Chapter 155: Return (2)
Chapter 155: Return (2)
“The rumors about the Iron Kingdom were nothing but hot air, weren't they?”
A man dressed in a pitch-black uniform spoke. It was James, a member of the Machine Empire’s Magic Corps. He chuckled derisively.
“They told me not to underestimate even a young boy in the Iron Kingdom of Chervil. They said the citizens of Chervil are so tenacious that you should never let your guard down because they’ll struggle until their last breath. They tried to scare the life out of me, but look at this. Pfft, hahaha!”
“Tell me about it,” his senior replied.
“Ugh, I can still see it vividly. The moment I put a blade to that old man's throat, his face went pale and he pissed himself! And weren't his family members right behind him when he soiled himself? They were all sobbing, but I bet they were laughing at him on the inside—seeing him look so pathetic in his old age.”
“Puhahaha, I’m sure they were! Anyway, these savages... those who can’t even build a single iron horse dare to look down on our Machine Empire...”
James and his senior soldier snickered with great delight. It was as if they had just finished watching an entertaining play.
“Ah, when is our shift change? Time seems to crawl whenever I’m on sentry duty. I want to go inside and have some fun, too.”
“Fun? I took a look inside, and it’s nothing but wrinkled old fogies. There isn't a single girl who’d catch the eye of a young man like you, no matter how hard you look.”
“I don’t care about girls. I can enjoy those anytime. What I want is to trample over those cowering wretches to my heart's content. Seeing them tremble while clenching their teeth in humiliation... it’s so entertaining I can’t help but hum a tune.”
“Pfft, you have twisted tastes. Truly twisted.”
James chuckled at the senior soldier’s remark.
“I volunteered for the infiltration team specifically for that. I’m scared of fighting strong guys with my life on the line, but slaughtering and terrifying the weak is irresistibly fun. Hehehe.”
“Keep that behavior here. If you did that back home, you’d end up behind bars.”
“Of course I only do it here. I’m an educated man. I can distinguish between people I can treat like that and people I can’t.”
As James spoke, he looked at the curtain of fire blazing behind him. To his eyes, the wall of flames deployed by his allies looked truly beautiful. He couldn't wait for his shift to end so he could throw three or four old-timers into those flames. The thought of those insignificant wretches sobbing in pain before they died brought a permanent smirk to his face.
And then.
“...People you can treat like that, and people you can’t?”
A low voice echoed from a distance.
“Who decided such a thing?”
It was a youthful voice, sitting somewhere between a boy and a young man. James and the senior soldier turned their heads toward the sound. There stood a tall young man who looked like a scion of nobility. He had shimmering blonde hair that was the epitome of aristocracy and blue eyes that shone like the sea. Those two beautiful eyes were glaring in their direction, radiating a simmering rage.
“I’m curious. Does the fact that someone has never learned the sword, or that they’ve grown old, sick, and weak, constitute a valid reason for them to suffer humiliation and violence?”
“...What? Who is this guy?”
“And does being slightly stronger than others, or belonging to a large and powerful group, mean you have the right to trample on the pride of others and ruin their lives? I find that impossible to accept.”
The voice was clear, the tone aristocratic. The young man, having descended from a gentle hill, stared straight at them. At the sudden appearance of this suspicious figure, other soldiers on sentry duty began to gather.
“Identify yourself.”
“You are uninvited guests.”
“State your affiliation!”
The soldiers surrounding the young man did not move rashly. His appearance was far from ordinary; an air of nobility unique to high-born aristocrats overflowed from him—an atmosphere that made him difficult to approach. The soldiers of the Magic Corps worried that the young man might be a noble of the Empire or someone an ordinary soldier like them shouldn't touch.
“And this is land where uninvited guests are not permitted to set foot.”
Amidst the heavy silence, the young man slowly moved his hand toward his waist. In the next moment, his blue eyes turned red, and the very air of the world changed. Everyone present felt it.
“...P-Prepare.”
However.
“B-Battle stations!”
It was too late.
“Quickly, form a—!”
A flash of light erupted, a silver line tracing a path from the young man’s waist.
In the next instant, the head of the soldier who was about to shout flew into the air. The neck was cleanly severed, and red blood sprayed like a fountain. Beyond the mist of blood scattered against the blue sky, the young man was visible. He was holding a sword—a blade as beautiful as he was.
A sickening thud followed. The sound of death. A human being had died so easily. The headless torso of the soldier rolled across the ground. As the nauseatingly thick scent of blood spread, the soldiers finally snapped out of their daze.
“It’s an ambush!”
“A knight! A knight of the Iron Kingdom has appeared—!”
A knight. Even the soldiers of the Magic Corps knew of them: masters of the sword clad in solid iron armor. However, they had been told that those powerful superhumans guarded the capital of the Iron Kingdom and wouldn't be encountered here. Of course, they didn't have the luxury to complain. War was a series of variables, and the unpredictable had happened.
“Bind him! Don't fight him head-on!”
“Just like we practiced!”
If they could identify him, they weren't afraid. They belonged to the Machine Empire. Soldiers of a nation that had waged war against the Iron Kingdom of Chervil for ages were naturally trained in how to deal with knights. Having endured countless drills, the soldiers moved with practiced precision.
“Pin him down!”
According to their training, the knights of the Iron Kingdom lacked the ability to counter magic. It was said that a few knights who had reached a certain level could manifest 'Wings' to handle Mysteries, but that was not a power every knight possessed. Most knights were helpless against magic and relied on thick armor and helmets to resist it. But to the soldiers' eyes, this young man wore no armor, and he looked so young—hardly more than an adolescent—that there was no way he could have reached such a high realm.
“If we stop his movement, he’s no match for us!”
Thus, the soldiers dismissed the young man as nothing more than a hot-blooded knight overflowing with a misplaced sense of justice. It was a type they encountered surprisingly often—men intoxicated by the title of an honorable knight, those who had read chivalric novels since childhood and thought they were the protagonists of the world.
“Fire—!”
The soldiers drew their weapons. These were tools integrated with magitech that allowed even those who had just initiated into magic to fire spells easily. Furthermore, 'War Magic,' systematically established by War Mages, unfolded from the soldiers' hands. These were spells created solely for destruction and death, devoid of deep contemplation or wisdom. They possessed enough power to turn an average knight into dust.
Blazing flames and surging boulders intertwined and poured toward the young man. However, the magic that reached him began to dissipate like smoke, as if a drawing on a sketchbook were being erased.
“Huh...?”
Walking out from the magical bombardment, the young man’s body was wrapped in mystical flames. Those flames were dismantling and blocking all violence directed at him. It was impossible. This was something that ignored the laws of nature.
“...!”
Before they could even process the situation, the young man took a step. In the next instant, he appeared in the midst of the soldiers. Immediately upon his arrival, his blade severed heads from bodies and carved away limbs. Tough muscles and hard bones could not hinder his sword. As if slicing through tofu, without the slightest resistance, every swing of his blade was accompanied by at least one death.
“You son of a—!”
They struggled to catch him from up close, but no one could lay a hand on him. Forget catching him; it was a struggle even to track him with their eyes. It felt as if he were constantly teleporting, as if the process of movement had been omitted entirely. Every time they blinked, only the bloody aftermath unfolded. It felt like they were fighting a ghost.
A ghost. The moment that word crossed their minds, several soldiers thought of a specific term.
“Sword Runner!”
The ghost of the battlefield. A lofty realm that only a few among the knights of the Iron Kingdom could reach. A realm where one gained the ability to counter Mysteries. A powerhouse that mere 'soldiers' of the Magic Corps could never hope to face.
“It’s a ghost—!”
As the sword moved and light flashed, blood and flesh were scattered. The soldiers' magic couldn't even reach him, and on the rare occasion it did, it was dismantled and dispersed the moment it touched the mystical flames. To the soldiers, the young man was akin to divine punishment—an irresistible act of god.
Spells utilizing various elements were utterly useless. Even the magitech tools the Machine Empire took pride in ceased to function the moment they touched the flames. In this suffocating situation, a few soldiers rushed forward with screams. They attempted melee combat out of sheer desperation, like a drowning man clutching at straws. But before the distance could even close, the sword flashed, and the heads of the charging soldiers fell one after another.
Now, the soldiers realized with certainty that the young man was a being they could never defeat. Melee combat was impossible, their issued magitech tools broke upon contact with the flames, and their clumsy magic was useless. Realizing there was no chance of victory, the soldiers gave up fighting and turned to run.
The young man walked slowly, but as he approached, a magic trap buried underground triggered, and light exploded. It was a magic trap capable of taking down even a monster from the Northern Continent. However, as the blade in the young man’s hand glowed, earth and rocks rose to block the explosion, protecting him.
There was no hope.
“...”
Watching the soldiers flee, the young man did not pursue them. Instead, he merely watched their retreating backs as he walked slowly. It was as if he were telling them to run if they could. Seeing this, the soldiers thought the young man was foolish. Inside the curtain of fire was the main force of the Magic Corps infiltration team. There were War Mages there with power incomparable to the soldiers here.
But.
Does that guy... really not know that?
If he was letting them go despite knowing... then what?
* * *
I could not forgive them.
How dare they cover my territory with such hideous flames?
Dealing with the Empire’s Magic Corps was not difficult. Everything they possessed was neutralized by a single 'Flame of Doubt.' To begin with, those who handle Mysteries have poor compatibility with me. No matter what tricks they pull, they will disappear equally before this flame.
“I wonder what’s inside that made them run away with such transparent faces? It was written all over them. 'I can't believe you're just letting us go, you're in big trouble now'... like that.”
“There are likely War Mages. The elite forces of the Magic Corps,” Elizabeth replied. “Mages who discard things like the cycle of nature, its laws, or an understanding of the spiritual world, and pursue nothing but 'destruction.'”
“Hmm.”
“You’ve seen the Wave Catchers, the mages of the Free City, haven't you? Their roots lie with the War Mages.”
“Ah, those guys.”
When she put it that way, I started to get the picture. Mages who had seemed quite formidable. However...
“Is Witch Elizabeth stronger than Lady Audrey?”
She had been completely helpless against Audrey.
“Hah!” Elizabeth snorted at my words. “Are you really asking that?”
Her words were overflowing with confidence. Along with that, an unapproachable mana began to surge around Elizabeth—a power whose depth could not be measured. Before the overflowing aura of magic, I spoke.
“Then show me.”
“Gladly.”
With a short reply, Elizabeth approached the blazing curtain of fire. Then, without any particular incantation, she simply blew a breath—whoosh—and the curtain of fire immediately began to tremble as if it had encountered a storm. Simultaneously, like a flame flickering and dying out in the wind, the curtain of fire vanished without a trace.
The interior, previously hidden, was now fully revealed. There were the soldiers who had hurriedly fled inside earlier, mages floating in the air, and my precious territory, destroyed and in shambles.
“Ah.”
In my precious territory, there were my precious neighbors. My people, who had stayed here because they trusted only me, and who still had not abandoned that faith. I saw several familiar faces among the residents. I could clearly sense the fishy smell of blood, the musty stench of filth, the scent of death, and the weight of sorrow. I felt the rising anger along with it.
Lifting my head while harboring that rage, I locked eyes with the mages floating in the air. They all bore the emblem of the Machine Empire and wore robes decorated with gaudy brilliance. Looking at the mages who were gazing down loftily, I spoke.
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes.”
“Bring them down.”
The moment my words fell, the bodies of the mages floating in the air faltered. The staggering mages soon lost their strength and plummeted helplessly. Terrible screams erupted. With a series of thuds, some mages died instantly with broken necks, while others struggled and groaned with shattered limbs.
The perspective was reversed. I stood still, looking down at them. Now, they had to look up at me.
And.
“...Whew.”
Inside, I saw an old man biting down on a long cigar. A man with a grey beard. The old man, who had a prosthetic leg and arm made of iron, glared at me while exhaling red smoke.
“Who are you?”
It was a simple and clear question. So, I gave a simple and clear answer.
“The owner of this land.”