Come at Me All at Once
The empty lot outside the tavern.
Raon stood face-to-face with the yellow-eyed swordsman.
It wasn't only the people who'd been inside. Soldiers who'd caught wind of the rumor had crowded in as well, packing the grounds until they formed a human sea. Betting pools had even sprung up along the edges.
"That guy's Turka from the Wolves Mercenary Corps! Once he starts a fight, he bites down like a wolf and never lets go!"
"Yeah. You don't have to take the bait. Just drop it."
His senior scouts tried to talk him out of it, but Raon shook his head. A sacrifice that would raise his mastery of the Mad Fang Sword had come looking for him of its own accord. There was no reason to refuse.
"It's fine. I'm not the type to turn down a fight that comes to me."
Raon smiled with easy confidence and stepped forward.
Damn it all! They say even a demon who ate himself to death has a fine complexion. The food is going cold!
I'll order it again.
Hmph. Well, if that's the case…
Wrath told him to order the exact same things—and the pizza was non-negotiable—then withdrew. For a Demon King, his sense of gravity was as light as a feather.
"Turka, fourth squad leader of the Wolves Mercenary Corps."
"Raon."
Turka observed proper courtesy even toward someone so much younger. He couldn't quite hide the faint contempt in his eyes, though. He didn't fully believe the story that this boy had cut down six Sharkmoles on his own.
"I want to feel for myself just how good the swordsmanship is that supposedly cut down Sharkmoles in a single stroke."
With that, Turka stamped the ground and tore his saber free. He brought the blade down from a sky-piercing high guard, an attack that put the thick, heavy saber's advantages to full use.
Power, speed, and trajectory, however, all fell within what Raon had already expected.
Raon raised the Mad Fang Sword to meet the saber crashing down like a thunderbolt.
A thunderous clang erupted as aura-clad sword and saber collided, and hairline cracks spiderwebbed across the frozen ground.
"He blocked it?"
Turka's pupils ballooned as if they might burst. He clearly hadn't imagined Raon would take the blow head-on instead of dodging.
"I told you."
Raon shoved the heavy saber back with his slender sword, a cold smile on his lips.
"My sword would be savage."
"Kh—!"
A vicious slash, like a beast baring its fangs, sent Turka's saber ricocheting to the right. Raon didn't waste the opening. His left fist drove forward.
The punch crushed the air itself and slammed into Turka's right side.
"Guhk!"
Turka folded like a shrimp and crashed into the dirt.
"Wha…"
"T-Turka went down that easily?"
"That guy's supposed to be one of the top ten in the Wolves Mercenary Corps!"
"What kind of punch makes a sound like a boulder splitting?"
"How did he knock a saber aside with that thin little sword? That's the part that doesn't make sense."
Mercenaries and spectators alike stared back and forth between Raon and Turka, faces slack with shock.
"And I was going easy on him."
Raon draped his sword over his shoulder with leisurely ease.
"Nngh…"
Turka drove his saber into the ground and pushed himself up. His yellow eyes wavered like a sailboat struck by a wave.
"You asked to see my sword. I haven't even started yet."
"Aaaargh!"
Raon crooked four fingers in a lazy beckon, and Turka charged with his teeth clenched. For all his shock, he kept a mercenary's cold reason—the product of countless battles.
Raon whipped the Mad Fang Sword across to meet the saber cutting in from the side.
A roar like crushing metal burst between them, and Turka's saber was driven back. It looked like a collapse—but his eyes were still alive. He twisted his waist in midair and brought the saber down in the same motion.
"That's more like it."
Raon bent his knees slightly and drew his sword in a low, swallow-swift arc.
The clash nearly snapped the wrist holding Turka's saber. That was the Mad Fang Sword's true worth—creating openings in the opponent.
"Ghhk!"
The instant Turka scrambled backward, Raon surged in like a gale.
He drove into Turka's space and smashed his left shoulder into the man's chest.
"Ghhhk…"
Turka's eyes rolled back as he toppled. Foam bubbled at his lips.
Raon dusted off his hands and looked behind him.
Among the stunned stares, he pointed at one of the Wolves mercenaries whose mouth had fallen wide open.
"I think you're next."
Raon lifted his sword, a smile rising with his blood now fully up.
"You're not going to end it here, are you?"
Radin dropped his gear at the barracks and went straight to the commander's office.
Milland, the commander, was studying a map with his son and vice-commander, Terian—preparing for a briefing, by the look of it.
"You weren't due back until the day after tomorrow."
Milland planted a small red flag on the map and lifted his head.
"Something came up that forced us to return."
The gravity in Radin's voice made Milland set the flag down. Terian uncrossed his arms.
"Report."
"Sharkmoles came up as far as Tunnel Five."
"Five? Tunnel Five is the outer edge of the forest!"
Terian slammed the desk as if the words themselves were impossible.
"Yes. It's the first time I've ever seen Sharkmoles come up near Sterin Mountain."
"How many?"
"Six of them burst out at once."
Radin set a cloth bundle on the floor. Sharkmole fins were wrapped inside.
"Hah…"
"They strayed that far from their territory…"
Both Milland and Terian were so startled they couldn't take their eyes off the fins.
"Wait. Six Sharkmoles ambushed you—why are you in one piece? Casualties! How many dead?"
"Zero casualties."
"What?"
"What?"
The two of them stared even harder than they had at the news of the Sharkmoles themselves.
"H-how?"
"Your squad alone couldn't have taken Sharkmoles."
"This time I'd like to ask the questions."
Radin swallowed dryly and lifted his head.
"Raon. What the hell is that kid?"
Astonishment still lived in his eyes, as if the dawn raid were happening all over again.
"The reason I'm alive—the reason we're alive—is Raon. He warned us the Sharkmoles were coming before they even showed, then cut down all six by himself. I never even had a chance to step in."
"He faced six Sharkmoles alone?"
Terian's voice trembled.
"Yes. He overwhelmed them. He cut down five in an instant, one stroke apiece, and when the last one tried to flee underground he threw a dagger and smashed the earth open."
Radin's gaze was still shaking.
"I've lived in this hell and seen plenty of warriors and heroes. I've never seen anyone that young with that kind of force. Just what kind of monster did you send us?"
"……"
Milland didn't answer. He only looked down at the map, his expression unreadable.
"How did the reconnaissance go?"
"It pissed me off."
"What?"
Milland narrowed his eyes at an answer that had nothing to do with the question.
"Terrain, monster sign, time and weather, map reading, orientation—he knew it all like a scout who'd lived here for years. He even knew about the hollow ground where the earth was empty underneath."
Radin let out a long breath.
"The kid was so damn good I got a little snippy with him. And in the dangerous moment, he was the one who calmed me down."
"So his character's solid too."
Milland tapped the worn desk with a finger blackened by old burns, as if turning something over in his mind.
"Yes. He didn't boast about what he'd done, and he didn't put on airs about how much he knew. He got along with the scouts just fine, even in only two days. If I hadn't seen his swordsmanship, I'd have taken him for a mercenary or a hunter who'd been scraping by since he was a child."
"And the other one?"
"Dorian? Honestly, that kid's even stranger."
Radin squeezed his eyes shut.
"Stranger?"
"Yes. He carries every kind of thing you can imagine. In all my years I never thought I'd go out on reconnaissance, sleep on a proper mat, and drink hot tea."
"What's his temperament like?"
"He's a good kid. A bit of a coward, but he watches the people around him and takes care of what they need. I haven't known them long enough to swear to it, but they both seem like decent souls."
Radin spoke plainly about everything he'd seen and felt watching Raon and Dorian.
"So just answer me already! Where the hell did those freaks come from? They're from a great house, aren't they? I should've known from the noble air pouring off their faces!"
"Those children…"
Milland was about to answer when a frantic knock sounded from outside.
"Commander!"
Charles, one of the adjutants, shoved the door open, his face flushed red.
"What is it?"
"Th-the thing is…"
"Calm down and speak."
"The new recruits who arrived two days ago, sir."
At the word recruits, all three men in the office sharpened at once.
"One of them picked a fight with Turka of the Wolves Mercenary Corps. They're fighting with live steel in front of the Frost Branch!"
"What? Why?"
"Isn't it obvious? Turka heard the rumor that he took down Sharkmoles alone and picked the fight."
Terian answered as if he'd been watching the scene with his own eyes.
"The Wolves…"
Milland's brow furrowed. The Wolves Mercenary Corps had courage and fighting spirit enough to be a real asset in battle—but they loved a brawl far too much. If there was no fight outside the walls, they manufactured one inside. They were a headache in more ways than one.
"The fight's getting ugly. We should break it up before someone gets badly hurt. Even if Raon is from that house, and even if he's strong enough to face Sharkmoles, he won't beat Turka. That man's been tempered in real combat."
"Hah. What a nuisance."
Milland clicked his tongue and looked at Terian.
"Go stop the fight and bring Raon here."
"Understood."
Terian nodded and left the commander's office. Radin said he'd come along and fell in beside him.
"Hrm…"
Milland looked at the Sharkmole fins on the floor and let out a long, thin breath.
"So a change is coming."
The old soldier who had spent a lifetime holding this place did not welcome change. He breathed a faint sigh, hoping this aging body could still bear whatever was coming.
"Those Wolves bastards do nothing but cause trouble!"
Radin scowled as he ran toward the Frost Branch.
"That's what I told you. Those meatheads have muscle packed all the way into their brains. I said we shouldn't take them!"
"They don't think things through, that's true. It's also true they're a huge help in a fight. There's no one better in a melee."
Terian stated the facts with a calm gaze.
"Tch. Can't argue with that."
Radin smacked his lips and nodded.
"Either way, if those bastards laid a hand on our new blood, I won't let it slide."
"You called him a strange monster."
"Monster or ghost, once he's in the 3rd Scout Squad, he's my subordinate. I protect him until he walks out on his own two feet. And besides—I owe Raon my life."
"Heh."
Terian gave a short laugh. Under the gruff exterior, Radin was a typical northern man—loyalty that ran deep.
That aside…
I just hope he isn't hurt too badly.
Even if Raon was from House Zieghart, even if his talent was extraordinary, he wouldn't be able to beat Turka, a man who'd built his strength in real combat. Fighting monsters and fighting people were entirely different things.
A roar went up ahead. They picked up the pace, and the Frost Branch's signboard came into view, along with the cheering. The area was already so packed there was nowhere to squeeze through.
"Hup!"
Terian stamped the ground and vaulted the wall of spectators.
"What…?"
He landed at the edge of the makeshift ring—and froze like stone at a scene he had never imagined.
Why are they…
Five mercenaries who wouldn't flinch even before a monster were sprawled on their backs, faces bloodless, laid out like stars.
And then—
A sound like a boulder splitting, and another mercenary was driven into the earth like a stake.
"Waaaaaah!"
"He won again!"
"That's six in a row! That kid wrecked six Wolves mercenaries by himself!"
"He's insane! The rumors weren't a lie!"
"A Sword Demon. He's a Sword Demon!"
The crowd roared, praising the boy who had broken six Wolves mercenaries on his own.
"Hah…"
Terian's jaw hung open as he looked to the right.
A golden-haired swordsman, radiating razor-sharp killing intent, had his blade leveled at the Wolves Mercenary Corps.
The pressure pouring from those red eyes made Terian step back before he even realized he'd moved.