Crossroads of Choice
The coordinates Kkamagi had been sending live blinked clearly as a red dot in the upper-right corner of my smartphone screen.
My entire fortune of 1.5 million gold, along with the 327% experience from the system reward output, all hung on that single tiny light.
"Dare they try to smash the first honey pot I so carefully built?"
I grabbed the magic broom propped in the corner and threw open the door.
Wait for me, my diligent little generator of a young lady.
This boss is on her way to provide personal A/S service!
KRAAAANG—!
Once again a monstrous shockwave of tearing air thundered through the fortress interior.
Beatrice’s vision flooded with crimson and black, the color of blood.
The fingertips gripping her treasured sword trembled violently.
The S-class skill Murderous Aura was power beyond imagination, but the vessel meant to contain it remained a fatal problem.
A non-awakened’s frail body.
She hadn’t noticed while her explosive bursts were sweeping aside the low-rank hunting-dog thugs, yet the moment the one-on-one against that infamous butcher dragged on, her limits arrived with crushing force.
"Hahaha! You strut around claiming you’ll avenge your house with a skill your stamina and willpower can’t even support? Kneel before me right now and I’ll kill you painlessly!"
Graul spun his massive greatsword in one casual circle and sneered.
The murderous aura pouring from his back, black as pure darkness, was spreading with enough force to swallow the entire fortress interior.
I can barely breathe…
Beatrice clenched her teeth.
She forced openings and launched crimson sword qi whenever she could, even managing to leave a long gash across Graul’s shoulder hide.
That was all.
His monstrous regenerative power simply knitted the flesh back together as if a mere skin wound meant nothing.
Beatrice’s own condition was catastrophic by comparison.
Her white apron was already soaked through with her own blood, and the black maid uniform hung in tatters.
She was holding on through sheer, bottomless hatred for the ones who had annihilated her family, yet her body was collapsing faster than her will could endure.
Not yet… I haven’t even taken the Bell family head’s neck, and I’m going to fall here of all places…!?
The instant Beatrice’s movements slowed, Graul stamped the ground and launched himself like lightning.
Merciless sword qi and killing intent, thick enough to cleave the space itself, came screaming down toward her at full speed.
Beatrice gathered every last shred of sword qi for a final strike.
Perhaps her last strike of all.
The blade in her hands flared white-hot.
She poured every remaining scrap of her life force into the attack and sent it flying at Graul.
KRAAAANG————!
The blow landed.
Graul was blasted all the way to the far diagonal end of the abandoned factory and slammed into the corner.
Did I… finish him…?
Beatrice forced her failing eyes open and stared.
He was still moving.
Her all-or-nothing final attack had failed.
Instinct told her the truth with cold certainty.
She would not be able to stop the next one.
Father… Mother… everyone… I’m so sorry…
Tears slid down Beatrice’s cheeks.
And then—
Click. Click—.
An alien sound cut through the fortress that had been filled only with explosions and rupturing air.
The sound of my dress shoes, just arrived on a broom.
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"…It can’t be."
Beatrice’s eyes went wide.
Through the thick dust, the first thing that entered her vision was a dazzling cascade of silver hair utterly unsuited to this nightmare of a battlefield.
A witch walking toward her, ruby-red eyes gleaming.
Yes. That was me—Celia.
How do I always nail the timing this perfectly?
Even I have to admit I look pretty damn cool right now.
"Lady Celia…! Have you… come to save me…?"
Beatrice’s violet eyes shone with a single thread of hope.
The witch who could summon any top-tier skill she wanted had personally taken the field; that butcher Graul would be reduced to dust in an instant. Her gaze held not the slightest doubt.
I shook my head and spoke.
"Save you? What strange ideas are filling that pretty head of yours, my cute young lady."
"Pardon…?"
I tilted my smartphone screen so she could see and whispered low.
"You see, I put my entire fortune—1.5 million gold—on the bet that you would wipe out those Bell hunting dogs."
A bet? Beatrice momentarily doubted her own ears.
I raised a slender index finger to my lips and continued.
"Imperial law is terribly strict about these things. If someone who has money riding on a match personally knocks out the opposing side, they become a match-fixing criminal on the spot. So as regrettable as it is, I cannot simply dispose of that man for you."
"B-but if things continue like this I’ll die…!"
Beatrice cried out, voice tangled with disbelief and desperation.
Far in the corner, Butcher Graul had recovered enough to glare our way and was slowly rising to his feet.
"Exactly. Which is why I’m making you an offer."
From inside my coat I drew a single contract glowing a deep crimson.
"Defeat that hunting dog with your own power. To do that, you’ll need to make a second deal with me."
Beatrice’s pupils trembled.
"A second deal…? You mean I can rent another skill?"
"Correct. But there’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world. The rules are a little different from the first transaction."
I twirled a quill pen between my fingers and explained quietly.
"From the second deal onward, a ‘surcharge’ is attached to the price. If one person monopolizes multiple broken powers, the ecosystem collapses. Think of it as a restriction the system itself imposes."
"I… I don’t care how much it costs!"
Beatrice answered with fierce resolve.
Refuse and she died.
She had already steeled herself for that much.
But the restrictions on the additional deal did not end there.
"That isn’t all. As a rule, only one S-class skill may be rented per person. Since you already have Murderous Aura equipped, the highest grade you can rent additionally is A-class."
"A-class…"
Beatrice swallowed dryly.
An A-class skill was by no means weak, yet the man before her was an A+ ranker—the absolute peak even among A-class.
Could a collapsing non-awakened like herself possibly defeat him just by stacking one more A-class skill?
"Time is short, so I’ll show you at once. In your current state there are exactly two skills you can rent right now."
At my gesture, two translucent blue system selection windows rose before Beatrice’s eyes.
Choice 1: A-class Fortitude of the Soul
Choice 2: A-class Fortitude of the Body
"Choose carefully, Young Lady Beatrice Conti."
I stepped back one pace and clasped my hands behind me.
"One is A-class Fortitude of the Soul. It will push your mind and mana circuits to their absolute peak, amplifying the power of Murderous Aura beyond its normal limits. However, I cannot guarantee that your crumbling body will withstand the backlash. One wrong move and you might explode before you even kill the enemy."
Beatrice’s gaze locked onto the first window.
A textbook high-risk, high-return option.
"The other is A-class Fortitude of the Body. This one will save your life right now and harden your breaking bones and muscles like steel. You’ll be able to endure Graul’s monstrous attacks and wait for an opening. But remember this well: what truly drives Murderous Aura is not stamina—it is willpower."
A fierce balancing of offense and defense.
Graul looked ready to deliver the finishing blow.
His greatsword scraped savagely across the floor, producing a grotesque grinding shriek.
Ssssscrrrape.
He was already charging at full speed.
Beatrice agonized with everything she had left.
Should she gamble her life on a single maximized soul-fire strike?
Or raise her physical defenses and cling stubbornly, waiting for a chance?
Either path held the real possibility of ruin.
The innate limits of a non-awakened birth clung to her ankles like chains.
Yet the flame of vengeance burning in her eyes refused to go out.
What did she need most in order to perfectly slay Graul, the enemy of her house, and then reach the head of the Bell family?
She tightened her grip on the last treasured sword of her house and reached her conclusion.
"…I’ve decided."
Beatrice pressed her blood-smeared lips tightly together and, without the slightest hesitation, stretched her hand toward one of the two choices.
The skill she selected began to engrave itself upon the crimson contract.