An Assassin, Probably
A burly Northerner with a thick pelt of fur blocked Simon's path without so much as a by-your-leave.
His face was familiar.
The same man who'd bumped into him this morning picking a fight. Behind him stood three more Northerners who looked like his companions.
"Well now, you sure you're a man? That face of yours is pretty as a maiden's."
Every time his lips moved, the brown beard covering his face rippled.
"Fine clothes, clean skin—clearly a high-and-mighty gentleman who's never missed a meal. What brings such a precious soul to this filthy little corner of the world?"
"Easy to guess. Those Southerners must have some new trick brewing in the North."
Simon sighed quietly.
"What do you want?"
"WAHAHAHAHA! *Want*? Listen to that! Dainty as a debutante, this one."
He shoved his rough, well-muscled shoulder into Simon's.
"How about I make 'curiosity' a reason—wondering what kinds of noises you make in bed?"
"KEKHEKHEKHEK!"
Vulgar, low-bred rabble. They were so beneath him that even engaging made his head throb.
Simon simply walked past.
"Ooh, walking away, is he?"
The men cackled, shouting at his back.
"That's your problem—always running away! We all saw you get thrown out when you tried cozying up to the Grand Duke this morning!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
They were too far beneath his dignity to bother with.
If he gave in and beat them to a pulp again, wouldn't he just sink to their level?
Better to think of it as stepping in dung on the road.
"Young Master!"
But then a voice called out to Simon from behind. Erzebet was hurrying toward him, carrying a bottle of wine and a bag of fruit.
"Oh, pardon me—!"
The bearded man lunged forward and roughly seized Erzebet's wrist. The bag slipped from her arms.
The fruit scattered across the ground, and with a loud *shatter* the wine broke, soaking the street in a pool of violet liquid.
"Well, well~ turns out there's a real lady here after all."
"What are you doing? Let go of me!"
Erzebet shouted, unable to reveal her true identity, but the men just grinned and closed in around her.
"Servant of that one? Calling that beanpole 'Young Master'—Southerners sure do live strange lives."
"Hey, look at this."
Another man yanked up the robe she wore, baring the revealing armor underneath.
"PUHAHAHAHA! Well, shit, what a sight!"
"Walking around the North dressed like that? So you're a *fun* kind of lady, huh?"
*Kuuuuk.*
The man on the other side clamped down hard on Erzebet's shoulder.
"You're to my taste. Why don't you come have a nice, long, leisurely time with—"
*CRACK!*
"...Hm?"
The sound of something breaking rang out with brutal clarity.
The man's head drooped. His hand, the one gripping Erzebet, had been bent backward until the back of it touched his own wrist.
"G-GRAAAAAAAGH!"
*THUD!*
Clutching his wrist, he collapsed to one knee. Where did he come from—standing between the man and Erzebet was a blue-haired boy, his eyes flashing with a cold gleam.
"You little bastard!"
"Get him!"
The man with the shattered wrist swung his other fist—
*CRACK!*
It struck Simon's raised knee, and his nose crumpled hideously. Blood arced through the air as he tumbled backward.
*FWOOOOSH!*
This time the man on the other side threw a wild hook, but Simon deflected it with nothing more than an open palm, then stepped in close.
*CRAAAAACK!*
A bluish-white flash seemed to streak toward the sky—and Simon's shoe was planted against the man's jaw.
Both his feet left the ground. As the man came back down, Simon caught the back of his skull and slammed it hard into the pavement.
The man's eyes rolled white and he went limp.
"You little—!"
A straight punch came flying at his back. Simon shifted his weight fluidly onto his left foot and tilted his head.
In the same motion, he caught the thick forearm slicing past his ear, twisted his hips, and threw the man over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.
*BANG!*
The pavement split apart in every direction, gravel scattering.
In a matter of seconds, three grown men lay sprawled on the ground.
"Oh? Now what's this."
The bearded man who'd started the whole thing cracked his knuckles with evident interest.
"Looks like a wet noodle, but the fellow can actually fight."
He raised both fists. When Simon saw the murky dark energy seeping from his hands, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
Jet-Black?
"Right then! Two men—what more needs saying!"
*WHAM!*
His new form burst forward. It was like a beast pouncing.
And this time—Jet-Black Footwork.
The bearded man closed the distance in an instant and rained down punches like a madman. Simon retreated, slipping each one away with nothing but shoulder movement.
Even Battle Arts, too.
There was nothing of the textbook in it, but it was fighting technique hammered into shape by real combat. He was carving away every escape route, herding Simon back toward a wall.
"HAHAHA! How long do you plan on just dodging?"
He laughed crudely.
"Forget those cheap little tricks. If you're a man, face me proper—*thuk*!"
*CRAAAAACK!*
Simon's fist buried itself in his face. The man's body shot outward like a bolt of lightning and crashed into the wall.
"??!"
*Flutter.*
Simon's outer coat, kicked up by the motion, drifted slowly back down. The angle of his legs, the turn of his shoulders, the perfectly extended arm—Simon, who'd drawn a straight so flawless it bordered on ideal, lowered his arm at his own pace.
"Leave the cheap tricks to you."
When the man saw the dark teal energy coiled around Simon's fist, his expression turned serious.
"...So you really were a necromancer."
*Crackle-crumble.*
The bearded man rose from the hazy cloud of dust, blood streaming down his face. He swayed, staggered from the force of the blow, and pitched forward onto the ground.
And then—
"BLERGH!"
He spat blood onto the ground. Chuckling darkly, he moved his fingers and drew a magic circle in his own blood.
"Yes, yes. Let's do this properly."
*KEEEEEEEING!*
The moment the blood circle activated, his clothes tore away as if peeling off his body, and enormous tattoos burst into view. The black tattoos flushed red like blood.
"To think I'd have to use this on a man who isn't even a monster!"
*ZZZZZZZZT!*
Behind his back, something like a crimson shark fin of blood rose up. His eyes, too, had turned scarlet.
"Steel yourself! You won't even have time to blink—!"
And in truth, he didn't.
*Squish.*
An impact struck the back of his skull, and the warrior's face plowed into the dirt. Along with the smell of soil, the wine Erzebet had spilled earlier flooded into his nose.
"KHUK!"
There stood the boy, hands in his pockets as if out for a casual stroll, pressing down on the warrior's skull with a look of utter boredom.
...N-no, this isn't how it goes?
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
Simon said.
"Steel yourself and *what*, exactly?"
The muscles around the bearded man's eyes tightened.
"GRRAAAAAAAAH!"
He raised the shark fin behind his back and heaved himself up.
*CRAAAAANG!*
"GRAGHAAAH!!"
He was stomped back down. Simon rubbed his eyes in weary disbelief.
"GRAA what? Go on, try again. You were about to do *something*, weren't you?"
Only then did the bearded man realize something.
Something.
No—that he had picked a fight with someone *gravely* wrong.
"There."
Simon kindly lifted his foot off the man's skull and stepped away. Then, keeping a little distance, he turned around and spread both arms wide.
"Go ahead. Do your thing."
*Vein pop.*
A blood vessel bulged on the bearded man's forehead.
Six years since he'd taken up the axe as a warrior. He had never once known humiliation like this.
"SOUUuuuTHEEERNER!"
Behind him rose a fin larger than any before. Feeling Jet-Black surging through his entire body, he kicked off the ground, charged, and hurled his fist forward.
He was certain it was the greatest punch of his life.
*Tap.*
"!"
His rough fist was stopped dead by a single slender fingertip from Simon.
"Done now?"
Murmuring lazily, Simon drew his other hand from the pocket of his robe where it had been hiding. And then, pressing it to the man's forehead—
*CRAAAAAAAAAAACK!*
He flicked him.
A strike of perfect precision, not a fraction of its force wasted.
The bearded man's eyes rolled white, foam bubbling from his mouth, and he crumpled where he stood.
"Th-this can't be...!"
The warriors groaning on the ground trembled with fear.
To toy with a warrior who had his core *open* like that.
"I thought the winner gets to do whatever he pleases up North?"
Simon laughed, dusting off his hands. To the warriors, that laugh sounded like a demon's.
"Believe me, I'd love to grind you into paste, but for the Grand Duke's sake, I'll stop here. Let's go, Erze."
Erze, who'd been watching with a face burning red, nodded quickly.
"Yes, Young Master!"
Erzebet clung to Simon's arm and giggled.
"You saved me, you saved me~! My deepest gratitude, Lord Commander!"
"If you'd stepped in, someone would've lost a limb or two."
"Oh my, you noticed?"
The warrior could do nothing but stare blankly as the two of them walked away.
Strange folk had come to the North.
* * *
He spent the evening resting and talking with Erzebet, then stayed up past midnight working on his school assignments by lamplight.
Attending the special lessons didn't put Kizen's curriculum on hold. There would be make-up classes when he returned, but each day carried its own quota of study that had to be met.
After only a few hours of sleep, morning arrived.
Today was the day the Grand Duke's Legion Commander lesson finally began. Simon finished up his assignments, ate breakfast at the inn, and made his way to the inner castle.
"Welcome."
He entered the castle greeted by Butler Godric, who seemed somehow a touch warmer than he'd been on the first day.
"The Grand Duke awaits you in her study."
"Thank you for letting me know."
Simon climbed to the second floor and knocked on the study door.
"It's Simon."
A voice from beyond told him to enter.
"Pardon the intrusi— oh!"
Opening the door, Simon froze in surprise.
Early as it was, the Grand Duke was already hard at exercise, sweat pouring down her.
One hand clasped behind her back, she braced two fingertips against the floor and repeated the motion of lowering her body and pulling it back up.
*Hoo— hah—*
With every movement, the muscles across her whole body swelled and contracted.
An outrageous workout at a glance.
But what flustered Simon more than that—
Her outfit...!
It was the first time he'd ever seen her without her trademark black full plate armor.
In weather so cold the rivers were frozen solid, she was exercising in extremely short shorts and a workout top that left her midriff bare.
"There you are, you insolent brat."
She came to a standstill with a springy, controlled motion.
Her forearms and thighs carried muscles so firm they looked sculpted to ideal proportions. Add to that a clearly defined line of abs. The product of monstrous self-discipline.
For some reason Simon found it hard to meet her eyes, and he turned his head slightly as he spoke.
"G-good morning."
"Mm."
She picked up an iron dumbbell kept near the study and began moving.
"Nothing trouble happen last night? With an outsider in town, all sorts must have come looking to pick a fight."
Her tone said she already knew everything.
Simon smiled sheepishly and scratched his head.
"There was... a small scuffle, actually."
"Thought as much. The people here don't merely dislike southern nobles—they despise them."
*CLANG!*
She set the dumbbell down.
"You're free to pummel the ones who come crawling. Show them your strength and they should back off on their own, but if you sense matters growing serious, report to me at once."
"Yes, ma'am."
Butler Godric, who had been waiting nearby, brought water. She drank it down in one cool gulp and spoke to Simon.
"Now then, you insolent brat. A few questions before the lesson. How long has it been since you became a Legion Commander?"
"Not much longer than since I became a necromancer."
"And the Ancient Undead under your command?"
Simon counted on his fingers.
"Former members of the 7th Legion number four Ancient Undead in total. On top of that, I hold a lich of Ancient Undead rank whom I've bound through Legionification. Ah—and there was one called Kal, the Plague Beast, but unfortunately his body fell apart, so I had him absorbed into Pier's greatsword."
Hm.
The Grand Duke nodded with satisfaction.
"Not bad at all. For such a short time, you've certainly put together a proper arsenal."
"It's thanks to the help of many people."
"Then your legion's forces—"
The Grand Duke's expression turned razor-sharp mid-question. She whipped her head toward the window, fell silent, and strode across the room.
"One moment, if you will."
"Ah—yes, of course."
She lifted the bow leaning against the wall.
Even its appearance was strange.
Not a bow-limb at all, but something wreathed in living, breathing jets of Jet-Black flame.
It gave off an aura much like Pier's Greatsword of Ruin—Simon guessed it must be a Manager-exclusive armament.
*Sreeek.*
"Godric. Tenth window."
"Yes, my lady!"
Only now did Simon notice that the Grand Duke's study had a remarkable number of windows. The study sat in a kind of annex separate from the main castle, and counting the ceiling, it had more than twenty of them.
*CLUNK!*
Butler Godric dashed over, flung the window open, and dropped flat against the floor. The Grand Duke spread her palm.
*WOOOOOOO!*
Jet-Black roiled up with a sound like a wailing ghost. As she clenched her outstretched palm, the Jet-Black took the shape of an arrow.
Without even checking the direction, she simply nocked the arrow to the string and loosed.
*FWOOOOOOOM!*
In that instant everything around warped pitch-black as something colossal tore through the air.
Yet she set the bow back down as if nothing had happened and turned to Simon.
"Now, back to what we were discussing—your legion's forces—"
"H-hold on a second! What did you just do?"
"Nothing much."
The corners of her mouth lifted.
"An assassination, that's all."