Wolf Blade (2)
The Wolf Blade guild headquarters was in an uproar.
It was due to the shocking news that had come out of nowhere.
Several guild members were dead. Their corpses mangled beyond recognition. And not just any members—no fewer than six. Among them was one of the guild's five Wolf Leaders, the de facto action captains who truly led Wolf Blade.
Philip, the guild master who commanded Wolf Blade, flew into a rage.
"Who the hell dares to kill my men?! Who?!"
"It's that guy! That barbarian bastard!"
"Barbarian?"
"Balun or whatever his name is—that barbarian butchered Captain Derek… cough!"
The reporting guild member hacked violently. Philip had grabbed him by the collar.
"M-Master. What the hell… urk!"
"Why the hell don't you have a scratch on you?"
"Pardon?"
"Why do you look perfectly fine? Did you run away without even fighting?"
"W-Well…"
The guild member hemmed and hawed. Philip immediately drove his fist into the subordinate's chest. The man groaned and tumbled to the floor.
"Haven't I told you a thousand times? Running away is the shame of a knight. Fight to the death if you must."
"But we're not knights, sir."
"Even if we're not knights, our hearts are. That's what Wolf Blade is. I've said it over and over, and you still don't get it. I'm disappointed. So disappointed. Tsk tsk."
Philip continued.
"I taught you the swordsmanship of knights. Those who train in it are knights themselves. How do you not understand that?"
The beaten subordinate grumbled inwardly as he listened.
'That damn bastard. Spouting his bullshit again.'
He knew Philip was a former knight. He knew the man took pride in it. But he couldn't fathom why Philip forced that knightly crap on them too.
What? Our hearts are knights? Then why not treat us like knights?
"Where is that bastard now?"
"Yes, sir. The fight happened at the inn, so even if he fled, he couldn't have gone far."
"Round up men right now. Chase him down and drag him here. Immediately."
"Yes, sir!"
"You can chop off a limb or two. But don't kill him. Bring him to me alive. Got it?"
"Understood!"
He called back one of the subordinates heading out.
"You, go to the guards. Tell them not to interfere."
"Wouldn't it be better to ask the guards for help instead?"
Philip's face darkened at the bewildered question.
"You idiot. If we do that, people will point fingers at Wolf Blade as a bunch of pathetic losers who can't catch a single eel without begging for help. Is that what you want?"
"Gasp! Sorry! I didn't think of that!"
"Then get going."
"Yes, sir!"
The guild members rushed out. Philip calmed his boiling rage and thought.
'Kill Derek? That bastard dares?'
Derek was a valued subordinate. Though the weakest swordsman among the five Wolf Leaders, his knack for handling affairs had been a huge asset to the guild. His death left a massive void.
With Derek gone—the man who kept order in Pordel—who would maintain that order now?
'He was my successor…'
Philip clenched his fist. It trembled. His fury matched that tremor.
'I won't let this slide. Never.'
Philip had founded the guild but never managed it directly. He prided himself on being a knight. To him, knights honed their swords, not ran organizations. So he'd always trained in the background, ignoring guild operations.
But now the situation had changed. A subordinate was dead. Ignoring it would be a knight's shame. He wasn't cowardly enough to stomach that.
'It's been a while since my sword tasted blood.'
He took the sword from the wall. Its familiar weight awakened his vigor. The blade from his battlefield days. With it, he'd slay the savage barbarian. And reclaim his tarnished honor.
As he wiped the dusty sword with a cloth, someone entered his office. A middle-aged man with a distinctive walrus mustache. His name was Banet. A Blue Tower mage, and currently Wolf Blade's most honored guest, whom Philip treated with utmost deference.
"You've arrived, Lord Banet."
Banet, clad in a blue robe and leaning on a curved wooden staff like a crutch, asked, "It's quite noisy outside. What happened?"
"Ah, just a minor issue. No need to worry."
"And your sword is being used for a 'minor issue'?"
"Pardon? Oh, just leading by example as guild master. Haha."
"You, leading by example? That's like the sun rising in the west. Now I'm curious what could make you do that."
Banet stroked his chin with interest. Philip cursed inwardly at the sight.
'Clueless as always. Damn nosy wizard.'
"It's nothing, really. Please don't concern yourself, Lord Banet. Rest easy. I'll be back soon, and we can finish yesterday's talk."
Philip brushed it off quickly. He didn't want this hard-won VIP catching wind of internal guild problems. How much money had he poured in to invite this one mage? All to grow Wolf Blade. This hard-earned opportunity couldn't go to waste. Any hint that the guild was pathetic, and all that investment would vanish.
"I'd like to see your swordplay. Didn't you say you used to roam battlefields like your own home?"
"Yes, that's true. But this isn't that kind of fight. Just the guild master settling a petty dispute. No need for you to come."
"I see. If you insist, I'll wait."
"Thank you for your understanding."
Philip sighed in relief once Banet was out of earshot. Close call—he'd almost lost points needlessly. How could he show a stinking barbarian killing a Wolf Leader executive? Too embarrassing.
"I'll be quick, so have some tea while…"
"Master!"
The door burst open as a subordinate rushed in, panting.
"What is it?"
"Th-that… huff! The barbarian!"
"What about the barbarian? Did you catch him?"
"He's shown up right in front of guild HQ!"
"What?"
"He wants to see you, Master! Our guys have him surrounded, but I figured I should report…"
"Got it. I'm heading down now."
Philip tilted his head.
'He came here? On his own two feet?'
Unexpected. He'd expected the guy to flee.
"Quite urgent for a 'minor issue.'"
"Pardon?"
Philip turned at the voice from behind. Banet sat on the sofa, eyes gleaming. Philip's face soured involuntarily. Banet had overheard.
"Barging into the guild master's room without knocking and reporting so frantically. Isn't it?"
"Ah, well…"
"So it's no minor issue. Your sword will dance more spectacularly. Mind if I watch? A chance to broaden my horizons."
"Yes. Of course."
Philip nodded reluctantly.
'Can't read the room at all. Nosy wizard.'
Irritating, but what could he do? He couldn't snap at a Blue Tower mage. He swallowed it down.
"I hear Wolf Blade's swordsmen are impressive. Looking forward to seeing it. Heh heh."
Philip's true thought: I want to rip that walrus mustache off his smug face.
* * *
Balun looked around. Many had drawn swords. At least a dozen, maybe more.
The important thing was they didn't look as pathetic as Viper Guild thugs. They clearly had basic sword skills. Their grip on the hilt, stance width, predatory gaze, steady breathing—all signs of experienced swordsmen.
Qualitatively different from back-alley third-rate rogues who menaced passersby with clumsy daggers. These were real sword trainees.
That was painfully obvious, so Balun couldn't help shrinking back.
- First strike wins.
With that modern maxim etched in his heart, he'd charged in boldly. Planning to smash these guys like he did Viper. But upon reaching Wolf Blade territory, that bravado melted like cotton candy.
'Shit, these guys are no joke.'
For starters, their weapons were different. Daggers vs. longswords. The length gap was huge. Being surrounded felt way more overwhelming with those blades.
Any twitch, and he'd be skewered. Balun felt buried in waves of sharp sword intent.
'Damn, shoulda just run. Woulda been safe.'
Balun wailed inwardly. The innkeeper's cheers had puffed him up, leading to this reckless bravado.
'No choice now. Do or die. Either they die, or I do.'
Balun clenched his fists. He steadied his pounding heart.
He scanned the surroundings and spoke.
"Step aside. Balun has no business with you. Here to see your boss."
"We'll let you see him. After you give us a limb or two."
"Balun doesn't want to chop you. Only business with boss. But if you attack Balun, Balun chops you."
"What the hell? This crazy fuck. Chop what? We're not trees."
"You really want that? Want war?"
Balun impassively scanned them. Those meeting his eyes flinched. Thick killing intent poured from his gaze.
It was the real deal. Balun's eyes, honed racing the Great Plains and felling countless foes, radiated a predator's menace. The aura of a slaughterer who'd lived in daily bloodbaths.
City swordsmen who trained ordinarily couldn't withstand it head-on. Their bodies instinctively shrank.
They'd lived longer, but the intensity differed. Balun's six years of war matched thirty or forty of theirs. That's why he'd used his spirit to escape the tribe.
"Cr-crazy fuck. What're you gonna do, glaring like that? Huh?"
"You think you'll walk away unscathed?"
"You filthy barbarian scum!"
"Asked if you want war!"
Balun bellowed thunderously. The guild swordsmen startled at the roar.
Balun continued.
"War means no turning back. Only victors and losers. But no war, we can turn back. Reach amicable agreement."
"…"
"Don't want agreement? Really want war? You'll be pathetic losers! You think you can beat me—Balun, hero of the Red Fang Tribe who led countless wars to victory?!"
Balun shouted, face flushed. His eyes gleamed blood-red, veins bulging like a roaring tiger.
Of course, it was just show.
'Please, put away weapons. Say no fight. Please.'
Balun pleaded inwardly.
'If you sheathe, we're both happy. Why redden faces needlessly?'
He begged and begged. Please cower. Sheathe weapons.
But reality rarely bends to wishes.
"Crazy fuck. What bullshit. War? Hero?"
Mocking laughter erupted.
"Why listen to a stinking barbarian? Kill him quick!"
Finally, they thrust forward. Balun gripped his axe, face hardening.
"Balun warned you. This self-defense. No grudges."
Balun's eyes widened. Power surged into his legs, muscles exploding in size.
He stomped the ground.
Boom!
The earth quaked like an earthquake. Nearest guild swordsmen staggered, losing balance.
Balun seized the gap.
"Watch out! The barbarian's using magic—!"
Slash!
Balun swung his double axes. Flesh and bone parted with a sickening sound. The three frontmost foes' heads flew simultaneously. Blood fountained, drenching everything.
Rear guards' eyes bulged at the shocking sight. Unbelievable. How does one axe swing sever three heads at once?