The Men of the Kingdom Part II

by Kugane Maruyama

  Since he wasn’t restricted by a life span as an undead, if Davernoch continued mastering various types of magic, there was a distinct possibility that he would end up capable of destroying all life. Perhaps Zero had backed a being who might in the future be able to threaten the human race.

  But—

  —as Sebas approached in a gale of wind, his right hand curled tight and punched Davernoch. With no time to even move, much less block or evade, the lich’s head came right off.

  Davernoch’s false life was obliterated, and he was destroyed without ever learning what he did to make Sebas so angry.

  Sebas looked down on him and spat out somewhat uncharacteristically, “There is only one person who deserves that title, the one seated on high. How impudent of an inferior undead like you to try and claim it.”

  He shook the bone fragments off his hand, and as he did, Davernoch’s body completely disappeared. The various magic items he’d had on him littered the ground.

  The surrounding Eight Fingers members were frozen in shock, and the fact that the Six Arms could move at all clearly indicated they were a cut above the rest; that wasn’t something one could do without having overcome a number of life-or-death battles.

  It was praiseworthy. It proved that they truly deserved the adamantite adventurer rank.

  Next, Sebas faced the woman.

  Dancing Scimitars, Edström.

  There was an enchantment called Dance. It made weapons move on their own, as if in a dance, just like the name implied. Since the weapons would attack automatically, this spell was perfect for artificially increasing one’s allies in a fight.

  However, since the weapons could perform only simple movements, the spell wasn’t fit to be used as a primary attack method.

  Ambushes and keeping enemies in check were about all it was good for. In the fierce battles that took place at Edström’s level, Dance could do little more than annoy opponents. Since there was a limit on how many enchantments one piece of gear could hold, it was only natural to judge that something other than Dance could be more useful. For example, Gagaran of the Blue Roses used a weapon that specialized in enchantments that increased the damage she dealt.

  But no enchantment suited Edström better than Dance.

  The movements of the dancing weapons were actually based on mental commands from the owner, but in the heat of battle, unless one had a clear advantage, it was difficult to communicate appropriate instructions to a distant, slashing weapon. As a consequence, the movements of Dance became predictable.

  But Edström was different.

  She could manipulate her swords so naturally, it was as if an invisible warrior with all the same abilities as her had been summoned. This was possible thanks to the abnormal structure of her mind. She’d been born with two powers different from talents.

  One was an extremely—extraordinarily—developed spatial sense.

  Additionally…there existed some who could do two completely different things with each hand at the same time with no training. Edström possessed an even more advanced version of that, boasting an extremely flexible mind—that was her second power.

  She has two brains. It wouldn’t have been strange for someone to claim that, given her abilities.

  If she had only one of those powers, it would probably have been impossible for her to wield the dancing swords so freely. But to have both at once could be called a miracle.

  Surely, in the kingdom of nine million people, there was no one besides her who had two powers so well matched.

  The scimitars drew themselves according to her wishes and floated into the air. All she had to do was concentrate on defense. Her other five swords would do the attacking for her.

  She had set her sword zone. Anyone who entered this prison would lose their life without fail.

  But—

  Sebas flew in close and struck with the edge of his hand at an impossible speed, faster than the scimitars could even begin to attack.

  In that instant, Edström’s head rolled. Enveloped in chi, the edge of Sebas’s hand was far sharper than any lackluster sword.

  Her body fell to the ground after a slight delay, blood spouting from the neck, but the five scimitars remained in the air.

  Sebas had attacked so quickly, and the edge of his hand was so keen, that she hadn’t noticed her own decapitation. She may not have even felt any pain.

  The five swords raced through the air toward Sebas, as she’d ordered them to.

  But Sebas, standing perfectly straight, ignored them and looked down at the head and kindly voiced genuine praise. “To attack even after losing your head… I respect your drive to fight.”

  Edström’s lips opened and closed. What are you talking about? What do you mean?

  But she must have sensed something. Her eyes darted around, and she discovered her headless body. The change in her expression was dramatic. She blinked several times and opened her tearful eyes wide.

  I can’t believe it. It’s a lie. It has to be an illusion. There’s no way I lost. He didn’t do anything to me. My body won’t move because of some kind of spell; that must be it. Somebody say something!

  Then, as she acknowledged the truth, her face darkened in despair.

  She worked her lips again, and the swords clattered to the ground as if they’d been tossed away. There was no longer any sign she would move again.

  “Double-team him! Let’s do it together!” the man in the full plate armor shrieked. His sturdy armor couldn’t shield him from his fear.

  He had fully realized—not with his brain but with his heart—that everything Sebas had said earlier was true, that they never should have made an enemy of him, that they were facing someone who shouldn’t exist in this world.

  “T-t-t-take my S-spatial Slash!”

  He knew he would die, and no matter what happened, he couldn’t overcome Sebas.

  The reason he didn’t run was that he understood instinctively that he would be killed within a few steps. Advancing means death, fleeing means death, so if that’s how it’s gonna be… That sentiment proved that he was, at least, a warrior.

  Sebas’s eyes narrowed—it was the first time during the current battle where he was facing someone with an ability that warranted caution.

  It was the ace move of the world champion who created Sebas, Touch Me, an attack that ripped through space itself. He was certain that this one wouldn’t compare to his creator’s technique, but even an imitation would probably wound him.

  Spatial Slash, Peshurian.

  The armored man’s title came from his magic art, which could cut an opponent up to almost three yards away when he whipped his sword out of its three-foot sheath. In reality, he wasn’t actually tearing through space.

  The trick was in his sword.

  It was a weapon known as an urumi, a long sword made of flexible steel that bent easily and twisted about. The one Peshurian carried was a version of that with the end ground extremely thin—essentially a sword built for cutting. It might be more accurate to call it a fine metal whip.

  He’d been given his alias because when he drew that sword and swung it at high speed, he could cut down his opponent with no visible signal but a flash of reflected light.

  Compared to the other Six Arms, his move was practically a mere trick, but his mastery of such a difficult weapon indicated his skill as a warrior. If someone handed the same weapon to Gazef, lauded as the strongest fighter in the kingdom, he probably wouldn’t have been able to wield it as well.

  And even if Peshurian’s opponent saw through the trick, it didn’t matter—he was still extremely capable.

  The terrible thing about his whip was the speed of its tip—it was on another level. Dodging it was difficult—in fact, it was virtually impossible based only on visual cues.

  An ultra-quick slash, impossible for humans to handle. Wouldn’t such an attack practically be the same as ripping through space?

  But—

  The tip of his blade,
despite its transcendent speed, had been caught between two fingers. The old man had done it so casually, as naturally as if he was plucking something up off the floor.

  Sebas took a curious look at the metal between his fingers and raised an eyebrow. “What is this thing? You can’t cut space…”

  “Hyaa!” With a roar like an avian monster, a rapier came thrusting at him.

  Thousand Kills, Marmvist.

  His main weapon, Rose Thorn, had two horrifying enchantments. One was Flesh Grinding. This was the terrifying power to twist up the surrounding flesh the moment it thrust into a body and burrow farther in. It destroyed the nearby area and left a horrible scar. The rapier’s other enchantment was Assassination Master. This was a magical power that would open up wounds so that even a scratch became a deep gash.

  Those two abilities alone were heinous enough, but an additional feature made it especially fiendish—not magic but toxicity.

  The tip of Rose Thorn was daubed with a lethal cocktail of many different poisons. Marmvist was not originally a warrior but more of an assassin, which was why he was equipped in such a way. When the goal was to kill an enemy with your weapon, something that would finish them off quickly would be most efficient. That approach led to this combination of abilities that created a sword able to kill with a scratch.

  It didn’t matter if it was Gazef Stronoff or Brain Unglaus—if they didn’t have a specific plan to counter Marmvist’s brutality, they would fall.

  But he had a weakness.

  Since he counted on dispatching his opponents with even the tiniest of wounds, his fencing ability was slightly subpar. Still, his thrusts were the real deal. When Marmvist lunged, it was like a flash of light, and he could declare that he could surpass Gazef in that, at least.

  In other words, he had the best stabbing attacks in the kingdom.

  And by adding a number of martial arts, he could even approach the league of the former Black Scripture member Clementine.

  But—

  Sebas didn’t dodge. He didn’t need to.

  “…!”

  Marmvist, who had thrust his arm out with all his might, was speechless.

  The tip of Rose Thorn, the heinous weapon that could kill with a scratch—was touching Sebas’s finger.

  Yes, Sebas had stopped the point of the rapier with the pad of his index finger.

  “Wh…what?!” Marmvist gasped, having finally realized it was neither a dream nor an illusion as he blinked an extraordinary amount of times. That was all he could manage.

  Common sense said it was impossible. His experience screamed that there was no way a steel-piercing strike could be stopped with a fingertip. But the reality was clear before him.

  Marmvist’s full strength was not enough to push through the gently raised digit of an old man.

  Rose Thorn had been bent.

  He tried to withdraw to attack a different spot, but before he could, Sebas pinched the blade between his thumb and index finger. That small shift was enough to hold it fast.

  Before him was an unyielding mountain. When he looked, his comrade was also frantically trying to retrieve his sword.

  In the midst of the struggle, a steely voice rang out. “Well, here I go.”

  The next moment, Peshurian’s head burst.

  It was a rare act for Sebas. Up until now all his strikes had been specific techniques, but this time it would be more correct to say he simply lashed out angrily, without thinking.

  He looked at his right hand, which had easily thrust through the exploded head.

  His white glove was splotched and reeked of iron.

  “This is a failing on my part…”

  Sebas let the rapier go, then removed the glove and cast it away. The moment it hit the cobblestones, Marmvist snagged it on the tip of his sword and snatched it up.

  Marmvist might have believed he was as fast as a star shooting across the night sky, but to Sebas, he was slow enough to make him yawn. There were any number of methods to take the glove back—like snapping the rapier and charging in to punch the man’s head off—but his opponent’s intent was so unclear, he decided to pass on that and ask the genuine question puzzling him. “What…are you even trying to do?”

  “This is it!!! This must be the magic item that was boosting your power!!!”

  It was just a cloth glove.

  Marmvist’s voice thundered. There was froth at the corners of his mouth. And his eyes were bloodshot. His mind was probably already half-lost to the world of insanity. He’d seen something so unbelievable that he wanted to rationalize it any way he could.

  “You could just accept that I’m strong… I’d be fine with that.”

  Sebas momentarily regarded the man, whose smile seemed to split his face, then threw a punch.

  After Marmvist’s head had been removed from his shoulders and his body crumpled to the ground, all that was left was silence.

  Sebas blew on the pads of his fingers as if they’d gotten a little dusty. Thanks to the defense of Iron Skin, he didn’t have so much as a scratch.

  “So if I hadn’t been cautious when I heard the name Spatial Slash, this would have been over in five seconds. They did an admirable job stretching it out to twenty.”

  A number of observers higher up in the building had no doubt been watching these gruesome events unfold, and he gave an order to the predator who had been targeting them.

  “Solution, they might be in possession of critical intelligence, so don’t kill them. Now, then…”

  He turned a cold eye on the stupefied mob surrounding him.

  “Ten more seconds.”

  3

  4 Late Fire Moon (September) 10:13 PM

  Climb jogged down the empty hallway. His helmet’s power let him see the two others running beside him, even though they were all invisible. It made him worry whether the spells were really working. If he looked closer, though, he could tell there was no mistake, because the colors appeared dull.

  They had to be careful not to be too loud, but they couldn’t slow down, either.

  They had to rescue the kidnapped woman while Sebas was buying them time. Even if he was stronger than Gazef Stronoff and Brain Unglaus put together, these were the Six Arms, no less formidable than adamantite-rank adventurers. If they all rushed him, things could get dicey, so Climb and the others had to get the woman out and save Sebas, too.

  They turned a few corners, descended a flight of stairs—and then the man on point suddenly halted.

  Climb stumbled a couple of steps, and the voice of the thief apologized to him. “Sorry for stopping so suddenly. Climb, this is it. Around this corner are the cells, and the woman is being held in the back.”

  It was definitely a coincidence, but as if on cue, their spells wore off, and the color of the trio returned to normal.

  On the thief’s signal, Climb peeked around the corner down the dimly lit hallway and saw that there were several large cells.

  “…It was like this before, too—no one around.”

  There weren’t even any guards, never mind prisoners. It was imprudent—and too suspicious. It was practically like they’d been invited. But really, who was fearless enough to infiltrate a building garrisoned by every member of the Six Arms, the strongest Eight Fingers? Not even Climb and his team would have gone in if various other factors—Sebas acting as bait, the captive woman—hadn’t fallen into place.

  The Six Arms were probably thinking the same thing.

  The resultant wiggle room worked in Climb and his team’s favor; overconfidence really could become an Achilles’ heel.

  “Okay, let’s get in there and save this lady, yeah?” Perhaps because they had leaped into danger together, the thief spoke in a more relaxed tone.

  Brain responded with a question. “Before that, can I ask you something? What’s the double door at the end of the hall?”

  When Climb looked to the far wall, he saw the large door Brain was talking about.

  “Well, speaking from
experience, I’d say that these aren’t jail cells but cages for beasts. I would bet the door in the back is for taking the animals to…some kind of arena.”

  “I see… There’s a musk coming from the cells. I heard that they make magical beasts fight in arenas in the empire, too, but…”

  Climb sniffed the air in the same manner as Brain to pick up the scent. It smelled like a beast, a carnivorous one.

  “Taking them out for training is different from publicly executing them, though. I don’t really want to imagine any other uses besides those…but there might have been other kinds of shows? Anyhow, sorry for the weird tangent. Should we move on?”

  Climb answered Brain with a nod, and the thief agreed.

  The thief took point, and Climb and Brain followed behind him on either side.

  They reached the last cell with no issues, and the thief began examining the door at the end of the hall. Climb took a bell out of his pouch. Then he rang it.

  A spell activated, and the lock on the cell opened. The thief looked disappointed, but they were short on time. Climb hoped he would tolerate this much.

  “Are you Tsuare?” Climb called out to the woman in the cell. She’d been lying on her side, but now she sat up. Her looks matched Sebas’s description, and she was wearing a maid uniform. Assuming she was still wearing the clothes she was kidnapped in, it had to be her.

  A faint relief appeared in Climb’s heart. They’d completed their first objective. Next was to escort her to safety.

  “Sebas asked us to save you. Come this way,” Climb said, and the woman—Tsuare—nodded.

  When she came out of the cell, she looked at Brain and the thief with a tiny bit of surprise. Her eyes seemed to stay on Brain for an especially long time.

  “There’s no noise coming from behind this door—the one that probably leads to an arena. Still, it’s dangerous to go into a place without knowing anything about it. We should follow the plan and head back the way we came.”

  Climb and Brain agreed. Or to be more precise, they were both soldiers, and they knew that experts exist for a reason, so they replied without a moment’s hesitation.