The Path They Walked (4)
Empty, yet they had touched. Beyond the cold glass wall that offered no warmth, she was there. Pale light illuminated the inside of the glass tube, and Christine floated gently, her mouth slightly parted, wearing the expression of someone in a deep sleep.
“Sleeping so peacefully,” Maxim muttered, running his hand along the glass wall. At least she wasn’t submerged in that repulsive, viscous green fluid. He stared at her for a long while before catching his own reflection in the glass.
“…Look at me, covered in blood from head to toe.”
Maxim gave a small laugh. His face was a mess, smeared with the blood and mucus of the monsters he had fought upstairs. On top of that, the blood of the mages he had slain on his way down had splattered across him, leaving almost no patch of skin its original color. The low chuckle continued for a moment before fading. As the laughter died, a single tear traced down from the corner of his eye.
“That was a tear from laughing. Just from laughing.”
Still murmuring words no one could hear, Maxim wiped his eyes. His hands, having endured dozens of battles, were far from clean, so his face only grew dirtier, layered with fresh stains. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. He hadn’t yet escaped safely with Christine. First, he had to get her out of that tube.
Maxim drew his sword. His right hand was unusable, and he couldn’t risk it even if he wanted to. The pulse of blood flowing through his veins made the weight of the sword in his left hand feel both present and absent by turns. He raised his left arm, careful not to let the blade graze her. Then he swung.
The liquid filling the tube drained away. Christine sank slowly to the bottom. Maxim quickly reached in and caught her before she could fall. His right arm screamed in agony, but he didn’t so much as flinch, focusing instead on checking her condition. Her pulse was slow but steady. He removed the mask covering her nose and mouth and confirmed she was breathing—faintly, but unmistakably.
“I wonder what she’ll say later about seeing herself naked again.”
Maxim removed his cloak and draped it over her body. He wanted nothing more than to carry her out of this cursed dungeon as fast as possible, but his right arm refused to cooperate. With a long sigh, he hoisted her onto his back. She was so light that he could hardly believe he was carrying another person.
“…Let’s go.”
Maxim steadied his breathing. He had slain every enemy he could on the way up, but he had no idea what might still be waiting. He could only hope the Royal Guard knights, who had started their search late, would find this dungeon and come down to rescue them.
“Damn it…”
He passed through corridors stained red with the blood of mages. Decapitated bodies and those with their entrails spilled out had formed pools of blood on the floor. Among them was the thick, blackened blood of dark mages. Climbing the stairs, he crossed the cavern filled with monster corpses. Occasionally, something would twitch with signs of life, and he would drive his blade into it or crush it underfoot. Each time, the monsters spilled fresh blood.
Just a little more. Maxim urged himself onward. He had lost too much blood fighting the monsters and mages. Dizziness crept in, and his mouth felt parched. Still fine. I can walk.
Maxim climbed the stairs, one hand pressed against the cold stone wall. The chill seeped through his palm and into his heart, as if tightening around it. Just a little more.
Light appeared at the top of the stairs. The cavern that had housed the old mage’s laboratory came into view. He needed to circulate what little mana remained to recover his body before moving again. If he collapsed in the middle of the dungeon, no one would find him or Christine.
“I need… a short rest.”
Maxim muttered as he reached the end of the stairs. Sitting in the laboratory for a moment would help. He finished climbing and exhaled deeply before looking up—and froze.
“Well, this is a problem.”
The voice didn’t sound like his own. At the edge of his vision stood a knight. Armor bearing familiar colors and insignia. His dulled senses sharpened once more. Forcing his sticky eyelids open, he raised his heart rate and forced mana to circulate. The mana scraping against the bottom of his heart was barely visible now. He could no longer use it to heal his body, but he knew one thing: if he didn’t circulate it here and now, it would be the end.
“I was looking for something in particular…”
The Benning knight raised his visor. Eyes the color of pale green, more like a beast’s than a human’s, peered out. Those eyes, filled with curiosity, looked between Maxim and Christine on his back.
“Seems I’ve caught a much bigger fish than expected.”
Maxim tried to gauge the knight’s strength. If he could sever that neck in a single exchange… Impossible. Realizing it was impossible, he clenched his teeth. The knight had yet to show any fighting spirit. He merely stroked his chin, as if something were terribly interesting, and tilted his head this way and that.
“Hmm. The Count was right. He said there was no reason we couldn’t find the mage’s corpse… but I never imagined the mages would have hidden her so thoroughly.”
The knight muttered to himself before curling his lips into a grin.
“You there, knight of the Royal Guard. Do you know who that person on your back is?”
Maxim didn’t answer. He had to conserve what little strength he had left.
“…Did the King send someone as if he already knew? Or perhaps… you’re just an unusual sort of knight…”
The knight seemed to ponder something for a moment before asking with a mocking tone, “Ah, is your name perhaps Arsen Bern? The Count mentioned your name quite often.”
Maxim’s expression twisted. He had expected as much, but the Count had already taken notice of him.
“Then there should be a knight following you around… Have you met Edeline, that blind knight?”
Every time we met. Even without an answer, the knight didn’t stop talking.
“Then… perhaps Edeline was defeated. My, your skills must be better than I thought.”
The knight’s presence shifted. Maxim adjusted his breathing. He glanced at Christine on his back, then carefully set her down beside the stairwell entrance. She remained asleep, her breathing calm and even. Only after tucking the tattered cloak snugly around her did Maxim raise his head to face the knight again.
“Listen, there’s no reason for us to glare at each other like this, is there? From the look of you, you’ve been through quite a fight down below. You don’t want to fight right now either, do you?”
Emil Bourdin was the same. The Count himself, too. Do all the people of Benning have a talent for smiling like that? Maxim thought as he looked at the knight’s blood-tinged smile.
“I have one question.”
“Ask anything.”
“Do you feel any pain right now? The kind that feels like it’s gnawing at your soul.”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden? Pain? Are you asking because of the pain you’re feeling right now?”
When Maxim asked, gasping for breath, the knight’s expression changed for the first time—from a smile to something else. It was the look of someone wondering what on earth this man was saying. Seeing that furrowed brow, Maxim felt a flicker of relief in his heart as he gripped his sword hilt.
“If you don’t know, then that’s fine.”
The sword was drawn. Aaron’s blade slid out without resistance. Despite having cut down countless monsters and mages, no blood clung to its edge.
“You’ll regret this.”
The Benning knight spoke even as his lips curled upward. A sword had already appeared in his hand, its blade stained with some blackened, congealed liquid—evidence he had cut something down before reaching this place.
“Well, if you had answered obediently, that would’ve been strange in its own way.”
Maxim gathered his strength. Yielding the first strike meant certain defeat. All he had was his left hand.
“Go ahead and start. I’ll yield the first move—”
BOOM—!
“—to you.”
The moment he blocked, his sword stance wavered. The Benning knight’s relaxed expression vanished. Arsen Bern’s strike was far stronger than expected. Before he could bring his other hand to the hilt, the blade trembled like a heat haze.
“!”
It wasn’t just the sword that shook. Sensing a presence stabbing from the side, the knight spun his body and swung. But his blade cut through nothing but empty air. Maxim’s footsteps slipped into the gaps of the knight’s breathing. His swordplay was vicious. The blade relentlessly sought the gaps in the armor, aiming for the throat. The knight tried to parry with his own sword, but Maxim’s blade—despite his broken body—pressed the attack without falling behind. In fact, he held a slight advantage.
“What the—!”
The knight clicked his tongue at the sight of Maxim, drenched in blood yet swinging his sword without pause, his eyes filled with killing intent. How does a man on death’s door still have this much strength?
Maxim’s figure wavered again. It was an eerie footwork. His presence blurred, impossible to grasp. It was as if the wind from his own sword strikes concealed his movements. Maxim’s presence appeared behind the knight this time. Without time to think, the knight ducked forward. The blade passed exactly where his neck had been. Their gazes met—Maxim’s piercing stare and the knight’s. The knight tried to turn, but his foot caught on something and he stumbled. A foot? Looking down in confusion, he saw Maxim’s foot hooked around his own. The knight explosively drew up his mana. The momentum of his fall was corrected by the force he generated. Maxim, unable to completely break his balance, clicked his tongue in frustration. Even in that tangled posture, the knight thrust his blade toward Maxim’s unmoving right arm.
“I’ll take that arm first.”
The knight wore a triumphant smile, but the sensation of cutting flesh never came.
“…!”
Maxim’s right hand had seized the knight’s wrist mid-motion. The knight twisted his body, but that ruined arm displayed strength unlike its broken state, holding him fast. A deadlock. Maxim drew back his left arm like an archer nocking an arrow. The sword tip gleamed sharply, heralding death.
“You…”
Another thrust. The concentrated strike grazed the knight’s helmet. The knight had twisted free of Maxim’s grip and rolled across the floor. Helmet removed, the knight’s face flushed red with humiliation as he looked up, his expression contorted.
“—Bastard!”
A short cry. Maxim’s strike transitioned from thrust to slash. The Benning knight deliberately brought his body closer to the blade. Maxim’s slash was blocked, and the knight rammed his shoulder into him, sending him flying. Maxim offered no resistance, simply spitting blood as he was hurled backward. The bleeding from his wounds worsened.
“So that’s why the Count mentioned you so often.”
The Benning knight gripped his sword with both hands. Maxim staggered but rose again. The knight’s face twisted once more at the sight of him standing there like a corpse.
“Indeed, with skill like this, you could interfere with his grand plan. My mistake.”
Behind blood-covered eyelids, Maxim’s golden eyes gleamed with killing intent as he stared at the knight. The knight raised his own aura to shake off that murderous gaze. I should have killed him the moment I saw him. To be pushed this far by a man too exhausted to use aura… As the knight gathered his mana, flames began to rise from the base of his blade. He seemed to have forgotten they were in an underground dungeon. The space around the knight who had ignited his aura began to tremble. Right hand. Maxim forced his right arm upward. He should have pierced the throat before the aura could manifest. With weary eyes, he watched the aura rising from the knight’s sword. Can I win? Despair did not come. Maxim raised his sword. The knight gritted his teeth and glared at him. It was a shame he couldn’t extract more information, but if he brought back this man’s head and the mage, the Count would understand. The knight lowered his sword. The dungeon’s murky green light mixed with the aura’s glow, and the space began to burn with an eerie radiance. Maxim stared straight at that light with eyes that had not yet gone dark. The knight spoke, displeased by Maxim’s expression—one that still sought a way to win.
“Fine. If you wish to die slowly, I’ll grant that wish.”
Maxim kicked off the ground, sweeping his sword upward as if to cleave the floor. With the force to shatter the knight head-on, an Aura Blade came crashing down. But once again, the knight’s sword never reached Maxim. Clicking his tongue at the sight of Maxim’s blade clinging to his own like a shadow, the knight muttered, “How long—!”
BOOM—!
A massive explosion of force sent Maxim flying and shook the space. Maxim hung limply, his body trembling. He tried to rise, but his body wouldn’t obey. The knight watched him for a long moment.
“No. It might be quite entertaining to watch you die slowly right there while I take the woman you saved.”
A blood-tinged smile returned to the knight’s lips. Maxim’s movements grew more violent. As he struggled to push himself up from the ground, the Benning knight kicked him. Maxim flew and crashed into the cavern wall. The knight’s sneer reflected in those eyes that continued to stare at him without breaking.
“Now, then…”
The Benning knight turned his head toward where Maxim had laid Christine down. That man called Arsen would die alone in the dungeon, and he would have splendidly completed the task the Count had given him. But the moment he turned, the knight’s body froze.
“Huh?”
She was gone. The mage—the one that man called Arsen Bern had laid down—was no longer there.
“You filthy Benning scum.”
The words were rough, but the voice was frail. In that instant, the Benning knight turned his head—not toward the voice, but toward Maxim. The expression on that dying Royal Guard knight’s face was not one of despair, but a clear smile. Those lips weakly formed words.
You’re late, Christine.
The Benning knight tried to reignite his aura and turn, but a pain as if skewers had been driven through his limbs made him scream. His sword fell from his hand and embedded in the floor. The knight twisted his hands and feet in agony, unaware his weapon was gone.
“Aaaagh!”
A brilliant light filled the dungeon cavern. The knight’s eyes widened in shock. Chains of light had pierced his wrists and ankles. It was magic she had once learned from another mage in the same order. The chains of light slowly crawled up the knight’s body, constricting him. The knight tried to resist by drawing mana from his body, but he could not withstand the enhanced magic of the genius mage Christine Watson.
“Aaaagh!!”
The knight screamed in rage, thrashing his body, but Christine twisted the chains with an unchanging expression. As resistance was felt, the sound of bones twisting echoed from the knight’s joints.
“Aaaagh!!”
“It would be better if you died quietly.”
With the sound of muscles and bones being crushed, the knight’s limbs were completely shattered, reduced to rags. Finally, the chain around his neck dangled him in the air. “You… bastard…!!” The knight gasped and shouted in fury. Christine continued to stare at him with those merciless eyes before twisting her hand. Crack. With the sound of something snapping, the strength left the knight’s body. The Benning knight met his death hanging in the air, his neck broken. When Christine flicked her fingers again, flames erupted from the corpse’s feet and began to consume it. Looking down at the burning body, Christine clicked her tongue. Maxim blinked in surprise at her unharmed appearance. After dealing with the knight, Christine dusted off her hands and turned her head toward where Maxim sat, walking over with a distinctly displeased expression.
“Now, who exactly did that bastard turn into this state…”
For some reason, her words cut off midway. She looked down at Maxim’s half-corpse-like form with wide eyes, as if confused, searching for words. What that gaze held was not the familiar brown hair, but the black hair of a knight she had never seen before.
“…By the way, who are you?”
Maxim couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.