Chapter 77
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: The Madman Who Burst Into the Mansion
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Thud thud thud—
The chunks of meat that had been human just moments ago spilled across the tavern floor.
Wheek~♪
A whistle of admiration escaped my lips as I watched Eclair's single stroke.
If it came down to pure swordsmanship with nothing else, could anyone beat Eclair?
Eclair had hurled the butter knife she'd been about to use right through the bartender's skull.
Squelch—!
"Gurk..."
Every human left in this place was a Cutler under the traitor's command—one and the same.
I leaped from the second floor of the tavern down to the first and headed for the door.
"As planned. I'll handle two on the way, so take care of the rest."
"Mm. I'll join you soon."
Eclair, having cleanly carved through even the stragglers in the corner, held a blade spotless of blood.
"Kitty."
"...Why call me that."
Even in a situation where I could call her Eclair, she seemed fully accustomed to the name Kitty.
She's the one who should go.
Catching an old hunting dog didn't suit someone with Eclair's upright, rigid personality.
What kind of sisterly bond had we built so far? No need for her to get hurt over some grim affair.
In my book, the Dreitna sisters deserved a definitive happy ending.
"Don't get hurt."
Eclair's eyes, unmoving even as she swung her sword, widened.
She let out a short huff of breath and tapped my chest with the back of her hand.
"No need to worry... That's my line. What if Roman gets injured and incurs the young lady's wrath? Honestly, a bit scary."
Now she was even mixing in occasional jokes mid-conversation—a real milestone.
In just a few short days of sleepless hardship together, I could feel us growing closer.
Is this the camaraderie I never knew even in my mercenary days?
There was a faint glow to the silver potato's growth, a heart-tugging.
Clunk—
As I opened the door to leave the blood-soaked tavern, a man sat dozing with a blank expression.
He was so deep in sleep he hadn't even lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth—an impressive display of duty.
A Cutler stationed at the entrance to check for weapons.
"..."
Crack!
I grabbed the back of his sleeping neck and snapped his spine clean through.
I tossed the freshly made corpse back inside the tavern.
Clink.
[Closed for Business]
"Nice and tidy."
I flipped the tavern sign to show nothing but corpses left behind and set off down the road.
Today, we wipe out Cutler Duerr and his Cutlers in Limno.
No grand, noble rationale for this act that will claim so many lives.
Just the fury of someone with immense power.
And those who want something from it rush in for the gain—a simple matter of self-interest.
On the way to Cutler Duerr's mansion, two spots.
One was a building without even a sign—Cutler storage.
The other, an information broker fitting Limno's vibe.
While Eclair clears the five scattered points across Limno, I head straight for Cutler Duerr, handling just these two.
Not Cutler Duerr, just Cutler.
In a few more years, he might even forget the "Duerr" part.
Even as a fugitive failure's excuse, no one could argue the reasons he'd lived quietly for over a decade.
His name hadn't changed.
No need to go around announcing it, and his underlings called him boss or chief.
Even now in Limno, he stubbornly clung to just "Cutler," dropping the family name.
He knew this folly could strangle him or sever his neck, but it was an obsession he couldn't abandon, even in death.
He'd failed to etch a mark in imperial history, fallen into obscurity.
Unlike him, that fool still boasting as the Empire's Fourth Knight—Cutler even fantasized him hearing the name and coming to Limno.
He was waiting, hoping.
Shall I hold Marian and Perry tonight...?
Lost in thought, he pondered visiting the mansion where he'd gathered his bought women. But no firm "Let's go like old times!" resolve came.
Limno had been endlessly fun in his youth, but with age, he preferred quiet solitude.
Evenings, he'd send all servants from the mansion and spend until morning alone, reminiscing more on the past than fretting the future.
Reviewing a life dotted with failures wasn't sad—it was surprisingly intriguing, enjoyable.
All fruits of challenges poured with blood and sweat for the revolution.
Solitude had other perks.
Abandoning a noble's attended life, trying things alone taught real lessons.
Slurp—
Should've added more milk. Water temperature's off too.
After dinner, a cup of milky coffee. Then repetitive training, polishing his two cherished swords to end the day.
Once, he'd tumble with liquor and women after, but no more.
Lately, embracing a woman was maybe once a week, if that.
Have to admit it today. I'm getting old...
He'd collected more women than imaginable back in the Empire, but desire itself withered.
Still gathered the young and pretty, but now like ornamental collection.
"..."
More disappointment than.
The wave of killing intent swelling to devour his cozy mansion whole wasn't from that fool Floyd.
Boom!!
The study wall and door shattered simultaneously, dust billowing up.
A flash crossed through; he gripped the sword he'd been polishing.
Clang—!
He deflected the flying blade, but his wrist jolted.
A straight throw without fancy technique—heavy as a horse-drawn cart in the clash.
A voice rang from the rising dust.
"A snake dreaming to become a dragon gazing at the heavens, caught and slain by a mere earthworm."
"..."
"My epitaph idea. Like it? Sell it for one gold."
The speaker chuckled at words no listener could laugh at. A light, flippant laugh as a man crushed debris stepping in.
Black hair, black eyes.
Red glint at his eye corners—murderous intent or madness? A human man, unknowable.
Not just some lunatic...
Staying calm without rage in such a moment—perk of age, perhaps.
"Rare young man with flair. I like it—I'll buy. But give time for one last smoke? My final one."
"Tch... Can't help the formalities."
Flick—
"Sip— Got fire. You? Prefer magic tool or matches? Got matches."
"Nah. Tasteless... Quit when reborn."
A wrinkle-free, taut face enjoying cryptic jokes.
Any talents in the Empire's youth besides Dreitna? No ordinary guy...
Smoke from mouth and nose, eyes rolling.
Youth in prime peak, body a tempered masterpiece.
Hard to pinpoint exact overlap—he knew.
Talent or effort, envy stirred regardless.
"Looks Empire-sent for sure... But not a knight? Or did knights meet some revolution ditching pomp?"
The young man, picking ear with pinky, rolled his right shoulder with a smirk.
"Old timer. No need wasting breath on info useless post-death. What we do now? Common Limno pastime."
Flick.
Ashed the cigarette, gripped the two maintained swords, stood.
"Fine... Let's hear this pastime from the young one. Old folks pretend otherwise, but chatting's our greatest joy."
Shing—!!
Two swords bared to the world with a crisp ring.
Weight in both hands calmed his mind, flawless grip.
How long since drawing both at combat's start? Sentimental thrill made his weary heart pound.
"Rules simple like street gambling. Smash opponent's head to win. Pierce throat, shred lungs like paper—win. No forfeit or fouls."
Gleaming eyes tensed on sword-gripped hands.
Not mimicry—that's dead serious... Madmen always a pain.
With Eclair Dreitna, what bounty of talent hit the Empire?
Secret imperial hound? Identity unclear still.
"Tsk tsk... Rare intriguing game. What do I get if this old bag wins?"
Scratching scarred jaw, he answered without hesitation.
"Chance to see tomorrow's sun."
Victory's reward plenty enticing.
Cutler observed ceaselessly from experience amid talk.
...Sword not main weapon? Assume bare hands or throws too.
The earlier hurled knife lay discarded in corner.
Those swords no mansion or underling loot.
"Young friend. Don't say fetch weapon—ruins mood. Failed ambush needs price."
At his preemptive jab, eyes widened, one corner curled in disbelief.
"Who."
"Hm...?"
Rattle—
By the goddess, empty hands swore.
From grasp impossible to hide, iron chains and blades slithered like snakes.
"Who said no weapon?"