Chapter 80: I Shall Name This the Sunrise Cut (3)
Chapter 80: I Shall Name This the Sunrise Cut (3)
Just how fast had he run?
Patrick’s hair was soaked with sweat, and his breathing was slightly labored.
His hand was clamped firmly around Jordic’s wrist, halting the man’s blade just inches from Matthew’s throat.
“Patrick…”
Matthew looked up, overcome with emotion.
“Grr… You… You bastard…!”
Jordic was utterly flustered. He strained with all his might to pull his wrist free, but…
It won’t budge.
Despite only his wrist being held, he found himself completely immobilized. Forget moving his arm—his entire body felt pinned in place.
Finally, Jordic gnashed his teeth and glared at Patrick.
“What are you glaring at? Want me to squeeze the ink out of those eyeballs? Fix your expression before I fix it for you. You want a piece of this? Huh?!”
Jordic flinched instinctively and averted his gaze. The rage that had soared high enough to make him consider murder within the Academy walls withered instantly when faced with Patrick’s raw, unadulterated lunacy.
Without letting go, Patrick yanked Jordic’s arm and sent him flying backward.
“W-waaaagh?!”
He soared through the air like a ragdoll stuffed with cotton.
Jordic let out a pathetic shriek as he tumbled away, leaving the onlookers in a state of shock. Even the students of the Knight Department had never seen a human being thrown like that.
Crash!
Jordic slammed into a corner of the training grounds. Without sparing him a second glance, Patrick walked over to Matthew.
Then…
“Hey, you okay? How’d you let them do this to you?”
“Uh… Yeah. Well, you see…”
“These damn bastards. How dare you lay a finger on my dearest, bestest friend, Stew? You all want to die? Huh? You punks!”
As Patrick barked his threats, one of the third-years spoke up.
“We are your seniors, you know.”
“So what? Seniors don’t die?”
“……”
“If you touch my dearest, bestest friend, I don’t care if you’re a senior or a professor—you’re all dying equally. Got it?”
The third-years stood there with their mouths agape, stunned by his magnificent lack of restraint. Meanwhile, the first-years secretly felt a surge of catharsis watching the upperclassmen get shut down.
Serves them right.
Having a crazy guy on our side is actually pretty reassuring.
Man, that feels refreshing.
Now then, moving on…
“My dearest, bestest friend Stew, are you alright?”
“My name is Matthew.”
“Got it, Matthew.”
“……”
“Oh, look at all this dirt. Here, let me brush it off for you personally.”
“Uh… Oh… Thanks.”
Now, let’s take a moment to find out exactly why this bastard is acting like this.
* * *
Rewinding time slightly, back to Patrick’s dormitory.
Upon hearing that the first-years and Matthew had been captured, Patrick had responded with total indifference.
“Ahem. Don’t they say grit is forged in the fires of adversity and trial?”
Laph, taken aback by the response, frowned deeply.
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. Serious. Dead serious.”
“…I misjudged you.”
“Oh? That’s too bad.”
“I thought that, as a knight, you at least possessed a minimum sense of justice and the loyalty to stand by a friend.”
“First of all, he’s not my friend.”
“I see. I suppose the status of a commoner like Matthew is beneath a member of a long-standing landed nobility like yourself.”
“Long-standing landed nobility, huh…”
Patrick let out a sigh full of complicated emotions.
Did this brat have any idea about the state of the Schneider fief, which was the most barren corner of the already barren Eastern Region? Before Patrick stepped in to make the place habitable, it was a land where dozens of people were routinely sacrificed to monsters.
Well, there’s no way you’d know.
In the end, isn’t life a solo journey?
It wasn’t like Laph’s pity would put money in the East’s coffers, so Patrick just let it slide.
Laph continued.
“Matthew is a good guy. His status might be low, but he’s someone who gives his absolute all to become a knight.”
“Yeah, sure. Good for him.”
“Others just see him as the son of some wealthy merchant family, but I know better. He is more sincere than anyone—”
“Wait, what did you say?”
Patrick’s indifferent attitude vanished instantly as he cut Laph off.
“He’s wealthy?”
“…Of course. He’s the son of the Elvador Merchant Group’s leader.”
“The… Elvador Merchant Group? That Elvador Merchant Group? The largest merchant group in the kingdom? The one that expanded its trade beyond the Atronia Kingdom and into neighboring countries? The Elvador Merchant Group whose name even a bumpkin from the backwaters of the East like me has heard?”
“Is there another Elvador Merchant Group in this country?”
“He’s the son of that guy?”
“You didn’t know? Matthew’s father is the head of the Elvador Merchant Group. Every first-year knows this… Ah, right. You were a mid-term transfer.”
“……”
“Anyway, the point is that Matthew is working hard to become a knight. He once told me the reason why he wants to be one—”
“Where is he?”
“…Huh?”
“Where is my friend Stew?! Spit it out! Now! You want to die? Talk, you bastard!”
“The… the training grounds… Training Ground 2.”
Patrick grabbed Laph by the collar and shook him violently until he got the location. Then…
“I’m coming! Hang on, my best friend Stew!”
With madness gleaming in his eyes, Patrick sprinted toward the training grounds at top speed.
As Laph stood there, looking like a hollow shell whose soul had been harvested, April approached him.
“Would you like some tea?”
“……”
April was simply being faithful to her duties as a butler.
And so, back to the present…
“Rest easy now. Matthew, I, your dearest, bestest friend, am here to help.”
“Patrick…”
Until just a moment ago, Patrick wouldn’t even call him by his proper name.
And yet, here he was, claiming to be his best friend. To think there was a sucker in this world who would actually fall for this and be moved…
“Thank you. To think you’d come all this way for me.”
There was one.
He existed.
Unfortunately.
Patrick gave a bright smile and said, “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Patrick…”
Justice was dead in this world.
How could one possibly resolve this tragic scene, where a wealthy pushover and a money-grubbing demon were packaging their encounter as a beautiful tale of friendship and trust?
Even if a devil were to witness this, he would probably sign up for lessons, saying, “Wow, so that’s how it’s done.”
But then…
“You miserable bastard!”
Someone intervened to break up the scene.
Though, to be fair, this newcomer wasn’t exactly a paragon of justice either.
Seeing Jordic approach while radiating murderous intent, Patrick stood up and positioned his sturdy back in front of Matthew.
“You’re… uh, what was your name again?”
“Urgh…!”
For a moment, Jordic felt something surge up from deep within his gut.
Seeing this, Matthew spoke up from behind.
“That’s Senior Jordic Panola.”
“Ah, right. That was it. I’m terrible with names, you see.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
As someone who had been called 'Stew' until very recently, Matthew couldn't help but agree.
Patrick put on an aggrieved expression.
“Hey, I can’t help it. It’s not like we’ve seen each other that much. Besides, his hair style changed.”
“Guh…!”
Was this what it felt like to have your internal organs ache? Jordic looked as if every one of Patrick’s words was a physical blow to his solar plexus.
And Patrick wasn’t finished.
“I went through all that trouble to give you a nice haircut, so why’d you go and shave it all off? Did you not like it?”
“……”
Trembling violently, Jordic refused to speak with Patrick any longer.
Sword… I have to settle this with the sword. Words won’t work.
In truth, the sword wouldn’t work either. He had already been defeated once during the daytime sparring session, and just now, he had been tossed aside like trash. That made twice.
Jordic wasn’t stupid; he knew he was outmatched.
However, that was only if they fought fairly, skill against skill…
Jordic drew his sword and pointed it at Patrick.
“Patrick Schneider.”
“Yes?”
Patrick replied with a look of pure innocence to Jordic, who was gnashing his teeth as he spoke.
Jordic’s breathing became ragged with fury. Truly, Patrick knew exactly how to push someone’s buttons to the absolute limit.
With bloodshot eyes, Jordic declared, “You die here.”
“Why?”
“Answer my call! Isis!”
Jordic pointed his sword at Patrick and roared. Then…
Zzzzzzt!
A terrifying chill erupted from his blade, surging toward Patrick.
The cold was so intense it froze the very moisture in the air into crystals. Patrick was momentarily taken aback.
Ice Arts?
No, it felt a bit different from that…
More importantly, he had to dodge—no, if he dodged, Matthew behind him would…
The unexpected situation caused a momentary lapse in his thoughts. Patrick reacted a split second slower than usual as he swung his sword.
BOOM!
Aura and freezing cold collided violently.
“The Ice Sword Isis?”
“Isn’t that the heirloom of the Panola Marquisate?”
“My god, he’s actually using that?”
The other students watching were horrified.
The Ice Sword Isis. It was a famous blade even within the kingdom. An ancient artifact containing a sealed ice spirit, it was the Panola family’s treasure, capable of overwhelming enemies with extreme cold.
Marquis Panola was a powerhouse at the 6-Star Level, but it was said that when he held the Ice Sword Isis, even 7-Star superhumans couldn't guarantee a victory against him.
And now, that very sword was in Jordic’s hands.
Is he dead?
Dammit, things finally went too far.
Now, whether we like it or not, it’s over… Huh?
In that moment, the third-years saw it. As the mist of frost slowly cleared, a figure was revealed.
Crunch. Crackle.
With every step Patrick took forward, the ice crystals beneath his feet shattered.
“That’s a nasty little trick.”
Patrick, now fully visible, had frost clinging to various parts of his body, but he appeared fundamentally unharmed. This was despite taking the chill of Isis head-on.
“Y-you…?”
As Jordic stood there in shock, Patrick gave a cold smirk.
“Judging by the feel of it, this Cold Yin Energy isn’t your own power. Is that weapon an artifact?”
Even Patrick knew what an artifact was. They were weapons or equipment imbued with magic created by ancient mages. The magical tools made by modern mages were merely inferior versions created by mimicking the techniques of the ancients.
Ancient magical tools classified as artifacts were often family heirlooms of noble houses or even national treasures strictly managed by the royal family.
Likely, the sword called Isis was one of those.
“I heard they were ridiculously expensive. I can see why.”
Hearing about something and experiencing it firsthand were two different things. Patrick was genuinely surprised by that last strike.
The blow from Isis reminded him of a strike from a first-rate martial artist who had mastered ice-based techniques to their absolute peak in his past life. No, in terms of the purity of the cold alone, it seemed to have even more depth.
Hmm… So things like this exist here?
Patrick pondered for a moment.
Since being born and raised in this world, he had honestly looked down on the general level of power here. People worshipped anyone who could manifest Sword Qi as a 3-Star, and they babbled about the 'Supreme Realm' if someone could produce an Aura Blade—which was just Aura.
The Supreme Realm? Superhumans?
For that?
Among the 3,000 elite unorthodox masters who had swarmed to kill the Radiant Dragon Hero Jincheon in his previous life, at least 500 of them could manifest Aura. In the Martial World, people who could use Aura and fly through the air were a dime a dozen. So what was all this talk about 'Supreme'?
It was only natural for Patrick to underestimate the standards of this world. However…
Artifacts, huh…
This was something new.
To think a wet-behind-the-ears brat could actually injure the great Radiant Dragon Hero just by holding a good weapon? Such a thing was impossible in the Martial World.
While martial artists were obsessed with Divine Weapons and the like, the most important factor was always one’s fundamental skill. Even if someone brought a legendary blade made of Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron or Meteoric Iron, it didn't make a massive difference among top-tier experts.
Once you reached the level of coating your weapon in Aura, it didn't matter if the weapon was rusted iron or a Divine Weapon—they were all more or less the same. While having a good weapon was certainly better than not, true masters preferred the weapons they were most accustomed to.
But that thing…
It was a weapon that clearly bridged the gap in skill. A weapon that emitted extreme Cold Yin Energy just by being held? If something like that were released in the Martial World, it would have caused a literal bloodbath.
Patrick felt a surge of curiosity. Just how far did the performance of these so-called artifacts go? Would it actually work against him?
With a mix of curiosity and competitive spirit, Patrick reached out a hand. Looking at the half-frozen Jordic, he spoke.
“What are you doing?”
“…Huh?”
“Bring it.”
The moment Patrick beckoned with his palm, Jordic let out a furious roar.
“Fine! If you want to die that badly, I’ll kill you! ISIIIIIS!”
Jordic swung his sword with a great shout. A blade of ice, saturated with absolute zero cold, flew fiercely toward Patrick.