Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Burn the Enemy's Supplies First (4)
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Any fool who takes the bait from a provocation and charges in wildly like a dog in heat, heedless of front or back, is a goddamn moron begging to die.
Getting hooked by the taunt and rampaging like a madman would play right into the hands of the bastard gunning solely for my neck.
He'd come at my weakness all at once.
So I tamped down all other emotions, leaving only the raw intent to kill him.
"Fuck you, you pretentious noble prick! I'll kill you for sure."
I channeled aura throughout my body to its maximum and began searching for weaknesses in that Leblanc knight bastard.
"I figured you were just some hot-blooded young punk charging recklessly, so I scratched at you on purpose. But you didn't bite? Not bad."
"What the hell gives you the right to talk down to me like that, you arrogant shit? Let's settle this with skill like men, you senior knight who only has bluff to show for it!"
Leblanc immediately circulated aura through his body and lunged at me abruptly, swinging his sword.
It was sharp and fast, yet carried a heaviness like a one-ton truck slamming into me.
"Insulting a noble senior knight like me is a crime punishable by death, you lowly scum!"
I concentrated aura into my arms and body, using it to block his strike.
'Fuck, this isn't swinging a sword?'
It felt like the kind of powerful, crushing blow you'd expect from a mighty warrior like the one from my old Earth's folktales.
Still, the famous sword Captain Dalton gifted me held firm without bending or breaking.
Leblanc sneered again upon seeing me block his strike.
"You blocked my strike? Impressive. But if things continue like this, your head will roll all the same to Marcel Leblanc's blade. At least tell me your name before that, you baseborn wretch."
Even as he demanded my name, his voice, tone, and manner dripped with condescension.
Everything about him was pure trash designed to piss a man off.
What made it even more infuriating was that his skills were far superior to mine, despite his rotten personality.
Damn it, no matter what I said back, I'd have to put up with this shit until I lopped off his head.
So what could I do? Nothing but kill the bastard and prove my superiority.
I ground my teeth inwardly and answered.
"Platoon Leader Martin Meyer of the White Beard Mercenary Corps."
"A platoon leader at your young age? What a pathetic mercenary company!"
"You only know who's long and who's short once you measure them, Your Noble Knightship!"
This time, I thrust my sword at his neck.
"Die!"
Leblanc saw through my intent instantly and twisted his body to the right to dodge, so my sword sliced only empty air.
The sensation of my blade missing its mark filled me with unease.
'Fuck, no matter what, I have to dodge his follow-up attack.'
Right now, Leblanc was surely aiming for whatever opening he could find.
Where would he strike? The nape, armpit, groin, or back of the knee?
No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't know without turning around.
No choice in a pinch like this, fuck...
"Die, you foul-mouthed little punk!"
The moment I heard those words, I threw myself forward and rolled.
Once I'd put distance between us, I sprang back to my feet, faced Leblanc, and pointed my sword at him.
"Dodging like a rat, eh? Fitting for baseborn scum, using thieving habits like a mouse."
Then he came at me this time.
"Dodge all you want—it ends the same! Die now or a second from now. Don't overdo it, punk!"
This time, Leblanc poured aura into his legs for speed and swung as he closed in fast.
It was clearly a sword swing, but the whoosh of air and pressure felt like a log being hurled.
'Fuck, is that a bear or a man?'
Yet no blue mist symbolizing an expert clung to his blade.
How much greater was the expert realm, and how much stronger?
When our swords clashed, pain shot through my arm like it'd been beaten with a wooden club.
"That all you got?"
Leblanc swung again in a storm of speed.
No ordinary eyes could follow it, but my aura-trained sight caught every move.
I took it all in, meticulously analyzing his strengths and weaknesses.
Anyone watching might think I was some idiot leisurely studying swordplay mid-battle, but against a stronger foe, it was essential.
Grasping the enemy's strengths and flaws, then striking the weak spots and gaps—that was the surest path to victory.
'Just one opening. If I can spot that single gap...'
I kept parrying his relentless strikes with my sword.
"Realized you can't beat this body and decided to focus on defense? Not a bad call, but pure defense won't save you from me, Leblanc."
Even our rookie mercs fresh in the company knew that.
But I made no retort, simply focusing on sinking all emotions into calm stillness.
Like a frozen winter lake in utter silence.
I rationally observed, read, and dissected his attack patterns.
"What happened to the loudmouth from before? Scared speechless by our house's secret sword arts and my high realm? Good on you for learning your place before death, baseborn."
Was he trying to rile my emotions for an opening, or disrupt my analysis of his weaknesses?
No matter his intent, one thing mattered now.
'Finding the gap in Leblanc, who outclasses me.'
For that, I concentrated fully.
His strikes flowed naturally like a river yet hit with log-like weight.
His ceaseless swordplay overwhelmed and dizzied me, but I watched it as if calmly scrutinizing footage, detail by detail.
To mask my intent, I scratched at him in turn.
"Sorry for not answering sooner, Senior Knight sir. Your sword's so dull, I can't stop laughing."
"Y-You baseborn cur! It's not my swordsmanship that's dull—your eyes are blind! Today I'll kill you and gouge them out for the eagles!"
"Give it a shot if you dare. But all that talk means you've got nothing left but bluff."
Leblanc's voice began to tremble with rage.
"Y-You! How dare you! How dare you mock a noble senior knight like me!"
Then he attacked faster and fiercer than before, in heated frenzy.
The strain on my arms grew, tracking his motions even harder.
'Finally, his movements are simplifying.'
And so, the habit etched in his swordplay finally appeared.
Whether from proper training under a master in his squire days, his swing angles weren't fixed.
Up, down, diagonal up, right, left.
Varying directions to deny patterns—commendable stance.
But true to a knight whose life revolved around noble pride, his sword was too honest.
'Against a style like this, a street brawl's perfect.'
Just then, Leblanc stepped back to reset his stance.
"This time, I'll finish you."
I crooked my finger at him in reply.
"Come at me if you can, you bluffing knight bastard!"
"Insolent wretch!"
Leblanc kicked off the ground and charged like a mad bull.
I clenched my teeth, exploded my aura, and stared down his attack.
A head-on downward cleave.
"Not a chance!"
I swung to match and block.
The heavy impact jolted my hands, and he tried to overpower and disrupt my stance.
At that moment, his openings flooded my vision at once.
Ankles, shins, waist, gut, head.
Couldn't kill an armored foe in one hit, but enough to collapse his posture and swing the fight my way in an instant.
'Like a damn buffet. Which one to smash to drop this dog?'
Oblivious to my read, Leblanc fixated on breaking my guard.
"Die! You goddamn baseborn scum!"
Hearing that, my lips curled up.
No more agonizing over landing a solid counter on the bastard.
"Bullshit."
Then I poured aura into my gauntleted left hand and smashed down hard on his helmet.
'Fuck, that familiar thrill's alive.'