Chapter 17
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Polt Forest (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Ugh...”
In a splitting headache that felt like his skull was being cleaved open, Jude's vision spun wildly.
His sense of balance was shot; body and mind alike didn't feel like his own.
Neigh! Hiiing!
“Aaagh!”
“Gahk!”
Even in his daze, the horse's shrill whinny and screams exploding right beside him pierced Jude's ears like knives.
“Ngh!”
A chill raced up his spine as he barely managed to haul himself upright, leaning on his longsword.
Bam!
“Kyaak!”
Just then, he saw a swordsman's raised sword arm shatter completely, the man crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The force of the blow was so immense that when it crushed his shoulder, his knees buckled too.
The instant he fell, a black cloak billowed like an ominous shadow toward the next target.
Thwack!
“Guwek!”
Another swordsman took rapid, brutal hits to his knee, waist, and armpit in succession, collapsing with his limbs twisted grotesquely.
Whoosh! Bam! Thud thud thud!
It was like a massive black bear rampaging through a flock of sheep.
No, even a bear couldn't move with that speed and fluidity.
It was more like a panther in the dark.
Dodging the swordsmen's attacks with exquisite precision, it slipped between trees in a flash. Each strike from the flashing iron club was simple yet lethally effective.
And it wasn't just using the club.
Clang!
“Guh!”
One swordsman slammed his gut and chest into the massive Blake's shoulder, spewing blood-mixed vomit as he flew through the air.
No doubt several ribs were pulverized.
“Raaah!”
Another swordsman lunged from the side, somehow swinging his blade.
But his sword was blocked by the crossed iron clubs.
Clang!
As he parried, Blake subtly released his strength, pulling the swordsman toward him. Then he drove his log-thick knee into the man's unbalanced gut.
Boom!
“Guek!”
The swordsman's eyes bulged like they might pop out as he launched into the air nearly as high as his own height before crashing down.
And... he was the last one.
“Hic?”
Jude staggered around, surveying the scene.
Apart from himself, the only ones still standing were Lindelmann and Brick, huddled awkwardly by the carriage.
The agonized screams echoing through the forest had all come from their subordinates.
“Hooo...”
Realizing the truth, Jude trembled uncontrollably.
He couldn't believe it.
Nearly twenty men crippled by a single opponent in this short time.
It was impossible—no, it shouldn't happen in reality. A horrific nightmare come to life.
And the nightmare wasn't over yet.
Its source was slowly walking toward Jude.
As Blake approached with an impassive face, he swung his arms, flinging blood and flesh from his clubs in bloody splatters.
The metallic tang of blood sharpened the air, stirring a fitting tension.
Blake had no aversion to killing or violence, but he didn't revel in it either.
It was just his job. He'd fought, killed, and followed orders without much feeling.
But after demolishing the Credo Swordsmen Corps, he felt oddly good—unlike before.
The irritation and frustration from Headgates and the changed surroundings vanished in an instant.
'Combat's the best after all.'
Nothing revived dulled senses and maintained proper tension like real battle.
Though there was one regrettable point.
Contrary to expectations, they were far too weak.
“Ugh.”
Blake eyed Jude impassively as the man held his longsword sideways and staggered back.
Weak or not, he had no intention of sparing him.
He'd disliked this guy since first sight.
No direct harm done, but his instincts screamed not to let him be.
And his gut was rarely wrong.
So even if it was a weakling, better to handle it properly.
'As long as I don't kill him...'
With half his face caked in crimson gore, Blake looked every bit the demon.
“Urk!”
Jude felt his lower gut go weak, but he forced himself to hold ground.
As Blake closed the distance further, Jude swung his sword with desperate resolve.
“Die!”
Whoosh!
Faint but spirited, Jude's longsword arced diagonally toward Blake's neck.
“...”
For a split second, a glint flashed in Blake's stoic eyes.
Clang!
A heavy jolt shot through his arm with the metallic ring.
“Ngh!”
Jude barely kept hold of his sword and tried to swing again.
But he froze mid-motion, eyes widening in disbelief.
His sword was snapped in two.
“Hahk!”
Shock fleeting, Jude yanked the dagger from his belt behind his back.
Shing!
A black streak plummeted toward him like lightning.
Thud!
“Kaaaaagh!”
As the dagger fell, Jude's mouth gaped impossibly wide, unleashing a massive scream.
“Kraaa! Nghk!”
Slumped on the ground, drooling saliva and tears, his right shoulder dangled limp, utterly destroyed.
“Krrghhh! Hic! Hic!”
In agony he'd never known, Jude scooted back on his soaked rear.
It wouldn't save him from the encroaching black nightmare, but pain drowned out all else.
Blake stood before Jude.
“...”
Deep blue eyes like abyssal voids contrasted the blood veiling half his face.
“Hic!”
Meeting that gaze flooded Jude with greater terror.
He'd seen those eyes before.
The old butcher slaughtering livestock by the dozens without a care had that exact look when eyeing a steer or pig being dragged out.
The butcher's eyes.
So what was he, reflected in those eyes now...?
Jude pried open his quivering lips.
“Krrr! Sp... spare...”
Frail pride cut his plea short.
Then Blake slightly bent at the waist.
He locked eyes with Jude's unfocused stare.
His low, deliberate voice seeped through cracked lips.
“This isn't a battlefield, so I won't kill you.”
“...!”
Those words from Brownstone Gate shattered Jude's remaining pride.
Yet amid the misery, a thread of hope flickered—maybe he'd live.
But...
Crack!
With a gruesome crunch, that thread snapped.
“Krrrrraaaagh!”
An even louder scream tore from Jude's throat.
Blake lifted his club from Jude's crushed insteps and straightened.
Torn boot leather and red blood splattered down.
“Keeeerrr!”
Ignoring Jude wriggling like a worm, eyes rolled back white, Blake turned and strode toward the carriage.
“...”
Lindelmann and Brick said nothing as Blake approached, shaking off his clubs.
They just stared with ceaselessly trembling eyes.
It was like an adult toying with snot-nosed kids.
No, a merciless adult crushing them with full force, no holding back.
“It's over.”
The two knights snapped to at Blake's cold voice.
“Ugh...!”
Lindelmann, meeting the blood-drenched Blake's eyes, felt a chill shoot up his spine.
As before the fight, he tried forcing a smile and words, but his tongue was leaden.
Brick was the same.
He'd seen plenty of deadly swordplay, but this overwhelming, brutal dominance was a rare sight.
And to smash that foe's insteps without a flicker of expression?
If it were the excited, euphoric glow of victory he'd seen in other knights, it might've been bearable.
They were killers too, after all—same breed as Jude or himself.
But those eyes now were utterly different.
Indescribable, but fundamentally alien to mere murderers.
“I misjudged the force a bit, but no deaths. Still, without treatment soon, a few might die in days.”
Mistaking their stares for worry over fatalities, Blake offered his own flexible explanation.
“...!”
The knights felt an even deeper chill.
He hadn't killed—literally.
But none would live normally after this.
For men who'd wielded swords half their lives, it might be crueler than death.
“W-We should leave this place quickly.”
Brick snapped out of it and spoke urgently.
Lindelmann added in a quavering voice.
“Wh-What about these guys?”
“Leave 'em. They're not loners, and this road sees plenty of traffic anyway.”
Replying to Lindelmann, Brick hurried to the driver's seat.
No reaction from the two girls inside, whether they'd seen the carnage or not.
“Let's go! Hya!”
Clop clop clop!
The two horses and carriage kicked up dust as they descended the pass.
“Kuhk!”
“Hoo! Hooo!”
Thick dust settled over the broken Credo Swordsmen Corps and their blood and filth.
Long after Blake's group departed, a horse galloped up to the Polt Pass basin.
“No way!”
The rider, dressed like the sprawled Credo swordsmen, dismounted.
It was Denny, the swordsman Jude had ordered to check the remaining inn before leaving Headgates.
“Wh-What the hell...”
Denny gaped at the scene in disbelief.
Seeing comrades mangled amid blood and filth, his legs shook involuntarily.
Then he spotted Jude groaning like a beast.
“S-Sir Hamilton? Ughk!”
Rushing to Jude, Denny's eyes filled with horror.
“Uh-huhk. Kkuk!”
Jude, drooling tears and spit while choking, was a sight too gruesome to behold.
The stench of blood and excrement hung thick.
His right arm's shoulder was obliterated; insteps and ankles pulped, exposing white bone shards amid dark blood and flesh.
“Ugh. Uk!”
Backing away unwittingly, Denny tripped over something and fell.
Scrambling up, it was a comrade he'd been close to. Chest plate caved in, knees twisted outward unnaturally.
“A-Alto! Brother!”
“Ugh! D-Denny. Kk!”
The hairy swordsman, propped by Denny, barely opened his eyes with a groan.
“H-How did this happen, brother?”
“A d-devil... devil of a man... with the White girls... Ngh! G-Go to the main house and report... Ngh!”
“White? Brother, what do you mean? Who! N-No way!”
Urging the hairy man, Denny's eyes flew wide.
As if confirming, the groaning swordsman strained to speak.
“The White girls... hired two proxy knights for the honor duel... Ngh! One from Alteria... and...”
Head bowed, he paused, then continued with a terror-stricken face.
“B-Brother?”
“N-Northernrocks... discharged soldier... that devil...”
Somehow, barely, the hairy swordsman finished.
(To be continued...)