Chapter 4: Founding Day - (4)

Shards flew everywhere.

One of the walls that formed the alley had completely collapsed.

Watching the scene unfold, a one-eyed man in a hooded robe—Slane—couldn’t hide his shock.

He gulped unconsciously.

‘What did I just witness?’

With a single punch, he had shattered a wall.

It was certainly impressive, but not unheard of. The continent’s so-called powerhouses had the ability to destroy buildings with their bare fists. Compared to them, the strike could even be seen as crude.

But punching through a wall wasn’t just about brute strength.

It required controlling internal mana to explosively reinforce the body. In essence, it was closer to magic than martial arts.

Modern martial arts were nothing more than supplementary techniques to magic. The same applied to knights. There were no knights who fought without mana anymore. Most of them enhanced their mana sensitivity through special drugs and applied it to swordsmanship.

It was the most efficient—and above all, the most powerful—method.

But the man before him?

Slane had grasped it in a split second: that punch carried no trace of mana.

Knight Freud Escoval had caused that level of destruction purely with physical strength. That kind of raw power was closer to that of a troll.

“…To unleash that kind of power without mana… I take back what I said. You are a Guardian Knight, through and through.”

Slane decided to stall for time and pondered the man’s motives.

‘Why…?’

In exchange for offering one of his eyes to an outer god, Slane had been granted the Eye of Insight—also called the Serpent’s Eye—in his remaining one.

That was how he had never lost to a knight before. He could see the flow of mana and exploit the smallest weaknesses.

No matter how convoluted a knight’s sword path, as long as it carried mana, his eye would see through it.

He had even beheaded Oswald in just two strikes by targeting vital points.

But Freud Escoval, the Guardian Knight he was now facing, was different.

He revealed nothing.

Even when he moved his body, swung his fists, or should have used mana to heal his wounds—there was nothing. Not even the most basic mana usage.

It was as if… he simply couldn’t use mana.

That baffled Slane.

He had already received intelligence on Freud from the cult.

A knight said to wield the most honest swordsmanship among the royal guards. One of the most aggressive among the Guardian Knights.

But meeting Freud in person didn’t match that intel.

The man had run away during their first encounter, and now fought barehanded without a sword.

To the battle-hardened Slane, this behavior was... baffling.

‘What if… he knows everything?’

What if he fled to protect the surviving princess?

What if he wasn’t using mana because he had realized the power hidden within Slane’s eye?

And if he avoided using a sword just to ensure not even a sliver of mana leaked out…

Then Slane had no chance of winning.

This man was one of the strongest Guardian Knights of the Royal Guard.

It was a stretch, even to Slane. He knew that.

But while loyal to the cult, Slane also valued his own life above all else.

He only entered fights he could win.

That was the rule he’d lived by ever since his days as a mercenary captain.

He focused on the man before him: a knight with ashen-gray hair, glaring at him with a raised fist as if to kill him.

Slightly sharp features. A scar on his lip gave away his temperament.

Still, no mana cloaked his body.

So, what now?

The cult’s orders were to slaughter every last member of the filthy royal bloodline.

Would it be alright to retreat here?

As that thought crossed his mind, the knight in front of him moved. Slane tensed, raising his sword in a ready stance.

But Freud didn’t make a combat move.

Instead, he bent down—as if to pick something up.

Slane frowned.

How careless—looking away in a life-or-death battle. He almost seemed relaxed.

Soon, Freud straightened up.

In his hand was—

A brick?

It must have come loose when the wall collapsed earlier.

What was he planning to do with that?

Slane narrowed his eye.

――Whoosh.

“What the hell?!”

In the blink of an eye, the brick flew at him. He just barely dodged by twisting his head.

The gust of air brushing past his ear made him dizzy.

In a single instant, Slane understood the situation.

Freud had just thrown the brick.

The absurdity of it all made Slane boil with anger.

****

“Tch.”

So it missed, huh.

Maybe the bastard’s reflexes were too sharp.

But that’s fine.

This place was littered with bricks—and no matter how many I threw, Freud’s body wouldn’t tire.

I had chosen the strategy of the ultra-coward.

There was no chance of winning in close combat.

That meant the answer was distance.

Wasn’t the human race superior to other animals because of its ability to throw things?

I was simply using evolution’s perks to my advantage.

I grabbed two bricks, one in each hand, and hurled them with everything I had.

Fastballs that looked like they could break the sound barrier rocketed through the air.

The bastard didn’t try to close the distance—he focused solely on dodging.

Well, with this kind of power, it wasn’t even worth trying to deflect them.

“Coward! Where’s your knightly pride?!”

“Shut the hell up, you psycho terrorist freak.”

I threw another brick.

It shattered the tiles near his feet.

“You think charging at an unarmed guy with no sword is knightly pride?”

After taking a few hits and throwing a punch back, I’d realized something very clearly.

I’m… kind of crazy strong.

Even in the game, the prologue was over in a flash once Freud or another Guardian Knight helped out.

Lore-wise, Freed was one of the top five in the Royal Guard.

Point is—I didn’t need to be scared.

Crunch!

“Guhh…”

One brick struck him square in the left shoulder.

I cheered internally and grabbed another to reload.

Disabling one arm was a huge advantage—even I knew how big a penalty that was for a swordsman.

“You son of a bitch――!”

The man threw off his bothersome robe.

Long white hair spilled out. His now-exposed face was twisted with rage.

“I’ll kill you with my own hands. Then I’ll grind up your corpse and feed it to pigs!”

And then he charged at me, eyes wild.

His speed was comparable to a pro athlete’s sprint.

A chill ran down my spine—I hurriedly threw another brick.

He dodged low, almost sliding along the ground to avoid my barrage.

Then, dragging his curved blade against the ground, he came at me from below, angling in.

“Die!”

But I didn’t dodge that strike.

In fact, this was exactly what I wanted.

Thud.

“Guhhhhh!”

The curved blade drove deep between my ribs.

Blinding pain exploded through my body. My vision swam with stars—but it didn’t matter.

Because I had his right arm firmly in my grasp.

His left arm was already useless, smashed by the brick.

In other words—he was completely defenseless.

He must not have expected me to take the attack head-on. His eyes, wide in shock, quickly filled with fear.

“Say it again. Who were you going to kill?”

I didn’t wait for an answer.

I yanked his arm, breaking his stance, then seized his head with my other hand.

Using every ounce of strength I had—and the weight of my thick armor—I slammed his skull into the wall.

Bang.

No, it didn’t even make a satisfying sound like that.

Instead—

――Splat.

His head burst like a watermelon.

Flesh, blood, and brain matter, dyed red, sprayed upward like champagne.

His body twitched violently, then slowly slid down the wall, unmoving.

A yellow puddle spread beneath him and soaked my boots, forcing me to stumble back.

It wasn’t just horrifying—it was grotesque.

“……”

I killed someone.

What was surprising… was how little I felt about it.

When I saw the corpses in the plaza, I’d been shaken to my core.

But now… I felt nothing.

No, that’s not true.

Something deep inside me was bubbling up—exhilaration.

“…I must be losing it.”

I shook my head.

Yeah. It had to be the blood loss. That was the most comforting explanation.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the curved blade still embedded in my side and yanked it out.

Tears welled up and blurred my vision—but I could still manage.

“…Ahh… damn…”

I turned toward Lincia.

Her face had gone ghost-white. She stared at me and the headless corpse, back and forth.

Her legs were trembling like those of a newborn calf.

Yeah… it must’ve been shocking.

But she couldn’t collapse here.

Lincia would have to face countless more trials.

She’d see dozens more corpses before this was over.

Lincia had to survive to the end and become Empress.

And I would make sure of it.

I walked over and took her hand, gently pulling her forward.

“It’s unsightly. You don’t need to pay it any mind.”

“Y-yes…”

Lincia swayed for a moment, but soon followed behind me.

“…Eugh…”

When she stepped over the body, she closed her eyes tight and extended her leg in an exaggerated hop, like she was leaping over a vaulting box.

It reminded me so much of my youngest sister, terrified of bugs, that I almost found it… cute.

“Sir Freud, your wound…”

I turned my head—she was staring at my side.

Blood was pouring from the deep gash like a fountain.

It hurt like hell. But not enough to stop me.

“I’m fine. For now.”

A man like Freud should be able to endure something like this.

…Probably.

“Let’s go. We’re almost at the palace.”

Just as I turned to leave, a faint system message faded into view before my eyes.

I stared blankly at the message window.

What the hell is this now?

-- The End OF The Chapter --

 

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