Strike Them Down

"Strike!"

At the vice leader's command, the bandits charged in with weapons swinging. Raon tipped his head just enough to slip the first strike, then thrust—the shortest path a blade could take, a line drawn straight through the air.

"Guh!"

The bandit never even thought to dodge. His heart was pierced, and he went down.

A spear punched in from the right, hunting the opening. Raon rolled it off the flat of his sword and sheared through shaft and throat in a single cut. The bandit died with his eyes still open, as if he couldn't believe he was already gone.

"How does a whelp thy age come by such ruthlessness?"

There's no value in letting scum like this live.

Raon swept a cold gaze across the remaining bandits. These were the fiends who had burned a village to the ground and taken children as hostages. Killing them wouldn't cost him a shred of guilt.

"What are you doing?! Rush him all at once! He's just a damn kid!"

"Die!"

"Raaaah!"

Twenty bandits—swords, spears, and sabers among them—charged as one.

The instant Raon raised his blade, silver frost unfurled from the earth and coiled around them. Runaan. She had scattered her cold across the field, dragging their movements to a crawl.

Raon tipped her a small nod of thanks, then stepped to the left of a swordsman.

"Y-you little—!"

The bandits brought their weapons down together. Raon didn't dodge. He drove straight in. Their blades carved empty air, and in that gap he cut upward. A sword already stained red took two of them at once.

"D-die!"

A spearman behind them slammed his weapon down. The blue-steel point shot for Raon's heart. He bent at the waist, and a lock of hair sheared by the spearhead scattered on the wind.

"Haaah!"

A swordsman and an axeman came in right behind it. Raon slid backward as if skating on ice and took the unguarded bandit's head.

"After him!"

"You—you little rat!"

"You don't need to come to me."

Raon turned his ankle through the Garam Footwork. His body tipped forward and launched like a thunderbolt.

"I'll come to you."

He slipped beneath the pursuing bandits and carved the Yeonseong Sword Art through them. Four heads flew on a storm of linked swordplay.

"Hah."

The moment Raon broke off his forms to catch his breath, a fierce killing intent surged from behind.

Him.

The vice leader, who had held back until now, waiting for his opening. Raon didn't turn. He simply arched his spine. The greatsaber split his bangs and passed through, golden hair scattering in the air.

"H-how did you—?!"

"Easily."

He cut upward at the stunned vice leader's throat. The blow hadn't had a proper stance behind it, so the power was incomplete—but the vice leader still couldn't take it. He was hurled backward.

"Hit him! Tear the bastard apart!"

"Raaaaah!"

The vice leader and the remaining bandits rolled in like a wave, every kind of weapon among them. Rusted swords and spears sought his heart. A thick axe came down for his skull.

Raon drew a breath and drove a true step into the earth. He swept his sword from left to right, the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames flooding the blade.

"Ghhhk…"

"Wh-what?"

The bandits toppled in halves, still unable to believe they were dead.

"Aaaagh!"

"A m-monster."

"How is a child like that…"

The few who remained backed away, weapons trembling in their hands.

"Your leader is currently—"

"Hah. You've got to be kidding me."

A man shoved through the brush with his shirt hanging open. Thirty, perhaps. A young face carrying a vicious presence. The sheer malice rolling off him was enough. This was the one behind it all.

"Boss!"

"Stronghold Master!"

Hope flared across the terrified bandits' faces. So this was the Snow Tiger Stronghold Master.

"Getting wiped out by a little brat? If this is how it goes, we'd just embarrass ourselves joining the South-North Alliance."

The man put the liquor bottle dangling from his waist to his mouth and snickered. His men were dying, and he wasn't even angry. He just looked interested.

"Those faces, those clothes—you've got noble written all over you. Came from some fancy house, did you?"

The bandit leader grinned, pointing from Raon to Runaan in turn.

"Even better. I was worried our tribute was running a little light. I'll take you two as hostages. Heaven hasn't abandoned this Bukhan after all."

Having named himself, Bukhan drew the saber slung across his back. A blade thick as a log spun as lightly as a falling leaf.

Bukhan. So he really is the Stronghold Master.

The name matched what Rimer had told them, and the martial strength fit too—upper-middle among Aura Users. The strongest opponent Raon had faced so far. And yet he felt no tension. This was someone he could beat without breaking a sweat.

"Come on, then. Since you're a young master, I'll go easy for a few exchanges."

Bukhan snickered and crooked four fingers in a come-hither.

"Fine."

Raon shot Runaan a look that said stay put, and stepped forward.

"Let's see how strong a little—"

While Bukhan was still talking, still careless, Raon thrust for his throat. A blade packed with the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames surged for Bukhan's neck.

"Hah!"

Bukhan hissed and spun his saber. The weapon whirled like a windmill and knocked the sword off its line. A vicious shock rang out, and both of them were driven back at once.

"Ho. So that's the level you're at?"

Bukhan's eyes gleamed like a starving beast's.

"This is going to be fun!"

He laughed and charged, adding spin to the saber as he brought it down. Raon didn't meet it. He turned his waist and let the blow pass. The saber smashed the ground and split the earth wide open. The force behind it was enormous.

"Kahahaha!"

Bukhan laughed like a madman and hammered the saber down again and again. As the massive blade seized the space around them, the room to move shrank with every strike.

"Keep dodging like that and you're going to catch a blade and die, you know?"

"That's none of your concern."

Raon kept stepping, his gaze calm, cutting off each saber strike as it came.

"Tsk. If that's all you've got, I'm done watching."

Bukhan clicked his tongue and whirled the saber. The great blade flashed blue on the wind and erupted with violent energy.

"Die right there!"

The saber climbed toward the sky, its motion swelling—and in that instant, a red thunderbolt fell through Raon's eyes.

The savage energy cradled in that small flame cut through Bukhan's saber and tore into his waist.

"Gaaaaagh!"

Bukhan screamed, clutching the sword buried in his side.

"Y-you bastard!"

He hadn't become Stronghold Master for nothing. The force with which he seized the blade and tried to shove it out was enormous.

"Die!"

Bukhan gripped the embedded sword with his left hand and swung the saber in his right for Raon's neck.

"Useless."

Raon tipped his head and let the halved saber pass, then used Bukhan's own strength against him, driving the sword farther to the right. A savage volume of blood burst from Bukhan's waist. He let go of the blade and staggered back.

"What the hell are you doing?! Kill him! You want to die here with me?!"

"Urgh!"

"L-let's go!"

"Save the Stronghold Master!"

At his shout, the remaining bandits rushed in a mob.

"Hoo."

Raon steadied his breath and spun his sword. He unfolded the Zieghart Basic Swordsmanship, taking a charging bandit's head and carving through a leg.

"Ghk!"

"Gaaagh!"

"Urgh!"

The wall of bandits collapsed, screaming.

Where is he?

Raon turned his blade, hunting Bukhan's position. The man was gone. Even his senses couldn't find him.

He ran.

A Stronghold Master who used his own men as a shield and fled. If that wasn't a bandit, nothing was.

Raon clenched his teeth and let his presence flare.

No time.

Unlike Raon, Bukhan would know every inch of this terrain. Lose him once, and catching him again would be ugly.

He drew the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames to its peak and brought the sword down. A blade dyed red fell like lightning, and every bandit in front of him lost his head.

"Ghk…"

"Urgh!"

They toppled with vacant eyes, never even realizing they'd been cut.

"Aaaagh!"

"N-no! We can't beat that! He's a monster!"

"S-Stronghold Master! Stronghold Master! Wait—?"

"That son of a bitch ran!"

"W-we surrender! We surrender!"

The handful still standing screamed. The moment they understood their Stronghold Master had fled, they threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees.

"Runaan!"

Raon scanned the surrendered bandits, then looked to her.

"I'll go after the Stronghold Master. If these ones try anything, don't hesitate. Kill them."

"Mm."

Runaan answered without a flicker of doubt, the children still held tight in her arms. The bandits' faces went white.

"Then."

Raon cycled the Ring of Fire and the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and kicked off the ground. He plunged into the forest the bandits had come from, opening his senses, eyes sweeping the trees.

Where?

The bandits had torn through these woods so thoroughly that tracks were hard to read. Sound, though, they couldn't hide.

Southwest.

Hearing honed by the Sense of Frost Flowers caught brush moving to the southwest. He ran that way like a gale. Before long Bukhan's presence locked in, and then the man's back came into view.

What.

Bukhan wasn't alone. He had a woman in his arms, tearing through the forest in a frenzy.

"That's far enough."

Raon drove the Garam Footwork to its limit and cut in front of him.

"Fuck! How the hell did you catch up?!"

Bukhan's lips trembled as he backed away.

"Don't come closer! Come any closer and I kill her right now!"

He laid the greatsaber across the woman's throat.

"I've got nothing left to lose. I don't like how this goes, she dies!"

"Then you die too."

Raon didn't yield an inch to the threat. He cycled the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and the Ring of Fire and closed the distance, step by unhurried step.

The worst thing you can do with a hostage is look weak.

Show them the hostage is worthless, and they're the ones who start to panic. And this hostage, as it happened, really was worthless.

"Goddamn it!"

The Stronghold Master roared and hurled the woman he'd been holding.

"Ah—!"

Raon lunged and caught her with his left hand before she hit the ground.

"Th-thank you."

The woman—a clean, composed face—dipped her head. In that same instant, a blue snake shot from her sleeve.

"Got you!"

Bukhan's shout of triumph rang out.

"Got what?"

Raon smiled, cold, and drove the sword in his right hand down. The blade punched through the snake's skull and pinned the woman's heart beneath it.

"Ghk—how?!"

"They said the bandits numbered thirty-nine in all. You're the last one."

"Y-you lunatic, you counted—"

She died with her eyes still open, as if the whole thing were too absurd to accept.

"For a hostage, her face was a little too clean."

That wasn't all of it, either. A ring marked with a red thread sat on her finger—the sign of a snake sorcerer. The headcount had been one thing, but the ring and that polished face had told him she was no hostage at all.

"What—what the hell are you?!"

Bukhan, Snow Tiger Stronghold Master, screamed. He seemed to understand that running was useless now. He sank to the ground, jaw trembling.

"It felt good when you were the ones doing the killing, didn't it?"

Raon pulled the sword from the woman's ruined heart and walked toward him.

"G-get away!"

Bukhan shrieked and flailed the saber wildly. The savage light that had been in his eyes when they first met was gone, shaken now with raw fear.

"You raided a village, looted it, and that wasn't enough—you took children as hostages. Even a demon wouldn't stoop to that."

"This King is sorry to inform thee, but there are quite a few demons who would do that much. No—there are countless."

Raon ignored Wrath and kept walking.

"Shut up!"

Bukhan sprang up like a grasshopper and thrust. Aura flooded the saber until its edge burned blue. The Ring of Fire had already taken the measure of his entire martial art. Raon slipped the blow as if it were nothing and cut.

Bukhan's right arm fell to the earth.

"Gaaaaagh!"

"You don't even have the right to scream."

"W-wait—I'll give you the elixir! The elixir we took from that village—ghk."

Raon took his head without a flicker of hesitation. The ugly bandit's skull dropped and rolled.

"Hah…"

He let out a short, hard breath and sheathed his sword.

He said elixir.

Bukhan had claimed they'd raided the village for an elixir. It would still be on him. Raon searched the clothes the man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had been wearing and found a small pouch.

"This is it."

He opened it. Inside lay a single unopened flower bud. Strangely, its petals were half blue and half red.

"For this."

Raon touched the bud, his face tightening. It was an elixir called the Two-Tone Flower, bearing both fire and water attributes. Rare, yes—but not so extraordinary that it warranted wiping out an entire village.

"Tsk."

He almost regretted killing Bukhan so cleanly.

"Such is the greed of humans. This King sees more desire in the human world than he ever did in the Demon Realm. What a delightful world this is."

Raon didn't answer. Not because he was ignoring Wrath—because the words were true, and there was nothing to say.

"Hm?"

He was clicking his tongue, turning to go, when his head throbbed and a scrap of knowledge written into the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames rose unbidden.

The Two-Tone Flower. This unblooming bud was not its true form.

If I only had that, it would become an elixir of far greater—wait.

The instant the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames showed him what the Two-Tone Flower really was, something moved in the brush to the south.

The undergrowth parted, and a young man stepped out. A leopard-skin vest, a yellow headband at his brow. He looked as much hunter as bandit.

"Huh? It's already over?"

He looked down at the Snow Tiger Stronghold Master dead at his feet and clicked his tongue.

"And here I punched through House Zieghart's encirclement to come save him. What a waste."

The man in the leopard-skin vest lifted his gaze and met Raon's eyes.

"You did this? Not bad."

"South-North Alliance."

A yellow headband was the mark of the South-North Alliance, one of the Five Demons. That he had appeared here at all—and that he looked disappointed to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠find the Snow Tiger Stronghold Master already dead—told Raon everything he needed.

"Name's Lector."

He introduced himself without the slightest attempt to hide it.

Lector.

Raon's brow furrowed at the name. He had heard it in his previous life. A genius swordsman who had walked into the South-North Alliance with a single blade and, in ten years, become the master of a major stronghold. Lector was a real martial artist, in a different league entirely from the Snow Tiger Stronghold Master.

"The elixir that guy was carrying—you took it?"

"And if I did?"

Raon nodded. Lector had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arrived while he was looking at the Two-Tone Flower. There had been nothing to hide.

"Bold. Then again, your judgment's a lot sharper than your age would suggest."

His gaze drifted to the snake sorceress.

"And your martial strength's outstanding too. I suppose that's where the confidence comes from."

Lector's eyes passed over Bukhan's headless corpse, then returned to Raon. He toyed with the sword at his waist and ran his tongue along his lip.

"A scion of a great house. Direct line of Zieghart, one of the Six Kings, I'd wager. No Flame Sword crest, so you're still a Trainee. Hmm. What to do with you?"