Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Burn the Enemy's Supplies First (5)
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Mithril and steel gauntlet connected with full force, and the bastard's head snapped back.
"Ugh."
The guy let out a short scream and staggered for a moment.
Two thoughts flashed through my mind at that instant.
Should I seize the opening and thrust straight into the gap between his helmet and breastplate? Or hit his arms and legs a few more times to break his stance?
Both were surefire ways to achieve my goal of killing the Leblanc bastard right in front of me...
'This pompous prick has rolled through real battles hundreds of times. No room for a second chance... so then?'
Maybe a second had passed when Leblanc regained his senses, restoring his stance to show he was still in fighting shape.
"You cowardly, lowborn mercenary scum. Where'd a rat like you learn such dirty tricks?!"
He bellowed, pointing his sword at me, ready to resume the fight. That's when I channeled aura into both legs and lunged at him.
Leblanc hadn't seen it coming. Even as I grabbed his waist and tackled him down, he couldn't react properly.
'Knew he was weak in street fights, but damn, top-tier knights live up to the hype.'
The corner of my mouth curled up to my ear.
But it was too early to let my guard down or get cocky.
I slammed all my strength and body weight into driving Leblanc's waist into the ground.
"Guh! You fucking..."
Pinned down, Leblanc groaned, his body unable to muster any strength from the massive impact.
I didn't miss the chance. I pinned his arms hard with both knees and kicked his sword as far away as possible with my left foot.
"Fucking pinned now, huh? Gonna surrender? I'll make it quick if you do."
"Don't fuck with me, you bastard!"
Leblanc circulated aura through his body, straining his waist, legs, and arms to throw me off from on top of him.
Damn it, the guy under me was a full-grown adult male, but it felt like wrestling a massive bear.
"I acknowledge your skill and dirty tricks for pushing me this far, but the victor will be me, Leblanc! And I'll slaughter every last one of you mercenary dogs to avenge this humiliation!"
His helmet hid his eyes and expression... but I could hear his teeth grinding loud and clear.
Hard to stab his nape with the sword I was holding, so I grabbed the dagger from my belt with my right hand.
I stabbed at his nape, but Leblanc twisted his neck to dodge the fatal blow.
Blood still sprayed from the gash, soaking my armor.
'Lives up to the senior knight title. Tough son of a bitch to kill.'
"How dare a lowly scum like you try to kill me, you filthy fucking bastard!"
Then he focused his aura into his right arm and yanked it free from under my legs.
This time, determined to end him, I thrust the dagger fast—but...
"Martin Meyer!"
He shouted my name and grabbed my blade with his gauntlet.
Ignoring the sword biting into his fingers and palm, Leblanc resisted fiercely.
For a moment, I thought he might shove me off.
'If I lose ground here, I'm the one who dies.'
Desperate with the realization that failing to kill him meant my death, I circulated aura through my whole body, gripped the dagger with both hands, and slowly pressed down with all my weight.
"Don't think for a second a lowly mercenary like you can kill me!"
Even on the brink of life and death, his bluster made me scoff.
"That lowly scum's gonna blow your head off today. Die!"
Our clash dragged on for five minutes—me stabbing, him blocking with his hand—until I felt his strength ebbing as blood poured from him.
I didn't miss the moment and drove the dagger into his throat.
I'd killed dozens—no, over a hundred people by now. Thought I was numb to the feel of it.
Maybe because I'd danced on death's edge myself so many times?
Or because killing this bastard had been such a grind, but the blade slicing through flesh and muscle felt vivid through my hand.
Marcel bastard even insulted me as he died.
"You cowardly, lowborn mercenary scu..."
As the victor, I flipped up my helmet's visor, smirked with the right corner of my mouth, and said,
"If you don't wanna feel hard done by, you should've won. Lost to lowly scum and headed to the afterlife—hope it burns your guts the whole way."
Then I swiftly severed his head and held it high triumphantly.
"Platoon Leader Martin Meyer of the White Beard Mercenary Corps has beheaded Senior Knight Marcel Leblanc!"
Up until I shouted that, the one-on-one deathmatch had left me feeling drained to the bone.
Maybe it was this world's system where defeating strong foes boosted your 'realm' bit by bit.
Or adrenaline exploding from toppling someone stronger than me?
'Feels like I've got more power surging through me than before the real fight even started.'
My platoon mates were cheering wildly at the news of me taking his head, but I barely registered it. I wanted to test this newfound strength right now.
I gripped my sword tight and circulated aura through my body like always.
The method was the same, but the power and vigor flowing through me felt a step higher.
"Platoon, we're pushing up to support Captain Dalton!"
With that, I started cutting down the enemies blocking my path.
Cleaner cuts than before killing Leblanc. Smoother feel when slicing throats or vitals.
'My skill's improved.'
The sensation of cleaving foes with my sword—stronger than before.
Not sex or booze, but this rush of accomplishment had me fired up.
"Fuck, this is why I smack knights around."
I parried a mace swing coming at me, spun right using the momentum, and took the guy's head.
Even in the endless fighting, my sword's momentum never flagged like before.
I pulled off game-like spinning combo slashes, beheading three guys charging to kill me.
In a world without aura, even sword masters would fret over blades catching on neck bones.
But I could pull off near-acrobatic feats thanks to Martin Meyer's long-honed knightly swordsmanship, supercharged by aura.
The platoon guys following me gasped in awe.
"Platoon Leader, fuck, you're a beast. How do you slice necks like paper?!"
"They call him Mad Dog for a reason. Skill's gone insane. Took down a senior knight and instead of tiring, you're flying around."
"Can't just tail the Platoon Leader! Let's grind it out too!"
Their genuine praise made my shoulders lift on their own.
Time to lead by example so they'd keep respecting me.
As I steeled myself, a mob of enemy knights and soldiers—looking like scrubs—charged at me with weapons raised.
"Die, Martin Meyer! Avenge Senior Knight Leblanc!"
"Take your head and change my luck!"
Back when we faced Count Zaltzheim, a 'knight' approaching would've tensed me up...
'But now, low-rank knights like these barely scare me.'
Still, against any foes, the key was picking off the weakest first, one by one...
I raised my sword and cleaved the padded-armor guy in front.
Aiming to bisect his torso with aura and strength.
His waist was already halved, padded armor and all.
Sensing a strike aimed at my head from behind, I spun right and took that guy's neck.
One by one, I cut them down until only one low-rank knight remained before me.
The low-rank knight pompously shouted his name, gathered aura, and charged.
"Rainwood Style One, Azure Dragon!"
As he unleashed his technique with a frontal thrust.
I sidestepped left half a pace and countered with the same thrust to his throat.
The knight yelling Rainwood Style One became skewered on my blade.
Moments later, Captain Dalton's triumphant roar boomed across the field.
"Dalton of the White Beard Mercenary Corps has captured Baron Garsong alive! We've won!!! Fuck, all these supplies are ours now!"
The moment I heard that, a perfect word—"long-haired prick"—flashed through my mind.