Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: 16. Liberal Alliance and Ian (2)
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“Let me ask again. Who are you?”
Ian's past—longer as the weak than the strong—had made him acutely sensitive.
Especially his ears, which could pick up even what his eyes couldn't see. That was why he was such a light sleeper.
So, from the moment he'd been summoned by the prince, sensing someone eavesdropping was child's play for him.
Spotting that he was being tailed by the mysterious figure was just as easy.
Even gauging that the tail was weaker than him.
'At least B-rank hero level, though.'
He tried to snap the sword clamped on his arm by flexing—but it wouldn't break.
Ian subtly eased his strength, and the blade slipped free in a flash.
He turned. A stranger's face greeted him.
Even with half his features shadowed by the hood, it was clear the man had lived a rough life.
“An assassin? Who sent you... You won't say, I bet.”
“......”
The man stayed silent.
No sign of backing down.
'Thinks he's got an opening since I'm unarmed.'
Perfect.
Ian had planned to subdue him and uncover his identity anyway.
The man lunged abruptly, sword flashing.
'Fast.'
Ian yanked a sword from his subspace pouch in haste to parry.
It happened to be a training blade.
-Clang!
The blades clashed, sparks flying.
The brief flash lit the man's startled face.
But he didn't stop.
-Clang! Clang!
Quick swings battered Ian's blade.
'Good power. Mana output's solid too.'
-Clang! Crack!
'But that's all there is to it.'
Ian defended and deflected leisurely, dissecting his foe.
'High mana output from a natural superhuman. No formal training, and crucially, barely any real life-or-death fights. Hasn't even properly dueled equals, let alone stronger ones.'
Ironically, Ian could train the far stronger 1st Hero Party precisely because he'd been weak.
In countless battles, survival demanded thought.
Read the opponent. Analyze. Break them down.
Win without it? Impossible.
Weight shifts—smooth?
Thrusts or slashes—where's the power?
Defense: block, dodge, or deflect?
Gaze direction?
Excitement level?
Hidden trump cards?
Battle-hardened or green?
That keen eye and analysis let Ian teach the 1st Hero Party.
'Raw strength crushes most foes easy. Ambushes are slick—probably more kills before they even draw than in straight fights.'
Grasping it all in seconds. Judging fast.
'Sloppy cuts and thrusts. No form. Unstable footing. Pure ambush-and-brute-force type. Proper training and grind? Different story...'
Ian finished his assessment.
'This guy's definitely weaker than me.'
Truth was, Ian's raw power alone could've crushed him.
Still, he went through the hassle of analysis.
Ingrained like a fingerprint from life.
Habit. Inertia.
Ian laid one hand atop his blade.
Grip on hilt with one, blade with the other—half-swording stance.
He smacked aside the downward slash.
The man's guard cracked open, pommel right at his face.
Ian drove it in short and sharp.
“Guh!”
Hot pain bloomed from his nose. Edga staggered back.
By the time he recovered, his sword was gone.
Snatched in that pommel hit.
Ian pressed relentlessly, reversing his grip and swinging.
The sturdy crossguard smashed his face.
“Kahk—!”
A few teeth scattered to the dirt with bloody spittle.
“You... you're... what the...?”
“Hmph. Tailed by a weakling like you.”
“I'm... A-rank hero... comparable...”
Ian barked a laugh at the dazed mutter.
“Never even seen a real A-rank, huh.”
Casually, he swung the sword like a bat, crossguard pounding shoulder and thigh.
“Gaaah—!”
On the thrashing man's wrist, Ian spotted a familiar mark.
He seized it quick, rolled back the sleeve. Tattoo: circle with an X smack in the middle—the X even jutting out.
“Liberal Alliance?”
He knew the symbol.
“You're their boss, right? Edga? That's the name I heard.”
“......”
The ambusher, Edga, said nothing.
“But don't you guys turn down assassination gigs?”
“......”
Edga couldn't process the gap.
Why was someone this strong just a manager?
“...Aha. You've been tailing me since that day, haven't you?”
“......”
Ian ground Edga's hand under his heel.
“Ugh...!”
“Silence won't save you here.”
“Fine, fine...!”
“Hmph. Pride war between crime syndicates? Persistent bunch.”
“What do you know about the back-alley shadows...!”
“...Trash scraping by on crime, slapping fancy labels like 'back alleys' and 'shadows' to sound big.”
Edga had no comeback for the blunt insult.
“But weird. Too neat to be just tailing me here.”
“That's...”
“You've been in Fiorene City from the start.”
“...!”
“Nailed it? Lucky guess.”
Not baseless.
Fiorene City's underground hall wasn't public turf.
Someone scouting it that deep? More likely embedded than coincidence.
“What's your tie to Lorenzo?”
The castellan himself—connection probable.
“Like I said, silence won't fly. No loyalty worth that...”
Ian stabbed the sword into the ground to keep talking.
Slight shift lightened the weight on Edga's hand.
Edga seized the gap.
-Boom!
Light explosion. Gray smoke billowed, blinding and choking with acrid burn.
Ian fanned it away. Edga—gone.
Distant footsteps fleeing.
'Northeast.'
Ian eyed the empty spot, smirking.
Never expected him to spill easy.
'And their safety-obsessed leader wouldn't hole up in Fiorene without a hideout or base nearby.'
He'd planned to let him bolt.
To track the base.
Needed a superior tracker.
'Kati.'
[Yes.]
'All good there?'
[Yes.]
'Come here, then.'
[Understood.]
*
Tracking needed Kati, but Ian hadn't brought her at first.
In case multiple tails.
Or not targeting him.
Someone to guard the group.
Luckily, solo tail. No party threats.
No summoning possible, but Kati reached him fast.
Long haul, yet no fatigue.
She unbound her eyepatch, scanned the ground.
“Can you track?”
Dark. Bushes hid prints. But not from her eyes.
She traced the vivid glowing trail, then looked up.
Injury threw off his gait—deep prints, intermittent blood.
Easy prey.
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
Kati rose, gazing up at Ian intently.
Golden eyes—rare sight lately.
Pupils dilated round in the dark, innocent as a booted cat's.
Ian caught the look, rested a hand atop her head.
“Thanks as always. Daytime too.”
Slow strokes. Kati overlaid her hands, savoring.
Gloves dulled the warmth, but enough.
His slowed. She guided it on.
Ian chuckled.
“You're a real cat sometimes. A dog-cat.”
“Dog... cat?”
“Nah, means obedient like a dog, but sounds off...”
Kati pondered deeply, eyes down, still guiding his hand.
Short think. Small nod, convinced.
“That works.”
“...If it suits you. But when you gonna explain that bell?”
Choker bell around her neck—silent. Worn pre-maid days.
Asked plenty; always “just decor.”
Same today.
“Just decoration.”
She eased his hand down, stepped back.
His slipped slowly from her soft clasp.
Magnetic reluctance.
Fingertips lingered touching. She spoke.
“I'm off.”
“Yeah. Careful. Call if anything. ...Not that you'd need me.”
“I need you.”
“Right, I'll bolt over.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Fingertips brushed regretfully apart.
Still, Kati smiled.
Faint, tiny—but Ian saw.
“That's enough.”
No hesitation. She turned, chased the prints.
Soon lost to the brush's gloom.
Ian watched the spot awhile.
'Hideout or base—she'll find it, report. Then wipe 'em out.'
Unknown size. Tough for two maybe.
Wolfgang.
His help needed.
Ian headed straight for Fiorene City.