Revenge (1)
A phrase he'd heard in his previous life.
"If you kill so many people, your soul will become tainted. A day will surely come when guilt torments you. Wouldn't it be better to show some mercy?"
It had probably been when he was smashing the drug cartel in the commercial city of Taran on a commission. Back in the days when he was called more often by grim nicknames like Beast Butcher or Villain Pulverizer than the noble title of Mighty Knight.
To the high priest who had spoken those words while on the mission with him, he'd replied:
"Then I'll be fine."
"...Pardon?"
He remembered smiling at the priest's flustered face—even after quite a few kills just moments before.
"I've never killed a person. I've just dealt with a lot of human trash."
The priest had looked like he'd heard a horrific joke, but Tiny had been dead serious. And that conviction hadn't changed even now.
The Wolf gang had become a solid benchmark for him in classifying human trash throughout his life. That flabby flesh and muscle? All the result of selling refugees into slavery and turning slum kids into beggars or whores, squeezing them dry.
'Beasts that deserve to die—no, things not even worth calling bugs.'
Setting aside personal grudges, that's how he saw it.
As Tiny eyed the remaining trash with such murderous thoughts, they all dropped to their knees at once.
The psychological impact of that insane performance—swinging a man to smash another man—was always reliable. Especially on his own men.
"Th-the boss is, uh, inside."
"He is?"
"Y-yes, he is!"
"Pl-please spare us!"
"Yeah... I'll let you live."
He utterly pulverized one limb on each of the three who'd given up resistance. Beyond any hope of recovery.
"Gaaah! Why, why! We didn't even fight back...!"
They seemed indignant for a moment, but then...
"Oh? Want me to twist your necks too?"
"......"
They shut their mouths quick.
'Trash.'
He'd spared them only because they didn't resist. And that same criterion for life and death would apply fairly to the ones inside the mansion too.
'Everyone except Wolf.'
Flames reignited in his black eyes as he stared at the mansion.
"What's all the commotion at the front gate? Go check it out!"
"Yes, sir."
The redhead barking orders and the two thugs bowing their heads. That redhead's face was familiar too—the one who'd been with the bald guy when his sister died.
"Hey, kid, who the hell are you!"
"Outta my way!"
"Wolf's on the second floor?"
"Wha...?"
The thugs froze for a split second at Tiny's bizarre confidence, then sneered at his ragged clothes.
"This filthy little beggar...!"
Times like this, his small size was a bit of a boon. Whenever these scum beat him, they'd always kick first, like punting a ball.
His hands were still too small to fully grip an adult ankle, but it didn't matter.
'If it's too big to fit in my hand...'
Crunch.
"Gaaah!!!"
...just crush it and compress it.'
Tiny mocked the scream bursting from the 'handle' he'd just grabbed, then swung his new 'weapon' with all his might.
Bam!
Another proof that human bodies colliding could produce explosive sounds. Of course, the hammer and nail that had assisted so splendidly were now ruined beyond use...
Whatever. Not his problem.
"Y-you, you... Wh-what the hell are you!?"
The marvelous harmony of screams and blasts drew a perfect reaction.
'Who said revenge is hollow?'
This was delicious.
Flashing a savage grin, Tiny advanced on the redhead again.
"Why don't you bastards ever answer on the first ask?"
"D-don't come closer, you freak!"
The redhead backpedaled as Tiny approached, only to trip on the stair lip behind him and halt.
Did the sight of his own pathetic flailing sink in? His pale face flushed red, and he bellowed:
"Do you even know where you are, you little shit!"
"Wolf's place, right? That's why I'm asking. Is he on the second floor?"
Having to crane his neck to speak right in the guy's face was annoying. This body was still too damn small.
So.
"Y-you...!"
Crunch.
He kindly lowered the hesitating thug's stance for him.
"Gaaaaah!"
The redhead shrieked as both knees shattered at once. Then, from upstairs came the answer he hadn't given:
"Intruder! Alert the boss!"
"Yes!"
Thud-thud-thud.
"No need for your answer anymore, huh?"
"Ugh, uwaa, uwaaa. Ack!"
"Shut up."
Splat.
This time, he learned that even a child's tiny fist, backed by adult-level weight and mana, could crush a grown man's skull.
At that moment, punks in all sorts of outfits poured out from the stairs above and both sides of the mansion.
"Wh-what the!?"
"Just one kid!?"
"That brat's the enemy!?"
"All that blood... No way it's real!?"
"What the hell is this!?"
The reactions were worlds apart from his previous life at sixteen, when his massive build had intimidated everyone. Not that he planned to go easy.
Thud.
Powering his step, he launched forward like a bullet. His hand snatched the ankle of the thug hesitating at the front in a flash.
Crunch.
"Gaaah!"
Boom!
"Wh-what...!?"
"What the hell!"
Swinging one to smash five more in the front line—and still, the thugs couldn't mount a proper response.
"What...!?"
"What's going...!?"
Something flashed, and their comrades crumpled in ruins. The scene unfolding before them was too surreal.
But the perpetrator forced them to accept it as reality—and that they'd stepped into hell—by repeating the spectacle relentlessly.
Boom!
"M-monster!"
"Uwaaaah!"
One swing scattered four or five punks in a spray of blood.
Boom!
"Hiiik!"
"It's a demon kid!"
A second swing swept away the ones aiming for his back.
In the end...
"Hic, sob!"
"B-back...!"
"R-run!"
"Demon!"
Every curse under the sun flew out as the approaching thugs began collapsing on their own.
After using just five to rack up twenty more casualties, most punks fled faster than they'd charged, scattering everywhere.
Watching them go, Tiny frowned slightly.
"......Overdid it a bit?"
Tsk.
"Can't be helped."
Glancing at the carnage he'd wrought, he clicked his tongue and shook out his hands.
Swinging people repeatedly was still a strain on this undersized body. He'd amped the mana a tad aggressively, it seemed, for such fireworks.
'Cleanup's gonna take time.'
Obvious that clearing Wolf's gang would clean up the slums. Only then could victims like Emma reclaim proper lives.
'Only then could Sis smile from up there.'
Thinking of his sister in heaven, he clenched his fist anew.
It'd take a detour, but not long.
First things first.
'Wolf.'
Steeling himself once more, Tiny ascended the stairs to the second floor—slowly, but without hesitation.
To dismantle the Wolf gang by force meant overcoming three hurdles.
First: the near-hundred underlings, half always swarming him.
But they'd already been shattered.
Second: the twin brothers right in front of him now.
Nearly two meters tall, ugly mugs, bluish skinheads, always baring scarred torsos.
'What were their names again?'
Pathetic types who exposed their upper bodies to look intimidating, but ex-mercs who knew their blades—and crucially, mana users.
Too late bloomers for knight training, but still mana wielders.
Even rank-one mana users were B-rank merc level.
Why they served a slum baron pimp like Wolf was a mystery to everyone who knew them.
"Ah, right. Lander Brothers."
Muttering the name that surfaced late, Tiny strolled up casually.
The giant on the right glared, twitching the cross-scarred cheek.
"......That commotion downstairs really you?"
"Yeah. And this place'll get noisy soon too."
Tiny's eyes gleamed dangerously at the ornate door behind the twins.
"Bro, he's a mana user."
"I know. At that age... Unbelievable."
As Tiny took another step, the Lander Brothers drew blades in sync.
Shing.
Not longswords, but gently curved scimitars. Like katanas from the East...
'Didn't notice before, but they're definitely crude.'
A master Eastern smith's true katana could slice marble with its edge alone—a treasure.
These idiots wouldn't have such gems, but he'd assumed decent craftsmanship.
Just flashy low-grade trash. Pattern said cast-molded, not forged or folded.
'A curved blade stamped from a mold.'
Probably bought as decor somewhere. Sighing at the brittle knockoffs they readied...
Still, a mana user's swing would lop heads easy—no room for slacking.
"Tell your boss inside to join the fun too. Why? He's probably listening."
"......No need for the boss to handle one brat."
"That's not it."
"What?"
He'd learned Wolf's secret in his past life, perfect bait.
"Can't let outsiders see him fight, right?"
"!?"
"You...!?"
The twins' eyes wavered in unison.
Tap.
Tiny dropped low and shot like lightning between their knees.
"You little shit!"
Clang!
Sparks flew from stone as the brother's hasty downward slash missed.
The brother's feint tricked the other into smacking his kin's blade.
Clang!
Through the gap, the boy's short legs hammered the twins' left and right knees simultaneously.
Crack.
"Urk!"
"Agh!"
Legs bent where they shouldn't.
But their merc instincts kicked in amid screams—blades swept in a diagonal cross, blocking front and back despite imbalance.
But then.
Slice.
Between the air-cutting katanas, a tiny shadow leaped skyward a half-beat faster.
And.
Smack!
Their heads whipped side to side from the small feet's strikes.
As skulls snapped back with dazed eyes.
Squish.
Something pulped, and the brother unleashed a chilling scream.
"Gaaaaah!"
Before it faded.
Boom!
The swung body lightning-struck the other, smashing through the ornate door they'd guarded and tumbling inside together.
Crash-crash-crash.
"Grooo... Groan..."
Mana users, so not instant kills—but combat-ineffective at a glance. Doubting they'd ever fight again.
And the culprit.
Tap. Tap.
"Feels good to get a proper taste in ages."
Dusting his palms briskly, he stepped inside.
The gray-haired brute, pale-faced at the crumpled pair, turned to him.
"Kid, how the hell...?"
Groaning out the words, Tiny met Wolf's shock with a cold smile.