I Am a Bad Person -7-
All of Hans's attacks came to naught. The black magic assaults vanished soundlessly the moment they touched my body, and even regular spells were blocked by my resistance, rendering them powerless.
Hans, flustered, unleashed a barrage of magic with an incredulous look on his face.
"What the hell is this? Your body...!"
"Must be 'cause I've been eating well and sleeping soundly. Got all healthy. Jealous? Try going to bed early and waking up late."
"Don't fuck with me...!"
Hans's brow twitched as he poured out spells. Cold sweat dripped from his hands, and his accuracy plummeted. He was desperate. What if the imperial troops heard the noise and came rushing? Or worse, what if the Tower Lord searching for him showed up? But above all, the terror gnawing at him was how long this monster in front of him would tolerate his presence.
His once-confident, leisurely gestures, brimming with dark mana, had lost their pull and repulsion forces—the staples of his arsenal in the novel—fading into oblivion. Switching tracks, Hans began hurling surrounding structures at me.
Crunch.
The walls enveloped in dark mana were uprooted, blocking my view. With a bored swing, I slashed Tyrbing through the air, and the hurtling wall lost its mana flow, crashing limply to the ground.
Undeterred, Hans manipulated the shattered wall fragments for another assault, but nothing changed. Tyrbing was the sword that slayed mages, after all. The broken stone chunks, controlled by his mana, lost power once more to my swung blade and scattered across the floor.
As the wall debris kicked up dust clouds, the remnants of the heretics lurking beside Hans began to stir. So this was his plan.
I addressed the heretics radiating killing intent.
"Decided to move now, have you?"
A heretic knight crept toward me stealthily. Outnumbered, but I felt no fear.
"Hans is probably your vice-captain or something. Guess heretics really do judge by ability—ideal group, huh."
I tossed out the quip laced with jest, then issued a warning laced with finality.
"Move, and you die."
Red aura began to bloom from my fingertips. As it spread along the pitch-black blade, Tyrbing's edge took on a blood-red hue. Imbued with ominous energy along its fuller, the blade hummed 'whrrrr' and trembled, as if trying to corrupt its owner's mind with that grating noise—like a cheeky dog biting its master.
"Shut the fuck up before I smash you."
At my vicious curse, Tyrbing let out a subdued 'whine' and quieted. No matter how top-tier the sword, one that bit its owner was worthless.
"Bark once more, and I'll melt you down."
The threat laced with sincerity silenced Tyrbing's rebellion. And then, everyone gaped in horror at the mana surging from the blade—vile, utterly wicked mana. The heretic remnants gripped their weapons tighter, eyeing me warily. Even...
"Fucking psycho."
...Hans, who couldn't close his gaping mouth.
I flashed a light smile and said,
"You coming or what?"
Provoked by my taunt, the heretics charged. Perhaps awed by my overwhelming might, their strikes—calm and precise—targeted vitals with individual flair. Savage attacks. A coordinated strike from elite swordsmen, each a powerhouse. Even sensing the vast gap in strength, their unyielding resolve felt plenty threatening.
If my opponent had been Mikhail or Ruin, they'd be hedgehogs by now. Tragically, I was neither.
Messing with a selfish swordsman who cared not for means if victory was assured—that might be their death knell.
I extended my senses to pinpoint the charging heretics. One overhead. One at my back. Three head-on. And Hans's full-powered spell incoming.
I didn't know the name of the spell he was prepping, but it was surely a massive one meant to sweep me away with his allies. Ruthless bastard. Willing to kill his own—no camaraderie there.
The moment pitch-black dark mana flickered from Hans's hand, I swung my aura-infused sword wide. The blood-red sword beam arced horizontally in a massive sweep. Flesh tore with a sickening rip, and thud, thud—the heretic remnants collapsed, turning to cold corpses like dust of the earth.
Five thuds hit the ground. Then came Hans's voice, steeped in despair.
"You crazy monster fuck!"
The spell he'd been charging vanished into Tyrbing's sword beam. Staring blankly at his hands, shadows crept over Hans's face.
"Calling a perfectly sane guy crazy? That's a bit harsh."
"This can't be right. The cult's knights..."
Hans looked at me with trembling eyes. Despair at the overwhelming power gap, head bowed in failure to achieve his goal.
Wishing to offer him some comfort, I tossed out a kind word.
"How about dropping out of the heretics and transferring to prison? They graduate you just for showing up."
Graduation for mere attendance—what a dream school. No worries about flunking credits.
"I'll pull some strings to get you in."
"...Shut up."
Hans let out a long sigh and pushed up his black horn-rimmed glasses with his middle finger.
"Even when I'm offering consideration, you act like this. Kinda hurts."
"..."
"You don't wanna die, right?"
My savage joke made Hans's shoulders quake. I approached him, intent on clocking out. I'd thought about killing him, but for the novel's future, I'd decided to spare him. Maybe lop off an arm. Or wreck his mana circuits so he could never touch magic again. In the novel's latter half, Hans realizes his mistakes and sacrifices himself to protect the protagonists' group—a redemption arc villain. So, I'd let him live. Barely breathing, that is.
Step. Step.
As death's shadow loomed over his head, Hans thrashed in his final struggle, squeezing out depleted mana. Pity stirred at his desperate bid to escape peril, but alas, decisions once made were hard to reverse.
With minimal courtesy, I asked,
"Which hand do you use most?"
"..."
"Guess both, then."
"If there's time, better burst your mana circuits too."
To my deadpan threat, Hans replied in a quavering voice.
"Shut... up...!"
"Hmm. Legs it is, then."
To uproot future threats, as the pitch-black sword gleamed under moonlight and fell, Hans drew a dagger from his bosom. With a sinister grin, he stabbed his own finger.
"Next time, I kill you."
Offering his finger as sacrifice, Hans summoned dark mana. A black gate yawned behind him, swallowing his body and vanishing.
I swung to block his escape.
"Gotta settle accounts first."
The sword rose high once more, this time with iron resolve to sever his wrist. But...
"That's enough."
The old man's voice from behind halted me. A familiar elderly face stood at the alley's entrance. Hans, seeing it, paled in terror.
The Tower Lord, master of the Mage Tower, stared at me.
"I'll take him."
I told the Tower Lord,
"Doesn't look like it. Still got bills to settle."
Murderous mana poured from the Tower Lord's hand.
"I'll take him. I'll handle the accounting later."
I let out a deep sigh.
"You'd better keep your word."
*
After the fierce battle, bidding farewell to the vanished Hans and his kidnapper—the Tower Lord—I gazed at the massively breached wall and sighed deeply.
"Who do I bill for repairs?"
"Can't bill the heretics, and the Tower's out too..."
No imperial law covered property damage by rogue rioters, so I scanned around and muttered,
"Just bounce."
Best for mental health to wash hands of an unseen incident. Having trashed property with the young miss before, I knew no witnesses meant wallet salvation. We'd never paid damages—she blasting fireballs at walls upon learning new spells, me chopping street trees after getting my sword. So, glancing around once more, I slowly approached Yuria, slumped against the building.
Drunk Yuria had succumbed to sleep, overcome by the booze.
"Snoooore..."
Sleep tight. I'd worried she'd wake mid-fight, but her booze-induced deep slumber drew a sigh of relief.
"Time to go."
As I hoisted her onto my back,
A familiar pain shot through my right hand.
"Ah..."
Something I'd momentarily forgotten. Black magic resistance had spiked, shoving the old wound from mind. Should've anticipated backlash from Limit Break, but having ignored it for so long, I hadn't grasped its severity. I stepped away from Yuria.
I glanced at my stinging right hand. It was turning pitch black. The old scars were reviving.
Scars that'd fade post-penalty. But if Yuria saw... I couldn't predict her reaction.
Just sit till the pain eased. Swallowing the ache, I leaned against the wall.
And then.
A voice shattered the silence, startling me.
"Uh...?"
Yuria was looking at me. With trembling eyes.