Showing Off My Might
Whoosh!
In that instant, light seeped into my body. The heavens parted, and a beam of light shot down, striking me. I felt something akin to divine power accumulating within me.
What the hell is this?
If it's karma, is that the divine currency the gods use? So how do you even spend it? Don't tell me I can buy stuff with it or something. Or maybe it lets me use divine power.
No detailed explanation, so I had no clue. But I did know the gods had marked my life as a favorite and were watching, sponsoring karma if they liked what they saw.
I had no idea if there were other ways to gather karma, but it seemed like this let me buy "something" the gods created or use divine power itself.
They sponsored karma, but couldn't even hit recommend for a perk? Stingy bastards.
A delayed cheer erupted a bit late.
"The lord has received the gods' blessing!"
"Woooaaah!"
"Huh?"
The guys who'd been scowling the whole march here were suddenly pumping themselves up. Fine by me. The soldiers were just support anyway, but high morale was a good sign. Better than slumping over and dying.
Tents began rising between the two camps. When armies showed up without warning or declaration of war like this, a negotiation spot before battle made sense. This era still had some romance to it—no straight-up fighting on sight.
"Kainus! Get ready. Just the knight order with me to meet them."
"Heh heh heh, as you wish."
When I wrote this story, I was obsessed with Romance of the Three Kingdoms, so I designed Kainus like Zhuge Liang. That carried over perfectly—his look didn't fit this world at all. Pheasant-feather hat, wide-sleeved robes, fan in hand. Anyone would laugh, but he stuck to his style stubbornly.
As we arrived with the knight order, the lords' eyes locked on my advisor.
"Blaine's got no proper retainers, huh."
"Heh heh heh, itching to die before the fight even starts by pissing me off?"
"......"
My infamous reputation in the empire worked wonders. The protagonist had stormed the palace alone, slaughtering the knight order, guards, central nobles, and royals. The rumors spread, and though nobles downplayed my brute strength out of envy, they knew I could kill them and escape unscathed. That's why they shut up.
Count Asics showed a flicker of anger.
"Hmph. You wouldn't assassinate everyone at a noble council, would you?"
"Why not? Any law against it?"
"You mock noble honor?!"
"Honor? We feed that shit to the dogs in my territory."
Clang!
Their knights drew swords in unison. Our knight order was always drunk, but not so mad they'd booze through a campaign—and with me here, their guts weren't spilling out. They had skills, so our knights drew too, glaring fiercely.
After building the tension, we sat across from them.
"Count Asics, long time no see—you look like shit. How'd your head go bald?"
"Cut the crap and explain. Why these absurd demands?"
"Just asking for a loan to share peace maintenance costs. That piss you off so much?"
"A loan? Money you won't repay?!"
I saluted westward, toward the emperor.
"His Imperial Majesty ordered me to crush the northern titans. But I'm broke for the campaign—what to do? So I'm asking my dear eastern houses for a loan. I'm not skipping interest, promising to repay—why refuse war funds? You hoping for rebellion and empire's fall?"
"What nonsense!"
Bam!
Asics slammed the table.
"Hmm, kill 'em now or later?"
"Eek!"
"This madman!"
Baron Hamon freaked first; Asics and Viscount Leon were stunned by my wild talk. Reputation paid off nicely.
No matter how thuggish I played, I needed justification. Otherwise, the court wouldn't approve seizing their lands later. Never planned to kill them here anyway.
I coveted the Erdene Plains bad. If I took it, with the gods' perk, it'd yield massive grain. No more food worries. Next year was famine anyway—post-war prices would skyrocket. Grain from here meant big profits. Time to plug the population gap too.
Ting! Spin!
I pulled a gold coin from my pocket and tossed it on the table.
"Prepaid interest for 100 years. I'll repay! Yeah? If not in 100, my son or grandson will. Uh... what then? Extend another 100! Dig it up—gold's inside."
Bam!
The lords exploded. Gods' voices roared too.
Mahadev has sponsored you 1,000 karma.
Jupiter has sponsored you 1,000 karma.
Heh heh, the gods' twisted tastes are a blessing in disguise.
I'd hoped for Jupiter's favor, but no bite yet. The goddesses lurked quietly, but I felt their gaze. For bored gods, this was nectar. Once I massacred with 3,000 troops, they'd recommend without fail.
And battle began.
War merchant Amon—empire's top-three guild master—settled on a hill overlooking Erdene Plains with a few merchants. Sharel handled supplies, but the rushed campaign forced war merchants in. Amon roped in his contacts. As a caravan vet from Espado conquest, he knew money flowed on Aron's path.
For safety, they climbed a nearby hill with escorts. Still, unease lingered.
"Did we back the wrong horse? Came for war spoils, but what if Aron loses and it bites us?"
"Think the hero who trashed Espado palace alone crumbles easy? What say you, Guild Master Amon?"
Eyes turned to Amon. He shuddered. Anyone who'd seen the palace rampage knew worries were baseless.
"The lord wins."
"You saw him smash the kingdom?"
"Yep."
"How was it?"
"Ugh, worst horror of my life. Mountains of corpses, rivers of blood—hell on earth."
"Still, 3,000 vs. 12,000 on open plains? And 2,000 greenhorns?!"
Murmurs rose. Amon shook his head. Four-to-one? In Espado, Aron overcame worse odds with miracles. A mere (?) 9,000 gap? Easy. Armies shatter on morale alone—war noobs obsessed numbers, but vets knew momentum's power. Aron built legend on raw strength.
Battle joined. Oddly, Aron bypassed encirclement, charging enemy center with knights. Then—he leaped solo into their heart!
"Ah! Lord's diving in alone!"
"Huh? Insane! Doesn't value his life?!"
Sighs everywhere. Merchants lamented bad bets, some eyeing escape.
But it was baseless.
Boom!
Kaboom!
"Gaaah!"
"Aaaagh!"
"......!"
Aron tore into their knights first. One punch swept dozens; he weaponized anything. Slashed swords, skewered multiples on spears, hurled arrows like daggers through throats—mad feats. Ripping armored knights horrified newbie merchants.
Not done. Out of weapons, he hurled warhorses—bowling pins toppling hundreds, lines collapsing.
Kaboom!
Finisher: one swing pulped hundreds into bloody mist.
"......"
Merchants gaped; only Amon watched coldly.
Recalibrate lord's strength? Stronger than conquest days.
Hero of Herculean Strength intel was top-secret. Buyers aplenty. Merchant, assassin master, info guild head—prime chance for premium data.
"Huh?"
Whoosh!
Sudden faint glow from Aron. Problem: unidentifiable light.
"N-No way... divine blessing too?"
Amon's merchant mask twitched.
Boom! Rumble!
Screams and blasts rocked the field. Once battle hit, my body moved on instinct. Frenzied thrill addicted to the bone. Euphoric high surged. Couldn't grasp if this was me. Slaughtering dozens, hundreds—no time to question feasibility. My path: blood fountains, plain's furrows ran red.
"Uahaha!"
Dominating the field! Foes retreated. Butchering elites terrified rears—even suicide arrows from officers hesitated.
After ~2,000 by my hand:
"Huh?"
What bullshit is this?