Chapter 212
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 212
Chapter Title: The Second Knight -1-
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'Order matters in everything.'
Most adventurers were thick-headed with little education to speak of, but even they knew that simple subjugation requests followed a proper sequence.
The first point emphasized in the request from the Imperial Palace:
If any signs of trouble appeared, use the enclosed artifact to send a signal without hesitation.
Crack!
He shattered the fingernail-sized bead in his pocket with mana and discarded the fragments.
Rubbing the remnants into the ground with his boot until they were fine powder, a hazy cloud scattered in the wind.
The Imperial request had been absurdly messy and verbose, leaving him dumbfounded.
But now he understood.
'...I get why they wrote so much.'
It was as if they'd foreseen a situation exactly like this—the content matched, and the examples weren't far off.
It was enough to make him rationally suspect the Palace had a future-seer on staff.
Or else that foul-tempered old man's movements had been so repetitive and predictable up to now.
'No need to overthink it—the latter.'
The Empire had to coddle and embrace a guy like that as one of their asymmetric forces. What a sorry state.
Maybe it wasn't outstanding humanity they valued most, but skill with a blade.
And it wasn't just the Empire—the Federation was a mess too, overrun by beastkin up top.
"Let's call it quits. I wanna clock out."
Was there anything more important to a working man than going home?
That was why they were going to all this trouble to nab this old coot's carcass.
Cedric Floyd, his wrist seized, tore his gaze from Mazella to glare at Roman.
"You've been getting on my nerves. From the look of you, you're an adventurer, huh?"
Not a knight, not from the Church, yet tagging along with that attitude.
They'd heard the title the bystanders used—no need to spell out his affiliation.
"And if I am?"
The Fourth Knight's eyes flashed with outrage turning to sheer bewilderment at the bratty tone from this blue-blooded kid.
The Saintess and Mazella, listening right beside them, widened their eyes in shock at the response, plunging the surroundings into chilly silence.
This wasn't some private chat—it was a public affair, with representatives from various Empire factions watching.
Roman was one of the Adventurer's Guild's faces too. No reason to show manners if the other guy didn't.
"...Let go while I'm being nice. You'll die."
"Promise you'll head straight to the Palace nice and easy, and I'll let go."
The death notice for his son.
The Church's interrogation.
Cedric Floyd's piss-poor stress tolerance.
His mind had hit its limit before even setting foot in the capital.
His rage was so boiling it seemed like flames might erupt from his body any second.
A sweltering haze rippled around the Fourth Knight like heat mirage.
'The Palace's second emphasis.'
If signs of conflict with the Church arose, do everything possible to stop it.
The Saintess was especially crucial.
And if high-ranking Church figures were involved, ensure no harm came to them—that was the second clause.
Even if Mazella hadn't come pleading for that favor, Roman's actions would have been the same.
The situation made it the obvious call from the start.
The Palace had judged the Saintess wouldn't provoke or offend first, so they'd prioritized Church relations while simultaneously.
Arming themselves with grounds to punish the Fourth Knight if things blew up anyway.
Rumble—
Their auras clashed, shaking the air with tremors.
The knights mobilized for today couldn't advance; stepping back was the best they could manage in this tense standoff.
The atmosphere was primed—one wrong twitch, and fists would fly.
Atara sprang into motion.
"Wait! Both of you, stop!"
"Saintess...! Stay back!"
Mazella scooped up the Saintess as she tried to intervene.
As they retreated from the scene, Atara struggled in Mazella's arms to break free, but.
She'd never use holy magic on her own guard—escape was impossible.
"Mazella! Let me go!"
"...Absolutely not."
Seeing the two glaring with genuine killing intent, Atara—voice unusually firm—raised her tone.
"I'm really gonna get mad!"
"Saintess, even if you throw me in the penance cell back at the Church... I'll accept it gladly. But not now!"
"..."
How could Atara not know why Mazella was acting this way?
With her sincere vow to face punishment, Atara couldn't press further.
Straight-laced words, and not a hint of yielding in Mazella's voice.
Atara gave up protesting.
Mazella turned to the surroundings, raising her voice.
"Just in case, please keep any Imperial citizens away from the area!"
She assigned the accompanying knights a legitimate excuse to clear out.
With even the Church personnel withdrawn, Mazella kept a safely distant watch on the standoff between the Platinum adventurer and the Empire's Fourth Knight.
The digging fingers evoked a raptor's talons, the grip on his wrist beastly in its ferocity.
"Right... There's one adventurer with this kind of power whose face I don't know."
Had to be that guy rumored to have ties to the Palace through back channels.
Platinum at that young age—could he rival Eclair Dreitna?
Even so.
His body might look peak condition, but experience-wise, he was a sprout to the Fourth Knight.
"Last chance. Let go."
"Promise to quit harassing the Saintess and head straight to the Palace, and I will."
The impudent reply grated on the Fourth Knight just as his massive frame lurched into motion.
A fist like a blunt club whipped out.
Splat!
Blood sprayed from his face as his head snapped back.
No mana infused, but enough raw power to pulverize a normal man's skull.
Blood Ghost
Bleeding triggers automatic activation.
The bleeding auto-activated his skill, tightening his grip on the Fourth Knight.
"Ad-adventurer!!"
The usually gentle Saintess clamped both hands over her mouth, her voice a near-scream.
The Palace's third emphasis: Never throw the first punch.
This clause assumed things went south afterward.
Tedious addendums aside, they'd promised ample compensation for any injuries.
'You tanuki bastard... Prepare to cough it all up...'
Pain throbbed at the thought of gouging the Emperor, nearly drawing a grin.
"Look at this lunatic?"
Despite the head-snapping force that should've launched him flying, he wouldn't release the wrist.
Cedric Floyd saw it plain as day with both eyes.
'Saw the fist coming and just... took it?'
Not some feint, dodging at the perfect moment.
The solid impact lingered vividly in his hand.
This punk knew who he was facing, yet took the punch without flinching, no fear whatsoever?
Unprecedented humiliation.
Unparalleled disgrace.
A situation he'd never endured in all his years twisted the Fourth Knight's face demonic.
The grip strengthening post-punch only deepened the foulness.
Petty emotions he'd suppressed with rage now scratched at him.
Roman's head, lolled back, slowly righted as he tilted forward—blood dripping steadily to the ground.
"Betting on talent, pulling childish stunts—you'll lose your—"
Crack!
"Shut your trap."
A hard boot slammed into the Fourth Knight's face mid-sentence.
His nose throbbed; droplets splattered the floor.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
For one of the Empire's Five Knights, it was downright pathetic.
Yet somehow... refreshing.
How long since he'd seen his own blood?
"Ha... haha!!"
The adventurer's split lip bled rivers; the old knight's wrinkles channeled nosebleed.
In that state, they locked eyes and threw punches in unison.
Thud!
Splat!
Dull thwacks hard to believe came from human fists.
Each exchange flashed stars before their eyes.
The impact's irresistible force showed them sky or ground, vision whipping.
The Fourth Knight's brutality fueled endless rage.
Punches simplistic from that foundation—pure muscle, no tricks, each blow heavy.
Taking them head-on was madness, plain and simple.
Yet this guy.
Eye socket torn, lips burst, blood streaming—still no dodging.
The adventurer didn't even consider evasion, so the Fourth Knight matched him.
Now it was pride on the line.
Dodging first meant defeat.
His strongest suit—no mana, just raw physique maxed, full-power haymakers repeating.
…
…
"Gah!"
The adventurer's tiptoed thrust stabbed his solar plexus like a blade.
Unable to withstand the knife-edge sharpness, the Fourth Knight exhaled sharply.
Turning waist-bending agony into an uppercut, the Platinum's body lifted then dropped.
"Gotta say... not even empty compliments about it being a powder-puff punch."
Chortling that a geezer like him packed real power, he sprang up and charged beast-like again.
Leaping mid-stride, he drove a boulder-hard knee into the Fourth Knight's face.
Crunch!
"Guh...!"
This time, Floyd's bulk tumbled across the blood-sprinkled ground.
In the brawl, this punk was steadily advancing while he retreated step by step.
As time passed.
As blows mounted.
He was being pushed back.
Inferiority crept over his body.
The guy was ramping up power and speed now, like warmup over.
'...Pushed back?'
Cedric Floyd couldn't accept losing a pure fistfight.
This kid was no ordinary punk.
Not some prodigy overflowing with talent.
The pinnacle of experience, instead.
How the hell did a wrinkle-free face rack up that?
Even in this mana-less barbaric dogfight.
It burned hotter than any battlefield.
"I'll kill you—!!!"
Pent-up emotions shattered; condensed fury erupted at once.
Mind whitening—why even come to the capital anymore?
Screw the games—crush this maniac with raw force.
Whoosh!
Flame-like red aura pulsed, coiling around the Fourth Knight's fist.
Crackle—!
Seeing it, black-red lightning arced from the adventurer's punch.
As the Saintess hastily prepped holy magic.
A voice boomed from the sky.
"Enough."
Boom!
A man cratered between them like a meteor.
The falling newcomer battered the Fourth Knight's gut with a rippling golden spear, forcing him to his knees.
"Urk!"
"Got the signal and rushed over... Close call. Cedric—you haven't grown a day past your age."
Golden spear slung over shoulder, sighing as he stroked his mustache—the man was unmistakable, even unmet.
Duke Velk Amaranth.
The Empire's Second Knight.