Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Before This Memory Takes Me Away
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Aster was nothing but frustrated and anxious about this situation.
She paced back and forth in the gladiator waiting room, its walls plastered with scars from blades that had whistled past.
Her own knight was fighting, yet the imperial family wouldn't let her watch.
Aster just kept shaking her head over and over, praying that Guro wouldn't get hurt.
"What if the bishop leaves..."
And she groaned for a good long while, calculating the day the bishop would visit the family—the whole reason she'd come this far.
Her ultimate goal was wrapping up family business, after all.
"Time... should be plenty."
With those mental calculations done, Aster's head filled right back up with worry for a certain man.
'What if he gets seriously hurt...'
After agonizing over it for a moment.
She gathered mana in her palm.
No matter how much the imperial family tried to block her.
Her knight couldn't suffer any injustice.
I stared dumbly at my palm for far too long, savoring the sensation I hadn't felt in ages.
Having lived drunk every day, my weakened liver couldn't shake off the booze quickly.
Thanks to that, I felt about half-sober.
The body that had always been heavy, sluggish, numb, and stiff.
Not anymore. It was like I'd gotten a brand-new one.
Though my legs and head were still wobbly, and my stomach felt like it was churning.
Whoosh!
I hurled the knight in my grip to the floor, where he sprawled out. Blood trickled from the gap in his helmet, and the knights ground their teeth.
"How dare you...!"
"Quick! Check his condition!"
"H-he's breathing... but his skull's cracked."
"What? With a helmet on, and it cracked from a bare grip?!"
One eyeball oozed out when they pried off the helmet, smearing in the dirt.
"That crazy bastard."
"He'll... die soon enough."
His face was so mangled that everyone knew he couldn't be saved.
I gazed coldly at the crushed face amid the swords pointed at me.
"Ugly."
I provoked the knights on purpose.
Even in a situation where I'd be turned into Swiss cheese by their sword hilts any second, I stayed calm.
My body felt strangely light.
Light enough that I could feel nothing could stop me right now.
"Should I check if there's anyone handsomer than this guy?"
"You damned punk..."
I wanted them all to rush me at once. So I kept provoking.
Dodge this way and that, leave afterimages as I evade, grab one, snap his arm, steal his sword.
No need to wonder what came next.
The moment I gripped a sword, it'd become a fight between me and the knight commander still watching from behind.
I thought the helmeted figures in front of me looked like bugs.
Stag beetles or longhorn beetles or whatever—four-legged vermin, anyway.
One squeeze of my grip cracked their shells and made them spew filthy fluids as they died. What else but bugs?
Now they even stank. Blood stench, that is.
Did they know why I had to fight?
Strike a pose with that guy over there, or if you don't fight, get dragged off and executed for crimes you didn't commit.
Did they know my reason?
If not, it was a pity to die. If yes, satisfying to kill.
"Do you know why your knight commander..."
I started to ask, then shook my head.
The knight who'd charged babbling about 'honor' or whatever was one of theirs.
They knew full well.
"......"
And here I was, feeling like I could fly for the first time in ages.
But my head throbbed like it might burst, and the unpleasant memories bubbling up soured my mood completely.
Clank, clank...
As I barely rubbed my forehead with my right hand, the flashing reflections off their swords made my head feel crushed.
No time to recover my energy before the knights unleashed a barrage of attacks.
My head felt heavy.
But my body was light. Lighter than ever.
'One, two, three... half.'
I have a habit of counting steps.
Especially in a fight. I prioritize footwork above all.
I measure distance to the foe by my steps.
Position of my feet.
And where I need to plant power.
Remembering that, I pulled my back foot in a bit.
Scraaaape.
In slowed time, I heard my foot scrape the ground.
Straight ahead where my body faced stood a lone knight who'd stepped forward.
When everyone else was about three and a half steps away, this guy was two steps ahead.
Instinct positioned my body toward the first to charge.
The easiest to counter: hit the reckless frontrunner first.
'Sloppy.'
He seemed desperate for his sword to reach me ASAP.
His stance was a mess as he tried a thrust.
Too heavy a sword for thrusting, and his wrist wobbled visibly.
Right-handed.
I stepped forward with my right foot and twisted my body halfway.
A thrust's range is pitifully narrow, so that was enough.
Tap-tap!
I dodged the sword, and the knight, whose center of gravity pitched forward, stumbled into me another step.
No clue about thrusting, this guy.
No plan to poke and pull back quick—he just kept shoving like he wanted to skewer enemies behind me that weren't there.
Swoosh!
Crack!
My upward punch nailed his jaw, and the knight's body floated briefly.
Not high, but his head snapped back, and I clocked the shaken jaw instantly.
His clenched fist loosened, the thrusting blade that had faced the sky arced diagonally toward the ground.
The falling sword—I snatched it with my left hand, securing a weapon.
Grabbed the toppling knight, securing a shield.
I confirmed the knights' second steps closing from all sides.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Their footsteps halted in unison as they drew power from the ground for their strikes.
But without that lone charger, they were in formation.
So no immediate sideways threats or fancy techniques aimed at me.
Unlike the thrust guy who could try all sorts of things alone, they chose blows that wouldn't hit allies nearby.
I blocked strikes from my right with the unconscious knight.
Parried left-side attacks with the sword.
The body shield didn't matter much. Armored meat was decent protection anyway.
And hesitating to hit an ally, they pulled punches—no ferocity there.
Clang-clatter!
Thus, human shield took all the right-side hits.
But the left-side guys were vicious. No shield there, after all.
'Gap.'
So I drew my sword in a hazy curve, slipping it between theirs.
For multiple swords to converge on one target without clashing.
They inevitably follow parallel lines or non-overlapping arcs.
Those gaps are like taut strings under tension.
One swing gone wrong, they bump, and the whole assault crumbles.
I swung into those gaps.
My strike linked their blades where they shouldn't overlap, shattered them, confused them, and the attacks collapsed.
My sword flowed unblocked, batting theirs aside in showers of sparks.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!
A life-on-the-line gamble.
A stunt worthy of the name.
"What?!"
"Why... didn't it hit..."
I flung the knight I'd been carrying to block, switched the sword to my right hand.
Thrust at a staggered knight whose stance had crumbled from the disrupted attack.
Like a jab, the blade pierced and withdrew from his throat in a flash.
Squelch!
"Guh!"
With booze out of my system, my speed let me counter while they made one move—with a second of my own.
Sword angled diagonally.
While thrusting one dead, I horizontal-slashed the rightmost guy.
Elbow snapped back to position fast.
Left hand joined the grip.
Ideal formation-breaker complete.
Just shove through the encirclement from there.
Thump, thump.
But I had no plans to end with a breakout.
Feeling neck muscles bulge, I swung the sword with core power.
Precise foot position, powered blade, armored but hollow knight's side.
My sword traced a perfect horizontal arc, severing his waist.
Charged the others beside the bisected knight.
Slash, thrust, outright snap.
In that instant, I'd cleared the knights blocking my left. Then two swords flew at me.
One grazed my hair; the other seemed thrown predicting my path.
A heavy hitter's throw.
"Everyone, back to position."
I was sure the hair-grazer came from the knight commander.
"Huh? Why... they're all dead over there..."
"Couldn't even see it?"
"C-commander... what was that just now..."
"Back to position."
The knight commander was a man with long blond hair and somewhat small eyes.
A scar ran horizontally across his cheek.
His gleaming golden armor screamed imperial affiliation.
I squinted at the reflections.
"The moment I gripped the sword—or maybe before—you lot weren't my match."
"We can still fight!"
"No need for you to step in, Commander..!"
"That drunk's gotta be cheating somehow...!"
"My words not clear enough?"
For the first time in ages, I felt killing intent from another.
From someone strong enough to make the air vibrate.
I don't know much about emitting it myself.
Not cowed, I lifted my chin and asked.
"What, only stepping up now that your grunts are dropping?"
"Yeah. Honestly underestimated you, but that didn't look human."
I told the serious-looking knight commander.
"Lose to you, and I'm executed. You heard that part?"
"I did."
"Then's it right for trash worse than those bugs to yap about honor in front of me?"
"I get the grudge against the imperial family, but don't call my men bugs."
"Sigh... I hate stubborn assholes."
I took my stance.
Moving made my head feel empty, like I was drunk again.
I wanted to sink into this feeling. No, I had to.
"Fuck..."
Otherwise, memories of my parents hospitalized from the accident would surface.
And scraping by daily for their bills before this shitty possession.
"Play fair, and drag the fight out a bit, please."
"Mad bastard."
And so.
Not wanting to get drunk on blood stench, I decided to drown in the sword instead.
Or my memories would take me over.
That's no human.
With a bit of the drunken haze lifted, the man's limits were nowhere in sight.
Dorian spotted vague fear on the knight commander's face. Buried under killing intent and battle lust, but unmistakable.
To think the foe they'd dismissed as a joke was actually this monster.
Shivering, Dorian glanced at the dead knights.
'So cruel... after all.'
Dorian reeled from the revelation that this laid-back guy hid such long, savage fangs.
Watching the thick tension between the knight commander and Guro from above.
One of them would surely die, he judged, and whipped his head toward his sister.
But.
"M-me...?"
Rebecca's lips trembled as she mumbled something.
The wine in her glass rippled endlessly, shaken by her quivering hand.
"That level... even Father's madness... maybe...?"
Dorian's gut screamed it.
His sister had zero intention of stopping this match.
He thought he should intervene, opened his mouth to speak.
But in the arena reflected in Rebecca's violet eyes.
Something fluttered.
Her pupils narrowed and shook violently.
When Dorian turned from her to the arena.
An arm was flying through the air.
That arm.
Bore golden lion-emblazoned armor.