The Snake's Trap
What a mess.
Violent impact sounds occasionally blanketed every direction.
And sounds that were impossible to tell apart—beast's roar or human scream—burst out one after another.
Thud!
"Guh!"
The light striking noise of flesh being hit finally twisted into the sound of something hard being crushed.
Damian's groans grew even more desperate to match that change.
"Gyaaaaaah!!"
That voice was pitiful enough that anyone might have stopped, yet Evan's beating showed no sign of ending.
Like a master drummer's hands. Without the slightest hesitation he swung his fists and pounded Damian's entire body.
"O-Oppa! Stop hitting him...! Please stop hitting him!"
"You wanna take his place instead?"
"Waaahhh!"
It was closer to one-sided abuse than a fight.
Damian had tried to resist, but it was useless.
With strength that was never enough, no matter how he thrashed about, how could he possibly counter? Getting hit without end and only groaning was Damian's entire role.
Evan stopped the fists he had been swinging and once again took the rock-paper-scissors stance.
Damian, who had barely managed to collect himself, slowly pushed his body up.
"Ugh, you crazy bas—!"
"Again. Rock. Paper."
"Wh-what...? This crazy bastard...!"
"Scissors."
"Hyaaaah!"
The rock-paper-scissors that started every so often was both the signal for indiscriminate violence and an unexpected, unknown terror.
Even while he trembled and shook with fear, the fist barrage continued without pause.
"Again. Rock. Paper."
"Cough! I played paper! I played paper...! Ugh...! So please, just stop now...."
Being thoroughly wrecked by the weakling Evan was humiliating.
But there was no room left to care about something like that.
The only thing filling Damian's head right now was the desperate wish that this pain would end even one second sooner. Any other thought was pure luxury.
"I-I won, so please stop hitting me...."
"What are you talking about. My fist beats paper too."
Evan slammed his fist down onto the paper Damian had held out.
"Aaaah!"
"Hic! Oppa! Waaahhh!"
I remembered what my old comrade Karen used to say while torturing a Fiend.
A successful torture is when the words coming out of the other person's mouth aren't "Please spare me" but "Just kill me instead."
Back then I had recoiled in disgust, asking what kind of thug she was, but deep down I had agreed.
"Ugh! I was wrong.... Spare me...."
From that point of view, Damian still hadn't been hit enough.
If I stopped here he would definitely crawl back up later. So I intended to cut the sprout off completely so he could never act up again.
"Stop!"
Unfortunately a man barged in and the commotion came to a temporary halt.
It was a knight with the Lorentz family crest engraved on his shoulder.
"What on earth is going on here!"
Harold, knight of the Lorentz family, refused to accept the scene unfolding before his eyes.
Looking only at the situation it seemed Evan had beaten Damian senseless—but how?
After the initial shock the knight immediately checked on the fallen Damian's condition.
...Did Young Master Evan really do this to Young Master Damian?
Damian had personality problems, but his skill was the real thing.
After years of training and experience, Damian was widely acknowledged to possess combat power on par with an apprentice knight.
Evan, on the other hand, had been a weakling.
Pale, fair skin. Even after reaching adulthood his frame remained extremely slender.
Of course, compared to five years ago it was like a chick transforming into a phoenix—but that change only made his former frailty stand out more sharply.
That change alone could never explain beating Damian.
Harold stole a glance at Evan's face with hardened eyes.
Evan happened to be looking at Harold as well, so their gazes naturally met.
What is that look in his eyes?
Harold ranked among the top five elite knights of the family.
And those who had awakened mana could gauge an opponent's full power without ever crossing blades—simply by sensing the aura of their mana.
By all rights Harold's strength should have been felt implicitly, yet Evan faced him head-on without the slightest retreat.
Harold's eyes filled with distrust.
In answer to that gaze Evan tilted his head crookedly to one side.
"Did... Young Master Evan do this?"
"Can't you tell just by looking?"
"...."
Harold furrowed his brow.
Then he planted somewhat restrained anger in his pupils and glared at Evan.
"Do you understand what Young Master Evan has just done? Depending on the circumstances it could lead to punishment—or in severe cases, compensation demanded from the family."
"What are you talking about. We were just horsing around and he got a little hurt. It's a minor incident that can be overlooked."
Harold cast his gaze toward Erika; Erika shook her head vigorously from side to side.
In a tear-soaked voice she then reported exactly what had just happened.
"Young Lady, first take Young Master Damian to the healer."
"Y-yes!"
Grunting with effort, Erika hoisted Damian onto her back and disappeared.
Harold watched her retreating figure, then shifted his gaze back to Evan.
"It would be best if you answered properly, Young Master Evan."
The atmosphere flipped in an instant. Harold began interrogating Evan point by point.
"The circumstances and the testimony line up perfectly—will you still deny it? If it were me, I would have asked for forgiveness first."
"Yeah. You go ahead and beg for forgiveness all by yourself. Until your hands wear out."
"...This is not a situation you can talk your way out of."
A massive wave of mana originating from Harold settled into the air around them.
Evan received that domineering mana aura head-on and remained completely calm.
Huh. Amazing.
Harold did not let his surprise show.
"Given the gravity of the matter—if Young Master Evan refuses to admit fault, then I will have no choice either. I mean that I could personally punish Young Master Evan."
"You're going to punish me?"
"Yes. Though it may be an overstepping remark, that is correct. So let us resolve this amicably by having you apologize, if possible."
Evan twisted his face as if the whole thing were absurd. He let out a single hollow laugh, then walked straight toward Harold.
"Try it. If you can."
"...Are you serious?"
Evan raised his sword. At the action that laid his intentions bare, Harold's eyes narrowed.
"Hah. Beyond this point I will no longer stand by."
"Like I said—let's do it. If you win, I'll kneel in front of that bastard and apologize."
"...Words aren't getting through."
No further discussion. Harold also abandoned conversation and drew the sword at his waist.
It was a real blade with a sharpened edge, yet he had no intention of killing Evan. He only meant to leave a very shallow wound and carve a lesson into him.
"If you truly need to see blood before you come to your senses."
The situation had become annoying, but he could not simply watch that arrogant face any longer.
Besides, Evan was an abandoned child. Even if Harold harmed him, no serious punishment would follow—so a little force should be fine. Harold raised his sword.
Whoosh!
Immediately Harold's blade shot toward Evan's shoulder joint.
Evan blocked it with almost no effort, as if he had anticipated the strike from the very beginning.
Clang!
The colliding sword strikes produced a fierce metallic screech.
Harold stepped backward and reflexively readjusted his grip on the hilt.
"!"
Only belatedly did Harold realize he had taken a step back.
Why? He definitely had not been pushed by force. The movement had been executed by pure instinct, not conscious thought.
Flinch.
The tingling sensation still lingering in his palm.
It was the same impact he had felt long ago when he struck adamantium as training.
Harold stared at his own sword with startled eyes. The blade he had just maintained yesterday had its edge chipped after a single exchange.
"Looking away?"
Evan's blade vanished like a flash of light and then gleamed again.
An attack aimed at the armpit joint. Harold, who barely managed to read the trajectory, twisted his body.
Whoosh! With a sharp cutting sound a follow-up strike clung right after. Scratches were carved into the once-smooth armor.
"Ugh!"
Even seeing it was hard to believe. No—in truth he could not even see it.
Harold rolled his pupils without rest. Movements too fast to chase with the eyes continued; counterattacking was out of the question.
He managed to dodge the strikes aimed at the joints, yet the sword marks engraved on his armor only kept increasing.
In an instant a chill ran down his spine. He belatedly grasped Evan's true intention.
The thought that he had been dodging the attacks was pure delusion. Evan was only feinting the blows that would deal fatal wounds—as if deliberately demonstrating the gap in skill.
Swordsmanship is offense and defense as one.
A swordsman who can only defend is third-rate; a swordsman who focuses solely on attack is second-rate.
Harold had always prided himself as a first-rate knight, yet before Evan he felt the shame of not even ranking as third-rate.
Grit. He clenched his molars hard.
I was trying to go easy on him.
From that moment a faint light began to form on Harold's sword.
A knight's Aura. There was even a saying that the true measure of a knight was Aura rather than swordsmanship.
No matter how excellent one's technique, one could not oppose a strike loaded with Aura—unless the opponent also possessed Aura.
The blue blade drew an arc and swept toward Evan.
At the very instant the Aura sword faced him, a blue light also settled onto the sword Evan held.
What?!
This was something that simply could not be.
Loading released Aura onto a blade was an advanced technique that even veteran knights found burdensome.
What was happening on Evan's sword right now was several levels higher than that.
How can he form an Aura Blade so quickly!
Loading Aura onto Evan's sword took only an instant.
Almost instantaneous—metaphorically speaking, the entire process had been omitted, yet a completed result still appeared.
"Tsk!"
Harold bit down on his lip and poured more strength into the sword he gripped.
Like that he tried to slash straight across Evan's chest.
Whoosh!
But what was this?
The blue Aura Blade that had been grafted onto Evan's sword vanished in a single moment. No light, no mana could be felt at all.
Because of that, Evan could not block Harold's attack.
Boom!
The sensation transmitted through the hand was heavy. He had struck squarely.
Evan, who took the full impact with his entire body, could not withstand the aftermath.
—!
Before anyone realized it Evan's body had floated up and been flung away.
Evan flew without pause.
Kwaaaaang!
His flight ended when he smashed into the wall.
Harold blankly stared at the crumpled figure.
Wh-what?
There was not even time to feel joy at having won; questions came first.
Why? That sword with the Aura Blade formed on it might well have surpassed his own.
So why on earth? Why had that completed Aura disappeared again in an instant?
"Guhhh! Ugh!"
The fallen Evan tried to rise, then collapsed again.
"Grrrk! Uweeeek!!!"
In that state he vomited up everything inside him.
The already filthy-looking vomit came out covered in red blood.
Harold continued to stare at that grotesque scene with vacant eyes.
"Guhhh...! Why...! Why are you suddenly doing this to me!"
"...?"
"I said I was sorry... I said let's talk it out.... Cough!"
Where had that earlier bold look gone? Evan was now preemptively terrified.
He kept spitting out apologies as he crawled forward and grabbed Harold's ankle.
Then he clamored desperately to be spared.
What is this?
At the sudden complete change in attitude Harold furrowed his brow.
What scheme is this? A ploy to deliberately induce carelessness?
It was the moment that thought crossed his mind.
"E-Evan! Are you all right!"
"Hah! Sir Harold! What on earth is the meaning of this!?"
Men's loud voices erupted from behind.
Harold reflexively turned his head and looked that way.
"...Huh?"
Dozens of knights filled his vision.
And standing at their center were Count Lorentz and Rebecca Lorentz.
Beside them, Count Yllain and Asha Yllain were glaring at him as if they meant to kill him on the spot.
"Th-that bastard dared lay hands on my son...! What are you all doing! Drag that man out at once!"
"Kweeeek!!!"
Evan, who had been wheezing like a man on the verge of death, once again poured out a full bucket of blood.
"Y-Young Master Evan. That's not what—"
"Cough! Kuek!"
"Wh-why are you suddenly acting like that...."
Harold looked back and forth between the knights surrounding him and Evan.
Then, with a soft sound, a short exclamation slipped from his lips.
"Ah."
An exclamation of realization. Only now did he understand.
That every single part of this had been that snake bastard's scheme.
"...Fuck."
Harold let out a deep sigh, then slowly closed his eyes. And he knew with absolute certainty.
I am completely fucked right now.