Pink God Descends! (1)
A blinding golden light filled the entire cave, scorching like it could melt eyeballs. Crowman squinted with his one remaining eye and fell back. His neatly combed white hair was already a disheveled mess.
"Damn, the symbol of my flower-child old age."
He dipped his hand in the seawater and swept back his bangs. Striding forward with a leisurely expression came Hotse.
"You... lil'... whippersnapper... finally... gettin'... a bit... respectful... to yer... elders... eh~~?"
Crowman let out a hollow chuckle at her words, as if he couldn't believe it. The Midland murderer. He'd roamed the continent, severing the necks of countless masters. At seventy years old, he'd seen it all—battles on land and sea—but this was the first time he'd been treated like a kid.
He'd come here half-doubting the legend of the old era's greatest swordsman frozen in the southwest's eternal ice. It had been a thrill to fight someone who pushed his mind to the brink after so long, but her every quip grated on his nerves. Her speech was so thick and drawling, it was hard to tell if she was talking or mumbling through molasses.
"I'm no kid. I've lived long enough..."
His words fell on deaf ears.
"Where... d'you... get off... yappin'... like... that! Back... in... my day...!"
"Kuh!"
The frozen elf's boomer power was beyond imagination! Crowman groaned involuntarily.
Clang! Their blades clashed again.
Crack! The skin on his hand tore, wrapping tightly around the hilt.
Crowman leaped back from his spot.
"If I were just ten years younger..."
He was a man who'd always taken pride in his age. He was a bit shocked at himself for muttering such a thing, even to himself. He'd never envied youth before.
But every swing of the sword made the elf before him look fresher and fiercer.
"Good... workout... ya punk."
She grinned, still spouting her thick boomer banter.
'Hm?'
Crowman's one eye narrowed. The boomer elf's appearance had changed a lot since the fight started. Her hair had been dazzling blonde at first, but now it shimmered with a reddish hue. Like rose gold, or molten gold mixed with blood during smelting. He wasn't sure if such a color existed, but that's the only way to describe it.
'And that red tint is getting deeper.'
Dexter Crowman cracked his neck side to side.
"Why... ya dodgin'? Fallin' behind... what's... wrong... losin' yer nerve?!"
Hotse slung her kukri over her shoulder, cackling as she pressed him.
Swain, hiding behind a rock, watched in stunned disbelief.
Who was Dexter Crowman? A man with a top-tier Midland Empire bounty who'd wandered the continent for decades. He'd beheaded the empire's legendary generals who unified the chaotic central continent. Not just that—the entire First Knight Order, the Ashen Wolf Knights, and ten thousand soldiers under them had fallen to his ghostly blade in a single day. Then, without rest, he'd pushed west, breaching Midland's final defensive line, the Maginot Line, in half a day. One of the era's ultimate villains!
But.
"What... d'I care... 'bout... some... young punk's... name?"
Kubelin Hotse. The mysterious frozen boomer claiming to have lived since 100 million years ago dismissed Crowman's resume entirely. She even treated him like a brat outright.
And most crucially. She was slowly but surely pushing back Dexter Crowman.
While Crowman's face hardened, Hotse's grew ever more vibrant.
"Playtime's... over... punk... fire?"
Still that cringey dad-joke lingo he couldn't get used to. But what followed was terrifying.
Whoosh!
Hotse's long hair turned an even deeper crimson. Now the red dominated the gold. At the same time, the aura rising from her blade tip doubled in size.
Crowman widened his eye at the aura blade surging over three meters high.
"Insane!?"
No words for it. Hotse swung her aura at the shocked Crowman. It looked like a hammer wrapped around a whip's end hurtling toward him.
Crack!
Qua-boom!
True to the broad, blunt kukri's slash, her aura shot nimbly before unleashing a massive shockwave in one spot—right at Crowman's head.
"Kuh!"
Crowman angled his blade flat to deflect it.
Qua-boom!
The cave ceiling crumbled. Amid the raging sea surface, Crowman retreated swiftly.
'Huh?'
Swain, watching the fight, widened his eyes. Hotse's aura had grown monstrous, but Crowman made an unexpected choice: he reduced the aura flowing into his blade.
His aura now flowed extremely thin and fine, making the staff-sword in his hand look like a long thread.
"What... scheme... ya got?"
Hotse didn't seem fazed. She trusted her overwhelming power completely.
Pop!
Crowman darted back nimbly. His black hood and white hair whipped in the wind. Hotse chased fiercely.
"Before... ya go... lemme... show ya... yer neck... cut off!"
Crowman grinned at her bellowing pursuit. The moment Hotse stepped forward to close in!
Splash!
Her body suddenly sank into the floor.
"Wha... huh?"
Hotse startled. There was no floor beneath her feet.
The blue hole! The deep pit Roin had once fallen into, leading to the ocean depths. For some reason, the water drained downward, so stepping in carelessly meant you couldn't escape. The unimaginable water pressure sucked you in the instant your foot entered.
"Guhk!"
Hotse held her breath. But she was pulled into the blue hole in a flash.
"She must weigh a ton."
Crowman sat on a rock, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. Using terrain was a path to victory too. A shame he couldn't behead her, but getting crushed by deep-sea pressure might be fun in its own way.
As he went to light it.
Fwoosh! Something rushed at his face.
"Eh?"
He jerked his head back, watching the cigarette's tip sever.
Qua-qua-boom!
A crimson slash embedded into the wall behind him.
"Filthy... son... of a... bitch!"
With that thick curse of "ho-sang-sae."
Qua-boom!
A massive water pillar erupted. Hotse burst out, face twisted in rage.
Crowman spat out his ruined cigarette. This was getting ridiculous.
"Gimme a break."
He groaned, jumping down from the rock.
Boom! The rock he'd sat on turned to sand in an instant.
"......"
Crowman stroked his chin, eyeing the shattered rock. Her lethality had upgraded.
"Ya... really... piss me... off... gonna... smash... ya flat... punk..."
As the water pillar subsided, Hotse walked out over the churning sea. Crimson energy billowed thickly. Her hair was now almost entirely red.
"Hoo."
Crowman backed away in disgust. He pulled another cigarette and lit it—or tried to.
'Damn, matches are soaked.'
He'd forgotten to put them in his waterproof case. Figured he wouldn't get wet...
Right then.
Flick!
The cigarette in his mouth lit up.
"Huh?"
Crowman looked down in bewilderment. A small boy, barely reaching his chest, stood before him.
Cliche. The pink-haired boy. He'd just touched his right index finger to the cigarette tip briefly.
'This punk?'
As Crowman twitched an eyebrow, Cliche, standing between him and Hotse, spoke.
"I'm here to end this fight."
* * *
"What... kinda... nonsense... ya spoutin'... kid?"
Hotse glanced back and forth between Cliche and Crowman. To her, they both looked like the same brats.
Crowman cleared his throat awkwardly. Hotse flicked Cliche's forehead.
"Kiddo... shoo... gonna... smash... ya~~"
But Cliche didn't budge. Arms crossed, he said firmly, word by word.
"Make up, or get punished."
Then.
Qua-boom!
Hotse's hair shot skyward. Its color deepened to an impossible crimson—like thick blood pulsing through transparent strands, heavy and ominous!
"Move... or... both... ya... get... schooled~~"
Not just Hotse anymore—Hotse God. Combat power incomparable to before! Even Crowman shook his head at the massive amp-up.
"Should've used it when she slipped in the blue hole."
Crowman showed no retreat. He stepped one foot back long, leveling his blade horizontally. Aura extended along it like a thread, long and thin. The massive amount stretched out, looking like an endlessly long filament spewing forth. Though slender, it was a Sword Master's aura. Deadly to brain or heart all the same. In pure lethality, far scarier than a thick spear.
"Come at me, you crazy elf."
"Punk... fire...!"
Crowman and Hotse glared daggers at each other.
Boom!Bang!
They kicked off and charged. Modern Sword Master versus ancient Sword Master! The moment they were about to collide!
"You really wanna get punished?"
Cliche poked his head between them.
"Hek!?"
"Hm!?"
Both flinched, but it was too late. The dice—or blades—were cast. Might as well send them off painlessly. Crowman and Hotse looked away from Cliche, locking eyes again.
First to connect wins!
And.
Thwack!
A massive thud shook the cave. The result: simultaneous hit! Both Crowman and Hotse connected at the same time.
With... Cliche's fist.
One dull thud. One light punch. But the outcome was astonishing.
Hotse and Crowman—heads slammed into the seabed in their charging stance, knocked out cold.
"......Huh?"
Swain, watching from afar, gaped so wide his jaw nearly hit the deep-sea floor. Roin and the rest of the party stared at Cliche with the exact same expression.
"Heave-ho!"
Cliche hoisted the floating Hotse and Crowman onto his shoulders. Then, annoyed, he muttered once more.
"Told you you'd get punished."