Chapter 33
‘Killing them would be too much… I’ll just make them suffer for a while.’
If he struck a lower-ranked opponent with his Aura Sword, they’d be cleaved clean in two.
So instead, right before the blade connected, he twisted his wrist and slammed with the flat of his sword.
Crack!
“Aaaagh!”
He didn’t cut their bodies apart, but the force was still devastating.
Each swing of his sword sent another enemy collapsing to the ground.
It was almost too easy—like swimming with both feet touching the bottom.
He was just beating down men who couldn’t even see through the thick smoke.
“C-Captain…! Gah!”
“Y-you coward!”
From somewhere nearby, he heard the voice of a man named Kus.
‘You’ll be the last.’
He could’ve just taken out the leader, but what he wanted right now was order.
He would thrash every last one of them until they learned fear—so they’d never dare to rebel again.
“Coward? You call me that when a dozen of you ganged up on one man?”
“Urgh!”
The man had no retort; he just swung his sword wildly into empty air.
Slash!
He felt the faint resistance of flesh being sliced somewhere near the man’s hand.
“G-got him!”
“Aaargh! Captain!”
“Huh?”
The blind swing had only managed to cut down one of Kus’s own men.
Inside the smoke, he methodically reduced their numbers, one by one.
Smack!
He kicked the last man hard in the gut—and finally, the gunpowder smoke began to clear.
When it did, the only ones left were Kus, trembling uncontrollably, and his men—every one of them half-dead on the ground.
“Ugh…”
“Groaaan…”
“H-how… how could this happen…!”
Kus’s jaw hung open, unable to believe what he was seeing.
“H-how is this possible?! Not long ago, you were nothing but a Blank!”
“‘Blank’?”
He frowned and slowly walked toward Kus.
“D-don’t come any closer!”
Kus swung his sword around frantically in panic.
Even now, he refused to let go of his weapon.
He was clearly someone who would cause trouble someday—too dangerous to keep around.
‘Looks like I’ll have to change the plan.’
There was a faint trace of mana around him, but he wasn’t Aura-ranked.
He deliberately let Kus see the aura shimmering along his sword.
His lungs felt like they were about to burst from the strain, but he endured it.
What he needed now was showmanship—to prove that he was someone Kus could never defy again.
“Do I still look like a ‘Blank’ to you?”
“H-huff! A-Aura Sword! Then that means—!”
Even the ones sprawled on the ground trembled when they saw the blade.
Clang!
Kus’s sword fell to the floor with a sharp metallic ring.
He dropped to his knees, trembling.
“P-please! I didn’t recognize my master!”
“Heh… Master, now? After all this?”
“I-I’m sorry! From now on, I swear my loyalty to you! My name is Ku—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“—Gah!”
With one last desperate cry, Kus grabbed his sword again and charged.
Clang!
Their blades met—and Kus’s sword shattered in two, tumbling uselessly to the ground.
A clean arc of the Dragonscale Sword followed.
Slice!
His head spun through the air, eyes still frozen in that final, panicked glare, before it hit the ground with a dull thud.
“…Tch.”
He clicked his tongue and looked around at the others.
“Eek…!”
He had controlled his strikes carefully; most of them weren’t dead.
Only one had died—the unlucky one struck by Kus’s blind swing.
Those caught in the explosion had shattered legs, but they were still breathing.
‘If I leave them like this, they’ll bleed out from compound fractures. A natural death.’
He’d like to let that happen—but he couldn’t afford it right now.
Each of them was still a resource, and resources couldn’t be wasted.
“Hey.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Even while crawling on the ground, they answered loudly, desperate to please him.
They knew one wrong move could cost them their lives.
“I’d like to skin you all alive right now…”
“Ugh…”
“But I’ll hold back—for her sake.”
He said this as he placed a hand on Islin’s shoulder.
She let out a faint sigh of relief.
“But this is your one and only reprieve. If anything like this happens again…”
He met each of their eyes in turn, his voice low and cold.
“…don’t expect to die peacefully.”
“Hic!”
“Th-thank you!”
“Hmph.”
He sheathed the Dragonscale Sword and turned his back.
“Islin. Heal the wounded. Once they’re better, work them to the bone for at least a month. Got it?”
“Yes!”
Islin nodded and rushed to the fallen men.
“I’m sorry, Captain…! That bastard Kus said he’d kill us if we didn’t join him…”
“Shut up. If you were sorry, you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
“Ahh!”
A scream erupted as Islin set a broken bone back into place, but they endured it, tears streaming down their faces.
“Heal.”
Bang.
Islin used a quick healing spell—just enough to keep them alive.
The rest would heal naturally over time.
“Hm…”
Meanwhile, he clenched and unclenched his fist, testing his strength.
Being Rank 4 really was something else.
Nowhere near what he’d had back in the Valhalla System, of course, but strong enough to take any peer head-on.
Then again, that also meant he couldn’t defeat anyone above his rank, even with all his experience.
‘What a ridiculous system this whole rank structure is.’
A wry smirk crept across his face.
“Sir.”
“Is it done?”
“Yes. And… thank you, truly.”
“For what?”
“For sparing their lives.”
“Hmph. I’m still debating whether I should’ve just killed them.”
“…You really are a strange man, my lord.”
“Think what you want.”
He replied curtly and started walking back toward the estate.
Islin smiled faintly and followed behind.
Three days had passed since the inquisitors took Romulu away.
The results, which were supposed to come quickly, still hadn’t arrived.
The longer it dragged on, the more uneasy he became.
‘No way… could he have sworn before God and still filed a false report?’
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought.
A false report like that would eventually be exposed—and if an inquisitor lied under divine oath, he’d be executed for blasphemy the moment it was revealed.
All he could do now was wait for the results.
For the time being, he had other matters to handle.
Jingle jingle.
He rang the small bell on his desk twice.
One ring for Irene, two for Islin.
It was less embarrassing than shouting every time.
When she first heard about it, Irene had secretly preened, thinking being “first” meant she was more important.
“You called?”
“Yes. What’s the update on that matter I asked you about?”
“You mean the one concerning that woman—Friana?”
He nodded.
Though Kus’s rebellion had left many injured, the ones who had been outside the base continued their duties as usual.
“We haven’t confirmed her exact whereabouts yet… but we did receive reports on her recent movements. Shall I start with that?”
“Go ahead.”
“Currently, she doesn’t seem to have a fixed residence. After losing her trial duel, rumors say her master abandoned her. She cleared out her old quarters and has been wandering from place to place ever since.”
“I see.”
‘…That actually makes me feel kind of bad.’
Friana wasn’t just any knight—she’d been destined to become the captain of the Isother Knights.
A bright future, now in ruins because of him.
He felt a sharp pang of guilt.
“Where was she last seen?”
“Three days ago, in the territory of Creba.”
“Three days ago…”
Creba—just north of his own domain, Impera.
She’d originally lived in the capital, so by the looks of it, she was moving closer and closer toward him.
A coincidence? Maybe. But it felt… unsettling.
Bzzz…
Just then, a faint vibration sounded.
“Ah, pardon me.”
Islin pulled a small round orb from her robe—a communication orb.
“…What?!”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she listened.
“What is it?”
“It’s about Friana… the very person we were just discussing.”
Already?
That’s the benefit of having a thief clan—information at exactly the right time.
“…But?”
“Yes.”
“Something happened?”
“One of our men was tracking her movements, but… his communication orb just…”
“I see.”
Well, it made sense—Friana was a Rank 5 powerhouse.
Someone of that level would easily notice a tail.
“So she finally decided to deal with him, huh?”
She’d probably known for a while that she was being followed. The fact she hadn’t acted until now—then suddenly did—was strange.
“I can’t read what she’s thinking.”
Her subordinate was likely dead—
“No, sir. He’s alive. In fact, he just sent us a message.”
“Oh?”
“And the message came… from Friana herself.”
“Ho.”
Now this was getting interesting.
“I assume it’s meant for me.”
“Yes. She said—she’ll be waiting for you. Tomorrow at noon, at the teahouse in front of the Creba estate.”
She was waiting for him? Why?
“Don’t tell me… she wants revenge?”
“I can’t say for sure.”
But he doubted it.
In the duel, Creed had beaten her fair and square. Friana wasn’t the type to take petty revenge.
At least, not in the novel she came from.
She was described as the very model of an upright, honorable knight.
Someone like that wouldn’t stoop to vengeance.
‘But… that was in the novel. She’s still young now—hot-blooded, impulsive.’
Ten years from now, she’d become that ideal knight—but who knew about the present?
“She didn’t say why?”
“No, only that she’ll be waiting.”
“Hm.”
She’d made the effort to send a message herself. Avoiding her would be cowardly.
Whatever her reason, it was best to meet her face to face.
‘Hopefully… it’s not revenge.’
If it were, she wouldn’t have sent a polite invitation—she would’ve just snuck in and slit his throat.
“…Could it be…?”
Maybe she wanted to serve him?
“…No, that’s impossible.”
As flattering as that thought was, the odds were near zero.
To command someone like Friana, you needed one of three things:
great power, great influence, or enormous wealth.
He had none of them.
“Haah…”
He was just a lowly count drowning in debt.
Someone like Friana serving him? That only happened in dreams.
‘Well, I’ll find out tomorrow.’
The next day at noon—he made sure his Dragonscale Sword was ready, and waited for the appointed time.
“So this is the place.”
Where everything ended—and where something new would begin.
Friana’s hand tightened around the hilt at her waist.
She had once been a knight in service to King Erengold II himself.
If she had only fulfilled the royal command, her future would have been brilliant.
But everything had ended here.
She had failed the king’s order—and lost to a nameless wandering knight, utterly, completely defeated.
It wasn’t bad luck or trickery.
She had simply been outmatched—in pure skill.
Even her pride, her lightning-fast swordsmanship, had been surpassed.
Grip.
She clenched the worn leather of her scabbard.
The ornate golden scabbard, gifted by the king, was long since returned.
The crest marking her as a royal knight was gone.
All that remained was an old sword from her family, and the clothes on her back.
“Haah…”
She exhaled slowly, and began walking toward the teahouse—
—to finally settle the matter she had carried in her heart for so long.
