Chapter 59: Now I Am Rich (3)
Chapter 59: Now I Am Rich (3)
“He’s picking Soldier A.”
“Of all people, why him…?”
“Tsk, tsk. They say an unlucky guy can’t catch a break no matter what he does.”
The soldiers of the Schneider Barony looked on with expressions of disbelief.
In truth, the moment Viscount Valsen pointed his finger and the knight stepped forward, several of the Schneider soldiers had winced.
‘He looks decent.’
‘A 3-Star, maybe?’
‘He might hold his own, but…’
‘Winning would be a stretch.’
The knight Viscount Valsen had chosen didn’t seem half bad.
The goal was simply to fight on equal footing and prove that the Schneider soldiers were as capable as knights, but fighting an opponent whose defeat wasn't guaranteed was still a burden.
Among the soldiers of the Schneider estate, there were only two who could guarantee a victory against a knight like that Miranda.
One was the Guard Captain, Sanson, and the other was the vice-captain, Soldier A—no, Oliver.
It wasn't that Oliver was originally stronger than the other soldiers or possessed some incredible talent.
Oliver was just your average Soldier A, possessing average talent and average abilities.
However, over the past five years, the intensity of Oliver’s training had been significantly higher than that of the others.
Why?
Let me tell you a universal truth of group life.
It’s bad news to get "marked." Very bad news…
[This bastard... why does he have so many questions when I tell him to just do what he's told?]
[Are you talking back? You defying me?]
[Soldier A, you again? Again?!]
[Die. Just die, you bastard. Please, just die!]
Simply because he was a bit more curious than the other soldiers, a bit more defiant, slightly more socially oblivious, and cursed with terrible luck, Oliver had been "marked" by Patrick.
Whether it was annoying Patrick with constant questions during training, twisting exercise routines his own way until he was on the verge of Qi Deviation, or even…
[From today on, I’m using the Three-Sword Style.]
He once showed up wearing a bandana and clutching a third sword in his teeth after spouting some nonsense like that.
In both his past and present lives, Patrick had never encountered someone so hopeless. Naturally, Oliver was put under "special management," and for Patrick, special management was synonymous with hell.
[Your feet are stopping? Go ahead, stop. This Giant Wolf looks hungry anyway; I’m sure it won't kill you if he takes just one bite.]
[Aaaaaagh! You crazy young master bastard!]
While Patrick was giving Oliver this special management, the other soldiers were able to live sliiiiiightly more comfortable lives.
Every time that happened, the soldiers felt a deep, heartfelt gratitude toward Oliver.
But there was a reward for enduring all that extra hell.
When discussing the power rankings of the Schneider Barony, Patrick was 1st, April was 2nd, and Sanson was 3rd.
And the one who came after them was 4th: Oliver. That very Oliver now stepped forward for the duel and drew two swords.
“Oliver, of the Schneider Estate.”
“Miranda Beltson, Knight Captain of the Valsen Viscounty.”
“Then, please, teach me a thing or two.”
“…This is absurd.”
Was a mere soldier really trying to fight him?
Miranda found it ridiculous. Looking at the man taking a stance with a longsword in each hand, he wondered why he had to deal with such a clownish display.
But there was no choice.
A duel was a duel.
“Begin!”
The moment Count Parmas gave the signal, Miranda stepped forward, thinking to himself.
‘Let’s end this quickly.’
There was no need to worry about offense or defense.
He would simply close the distance and deliver a single strike. There was no way a mere soldier could block his sword—
CRACK!
“Guh!”
In an instant, Miranda was sent flying backward, his face exploding in pain. Oliver, who had just buried a fist in his opponent’s face, spoke up.
“Huh? Why did you just take that? You’re supposed to dodge.”
“Ku… Kuuuu…”
“You were supposed to dodge that so I could win stylishly with a flashy follow-up combo, ‘bam-bam-bam!’ If you just get hit like that, it ruins my plan.”
“You… you son of a bitch.”
“That’s it. Get up. You can still do this. If you give up now, the match is over.”
“I’ll kill you!”
Miranda let out a roar and charged.
With blood streaming down his face, he looked less like a dignified knight and more like a crazed berserker.
Clang! Clang-clang!
Despite his agitation, the sword he swung was truly that of a 3-Star Knight.
His blade flew with unwavering precision, attacking Oliver from all directions. However…
“Slow.”
The longswords in Oliver’s hands intercepted every single attack without fail.
Being taller and having longer limbs than most, Oliver found it easy to dominate the distance while using twin swords.
A single-handed thrust naturally reaches further than a two-handed grip, and Oliver’s limbs were exceptionally long to begin with.
Add to that the agile footwork of the Five Elements Step that Patrick had personally taught him…
“Kh… Ugh…”
It was a complete one-sided beatdown in Oliver’s favor.
Miranda, who had initially charged in a frenzy, soon began to retreat, while Oliver used light steps to swing his swords relentlessly from various angles.
“M-My god…”
“Is he really just a soldier?”
“He didn’t even look that strong…”
The other Eastern nobles watching the duel couldn't close their gaping mouths.
To their eyes, the knight named Miranda was the real deal. In any territory in the East, a knight of that caliber would be highly treated.
Yet, such a knight was being pushed back by a common soldier.
No, it wasn't just being pushed back…
“Low, mid, low again. Don’t hunch over, keep your head up. Don’t doze off, watch the sword. The sword…”
The nobles clicked their tongues as they watched Oliver, whose mouth was moving as incessantly as his blades, offering unsolicited advice.
“He’s playing with him.”
“Ho ho ho. A soldier toyed with a knight…”
“This is impossible.”
That impossible reality was unfolding right before their eyes.
Screeeeech…
Miranda’s longsword, held with both hands, was locked in a contest of strength against one of Oliver’s longswords, held with only one hand.
Oliver let his other sword hang loosely while matching Miranda’s strength with just one arm.
Common sense dictated that Miranda, pushing with all his might using both hands, should win, but…
“Lower your center of gravity and put strength into your lower body. Do you think I’ll just move because you’re pushing blindly?”
“Shut up!”
“Tsk. This is what happens when an amateur ignores an expert’s advice.”
Then, Oliver lightly leaned his weight forward and stomped his lead foot into the ground.
BOOM!
Along with the powerful stomp, a massive shockwave erupted at point-blank range.
“Aaaaagh!”
Unable to withstand it, Miranda staggered back and fell ignominiously onto his backside.
Oliver casually leveled his sword at him and said, “Now, get back into your stance. Let’s do this properly, okay?”
“Y-You bastard…”
Miranda’s face turned beet-red with rage. Seeing that expression, Oliver thought to himself:
‘Man, I’m strong. I’m so damn strong.’
He had won plenty of spars against his fellow soldiers back in the barony.
But this was different.
In an official duel watched by all the nobles of the East, he was overwhelming a knight.
All that hellish training with that demon… no, it was basically hell itself… actually, in terms of physical pain, it might have been worse than the real hell… anyway, all that crazy training had finally paid off.
The pain, humiliation, and fear of those days were being compensated for at this very moment.
In the form of victory and a sense of superiority.
Oliver turned toward his comrades behind him, flashed a smile, and thought:
‘Are you guys watching? I’m upholding all of our reputations right now. You’d better be grateful.’
“Look at him, he’s having the time of his life.”
“Ugh, what an eyesore.”
“The opponent is a bigger scrub than I thought.”
“Seriously. Is that guy really a 3-Star?”
“Looks like a 2.5-Star to me. They probably rounded up to call him a 3-Star.”
“I could’ve taken him too. Easily.”
“Why isn't he finishing it already?”
Of course, the Schneider soldiers weren't grateful at all.
Seeing him drag out a duel he could easily win just to act cool and strike poses…
“He’s dead meat when he gets back.”
A vein popped on Sanson’s forehead. He was infuriated by Oliver, who was just showboating and toying with his opponent in a duel he had been sent out to win.
“We’re counting on you, Captain.”
“That guy... he needs to be beaten within an inch of his life.”
“Do you think a beating will even fix him?”
“They say most problems in the world can be solved by a good thrashing.”
“Do you think the Young Master hasn't tried hitting him?”
“Ah…”
“He’s the one who got beaten the most by the Young Master back home. And even he couldn't fix him. What does that tell you?”
The other soldiers nodded in solemn agreement.
“I guess some things just can’t be fixed, even with a thrashing.”
“Come to think of it, he did say most problems, not all.”
“If the Young Master couldn't beat it out of him, no one can. Not even if the Saintess herself showed up.”
And so, the soldiers were sending Oliver looks of pity and mourning for his hopeless personality rather than admiration for his brilliantly improved skills.
Whether he knew this or not…
“Hahaha! You’ve got to move more briskly. Are you tired already?”
Oliver was having a blast, swinging his swords playfully against the 3-Star Knight, Miranda.
‘I’ll… I’ll kill him.’
Miranda felt like he was about to lose his mind from the sheer peak of his rage.
He no longer cared about knightly honor or pride.
No, those things had already been torn to shreds and thrown into the gutter.
What pride could possibly remain for a man who was being treated like a toy by a mere soldier? All that was left was…
Grit.
‘I’ll kill him!’
Miranda kicked the dirt at his feet, sending a cloud of dust flying into Oliver’s face.
It was a petty, cowardly move.
Even in a real battle, let alone a duel, it was a tactic that would cost a knight his honor.
Oliver, startled, took a step back.
He wasn't so much threatened by the dirt-kicking trick as he was shocked that a man calling himself a knight would stoop so low.
And in that brief moment as Oliver retreated and the distance widened…
Vrooooooom!
Aura flared up around Miranda’s longsword.
Having bought himself a moment to ignite his Aura, Miranda swung his blade with everything he had.
“Die!”
At that moment, numerous Eastern nobles jumped to their feet in shock.
Danger? Cowardice?
They didn't know which word to shout first.
But before they could even open their mouths, Miranda’s sword, saturated with Aura, descended toward the crown of Oliver’s head. And just before the blade could split his skull…
KABOOM!
With a brilliant explosion, a shockwave of Aura scattered in all directions.
Miranda’s sword, which had fallen to cleave Oliver’s head, was blocked by Oliver’s own longsword. And on Oliver’s blade, an Aura even more vivid and dense than Miranda’s was shimmering.
“Ho ho ho…”
“It was true.”
“He really does have the skill of a knight.”
There was no longer any room for doubt.
While the Eastern nobles watched in awe, Miranda stared at Oliver with a look of pure disbelief. And Oliver…
“So, you’ve completely thrown away your knightly honor, huh?”
“You…”
“Just die, you piece of shit!”
CRUNCH!
Oliver slammed the hilt of his sword upward into Miranda’s jaw.
With the sound of a shattering jawbone, Miranda’s body was lifted slightly into the air. And then…
“Haaaaah!”
Oliver’s twin swords drew over a dozen flashes of light in the air.
The attacks, launched at an opponent helpless in mid-air, left deep wounds all over his body without mercy.
Arms, thighs, shoulders, torso, and more.
Covered in wounds that were deep but not fatal, Miranda collapsed onto the ground.
He did not get back up.
Standing over the fallen Miranda, Oliver raised his swords high. Then, looking up at the sky, he let out a thunderous roar.
“WRAAAAAAAAAGH!”
The Eastern nobles who heard that valiant roar were filled with both admiration and a sense of dread. Meanwhile, the Schneider soldiers…
“What’s wrong with him now?”
“He said it looked cool last time, so he went and learned it from the Orcs.”
“Let’s just tell him to go live with them.”
“Wouldn't that be cruel to the Orcs?”
“Sigh… if only we weren't allies…”
Sometimes, there are people who get cursed at even when they win.
“T-This is impossible.”
Viscount Valsen wanted to deny reality.
His knight had lost.
Lost to a soldier.
No, "lost" wasn't a strong enough word.
It was a crushing defeat, one that could only be described as a total slaughter.
An overwhelming difference in skill had been revealed, and to top it off, his knight had been caught using a cowardly trick and was punished for it.
The plan to prove Baron Schneider’s claims were lies and, by extension, undermine Count Parmas’s authority, had been shattered into pieces.
In fact, the current situation was quite the opposite…