Premonition of Civil War (2)
Outside the forge.
The gang members waiting for their big brother to finish collecting the protection money and return rose to their feet the moment they saw someone walking out from inside the smithy.
Old man Hogel would never hand over the tribute money willingly, so Big Brother must have cleaned the place out of swords for sure. Hearing the clatter of a box, two of the men darted forward at once.
“Boss, I’ll carry th—?”
The gang member’s words trailed off. The one walking out of the forge wasn’t their boss. More precisely, their boss was there—but he wasn’t the one walking.
“Guh… uuuugh…”
Their boss lay collapsed and groaning.
And behind him came the boy, dragging the man along by the hair. Just as the gang member’s eyes flew wide and he opened his mouth to shout—
Thud!
The boy flung the box he was carrying down in front of them. It was the very box they had brought to confiscate the forge’s swords—only now, instead of blades, it held their big brother’s neatly severed arm.
“H-huuh!”
“Boss!”
The two men recoiled in horror.
The boy—Najin—hurled the armless man he had dragged this far off to the side. Watching Najin carefully, the two gang members approached their fallen boss.
While they tended to him, Najin let his gaze sweep the area without a word.
Three men had been waiting outside.
Two were worthless grunts, but one was not. Najin shifted his eyes to the man who had been staring this way without moving a muscle since earlier.
“……”
A man sat on a convenient boulder, glaring at him. His face was hidden by a deeply drawn hood.
“Looks like…”
Najin let out a short breath.
“You’re the one in charge. Let’s talk. We’ve got a few things to discuss, don’t we?”
At that, the man gave a hollow laugh.
“Heh. Look at this little shit.”
He pulled back the hood he had been wearing low.
The face revealed bore a long scar—one that ran straight from his right ear down to the nape of his neck. Recognizing it, Najin frowned.
Najin had memorized the faces of every executive-level member of Trap-spider’s organization. And that face was in his memory.
“Aigoo.”
Najin sighed.
“Sending an executive all the way out here? Things really have gone to shit.”
“You know me?”
“Trap-spider Horce’s sixth leg. Crooked-ear Flix, right?”
“Not the sixth—the eighth leg. And it’s Frix, not Flix.”
“If you’re the eighth out of eight executives, that means you’re the weakest, yeah?”
“That’s not it.”
Frix’s expression hardened.
“The order of the legs doesn’t measure strength. I’m stronger than the sixth.”
“You’ve got a long tongue. Whether sixth or eighth…”
Najin tapped the box at his feet with the tip of his boot. The severed arm inside jostled back and forth.
“What’s an executive-level guy doing in Ivan’s territory? This is a clear breach of the contract. One grunt’s arm isn’t going to cover this.”
“Haha. So you want my arm too, is that it?”
“An arm is going too far.”
Najin raised his middle finger.
“Let’s just take one finger.”
“You’re a proper lunatic.”
Seeing the boy who showed not the slightest fear in front of him, Frix laughed out loud. Still laughing, he rose to his feet.
Then—shing.
Frix drew his sword.
It was a well-maintained blade that gleamed with oil. Najin glanced at the sword in his own hand: a blackened, rusted length of steel.
Tch. Najin smacked his lips for no reason and adjusted his grip.
One of the eight executives under Trap-spider Horce.
The eighth leg, Frix.
In the upper world he had been a squire serving a knight.
Of course, he hadn’t been a proper knight’s squire. The knight he served had been old and sick, and far from giving proper instruction, he had used Frix like a slave.
Even so.
Frix had learned swordsmanship from a knight, and had faintly grasped how to handle mana. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but after falling into this city he came to understand how precious that teaching was.
In this city, I am strong.
In the upper world he had been nothing more than the squire of a mediocre knight, but here in this city Frix was clearly a powerhouse. That fact filled him with a sense of superiority. In this trash-heap of a city, he—who had received a “proper education”—was a special existence.
A strong man who knew how to reinforce his body with mana.
He had yet to reach the Expert realm of drawing sword aura, but simply being able to handle mana made Frix one of the top fighters in this city.
In Frix’s eyes, the ones who strutted around brandishing blades looked ridiculous, and those who boasted about dunking a few people looked pathetic. Nothing was funnier than guys who couldn’t even handle mana walking around with their shoulders puffed up.
This kid looks about the same.
Frix looked at the brat standing before him.
He had heard the rumors about this brat. Ivan’s cherished hunting dog. He might have talent if Ivan had taken an interest in him, but…
I don’t sense any mana from him.
The natural presence that a mana user emitted was completely absent from the boy. Looks like even that high-and-mighty Ivan hadn’t passed on a mana cultivation method.
Which meant, in the end, this brat was no different from all the other nobodies strutting around on pure attitude. Having reached that conclusion, a smile formed on Frix’s lips.
“Hey, brat.”
Frix twitched the tip of his sword and grinned.
“I’ll give you the first move. Like you said, this is Ivan’s territory—you deserve at least that much of an advantage.”
Mimicking a knight’s sword salute, Frix yielded the first strike. Najin, who had been watching silently, adjusted his grip on his sword. Meaning he wouldn’t refuse.
Thud.
Najin took one step forward.
He put his weight into that step. Knees bent, sword hanging low—a stance closer to a leap than to swinging a sword.
What kind of baseless…
To Frix, who had learned proper swordsmanship from a knight, Najin’s stance looked pathetic. Like that, he wouldn’t swing the sword—he’d be swung by it.
Was the opponent even more worthless than he’d thought?
Just as disappointment washed over Frix—
BOOM!
Najin kicked off the ground. The sound of his foot striking the earth and the KAAAAANG! of clashing swords rang out almost simultaneously. Frix’s eyes flew wide.
The distance between him and the boy had been nearly ten paces. Closing that gap in a single leap and swinging his sword far exceeded Frix’s expectations.
Ka-gagagak!
Najin’s rusted blade rattled along the edge of the clashing swords. Frix was startled by the heavy weight he felt in his grip. Hastily drawing up mana, he shoved Najin’s sword away.
Swoosh—Najin slid back three paces as if gliding.
It had been only a single exchange, but Frix couldn’t hide his bewilderment. The hand gripping his sword was numb.
…Is he really unable to handle mana?
That weight wasn’t something you got from just swinging a sword.
Frix glared at the boy in front of him. Breathing lightly with three paces between them, the boy showed no sign of strain.
Najin looked at Frix without a word.
Then he looked at his own hand gripping the sword.
Opening and closing the sword hand a couple of times, Najin narrowed his eyes. Frix couldn’t tell what the sequence of motions meant, but he could tell the boy was gauging him.
“You arrogant little shit…”
Frix scowled.
Unlike at the start, he fully drew up his mana and reset his stance. The high guard of Imperial swordsmanship, learned directly from a knight. Heat haze rose from Frix’s body.
The phenomenon of unrefined mana leaking from the body. A sign that appeared in unskilled mana users.
Najin narrowed his eyes and watched Frix.
Najin did not know how to handle mana.
Because Ivan and Oppen hadn’t taught him. So Najin believed he couldn’t handle mana.
Is that mana?
Najin looked ahead.
Frix radiated a ferocious aura. Najin glanced at the heat haze rising from his body. He had sparred with Ivan and Oppen often enough.
I don’t think that kind of haze ever rose from those two’s bodies.
Oppen and Ivan were experts who had reached the Expert realm. Frix, by comparison, was a complete novice. That haze was the difference between a skilled practitioner who could fully contain his mana and an unskilled one who couldn’t…
But there was no way Najin would know that. So he simply decided that this, too, was a type of mana manipulation.
At that moment—tap—Frix kicked off the ground.
The basic stance of Imperial longsword fencing. Exhaling a short breath, Frix took a large step forward. As he stepped, he swung. A diagonal cut straight out of the Imperial swordsmanship manual.
Whoosh!
Yet the moment it combined with a body reinforced by mana, the simplest cut became a lethal blow. With a sound of splitting wind, the blade fell toward Najin.
“……”
Facing the incoming blade, Najin thought.
Mana really is something amazing, huh.
He clicked his tongue at Frix’s movements, which had become noticeably faster than a moment ago. If you can handle mana, you can do stuff like that?
But…
It doesn’t seem that fast.
Still a speed he could see, still a speed he could respond to. Having made his judgment, Najin moved.
Tap.
Instead of dodging, Najin took a step forward.
He stepped into the range of the opponent’s swinging sword. At a glance, a judgment bordering on suicide. But as he closed into Frix’s range, Najin swung his sword.
Before Frix’s sword could complete its trajectory.
Just before proper force could enter that strike.
KAAAAANG! Najin’s sword slammed into Frix’s blade. With little force he broke the opponent’s technique and thrust his sword toward Frix’s opening.
“……!”
Surprise flashed across Frix’s face.
But only for a moment—the heat haze rising from Frix’s body grew denser. Forcibly yanking back the deflected sword, Frix’s body accelerated further.
The sword’s trajectory bent. The blade that had been broken and knocked away returned to position.
A movement impossible for an ordinary human body. An uncanny movement possible only with mana’s aid. The strike created by that uncanny movement could neither be dodged nor countered from the stance Najin currently held.
A strike that defied expectation.
Just as that strike was about to tear into Najin’s shoulder, Frix saw it. Najin’s eyes, still tracking his accelerated movement. The hair-raising gaze fixed on the tip of the sword he was swinging.
Thud!
And Najin stomped his foot down.
In that split second, Najin’s body accelerated. He twisted the thrust sword and raised it diagonally. Every movement was unnaturally fast. Faster even than Frix, who was handling mana.
How in the world?
There had definitely been no mana felt until a moment ago.
But in this instant, Frix felt mana from the boy’s body. Mana that flashed and scattered in the blink of an eye. For a single moment, the boy had clearly used mana to accelerate his body.
Far too smoothly and naturally.
As if breathing in and out.
This little…!
Frix raged at the realization that he had been deceived.
But Najin had no intention of deceiving Frix. Najin believed he couldn’t handle mana, and he didn’t even know that his current movements were being aided by mana.
Always efficiently.
Maximum efficiency with minimum force.
Najin was simply moving according to the fundamentals of combat he had drilled into his head, leaving the secondary things to instinct.
Ka-gagagagak!
Frix’s sword slid along Najin’s diagonally raised blade. The blade falling while roughly scraping the surface of the rusted sword. What that created was an opening.
“…Kh!”
Conscious of Najin’s sword, Frix hastily pulled his blade back—but Najin’s sword didn’t move. What moved was Najin’s leg. With his raised foot, Najin stomped down on Frix’s knee.
Crunch.
Thanks to the mana reinforcement, the knee didn’t buckle inward, but Frix’s expression twisted. His stance crumbled with it. A sword swung from an incomplete stance couldn’t carry proper weight.
Najin lightly knocked aside the light sword.
As he did, he closed in another step.
A distance far too close to cut with the blade. But from the start, Najin had no intention of cutting Frix.
He’d die then.
He had no intention of killing him.
He needed to keep him alive to extract information. Right in front of Frix’s nose, Najin swung the hilt he was gripping like a hammer.
Thud!
With the pommel—the weight at the end of the hilt—Najin smashed Frix’s temple. True to it being Ivan’s sword, heavier than other blades, the impact sounded solid.
“Guh…!”
At the unexpected blow, Frix’s head snapped back. But his eyes still held focus. Seeing that, Najin clicked his tongue.
Mana really is something.
So if you reinforce your body with mana, you can take a pommel to the temple and still not pass out? From the perspective of Najin, who still believed he couldn’t handle mana, it was astonishing.
Still.
Najin reached out and grabbed Frix by the hair.
If I keep swinging, he’ll pass out eventually.
Gripping Frix’s hair with one hand, Najin swung the hilt with the other. He smashed the pommel into Frix’s face again and again.
Thud, crack, and crunch…
After swinging his hand five or six times, Najin finally released Frix’s hair. Frix, his nose broken, streamed blood from both nostrils. Shattered teeth clattered to the ground.
Thud.
Eyes rolled back, Frix collapsed face-down. Najin exhaled a short breath and turned his head. Glancing at Horce’s gang members who had charged in with blades drawn only to miss the timing, Najin said shortly,
“Put those down.”
Najin crooked a finger.
“We’ll just cut off one finger each and send you on your way. Those are the rules.”
The rules Horce and Ivan had established.
Those rules hadn’t been kept very often, but they realized that even in this moment, they couldn’t ignore them.
“Heavy as hell.”
With one hand holding the box containing the arm and fingers, and the other dragging the unconscious Frix by the scruff of the neck, Najin walked on.
I’d love to just dump him anywhere…
If it were a low-ranking member, fine, but even an executive couldn’t be handled carelessly.
Things have been noisy lately, too.
That Trap-spider bastard keeps crossing the line.
He had overheard Ivan muttering something like that. And it wasn’t just hearsay. Najin was the organization’s executioner, and among those he had dunked recently, several had connections to Trap-spider—he had seen it himself.
And now a clear territorial invasion on top of it.
Whatever it was, they were definitely plotting something.
And if it was an executive, he would know something, so Najin planned to extract information this time.
…That was that.
Najin replayed the recent fight in his mind.
Reviewing the techniques and movements he had used in the battle, Najin let out a faint smile. He had confirmed that his sword worked even against someone who handled mana.
All that hard learning paid off.
What he had learned from Ivan and Oppen.
If Oppen had taught him how to swing a sword, Ivan had taught him combat itself. If you see an opening, stab it. If they make a big move, close in. Don’t just swing the weapon—use whatever you can.
How to move the body efficiently.
How to block an opponent’s attack with minimum force.
Close-quarters brawling when the sword couldn’t reach.
Using the terrain and methods of knocking someone out.
Besides that, Najin had learned countless dirty tricks from Ivan. Recalling the techniques he had learned while being beaten by Ivan since the age of ten, Najin frowned for no reason. The long scar on his shoulder had started to ache.
Come to think of it, these aren’t things a knight would teach.
The knights in fairy tales were noble and refined.
But Ivan, who had been a knight in the upper world, was skilled at every kind of dirty work—torture, infiltration, and more. Sometimes even more so than Oppen, who had operated as a mercenary.
“Watch carefully.”
“Because these are things you’ll be doing someday too.”
The tortures Ivan performed.
“He won’t break under torture?”
“That’s a joke. You can only say that because you don’t know how creative human nerves are, how many different kinds of pain they can feel.”
“Let’s make a bet on how long this one lasts.”
The process of forcing a tightly shut mouth open and crushing someone’s spirit to pieces. Flickering lantern light. Blood splattered everywhere. Screams that went on and on.
“See that?”
“Want to give it a try yourself?”
As he mulled over those old memories, Najin suddenly looked back. From there came Frix’s groan—“Guh…” From the way he twitched while moaning, it seemed he had regained consciousness.
Slowly blinking, Frix met Najin’s eyes. Only then grasping the situation, Frix ground his teeth. But no grinding sound came. Several teeth had been knocked out by the pommel strikes.
“One piece of advice.”
To Frix, who was glaring at him full of killing intent, Najin offered advice with an indifferent gaze.
“Don’t play tough—just open your mouth. You’re going to open it anyway, so better to finish the torture while one more part of your body is still intact, right?”
Najin pointed a finger ahead.
Frix’s eyes followed. The moment he saw what Najin was pointing at, Frix’s pupils shook violently. There stood a building that every resident of this underground city knew.
The residence of Ivan, the ruler of the underground city.
Pointing at that building, Najin said,
“Ivan is a far more terrifying man than any of you think.”