Chapter 132
Chapter 132
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 132
Chapter Title: Meeting a Worthy Opponent
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“The Guard Captain himself requests a spar—truly a great honor for Berik.”
At Ian’s words, Guard Captain Jaret lightly bowed his head in courtesy. Berik wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his tunic and extended his hand.
“Heh heh. Shall we have a go, then? Huh?”
Was he taking the praise at face value? He looked thrilled. Or maybe he was satisfied with having turned the man who’d mocked him earlier into mincemeat. Jaret merely stared down at Berik’s hand with a stony expression, not taking it.
“Not gonna shake?”
“…Do you permit the spar, Viscount Ian Hielo?”
Ian rested his chin lightly on his hand, looking down at him. No murderous intent in his expression. Unlike a typical bare-handed bout, he gripped his sword hilt as if fully intent on it.
‘…He’s out for blood.’
Ian could guess why. Just like with Barsabe, it stemmed from a misunderstanding originating with Petreio. Similar in age to Petreio and a former vice-captain, they must have been comrades for quite some time.
“Mister, you skipped manners class. I offered my hand!”
Berik shook his hand irritably, fuming. His cocky attitude and word choice… He did need a good thrashing once in a while. Like in the desert, he’d grow a step after facing dire crisis.
Besides, realizing there were so many experts above would teach him humility and etiquette firsthand.
“Very well. But on one condition.”
“Condition?”
Jaret furrowed his brow deeply. Betting on a spar was about as dishonorable as it got. But as if reading his thoughts, Ian smoothly added,
“No bet involved—unless you desire one?”
“…As if.”
“The clear gap in skill between you and my swordsman is obvious, so let either call an end whenever they wish.”
“Ian… No, my lord! What skill gap!”
“Will you accept, in the Guard Captain’s name?”
Berik threw a tantrum from below, but Ian easily ignored him. Unlike the desert, no one here would step in if Berik gasped for breath. So he had to set the terms in advance. Jaret eyed Ian with calm eyes, then nodded.
“Agreed.”
*Just cut out that insolent tongue first,* Jaret resolved, reaching for his sword. But impatient Berik charged bare-handed, and he reflexively grabbed the fist.
Thwack!
“Whoa, mister! Nice reflexes.”
“…….”
“Huh?”
Berik tried to pull free, but it didn’t budge. Jaret’s grip tightened gradually, as if to crush his hand outright. Panicking, Berik flailed and swung his other fist.
Thud!
“Let go! You gonna let go?”
“…Don’t mess around.”
In the end, both hands were captured. With a grinding crunch of bones shifting, Berik screamed.
“Argh! You psycho!”
“In a spar, courtesy and respect are basic. Your reckless behavior is no different from a beast’s.”
“Bullshit. Get lost!”
Crunch!
Berik reversed his pull, closing in on Jaret’s nape. Without hesitation, he bit down as if to tear flesh. Even the unflappable Jaret flinched in shock and released his hands.
“Did he just bite Captain Jaret’s nape? For real?”
“Whoa, that guy’s nuts. But solid move.”
“Looks dirty, but it worked—couldn’t have freed his hand otherwise. Would’ve been crushed, couldn’t even hold a sword.”
“No way. Not all street rats are like that? Tricky in real combat.”
Now everyone in the training grounds watched. A spar between the Guard Captain and Viscount Ian Hielo’s guard! What better show? While Jaret rubbed his nape, Berik grinned and wiped his mouth.
“Ah ha. Captain’s different, alright. You really startled me!”
“Your actions are pure mongrel.”
“Yeah, thanks for the compliment!”
Shaking off his hands, Berik charged again. Combat learning curve aside, his instincts had already figured how to handle Jaret—from that brief exchange.
*If grabbed, I’m screwed! So don’t get grabbed! Perfect!*
Berik focused attacks from the lower body instead of upper. Keeping low to burrow in made it hard for Jaret to grab unilaterally like before.
‘Smarter than he looks.’
Thud! Thud!
Jaret parried effortlessly while observing. Occupational habit from leading men—analytical instinct.
‘Vulgar, but gifted by nature. Strength, speed—flawless. Above all, raw grit. Hard to train that in.’
Suddenly, Petreio’s face flashed in mind. Yes. A shame, but this guy…
“Enough now.”
“Huh?”
Mid-kick, Berik paused. He’d thought he denied an opening, but Jaret’s words shifted the air. It felt like dancing in his palm.
Smack!
Boom!
Jaret’s rock-hard fist slammed into Berik’s face simultaneously. Skull-shattering pain blackened his vision. Body floated, then world flipped.
“F-fuck.”
One shot sent him tumbling. Berik wiped nosebleed, face shocked. Fastest, strongest punch ever. Cheonryeo Tribe couldn’t compare.
“Damn, took it clean and didn’t pass out.”
“Awake faint? Or glancing blow?”
“Body flew—how’s that glancing?”
“Gasp. Th-that bastard. Getting up.”
Vision spinning. Berik staggered up, giggling. Ian watched from the railing.
“Ahaha. Ha ha. Wow, mister, you’re…”
Smack! Thump!
Before finishing, Jaret’s merciless barrage poured. He pinned Berik’s nape with left hand, pressed solar plexus with foot. Right fist battered face, spraying dull blood.
“Lord Ian, no need to stop him? Might kill soon? Ahem. Even for meat price, seems a waste.”
Unable to watch, Marlon glanced at Ian. But having seen Berik’s depths in the desert, Ian knew he wasn’t cornered yet.
“Iaaan!”
Berik, battered, gasped Ian’s name. Barely blocked one blow with fists. Torn voice hushed the grounds—like a dying man’s scream.
“I’ll kill this fucker!”
“Do as you like.”
“Arrrgh!”
Ziiing!
Boom! Bang!
Ian’s permission dropped—Berik unleashed mana. Razor winds swirled instantly. Jaret and guards froze in surprise.
‘Sword-Mage?’
Thwack!
Mana-boosted shove freed him; Berik crouched, heaving. Blood trickled from mouth. Wounded predator’s glare.
“Fuck! Really hurts.”
“What’s this? Sword-Mage?”
“Why? Less beating if Sword-Mage? Don’t stop, fuck! I took forty-five hits? Payback time. Been ages—fun! Right? Fun! Ahahaha!”
Tadak! Thwack!
Movements incomparable to before. Onlookers chased afterimages; Jaret retreated to widen gap. Explosive energy burst where Berik stepped.
Zing!
“Dieee!”
“Hup!”
Boom!
Jaret caught the fist, groaning unwittingly. Different league. Mana power or not, reborn level? Berserk charge too…
“Damn.”
Zing.
“Captain!”
“Captain’s using mana!”
“No way!”
Jaret unleashed mana too. Guards gaped in disbelief. He only did that in monster fights.
Shock silenced all. Vast grounds echoed only their fierce grunts.
“You bastard…”
Thwack!
Felt like bare-handed beast fight. Jaret shoved far, drew sword. Icy winter frost trailed blade.
“You’ve brought your own end.”
“Ah ha. Sword time? Good, great.”
Sching.
Berik grinned, drawing his too. Mana-glowing red eyes like boiling lava.
“Last time just trimmed chest hair. Never saw flesh slice. Oh, so excited!”
“Madman. Out of your mind.”
“Didn’t know? Sanity don’t survive this world!”
Zing! Zing!
Crackle!
Sword reacted to Berik’s mana, blazing purple. Scorching heat filled air; thick smoke choked lungs soon.
Lightning flickers in smoke. Unheard blade stalled Jaret.
“What sword is that…?”
“Dunno! Picked it up!”
“Berik!”
“Huh?”
Mid-leap swing, Ian yelled. Berik reflexively halted, turned.
“Didn’t I say no mana in the sword.”
“Aaah. Right. But just once?”
“No.”
At least until sword’s nature revealed.
While Berik pleaded back-turned, Ian and Jaret exchanged subtle glances.
“No, dunno what so swing fir—”
Smack!
Jaret struck nape—mana-wrapped fist. Normal man’s neck would snap.
“Guh!”
But who? Berik short yelped, fainted. Sword lost mana glow, back to black.
Awkward silence blanketed grounds. Guards rushed to check captain.
“Captain. Y-you okay?”
“What about him? Arrest?”
“It was a spar. Arrest what.”
“Shit, Captain. You’re bleeding!”
Barsabe fumbled handkerchief to support nape. Very softly, murmured,
“Captain. And while treating, I’ll tell you. Got Father’s memento.”
Jaret’s eyes widened at unexpected words. But not for here. He left amid worries; Ian descended to first floor.
“Berik. You alright?”
“Ungh…….”
“Tsk tsk.”
Crouched, touched forehead. Like desert, mana best for stamina recovery.
Zing.
Ian’s eyes turned Golden Eyes; Berik’s frown eased. Trailing Marlon avoided bloodied floor.
“D-dead?”
“No. Tough one.”
“Th-that sword earlier?”
“…….”
Ian shrugged, unknowing. Heat gone; cold sword rolled on ground.
* * *
Meanwhile, Romandro’s mansion.
Vivianna, peacefully embroidering, sensed footsteps outside. Mini too. She rushed, opened door—postal worker.
“Hello. Romandro’s residence?”
“Yes? Mail?”
“Yes. From Karenna’s Mayor, deliver here? To Ian.”
“Yes yes. Ian stays here. Give me.”
“Sign here…….”
Mini took letter, stamped seal. Thick envelope. Vivianna set embroidery aside.
“Mini. What letter?”
“From Karenna’s Mayor.”
“Let me see.”
Unlike illiterate Mini, Vivianna read the front.
‘…Bandit Interrogation Report?’