Chapter 26
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: Courage is All You Need
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Cardin, the mercenary who had seized the organization, sat face-to-face with Preston.
"Puppet boss, when the hell is your real boss showing up?"
Preston looked troubled.
"Even if you rush him, a latecomer stays late. We never knew when he'd arrive in the first place."
"Proper puppet boss, aren't you."
"No, it's my organization."
Preston felt extremely hard done by.
"All puppet bosses say that. No need to get so worked up. It's just the truth."
"No..."
Preston felt even more aggrieved.
A presence stirred outside the room.
Cardin's eyes sharpened.
Here she comes.
He grabbed his sword and stepped out of the room.
A bloodstained space lay bare. The bodies were gone, but red traces lingered, impossible to erase.
A pink-haired girl stared at the stains with a hardened face. She traced the scars of battle, then turned toward Cardin.
Cold eyes glared.
"How rude."
Her voice was ice.
The girl who massacred thirty men. A presence worthy of the rumors. The real deal had arrived.
Cardin's smile deepened. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed lightly.
"Name's Cardin. I'm a mercenary scraping by on experience, skills be damned. Curious about the young lady's name."
"No name for rogues like you."
"What a pity."
Cardin gripped his one-handed sword.
Pastel couldn't contain her rage.
People murdered, and this peaceful attitude—what the hell?
Those you killed were kind to me. They went out of their way for the girl who'd come instead of a kidnapping.
Heat surged, excitement gripped her body. Her breathing grew ragged.
Don't get swept up in emotions. Narrow focus creates needless gaps. Rough breaths disrupt the battle's flow.
I know.
The heat was coldly reined in.
She locked eyes on her foe.
Not a rapier, but a thin, long longsword. Smallsword style? Fingers hooked partway on the crossguard. Thrust grip. Beware ambush stabs.
Cardin thrust his longsword out long, on guard. Arm extended straight with a blade longer than her magic sword, it speared forward like a lance.
Unlike your close-range pressure, he prioritizes distance with defense. Waiting for you to step in.
She steadied her breath.
Not full knight-grade, but light, quick swordplay. Stay sharp.
Pastel assumed her stance and leveled her sword.
Cardin flicked his blade tip, beckoning her like an invitation. Pure defensive swordplay, proud and unyielding.
Pastel's lips pursed.
"Waiting around like that—isn't it kinda cowardly?"
Total coward.
Cardin chuckled.
"You're no good at taunts, miss. Lived a sheltered life? Won't cut it with a sword. Poor boss skills—those corpses must pity her."
His tip gestured to the stains.
Pastel's brow furrowed.
"I've got plenty of skill to wipe out scum like you!"
She kicked off the ground. Leg power slammed down. A boom echoed. Distance collapsed explosively.
Magic sword slashed.
Cardin fell back.
His longsword danced lightly, tracing an elegant arc to graze her blade's path. Impact rippled. The trajectory warped; the strike veered wide.
Flawless parry.
The girl's failed attack bared an opening.
In that instant, momentum flipped. Defensive principles demanded a counter—the girl would crumple.
Yet Cardin, architect of the reversal, couldn't press. Her strike weighed like an anvil. His blade buckled under the shock. The force surged through, battering his body.
What strength…!
Parried a mere longsword, yet the backlash felt like deflecting a greatsword. No counter—just scramble to reset.
Impossible for a fragile girl's frame. Power utterly divorced from her looks.
The follow-up slashed in.
Cardin shoved surprise aside and moved. Precise footwork widened the gap; he aligned his blade to her arc. He targeted the descending tip with care.
Leverage principle: power fades toward the tip. Hit there, and even heavy blows shatter easily. Distance-centric smallsword excelled at such finesse parries and ripostes.
Cardin executed with mastery. Longsword met tip. Shock bloomed.
The jolt wracked his frame.
Cardin sucked in air. Stance crumbled. No riposte—recover first.
Had to admit it. She wasn't swinging a longsword. That was midweight gear like a greatsword.
Eyes gleaming with recognized superiority, the girl flashed her blade. Two-handed chains battered down. Trajectories flooded her view.
Parry impossible.
Deflect, then.
Disadvantages like this? He'd weathered thousands.
Cardin retreated on diagonal steps. Sword met arc.
Not clashing—guiding aside.
Faint impact. Sparks spat. Slight twist; it grazed him by a hair.
His longsword whipped fast. Tiny shocks chained. Clangs rang, sparks flew.
The onslaught bent, one stroke at a time.
3rd, 7th, 14th, 23rd.
Every path skewed, slicing empty air.
The girl's startled eyes widened.
Surprised by this? Green as grass.
Cardin pierced her emotional lapse. Defensive stance shifted abruptly. Blade gleamed. Swift thrust lanced at her.
She twisted desperately. Blade scored her shoulder lightly. Blood beaded, flew. Her dazed gaze tracked the droplets.
Victory.
Offense shattered, counter landed.
She lacked the poise to weather the flip. Death's terror would claim her mind.
Consciousness fracturing, instincts rising—swordsman's end: defeat.
Cardin thrust again.
Her pink eyes glazed in that instant. She watched the blade, met his gaze.
Feral killing intent crashed in. Spine chilled; skin prickled.
Stark shift.
Cardin couldn't mask shock.
No murder in her heart... till now?
The girl flashed a pouty smirk. Magic sword slipped from her grasp. Thrust incoming, her arms rose.
Crossed hard, blade-bound. Impact. Thin steel warped—shattered. Silver shards rained.
Cardin stared blankly at the flying debris.
This... what is this…?
Her hand shot out. Neck yanked, legs swept. Body airborne.
Cardin cratered into the floor. Shockwave. Blood erupted from his mouth.
Pastel charged the downed foe. Mounted him, fists flew. Blows thudded relentlessly.
Blocking arms twisted with cracks. Face pulped; fists hammered home. Screams mingled with spraying blood.
A calm voice drifted from nowhere.
That's enough.
Pastel froze. Final fist smashed his face; she shook her head.
A dream-waking haze settled.
You won.
"Huh? What?"
Dazed, she peered down. Cardin gazed up, lips split. Arms mangled from blocks, blood drooling from his mouth.
Hormone-fogged mind dredged memories.
Oh...
He's alive.
Pastel staggered up, snatched the magic sword from the floor. Reverse grip, hoisted high.
No need to kill him outright.
"Huh? Why not?"
Pastel cocked her head, eyes glassy. Then plunged the blade.
"Gahk!"
Cardin rolled frantically. Sword gouged the floor.
Oopsie.
Missed...
No killing intent. Seems he wanted a contest, not a deathmatch. He'd have spared you in defeat. Though that sloppy shoulder slice crossed a line.
The demon hesitated. As if eyeing her torn sleeve and grazed shoulder.
Hm. Fair. Kill him. Worthy of death.
Aha.
Pastel yanked the sword free. Stepped on Cardin, blade aloft. Terror-filled eyes peered up.
Nooo...
Squared for the plunge.
Preston stood dead ahead, gun in hand from his rush, staring blankly.
Eyes locked briefly. Preston slowly looked away.
"H-ha, carry on with... whatever."
Trembling voice.
Pastel gasped.
Wow, the boss.
The real boss.
She cheered.
"Boss! Boss! I'm here! Got your smuggled goods! Zero commission, right?"
Yay—zero percent fees.
Pastel, rolling in it.
Rich girl.
#
Soon after treating her shallow shoulder cut, Pastel was floored.
"Just wanted a duel?"
Face puffy, arms wrapped, Cardin launched excuses.
Lips mangled, words slurred badly, but gist came through.
Rival small fry scraped cash and contacts to hire him. Refusable gig, but tales of the thirty-man slayer hooked him.
Unreasonable job meant his call.
So he casually "peacefully" dropped by Preston's crew, casually waited for Pastel.
"Wanted to gauge your skill. No plans to off young talent. Taunted to draw full power, sure."
No.
Pastel was floored again.
"Peaceful visit? People died—how's that peaceful?"
Cardin flinched, clammed up.
Silence hung.
Listening quietly, Preston looked awkward.
"Isn't that peaceful enough…?"
"Huh?"
"Killed a few members with force, yeah, but no needless blood. Sure, post-fight attitude flip risked everything—super dangerous. But peaceful initially."
What the—?
No buy-in whatsoever.
"Wasn't that force totally unnecessary? People died! Want a duel? Ask nicely! Nicely! Peacefully!"
Obvious rant drew "naive girl" stares.
No way.
Young Craft, think. Where are you?
Zero-commission client?
Criminal syndicate. Filthy crime org. How d'you visit one peacefully?
But everyone's so nice here.
Force is standard for crime org visits. Else they laugh and ventilate you. Preempt the risk—safer that way.
Eep?
Cold hard truth?
Preston chatted breezily with Cardin.
"Lost anyway—join us? We'll smooth the contract while you heal."
Cardin bantered back casually.
"Don't need cash. Just wanna watch your boss's future."
"No, my org."
"Puppet bosses always say—"
"No."
Watching the stand-up routine, Pastel was utterly baffled.
Am I the crazy one?
She bolted upright from the sofa. Eyes turned.
"Forget it! I'll go pay respects to the dead! Can't ignore folks I chatted with last time!"
She flailed her arms.
"Cold-blooded killers! Frozen veins! Cold! Cold! Icy cold!"
Preston corrected nonchalantly.
"Uh, newbies died—you wouldn't know 'em, miss. For the families' sake, best steer clear."
Pastel went mum. Waffled on mourning, then burst.
"Anyway!"
She bolted from the room.
Totally warped world.
I'm Alice down the rabbit hole.
Wonderland.
Off to mourn?
Pastel paused.
"Nah. Boss is right—burden on the bereaved. Better pray privately."
Smart girl.
The demon's faint smile lingered.
Don't judge them odd. Just hardened by the rough world. Tough lives—no room to grieve every death deeply.
She nodded vaguely.
Can't relate? Imagine their shoes. You smuggle to survive, right? Spouting nonsense like it's noble and just. Same deal.
"Huh?"
Pastel's eyes rounded.
"Demon! Demon! Smuggling is noble! Delivering essentials to desperate folks—what's wrong with that?"
Demon knows it.
"Weird? Delivering to the needy—how's that wrong? You're wrong, Demon! When Professor arrives, we'll hash it out! You'll see!"
She stuck out her tongue.
Bleh.
No...