Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

134 – A Blade Raised Only Once Against a Genius.

Duke Charlotte.

Head of the Charlotte family, one of the four great houses,

and a family directly under the Imperial line.

Those who don’t know his true nature

often describe him as a

figure of great virtue.

After all, he’s famously known for

visiting orphanages and impoverished churches,

and donating a rather significant amount

in support.

But those who

know his true nature

mostly say this:

It’s merely a devil’s game.

Logically, someone with such

infamy in the underworld,

what could possibly possess them to

visit orphanages, caring for children,

or donating money and

even stopping by churches to pray?

If he desired, he could build

orphanages and churches to his heart’s content.

Perhaps that’s why?

The rumors circulating about him

in the world are mostly polar opposites.

From rumors that he possesses

a personality and character so utterly perfect,

truly the epitome of a nobleman.

To the whispers of the horrors committed by

his own hands.

The ceaseless question hung heavy,

a feigned attempt to shed the

blood clinging to his hands,

rumors even claiming it was mere self-justifying hypocrisy.

Of course, those who spread

the latter whispers

were now conspicuously absent

from the streets, but

the high-ups knew everything.

They understood precisely why

he acted as he did.

The perpetrators, however, would never

even conceive the reason.

Truly, absolutely

inconceivable.

*

“Hmm…”

The old man was now, daringly,

exhibiting considerable

interest in the man who stood

before him with such poise.

“Answer me. Are you the vagrant

who laid hands on my daughter?”

“Heeumm…”

The man surely knew it.

That the old man was stronger

than he was.

From the beginning, within this empire,

few could rival him in pure strength alone.

Moreover, since just moments ago,

he had been subtly, yet steadily,

exuding his power.

And yet still,

in the man’s eyes,

there was no fear to be found.

Even as he continued to bombard him

with his energy,

the man’s gaze never,

ever wavered.

As if possessed of a certainty of victory, absolute and unwavering.

Daring to pit himself against *him*.

“So, what name do you carry?”

“….”

“I did not hear your name spoken.”

Let it be known beforehand that

his asking the name, so deliberately,

was not born of mere curiosity.

It was to etch into his memory, clear as day,

the fact that a creature of the lower orders

had dared to raise steel against him.

“..Charlotte.”

“Is that so? Understood.”

Now, die.

The words barely finished on his tongue,

when spikes, forged of stone,

arose around the old man,

and shot forth, directly at the Duke.

*Kwa-kwa-kwang─*

The spikes, each and every one,

began to slam into a single point,

and with a deafening crack,

the old man turned his back.

“Your daughter will likely

meet you in the afterlife.”

In truth, he did not know

the state of the man’s daughter,

but if a human was connected to him,

they were, more often than not, dead.

A careless remark, cast off with little thought.

“Hmm… then I find myself unable to let you live.”

*Phaa-at─*

From the swirling dust,

the puppet lunged again, aiming for the old man’s arm.

Wielding that pitiful blade,

shaped like a scythe one might use to harvest a field.

“I would have no face to show my daughter,

were I to die after this.”

“..Tch, you make this tiresome.”

The scythe rushed, aimed squarely

at the old man’s shoulder.

Clearly, the blade had been

honed to a razor’s edge, and yet

the old man remained rooted,

not budging an inch.

As if he had no intention

of defending himself at all.

*Kaaang—*

“Hm…?”

“Is that all there is?”

“…Ha, what kind of…!”

A sound echoed, one so unbelievable

to be made by skin meeting steel,

and only then did the unease

that had clung to the old man

begin to amplify further.

“Estalido (Explosion)”

A single syllable,

and an explosion erupted.

Without any trigger,

any prelude to the blast.

An inexplicable explosion,

as if the air itself was the medium.

Even so, the Duke did not recoil.

Because of his scythe, laid

across the old man’s shoulder

before the explosion.

Though, there were other reasons too.

“Hm… what do you have

hidden inside you that makes you this way?”

“If I told you that, my wife

would scold me, I’m afraid.

Kang, kang, ka-kang.

Steel against steel,

and tiny sparks dance.

Within the balanced orbit

of defense and attack.

“…I find myself wanting to know

your name more and more.”

“My real name is a little… pricey.”

“Is that so?”

“I suppose I could offer passage money as a gift.”

*Kakang*, *kakagang*, *kakang*.

Yet again,

an exchange of blows at an invisible speed continues.

The old man’s emaciated arm

begins to deflect

the Duke’s blades entirely,

and at the same moment,

a single scroll

leaps from the Duke’s person.

A sheet of paper

densely covered in magic circles and glyphs.

“Scroll [Blast Burst].”

“…It’s a good thing when fighting styles are diverse, I suppose.”

The old man’s right shoulder

is already rendered useless

by the Duke’s scythe.

And the old man’s left arm,

just moments ago, he severed at the wrist himself.

Which is to say, in other words, that he

absolutely cannot stop this spell.

However, he always considers the unexpected.

For in killing people and severing the heads

of monsters,

variables always come into play.

“Shadow Garden [Rose Bouquet].”

“Hoo…”

As the scroll activates,

his shadow begins to take shape.

Into hundreds of black roses.

*Charararaak─*

In quick succession, all of those roses’

black petals begin to scatter.

Each transforming into a dagger

possessing a sharp edge.

“I’m not particularly fond of flower viewing.”

“Is that so? No helping it then.

Simply a matter of taste.”

Continuing to carry on the conversation, he ceaselessly confirms, and re-confirms.

Trying to block this magic.

Any attempt to pierce through?

If a chink in his defenses, a weakness to exploit against his counterattacks, existed.

What plan lay beyond, should these attacks, even one, be stopped?

He pondered, scrutinized, ceaselessly. Yet, the old man remained, simply,

immovable.

Even now, he merely parried the strikes,

never once initiating an attack of his own.

Indeed, the Duke now had reason

to concern himself for his own safety.

For even with a prepared countermeasure,

becoming ensnared by magic at this distance was undesirable.

“Grusialip.”

Yet, rendering his worries moot,

nothing happened.

The rose petals, once a tempest of small storms, vanished.

The scroll, it seemed, refused to activate,

frozen still.

All because of a single word the old man spoke,

his hands clasped together.

He almost resembled a man at prayer.

The Duke could only force a hollow laugh.

A man—nay, a monster—praying in the midst of battle.

“…Couldn’t you at least pretend to be tiring?”

“Kukuku… a rather amusing human.”

“…”

“To call *this* an attack,

and to hope it succeeds, no less.”

From then on, it was a

one-sided exchange.

An impenetrable shield

against a lance that threatened to shatter.

A steel shield, at that, against a…

A contest of wooden windows, it seemed,

such an unreasonable decree of life and death.

That duel stretched on for a drawn-out

thirty-four minutes,

more than enough time for the unconscious boy to awaken.

*

*Phwahhh─*

So much fire, emanating from my mouth,

more than I could possibly believe.

The flames sought only a single target.

“Hmph, just this meager fire… what?!”

I’d anticipated this.

That he would try to stop the magic.

I couldn’t even begin to guess what his ability was,

but I believed he held the power to do so.

“…This is?!”

But this was by no means

an ordinary spell.

Drawing upon every emotion within me,

barely able to manifest the Fire Demon itself.

Were it just simple magic, perhaps,

but by uttering the Dragon Words,

this became reality.

For a single moment,

the Fire Demon, that very entity, overwhelmed the old man.

“Kreeeeup…!”

And the Duke and I, we could not

afford to let that moment pass, not in any way.

Not if we possessed any experience living as assassins.

With my remaining mana,

I conjured a small dagger, then,

with the resolve to draw forth

even the last vestiges of my life force,

once more, I intoned the Dragon Words.

“The dragon’s blood shall be the divine essence

that forges an immortal body,

the dragon’s fang, the blade

that severs immortal karma…!”

The short, oh so short, dagger’s

blade began to lengthen and curve.

Like a jackknife unfolding.

Gone was the steel,

its gray-tinged edge vanished,

replaced by a soft blade,

white as bone, that now

occupied its place.

≪Dragon Fang Forged.≫

≪Effect: Guarantees the success of one attack.≫

The firestorm did not cease

its ravenous burning,

and I, unhurried, passed alongside it.

If joints threatened to shatter,

I’d remake my legs anew,

even if I bled so much

my head spun, threatened to crack.

Until the end, I ran alongside that searing blaze.

“…Ha, almost like I’ve become the villain here.”

But the old man, in short order,

adapted to the inferno.

No longer did he block the flames,

but accepted them into his very being.

“You’re nothing but bit players…!”

The monocle that had been

perched upon his right eye vanished,

his right eye, mismatched in color

to his left, turned toward me,

and at that very moment, a

black rope descended upon his throat.

“Ghk…ugh, what is this?!”

“Yes, the supporting cast and the villain should make their exit.”

“Ha, something like this is easily…?!”

“It won’t be so simple.”

“…Haha, indeed…so you’ve embedded *him* in your body?!”

And just for a brief moment,

the old man’s movements ceased,

more than enough time for me.

Moonlight Nine Swords, First Form,

Crescent Moon Slash.

*

“Ah, no way…if Gyo dies…

My workload will just balloon.

So, I guess I gotta keep him alive…?

Haa…what a drag…”