay here and reflect on your actions."
"......"
Ditun still wore that sullen look.
Viscount Mugello turned away again, his gut twisting with frustration at the sight.
"It's for the best. We can use this chance to have the great warrior fight Federback to a draw. Federback gets the glory of holding his own against someone stronger, and we wrap things up neatly."
"Right, Father. And if House Meursault keeps pushing the issue, we could call in the monster corps we've secretly stationed near the border..."
"Shut your mouth, you fool. What if someone hears? That would spark all-out war. Those are our last-resort forces. Don't blab about it carelessly."
The priority now was avoiding open conflict with House Meursault.
He had already allied with House Daytona and House Portofino, so the kids' squabbles could be sorted later.
What needed doing right now...
'Bring in a great warrior overwhelmingly stronger than that Federback brat and have them duel. Someone with just the right skill to force a draw.'
Rumors pegged Federback's strength as formidable.
An average great warrior wouldn't deliver the desired outcome.
Viscount Mugello glared irritably at Ditun.
"You got knocked flat after one hit from Federback, right?"
"Th-that was because I let my guard down."
"Anyway. You're at early 2nd Circle yourself, and he flattened you like that, so Federback's at least mid or high 2nd Circle. Maybe even 3rd."
"Who's ever reached 3rd Circle at that age?"
"Haven't you heard the rumors about Federback?"
"Of course I have—I've got ears. But believing every wild tale is another matter. Who buys into that blatant hype?"
"Smart guy, aren't you? The smartest in the world."
His head spinning with exasperation, Viscount Mugello shook his head at Ditun.
Then, he turned to his knights.
"Looks like we need to hand Federback a huge honor. That's the only way to clean up this mess."
"A huge honor, you say...?"
"The honor of drawing with a Sword Master."
"!"
The knights exchanged glances.
Viscount Mugello clicked his tongue.
"We'll send out a 5th Circle knight as our great warrior. Someone topical enough to shift everyone's attention."
At that moment, a man strode in through the banquet hall entrance.
A knight clad in armor engraved with the Modificata crest.
He was tall, with broad shoulders.
Muscles honed in the harsh northern climate gleamed like steel.
His skin was tanned by biting winds, and crow's feet etched around his eyes bore the marks of years and battles.
His bearded face bore a deep diagonal scar.
Viscount Mugello's face lit up at the sight.
"Perfect timing, Sir Behemoth!"
A few who recognized the name gasped.
Behemoth.
The S-rank mercenary rising to fame in the North.
A barbarian from beyond the Kalchim Mountains.
He had slain an ogre with a single sword, conquered a castle alone, and massacred three hundred enemy soldiers in a day.
But what truly shook the North was this:
5th Circle knight.
Behemoth had recently stepped into the 5th Circle.
The realm hailed by the world as Sword Master.
Soon, Behemoth stood before Viscount Mugello.
"Employer. Called me. To this. Painted monkey party. Why?"
His voice dripped with thick displeasure at being dragged to such a tiresome place.
Viscount Mugello soothed him.
"Time to borrow your prowess. Lend us your strength."
"Say it. Who. Do I kill?"
"N-not kill. Just fight to a draw."
"Northern warrior. No draws. Fight. Means kill."
Behemoth swept a disgusted gaze over the nobles.
"Painted monkeys. Twist and crush. Crave blood scent."
"Whoa, calm down. I paid top coin to the mercenary guild to hire you. This breaches contract."
"No draw. Fight. Kill. That's northern warrior."
"That won't work. Killing means big trouble."
Viscount Mugello broke into a sweat placating Behemoth.
"Force a draw in this fight, and I'll give you whatever you want. Money? Women? Booze? Name it."
"......"
Behemoth stroked his chin.
Then grinned, baring yellowed teeth.
"Big room. Must have bath. One cow a day. Three jars strong booze. And thirty new women. Every day."
"Fine, fine. I'll arrange it."
"For one month. Nonstop."
"I said okay."
Viscount Mugello sighed and turned away.
'How the hell did a savage like that become a Sword Master?'
But he had no disqualifications as a great warrior.
Thud—thud—thud—
Behemoth, the barbaric warrior of the Kalchim Mountains, Sword Master of the North.
He marched to the center of the banquet hall.
"Painted monkeys. Weakling males. Come out. Turn you to ground meat."
As Behemoth's fierce gaze swept left to right, the crowd's eyes fled right to left.
In the quiet corner of the banquet hall, whispers rose.
"A 5th Circle knight... can manifest a solid Aura Blade, right?"
"Yeah. Basically a human weapon."
"Sword Masters are rare even across the capital, let alone the North."
"Who knew House Modificata had one like that."
"Heard they blew five years' budget recruiting a Sword Master."
"But pitting one against Young Master Federback? Isn't that overkill?"
"Probably aiming for a draw. Saves face for the kid too. Drawing with the Sword Demon? That's a feat."
"But will that barbarian go easy on Young Master Federback?"
"Does it matter? We're in for a show either way."
The banquet hall's elegant, refined air vanished.
In its place, a gladiatorial heat warmed the air.
Behemoth pounded his chest with his fist.
"Hurry, opponent! Come out now! Finish quick! Go back! Big room quick! Many women quick! Breed all month! Booze and meat quick! Eat quick! Quick! Quick! Quick!"
His savage, lewd cries went unchallenged.
His monstrous bulk and the massive greatsword on his back silenced any rebuke.
Behemoth's greatsword exceeded two meters, weighing over a hundred kilograms.
A gruesome relic etched with a Sword Master's life and battles.
Unmaintained, its rough iron surface bore countless scars, the hilt worn by time.
Crusted blood, hair, and oil reeked foully.
Behemoth bellowed, clutching the abomination.
"Quick! Come out! My opponent! I busy! Booze! Meat! Breeding! Much to do!"
He seemed ready to charge the corner with booze, meat, and noblewomen.
All the ladies and maidens trembled in terror—until Behemoth's gaze locked on one spot.
A stunning blonde with blue eyes stood there.
"Oh my?"
Beatrice Portofino.
She smiled behind her fan.
Behemoth snorted at her coquettish glance.
"Grrr... Want that female."
"The mountain ape beyond has an eye for beauty."
Beatrice folded her fan seductively.
A bead of cold sweat traced her profile.
"How about settling the duel first, beastie?"
"Win anyway. Never lost."
Behemoth suddenly lunged toward Beatrice.
Startled, Viscount Mugello blocked him but was shoved aside effortlessly.
"You bastard! Where do you think you're going!"
Viscount Hardman Portofino and his knights barred Behemoth's path.
Behemoth just sneered.
"I want. I take. Sword Master privilege. Pretty female takes strong male. Nature's law. Dumb monkeys don't get it."
Enraptured by Beatrice's beauty, even Viscount Mugello couldn't control Behemoth.
The hall's guards drew sword hilts and swarmed, but Behemoth ignored them.
Then.
"I can't tell if this is a social hall or an underground pit."
A boy stepped into the center.
"House Modificata will pay for dumping filth into a sacred duel arena."
A white-haired, red-eyed swordsman.
Federback Meursault stood there.
Behemoth's eyes widened.
He glanced between Beatrice beyond the knights and Federback behind him.
Then.
"Hmph! Decided. That side prettier. Like more."
He turned toward Federback.
"No, that's a guy and I'm a girl—what the...!"
As Beatrice clenched her fists in strange defeat, Behemoth faced Federback.
Behemoth huffed hot breath.
"I want you. Breeding partner."
"I'm a man, though."
"Don't care. My tool or sword. Shove one in you. Maybe both."
Behemoth grinned yellow-toothed, greatsword raised at Federback.
A navy Aura Blade extended from its tip.
A solid, rigid form.
All gasped at the sight.
And the next instant, they recoiled in horror.
Behemoth swung the solid Aura Blade down from above.
"You madman! I said draw...!"
Viscount Mugello screamed, face ashen.
Federback's death meant all-out war.
A horrific catastrophe.
All present covered their mouths, bracing for unprecedented tragedy.
...And that moment.
Clang!
A white flash erupted from Federback's blade tip, slicing across the hall.
Thud—roll roll roll...
Along with Behemoth's severed head.