Chapter 117
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: Battle of Soelden Plains (7)
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The guy pointed his sword at me and clicked his tongue again before asking once more.
"I asked if you're that Martin Meyer who's been having a field day slicing up our boys. Are your ears clogged or something? That's why you can't answer?"
Hearing that, I paused for a moment, wondering how best to respond.
It was ridiculous that I even had to think about dealing with such cheap provocation, but if I let it get to me and lost my cool...
These bastards, who were already on the verge of losing, would breathe a sigh of relief just seeing me rattled by their trash talk, thinking their captain's plan was working.
Like investors in a stock market crash who take a -50% hit one day, then celebrate a 1% rebound the next as if everything's turning around.
I stayed cool and collected, and the guy, thinking his words had been ignored, started getting pissed off this time.
"You little shit, are you too scared of me to even answer?"
No, that's really not it.
You're no Sword Master like Baron Ainz or anything. Just a run-of-the-mill Mercenary Captain. Why the hell would I be scared of you?
Besides, this clown was acting all calm and superior on his own, but I focused my Aura on my ears to heighten my hearing.
From our left flank, I could hear the Red Rose mercenaries pushing in hard while the Black Brothers Mercenary Corps guys flailed helplessly, getting pushed back.
"What the hell is that Mercenary Captain doing?!"
"Support! We need support! Why isn't any fucking support coming? Damn Empire bastards!"
"Hold out! If we hang on till the end, reinforcements will come!"
It was obvious their side was about to get fucked, so why was he bluffing so boldly like a total poser?
So I let out a deep sigh that could have sunk the ground beneath me and said,
"What bullshit. You're so damn weak it's making me sigh."
This time, I pointed my sword tip at him and continued.
"They say the weaker the pup, the louder it barks out of fear, and damn if you aren't yapping your head off. Oh, right, before you die, you should at least hear my name. I'm Martin Meyer, Hundred-Man Leader of the White Beard Mercenary Corps."
My flashy comeback had all my mercenaries bursting into laughter.
"Man, Hundred-Man Leader Martin's mouth is always top-tier."
"That's why he gets away with having two women tagging along, the lucky bastard."
"I gotta learn from him, seriously..."
My guys were clutching their stomachs, howling with laughter, while the enemy—who'd been trying to crush me and flip the sour mood their way—lost his shit as things spiraled out of his control.
I could practically imagine his face under that helmet turning red-hot like molten iron.
"I'm Zeke Vespada, Mercenary Captain of the Black Brothers Mercenary Corps—the man who's gonna send your head rolling off your shoulders. Remember the name!"
With that, he swung his sword at me with blinding speed.
The blade arced from low right, aiming straight for my knee...
'He said he'd take my head, but pulls this sneaky shit. Typical mercenary scum.'
"Didn't you say you'd take my head?"
I blocked his attack, but he didn't answer—just kept pressing me relentlessly.
"You bastard, die!"
Just moments ago, this guy had been grinning ear-to-ear, thinking he'd devoured the Red Rose Mercenaries and was set for a hero's welcome.
But because I stuck my nose in, not only had he failed to rack up any merits, now his hard-earned mercenary corps was melting away before his eyes.
Anyone who didn't rage in that spot would be the weirdo, but what could he do?
It's a mercenary's world—survival of the fittest, eat or be eaten.
After exchanging some forty clashes, he spotted an opening and unleashed a burst of Aura, slashing down at my neck.
It was so fast and fierce it almost broke the sound barrier.
No matter how inept he'd seemed against me, this proved reaching Expert level wasn't for show.
'Guess he didn't win his captain spot in a card game.'
I smoothly parried and neutralized his strike, then locked eyes on where Zeke was aiming next.
Zeke's sword was going for my armpit.
"Die, Martin Meyer!"
Desperate to finish me with this blow, he swung even faster.
Just the whistling momentum of the blade cutting through the air showed how badly he wanted me dead.
"You think there's some idiot who'd just drop dead because you asked nicely?"
I sidestepped big to the left, dodging his attack.
"Sneaky little shit!"
Clearly, he hadn't expected me to evade—high praise, thanks.
No matter that he was an Expert; chaining big swings like that threw his stance way off, just as I'd predicted.
'I'd love to just run him through right now.'
His opening wasn't huge, so I channeled Aura into my right foot and swept his ankle.
"Fuck?!"
He face-planted into the dirt, and I thrust hard at his vitals with Aura surging through my blade.
"Die, you bastard!"
But Zeke rolled aside, evading, and popped back up.
"Never seen such a dirty, lowlife trick!"
"Win's a win. Thanks for the compliment."
"Fuck, die!"
Even after the ankle sweep, nothing seemed sprained or broken...
He came at me raging like nothing happened.
Overhead strikes, low-left diagonals, rights, lefts, and sneaky thrusts mixed in whenever I blocked a swing.
His strikes carried the weight of countless kills and years of experience—pretty damn dangerous, enough to threaten my life.
"Drop dead, trash!"
This time, Zeke feinted a swing then kicked at my gut.
With Aura all over his body and armor on, it wasn't lethal, but the impact hit like a hammer blow rippling through me.
Pain so sharp I nearly dropped my sword.
"Ugh, fuck."
But I held on.
Dropping it would've left my neck wide open, or at least made this fight way worse for me.
Zeke panted heavily and yelled at me.
"Time to die!"
"Why don't you drop first if you're so tired, old man?"
My whole body ached, but I weathered his assault.
We traded blows for dozens—hell, maybe near a hundred more exchanges...
Then Zeke clicked his tongue and backed off.
"Hoo, fuck. Didn't wanna use this... but damn, you get lucky, don't you?"
"Planning to pull out your trump card?"
No way he'd just admit it straight like that...
"Yeah, call it a trump card. Didn't think I'd waste it on you."
...... This psycho, why the sudden trump card bullshit?
"My level's still low, but just once—or for a moment—I can tap into an Expert Intermediate technique."
With those words, he erupted Aura in a massive surge, and red flames bloomed around his sword, engulfing the blade.
...... They say at Expert Intermediate, you can wrap your blade in flames representing your inner essence to amp the power.
So Zeke could pull that off now, huh.
I tightened my focus and stared him down.
"Now die!"
Zeke's sword plunged straight at my head.
The swing speed didn't look much faster than before, so I blocked like always.
"Argh, hot!"
Just parrying one clash, and the scorching heat from his blade seared me like a burn.
"Less efficient, but the power's real. Rookie!"
After that, we clashed for dozens more exchanges.
Up till now, parrying just meant handling his blade's kinetic force and weight.
But with those flames, the heat was steadily draining my stamina...
"Ngh."
Good thing my armor had a bit of mithril mixed in; with plain steel, the flames would've heated it up and given me minor burns all over by now.
In the Expert realm, where tiny condition shifts make or break you, full-body burns would slow me down enough for him to outpace me.
And then my head rolls.
'Never skimp on armor.'
With that in mind, I pondered how to counter.
"Die! Martin Meyer!"
He kept hounding me relentlessly with that flaming sword.
"Fuck."
I'd heard channeling flames boosted power but guzzled Aura like crazy...
So why was he still fine? Hadn't much time passed?
As I mulled it over, an idea hit me to turn this around.
'Right, I've got that ring.'