Blood of the Forest Cabin (2)
There was no time. Before the men could fully grasp the situation, I had to accomplish as much as possible. I swept back the hem of my robe, drew the elven blade, and drove it straight into the chest of the nearest man, whose eyes had widened in helpless confusion.
“Guhk—!”
The satisfying sensation of the blade tip sliding neatly between his ribs was followed by the sword sinking deep into his body. Without hesitation I wrenched it free, carving through muscle and lung. Four more still remained.
I drew a short, ragged breath. Not from exhaustion. Even though death had brushed against me, I had always rewound time while still in my prime; a single stab and withdrawal could hardly leave me winded.
This breathlessness… was excitement.
It was not the first time I had killed a person. Even if I limited the count to those I had cut down with a sword, this was hardly my first time. Yet the sensation was utterly different from the thrill I had felt while carving through the corrupted giants of the Demon King’s army. This was not mere excitement. This was…
This can’t be…
Joy…?
But… Kaira is… Kaira is a good child…. She mustn’t feel pleasure in killing people. She mustn’t… mustn’t…
Was blood rushing to my head? A sudden flood of tangled emotions washed over me until my vision seemed steeped in pink.
“What the hell… is this woman…!”
“She—she didn’t even swing the sword… but his neck, his neck…”
“Tsk… I knew she was a witch. I told you we should’ve killed her immediately!”
I looked at the man who had spoken. So he was the one who had suggested cutting off my head and taking it as proof. All the better. A man like him did not deserve the mercy of a clean blade from a distorted moment in time.
Something brushed my ankle. The man whose lung I had pierced was still choking, gurgling, desperately trying to seize my foot. Was he trying to help his comrades kill me more easily? Out of duty? Or spite? …Probably neither. Most likely it was nothing more than the delirium of the dying, clinging to the last action he could still perform.
I easily pried his fingers away and crushed the back of his hand. While I was grinding the dying man’s knuckles beneath my heel, the clear ring of steel sounded—everyone had drawn their weapons. So I had given them time to draw their swords. The man now trampled beneath my boot had already lost the strength to move; he had fulfilled his role.
Swords were expensive weapons. Not something a rural blacksmith who mostly made farming tools in a peaceful place like Waldenheim could produce easily. Now that I thought about it, they had mentioned the baron earlier. These men must have been personally chosen and armed by the local lord to hunt down the witch.
Four men with swords…
The swordsmanship instructor at the Magic Academy had taught me that no matter how skilled one was, one should never attempt to fight more than four opponents at once unless the circumstances were exceptional. When I repeated those words to Bishop Lumina, she had smiled gently and called it wise teaching, saying I had an excellent master. Then she added,
‘But if the right special circumstances are present, one could face a hundred alone, couldn’t one?’
Right before her tail whipped across my body, of course.
I did not know the opponents’ level of skill. They might be ordinary village farmers. Even so, four adult men were dangerous whether they held swords or mere sticks.
Using magic as well would be unfair, so I’ll only employ Veltara’s Transparent Shield as a substitute for a buckler…
They did not appear accustomed to cutting down people. The fact that they had drawn their blades but did not immediately press the advantage proved it. Or perhaps they were wary of what hidden手段 the person who had killed three of them in an instant might still possess.
I used that momentary gap to shift my gaze across all four of them, making it clear I was watching them too. I wanted to discourage any rash advance. In that brief window I performed rapid mental calculations and secretly completed the incantation for Veltara’s Transparent Shield with a subtle gesture of my left hand.
The instant my entire left arm felt gently enveloped, I spoke.
“If you won’t come to me, then I’ll come to you.”
The man at the front sucked in a sharp breath, as though he had never imagined I could speak. I charged straight at him.
Once the first blades clash, I’ll use the entanglement to slice into the left side of his neck…
I swung the elven sword with that intention, but—
“Huaaahk—!”
Instead of meeting steel, the man simply accepted the blow. He showed no sign of having learned proper swordsmanship, or even of having fought before.
The arc meant to cleave his head carved through his eyes, nose, and entire face. Not an instant kill, but the kind of damage that would prevent him from ever rising again.
My sword tip trembled with shock.
W-wait… What is this? Are people… this easy… to cut…?
Come to think of it, for the past five years my sparring partner had been Bishop Lumina—a superhuman priest whose body was strengthened by the blessings of the God of Death. Her transformed flesh, the price of that divine favor, had been covered in scales as hard as plastic. My cruel teacher could whip her razor-edged tail across my ribs at the slightest opening and make me vomit blood.
Compared to such an opponent, a simple sturdy villager who had never received systematic training was barely worth considering.
No. I could not waste time on useless thoughts. Even a clumsy swing from an unskilled blade would be fatal if it grazed me. I had to remember Bishop Lumina’s teachings. Hesitation and distraction were both death. This man was neutralized. There was no need to pay him any further attention.
I turned toward the remaining three. Only now did they seem to find the will to fight; they rushed at me. It appeared they had needed to lose four comrades before they truly understood this was a battle. All three charged at once. It would have been far easier if they had come one by one.
I adjusted my stance, raising the sword lightly in a mid-level guard aimed at one man’s throat. Gripping it with both hands would have steadied the tip better, but with three opponents I needed my left hand free.
No matter their number, they were not knights trained their whole lives to read intent from movement alone. If three mediocre fighters rushed together, their sword paths would tangle and obstruct one another. I moved my left hand unnecessarily to draw their eyes, while keeping the blade positioned so that any charge would impale their own throats.
The orange-haired man with the mustache was first to swing at my head. Or rather, he attempted to. His unnecessarily large wind-up had already revealed his target. I stepped in and stabbed his throat before his blade could fall.
“Kh…!”
It had only grazed, but the pain was enough to slow him. Without turning my head I swung my left arm first. A metallic clang rang out as my magic-reinforced limb absorbed the blow, sending a light numbness through me.
“What? You blocked it… with your arm?”
Because it is magic. I seized the halted blade with my palm and drew Mervin’s sword across the man’s throat.
“Huk… ugh…!”
This time I did not miss. The man whose sword was trapped against my left arm collapsed with an expression of disbelief as blood spurted from his carotid artery.
Two remained. Yet fear and hesitation were written plainly across their faces. Even if they were still alive, once their will to fight had vanished they were no longer combatants.
I spoke to them quietly.
“…Please drop your swords. If you lay down your weapons here, I will even revive your dead comrades.”
I was already drenched in blood. Killing people with cold steel was not something a sane mind could do lightly. It had to be this way. Yes, I felt no joy in murder. I must not.
That was why this offer was neither kindness nor provocation. It was closer to a plea to be released from the karma of slaughter.
But the men only retreated a few hesitant steps, exchanged glances, and charged at me together. In the end, a man was still a man. I had expected as much. After all, competitiveness lived in a man’s heart. With Lee Sun-hyeon’s memories still inside me, how could I not know that?
One came with a downward slash at my head, the other with a thrust aimed below my chest. They were using two-handed swords sized for adult men. The fifty-centimeter difference in reach meant I would have to block at least once. I threw my body inside the thrusting man’s guard and deflected his blade with my left arm.
“Eh—!!”
A thrust, once parried, always left a large opening. Moreover, he clearly had not expected a small girl to dive into his embrace. Redirecting his sword path to follow me into his comrade’s chest would be nearly impossible. I drove my blade straight beneath the panicked man’s sternum.
“Ugh…!”
This time it was the heart. His entire body convulsed once, then crumpled limply.
“But… I remembered… you… why…?”
Meaningless, fleeting words accompanied his death.
Only one remained.
“Even now, I can still spare you…”
“Kurt! Damn it…”
The last man swung his sword wildly, like someone flailing a baseball bat. I let out a small sigh. His attacks crossed in crude X patterns. Even children playing at sword fighting would not swing so simply. Rage and terror had completely paralyzed his reason.
I blocked the blade descending toward my upper left. Foolishly, the man pulled his entangled sword back. …To withdraw your blade while it was locked with your opponent’s was practically begging to be killed.
I swung indifferently at the now-undefended neck. The man, blinded by fury, fell with an expression of utter disbelief.
“Ugh… u-ugh… Witch… it’s a witch…”
I looked down toward the sound. One man whose face had been sliced open—non-fatal, but enough to rob him of sight—was writhing and moaning in agony. I finished the fight by driving my sword into his throat.
“Haa……”
Without magic or supernatural power, using only swordsmanship, I had felled five men. I had merely used the arm protected by Veltara’s Transparent Shield in place of a buckler or tower shield. …The first two had been killed by rewinding time, but that had been unavoidable if I wished to survive.
Perhaps it was thanks to the countless blows I had received from Bishop Lumina’s practice sword and her firm, cold serpent tail. In truth I had only meant to threaten or negotiate with them… I had not expected to defeat them all so effortlessly.
At first I only planned to threaten them into running away. I didn’t even fight seriously, yet I won without breaking a sweat. But…
As the heat of battle drained from my body and mind, I finally comprehended what I had done. Seven people. I had killed seven people. It had been self-defense, legitimate and inevitable, yet—
I stared blankly at Master Viran’s garden, now soaked with blood, and collapsed where I stood.
My hands… my clothes… are soaked in blood…
Only then did reason, conscience, and ethics all flood back at once. I hugged my knees and buried my face in the hem of my robe.
“Hic… ugh…”
And I wept. All trace of the cold composure with which I had slit men’s throats vanished. I simply cried.
I could not say why the tears came. They were a complicated mixture of the resentment at being branded a witch, the guilt of having taken lives, the regret that I had not needed to go so far, and even the elation of discovering I had become far stronger than necessary.