I Was Mistaken for a Monstrous Genius Barbarian - Chapter 26: Wolf Blade (3)
The guild swordsmen's obvious panic was plain as day, but it barely registered for Balun.
What the hell was that?
He was shocked by his own move.
How'd I even do that?
Honestly, he was stunned. He hadn't even used Reinforcement Technique. He'd just flexed like always.
Yet he'd sliced through three of them at once. Clean as cutting tofu—no resistance at all.
Did my strength go up?
Sure, he'd been training hard every day. But did that make the impossible suddenly possible?
"Grab him! Grab the bastard!"
Clang!
Balun shoved his thoughts aside. Not important right now.
"Nngh!"
The swordsman's arm trembled as he blocked Balun's axe with his blade, gritting his teeth to hold. Balun spotted more enemies closing in—probably to help their struggling buddy.
Balun poured all his strength into his arm, twisting the axe sideways as he shoved. The blade slid off with a screech, throwing the guy off balance.
"You need to work out more."
"You...!"
Balun drove a brutal kick into the man's gut.
Thud!
"Gah!"
As the guy crumpled, Balun immediately ducked low.
Whoosh!
A sword slashed horizontally over his head. He felt strands of his hair shear off.
Sure enough, a few locks fluttered to the ground.
Whoa, that almost took my head.
Balun's heart pounded. That was one sharp strike. It had caught him perfectly off guard. Good thing instinct kicked in, or he'd be a goner.
"Tch! Quick little shit!"
A tsk from behind, followed by a warning shout.
"Everyone, watch it! He's got moves that don't match his size!"
"Yes, sir!"
Balun exhaled raggedly amid their roaring cheers. A cocktail of wild excitement and buried fear gripped him, sharpening his senses to a razor's edge. It awakened that beastly instinct—the predator buried deep in his subconscious, the one that had made him a tribal hero.
The battlefield sharpened into focus. Front with his eyes, rear with gut feel. Every enemy in a 360-degree radius pinged on his sensory radar, not one missing.
They had him surrounded, but none dared close in. They'd seen him decapitate three in one swing. They felt his killing intent prickling their skin.
Balun knew it bone-deep. Not with his head—with his body. Like a beast sensing prey's terror.
That hunter's instinct turned beasts into apex predators. Balun was the same. Cowardly as he was, he was a predator. Overwhelming talent and brutal survival had forged him that way. No choice in that savage world—you became the hunter or died.
And that predator sense whispered now: They're scared of me.
Guess this is easier than I thought?
A rat-sized boost of confidence welled up. Balun's inner coward peeked out the window.
"Come on, you rat bastards!"
Balun bellowed, swinging his axe in wide arcs, glaring ferociously. He felt them flinch at eye contact.
"It's just me against all you. So why hesitate? Scared? Afraid to die?"
"......"
"Then don't fight! Drop your weapons and surrender! I won't kill anyone who does! But refuse, and I'll slaughter every last—"
Screeeee!
Balun's eyes bulged. He ducked instantly. Something sharp whistled past where his head had been.
Arrow.
His face twisted in demonic rage. Bad memories flooded back. How many times had archers nearly ended him? Too many to count.
Filthy ranged cowards.
Sniping from afar? Melee guys with short arms get all the crap luck.
Before anger fully boiled over, Balun was moving. He'd already palmed a hand axe. Without looking, he hurled it left-handed toward the arrow's origin.
Whoosh!
The axe pierced the encirclement in a straight line, smashing dead-center into the hooded coward's skull in the corner.
"Gurk!"
The crossbow sniper shrieked and collapsed.
The guild swordsmen's jaws dropped. How the hell? Godlike throw. And spotting the shooter in that split-second chaos?
Of course, Balun hadn't spotted him. Pure instinct.
"Why the crossbow? Coward! No honor?"
"A stinking beast doesn't deserve our swords! You're just arrow fodder!"
One backline taunter fired back. He became Balun's next target instantly.
"Then die by arrow fodder."
Balun charged. Three swords thrust out simultaneously, blocking his axe.
Balun gritted his teeth, flexed hard, and repelled them. The trio toppled backward from the raw power.
"Urk!"
"Crazy!"
Balun leaped through the gap in their crumbling ring.
Slash!
"......!"
He beheaded the taunter. The head flew up, then splattered on the ground—face frozen in horror.
"M-monster."
Someone muttered. Fear spread like contagion. Twenty swordsmen cowed by one Balun, like sheep before a wolf. They formed a circle but wouldn't approach.
Balun scanned the broken men and murmured low.
"I could kill you all easy. But I won't. Why? No interest in fighting."
Please don't come at me. Please.
"I'm here to talk to your boss. That's it. No deaths. Win for everyone. Got it?"
I'm beat. About to drop dead here.
Six years of war, and battles never got easier.
"Don't attack. No attack, no death. On Balun's name."
He glared. They backed off, opening a path.
"Smart. Balun keeps promises. You live."
Balun strode through. At the end loomed a three-story stone building. He marched in boldly.
Or tried to—then stopped. A voice from inside.
"You idiots. Can't handle one guy, just open a path for him?"
The door swung open. Out stepped a man in chainmail under a plain white surcoat—like a knight. Iron helmet sealed the look.
"You're the barbarian who killed Derek."
"You the boss?"
"Yes. I am Philip Montail, guild master of Wolf Blade. Head of the Montail house, the kingdom's valiant sword."
Philip thumped his chest in introduction. Seemed polite enough.
Balun found it weird. Formal intros mid-fight?
But that face wasn't polite. Burning eyes and trembling fists told the tale.
Strong.
Balun's expression hardened. This guy was no pushover.
He knows how to fight.
One thing clear: strongest civilized foe yet.
"And who are you? What makes you pull this shameless crap?"
"Balun, warrior of the Red Fang Tribe. Son of upper-rank warriors Ktam and Rana."
Balun introduced himself. Tribal customs matched this formality.
"One correction: Balun did nothing shameless. Balun is upright and just."
"Lying through your teeth. You killed my men. Caused chaos in the city. And you're 'just'?"
"Yes."
Grind.
Philip gnashed his teeth.
"My men died because of you. Good citizens training with swords. Aspiring knights—you murdered them."
"......"
"And you say that? No regret at all?"
"Nope."
"Can't let you walk."
"That wrong?"
Ha. Philip scoffed. As he opened his mouth, Balun cut in.
"You started it. Harassed Balun. Threatened to kill, tried to kidnap. Just defended."
"What?"
"Came to my bed, threatened. Brought goons, said they'd kill me. Would've died if I sat still."
Philip's face twisted. News to him.
"So what should I have done? Gone with you? Obvious beating waiting—really?"
"What nonsense?"
"No fight, die. Fight, die. That's how you treat people?!"
Balun roared, face full of righteous fury.
But inside: Damn, he looks badass. Can I even win?
Confidence plummeted. Guy screamed pro, plus full steel armor.
Unfair world. Leather for me, plate for him.
Will my axe even dent that?
No clue till tried. But blades don't pierce plate, right? Axe was chipped already.
No joints obvious. Face only option.
Balun's plan: aim for face. Only way.
"My men harassed you first? Bull. You started the mess, stinking barbarian."
Philip flung his gauntlet at Balun.
"Barbarian, I challenge you to a duel to the death. My sword will take your head—for my fallen men's souls."
Balun watched him draw, thinking: Idiot?
Duel? Gang up easier.
What if he loses? No shame thought?
Incomprehensible. I'd just order attack.
"Fine. Just what I wanted."
Balun gripped his axe, nodded. One-on-one beats a mob.
Face only. Face. Steel won't kill. Face hits.
Face. Face. He chanted inwardly. No mistakes. He'd faked calm, but tension maxed. Stress bred errors.
"Roy. Count them, then whistle. That's our signal."
"Yes."
Whistle? Olympics?
"No interference. Anyone who does tarnishes my honor."
"Yes!"
Wow.
Gentlemanly boss even handles minions. Absurd to Balun, but duels were normal here—especially for ex-knight Philip. Trial by combat existed; what more needed?
Whiiiiistle!
Philip struck first, lunging sleekly, sword flashing.
Balun admired the clean form, meeting it with his axe.
Start light, test strength...
Clang!
Crack!
Huh?
A sharp ring, then Balun's two-handed axe handle splintered with a crunch. The head clattered uselessly to the dirt.
What the fuck.
Balun panicked hard. Never imagined one clash shattering it.
"Hahaha! Your axe's busted! The gods predict my victory!"
Philip charged laughing, sword trailing faint blue glow—not vivid, but cloaking the blade.
"Aura!"
"Even a barbarian knows it. Yes, aura. Proof of my life!"
"Cheater! Balun's unarmed!"
"Gods watch our duel—how is it cheating?"
"No new weapon?"
"Nope!"
Whoosh!
Blue arc slashed. Balun rolled desperately aside.
Ugh, why's that sword so damn fast.
Kalente said aura users had superior physiques. Seemed true—else no way that speed.
"Slippery eel! But how long can you run?!"
Balun dodged repeated swings. Three or four rolls dirtied him head to toe. A rock bruised his back midway.
"Master's the best!"
"Kill him quick!"
"Philip! Philip! Philip!"
The guild cheered like at a pop concert. Their fervor kept Balun's nerves screaming.
Can't keep this up. Need a plan.
An opening to close in. It came fast. Balun sidestepped a horizontal cut, diving into Philip's guard.
Then—
Pow!
"Guh!"
Punch to the gut. As Philip stumbled,
Grab!
Balun clutched the chainmail at his chest. Muscles bulged.
Immense power surged through his arms. He twisted the armor like a collar.
Chains stretched taut. Too much force?
Riiip!
The chainmail tore lengthwise in half.
"What?!"
"Huh?"
Balun blinked at his own work.
Why'd it rip like that?
Meant to uppercut the jaw after grabbing...
Am I even human?