Golden Fang (3)
Balun was shocked. Morris had blocked his attack too perfectly.
Even without using Reinforcement Technique, he'd swung with all his might, yet there was no sign of the guy being pushed back.
Damn, isn't aura total bullshit? Balun grumbled inwardly.
What kind of insane technique let this guy withstand such a heavy blow? If the bastard had brute strength, fine—but Morris wasn't particularly strong. Balun had watched him closely for the past two weeks and knew it from the start. The guy's build was slender from the get-go. So how the hell?
"That's cheating! No aura allowed!"
Balun shouted, feeling utterly wronged. He'd barely learned any strength-boosting tricks since he couldn't even pick up aura, while this prick was coolly manifesting haze from his sword. It twisted his guts.
"You're spouting nonsense."
"It's a cheat skill!"
"Just die quietly."
Morris twisted his sword's angle to deflect the axe, then slashed upward. Balun ducked urgently. The hazy blade sliced through the air where his neck had been.
Not missing a beat, Morris swung down. Balun rolled back nimbly twice. The torn tent flap tangled around his body.
He shook it off quickly and caught his breath quietly. His heart was pounding like mad.
He's strong. Nothing like the small fry I've faced before.
Fear, suppressed by rage, began to creep up. The terror of possibly dying started to erode his mind.
I'm not dying. I can do this. I'm a strong warrior. I'm fucking badass.
Clang! Clang clang!
Balun parried Morris's relentless strikes while consciously repeating the mantra. It was a form of self-hypnosis he used when fear hit.
Like hell I can.
The self-hypnosis failed spectacularly. It always did.
This fucker's insanely strong! Balun whined inwardly.
It wasn't just the aura. The guy was a seasoned swordsman in his own right. Twenty years gripping a blade, apparently—and clearly not just for show if he led a mercenary band.
"You're surprisingly agile for your size."
"Obviously. Balun's nimble. Basically Usain Bolt."
"What?"
"Balun's faster than you!"
Kaang!
Fortunately, Balun was a master at hiding his expressions. Inside, he was like fragile glass on the verge of shattering, but outwardly, he was an unbreakable fortress. At least that's how Morris saw it.
The guy was unleashing aura-laced attacks nonstop, yet Balun didn't budge an inch.
"A monster. I didn't expect you to be this strong."
Morris clicked his tongue and continued.
"If you were a Master, I'd have sliced you already."
"What?"
"Doesn't matter. You can't beat me anyway. Hah!"
Morris slashed vertically. Balun crossed his hand axes to block.
Ching!
Balun flinched. A chip had flown off the axe blade.
Damn, of all times.
He sensed intuitively that these axes wouldn't last ten exchanges. And Morris felt it too.
"Oh dear. Your weapon's giving out at the worst time."
"……."
"Won't hold up much longer."
Morris smirked wickedly.
Should've bought better ones!
Should he have used two-handers from the start? Might've been a fair fight. No, impossible. The initial spot was inside the tent—too cramped for two-handers.
Balun shook his head. No point in useless regrets. Focus on what he could do now.
"Hah!"
Balun feinted a charge, then hurled both hand axes. They arced through the air. Morris freaked, raising his blade flat to block. He twisted to dodge one.
Throwing his weapons? Was the guy insane? What next?
Pang!
One axe bounced off the flat and clattered to the ground. Morris ignored the stinging pain in his hands.
His stance faltered, and Balun seized the split-second opening. He poured strength into both arms. Mana dormant in his muscles surged, swelling his forearms unnaturally.
Balun charged like a raging bull.
"Hah!"
Morris's eyes narrowed. What the hell? Muscles bulging out of nowhere. Not like some orc's arms.
"Using some weird trick. Not magic, not aura. What is it? Barbarian sorcery?"
Morris smirked and raised his sword. Charging barehanded at a sword wielder was suicide. The guy knew that. So only one reason.
"Mutual destruction, huh?"
Morris's grin widened. Seasoned fighters were tough, but wild beasts relying on raw power? Easy prey. Balun looked exactly like one now—a mindless brute charging on instinct.
I've won.
Morris swung confidently. Slashed. Definitely—
Thud!
"Got it."
"……!"
Morris's eyes bulged. Balun had caught his sword barehanded.
What the fuck? Grabbing a swinging blade with bare hands? An aura-infused strike, no less.
He'd never even imagined it possible.
"No, what the... Let go! Let—argh!"
Morris's face turned beet red. Even with full strength, it wouldn't budge. What kind of monster had this much power? Mana coursed through him, invigorating his body, yet it was futile.
Balun grinned and squeezed. Blood dripped from his palms, and with a grotesque creak, the blade began to bend.
Kriiiik!
Soon, it folded completely in two.
"Sleep tight."
Balun headbutted him full force. Teeth scattered, and Morris blacked out.
"Hoo, hoo."
Balun panted heavily. He'd nearly died for real. His hands screamed in agony—obvious after grabbing a sword barehanded. Blood dripped steadily, but no time for bandaging. Still too many enemies.
"Hm."
Balun's eyes narrowed at the scene. The camp was a slaughterhouse. Corpses everywhere. Whose were they?
Sword-wielders chased screaming merchants; wagons overturned, spilling goods. The horses were long gone.
"Captain!"
"That psycho! Captain Morris..."
"He's that strong?"
He felt multiple eyes darting between the fallen Morris and himself. They halted their pursuit, turned, and aimed swords at Balun.
He was surrounded in an instant.
These fucking dogs.
Balun scowled. He'd been thrilled after dropping one, but nope—plenty more mountains to climb.
It's fine. Way weaker than Morris. Just small fry.
Bean-sized confidence welled up again. He snatched his fallen two-hander and bellowed.
"Get ready! Balun kills you all!"
He glared fiercely. The foes encircled him but hesitated to close in.
"Approach and die! Balun gets hurt, he splits one's skull no matter what! You'll have company!"
Strength surged into his legs. Reinforcement Technique hardened his leg muscles. Feeling the power, he stomped hard.
It was instinct, not thought.
Boom!
The ground quaked like an earthquake. Nearby foes staggered.
"Wha—?"
"What the!"
Eh? How'd I do that?
He shoved the question aside and charged like an enraged bull. He barreled in and swung at the frontmost foe.
Schluck!
The mercenary's head sprayed blood and soared. His terrified expression snapped the others to attention.
"Damn it!"
"Crazy barbarian!"
"Kill him!"
Onrushing enemies. Balun rampaged through them like a wolf.
The surviving merchants watched in awe.
* * *
The quiet but fierce predawn battle ended.
The camp was a sea of blood, but thanks to Balun, Marco the caravan leader and many merchants survived. A silver lining.
As merchants sorted the chaos, Balun interrogated the spared Morris.
This fucking dog. Won't kill him till he spills everything.
Balun gritted his teeth. He'd make the bastard talk for sure.
"Why'd you do this?"
"Th-that's..."
"Not asking again. No answer, lose a finger. Why?"
"Uh, um."
Morris hesitated, and Balun swung his axe. The index finger flew off cleanly.
"Gaaahhh!"
Fear filled Morris's eyes. No mercy from this barbarian.
"Asking again. Why?"
"Money! For money! Argh!"
"Magic tower pay you? That's why you targeted Balun?"
"Magic tower? What..."
"Don't play dumb. Balun knows all. You're magic tower minion. Sent for revenge."
"Nonsense! I have no ties to the magic t—"
Snap!
"Gaaahhh!"
"Lies don't work. If not, why target Balun?"
"Marco's caravan riches! We aimed to steal 'em! The cargo's valuable this time!"
"What?"
"It's true! Believe me! No idea what misunderstanding, but how could a nobody like me connect to the magic tower! Sob!"
Morris wailed. Balun blinked in confusion. Not the magic tower?
"Debts! Huge gambling debts! Had to pay 'em! So we planned this! Really! Huuuh!"
Balun just blinked.
I got it wrong?
Overheard snippets resurfaced. They matched perfectly with this confession.
Not because of me.
Balun scratched his head awkwardly. How embarrassing.
Ah, mortifying.
Too self-centered, really. This wasn't modern society—how would they ID a corpse and plot instant revenge? Plus, Malik had boasted origins, not affiliation.
Balun bowed his head. Too many eyes on him. He wanted to crawl into a hole.
Hope no one noticed.
He glanced sideways and relaxed. Everyone was too furious at Morris to care. Stones pelted the guy from all sides. Morris writhed in pain.
"Marco. Hear all?"
"Yeah."
Marco approached, nodding weakly. He knelt before Balun.
"Thanks. Truly, thank you. You saved us all. You're our lifesaver."
Morris hung his head.
"I'm a fool. Total fool. Distrusted the trustworthy, trusted the scum."
"You trusted him?"
"Morris?"
"Yeah."
"Did. Twenty-year friendship. My one true friend."
"Was, huh."
Marco wept. Self-loathing crushed him. Betrayed by a twenty-year pal for money. The wound tore at his heart.
Balun considered words of comfort but held back. What could he say? Better to stay silent.
"How to repay this grace... Huuh!"
"Grace? Plenty ways to repay."
Balun nodded. Even amid shame, "grace" tempted him. Embarrassment's slave vanished; capitalism's poked its head.
"If repaying grace, Balun accepts."
His eyes gleamed. Twenty-year betrayal? Not his problem. He'd nearly died—that mattered more. And since not his fault, double compensation was fair.