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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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A storm of blood raged. My blade carved through mercenaries like a scythe through wheat, sending crimson fountains arcing through the air. As a Master swordsman appearing out of nowhere, I was their living nightmare. They scrambled backward, weapons trembling, too terrified to even raise their blades.
“Don’t come closer! I’ll kill this woman!”
A nearby mercenary pressed his sword against Benny’s throat. Shura, just freed from the net, gasped—but I was already moving. With a vicious slash, I aimed for both the hostage-taker and Benny.
The mercenary panicked, shoving Benny aside to dodge. My blade curved unnaturally mid-air, shearing clean through his thigh as he fled.
Shura caught the pale-faced Benny, staring at me in awe.
“M-Master…?”
I smirked. “That’s how it goes. Scum who take hostages to save themselves always ditch them when death comes knocking. Heh.”
“Ah…”
“Anyway, you’re free now—so fight. I need backup.”
Shura grabbed a fallen sword. I finished the hostage-taker by severing his arms, then glared at the half-naked Benny.
“I immobilized him. You kill him. If you don’t, I’ll kill you later. Nothing pisses me off more than wasted effort.”
“Y-Yes…”
“And don’t loot his pockets. I’ll know if you do.”
Benny nodded frantically under my murderous gaze.
Then—an arrow whistled toward my back. I spun, snatched it mid-air, and roared at the cowering mercenaries:
“Which bastard shot that?!”
No one stepped forward. With a twisted grin, I hurled my sword, impaling an archer through the forehead. Then, using every weapon within reach, I slaughtered every bowman in sight.
“Mon…ster…”
I killed that one too—with Survival Swordsmanship Technique, Chapter 2, Form 1: “Gotcha! Head Smash!” Victims of this move tended to end up as unrecognizable pulp from the neck up.
“Where’s Jess?! Show me what you’ve got, you coward!”
I needed Jess’s head—the entire point of this massacre. Without it, my future trials would be meaningless.
But Jess never appeared. Instead, a middle-aged mercenary pointed a trembling finger at a corpse—the first man I’d killed, pants half-down in rigor mortis.
“That’s Jess?”
“Y-Yes.”
“That limp-dick bastard died first? Pathetic.”
I bisected the informant. With Jess dead, I could relax and enjoy the slaughter. Charging into the fray, I unleashed Survival Swordsmanship Chapter 1: “Civilian Butchery.”
Demoralized mercenaries scattered like sheep before a lion. No matter how skilled, without morale, they were worse than children.
“Weak.”
Even a seven-year-old I’d seen in my past life fought better—swinging a broom at monsters to protect his blind parents. That was a warrior. These fleeing cowards? Worthless.
“You dare invade our village? Unforgivable!”
Shura and the militia rallied, herding survivors toward the gate—a terrible tactic. Cornered rats bite hardest.
Tch. Is she stupid? Always leave an escape route.
But I didn’t stop her. I wanted none alive anyway. Each head meant more entertainment funds.
“What the hell’s happening?!”
Looters returning from the village froze at the carnage. The mountain of butchered comrades at the gate shattered their will.
They dropped stolen goods and women, scrambling backward—but escape was impossible. Aim Village sat on three cliffs, with only the gated entrance as an exit. And Shura, the militia, and I blocked it.
I taunted: “There’s still a hundred of you left! I’m not even that strong—come at me!”
Panic erupted. They’d been leisurely pillaging, only to find this nightmare.
A few brave souls charged. My aura blade reduced them to falling chunks of meat.
The rest stampeded the palisade instead.
“Running?! Where’s your pride?!”
I chased, hacking climbers, but couldn’t stop them all. Most escaped.
Furious, I turned—only to find villagers gathering.
I pointed my sword. “Stay back! This loot’s mine! Anyone looting dies!”
As I frantically stripped corpses, a group approached—seven men in armor but unarmed.
“Who’re you?”
“We’re…”
“Mercenaries? Militia?”
“Mercenar—”
My sword danced. Shura lunged to stop me—too late. Heads rolled.
I blinked at her.
“What? They said ‘mercenaries.'”
“Village… mercenaries.”
“Oh.”
I rolled my eyes, then clasped my hands in prayer.
“Ah, brave warriors who died defending this village from bandits. May the gods bless your heroic souls.”
There. Now everyone would remember them as valiant defenders.
Next came the real work—looting. Over a hundred corpses meant I needed help.
So I shared. I took only money, armor, and valuables, leaving the rest for the villagers. Generous, really.
Dusk fell, but Aim Village buzzed with activity. Disposing of corpses proved troublesome.
The hundred at the gates could be tossed off the cliffs for monsters to devour. But thirty wounded mercenaries I’d slaughtered earlier lay farther out—a logistical nightmare.
Meanwhile, I crouched in an alley, counting today’s haul: 233 gold leaves, assorted coins, and Jess’s spatial pouch—a low-tier magic item worth at least 30 more.
Not bad. Better profit than monster hunting. Maybe I should specialize in mercenary extermination.
A disappointment: The blacksmith and arms dealer had been looted clean by the fleeing mercenaries. No resale value there.
But I’d left the goods on credit, to be paid when I returned for Jess’s head. Good enough.
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