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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Yuziro
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“Then try blocking this.”
Eldmia’s low murmur was followed by a flurry of attacks, too fast for the eye to follow.
Gish felt a chill run down his spine.
More than just threatening, this absurd barrage was eerily familiar.
“Where the hell did you…!”
Demons.
It was strikingly similar to the fighting style of those damned scout units that would rush in for a quick kill.
“A demon I ran into on the road used it.”
“How do you just ‘run into’ a demon?!”
Even though years had passed, the similarity was so stark, dredged up from the depths of his memory, that the encounter itself couldn’t be a lie.
But where had he learned this?
Had he been to the battlefield?
Was his age a lie?
Was he actually ten years older?
And amidst all this, that incessant chatter continued, impossible to ignore.
“Seemed like his trump card, but…”
It was just an imitation.
How a human could mimic the demonic burst of power was beyond him, but it was certainly not something achievable without consequence.
And there was a fatal flaw.
Even demons couldn’t maintain that state for long.
“Should have understood the technique before trying to copy it!”
In a prolonged fight, it was bound to falter.
Even demons struggled; humans couldn’t even manage half as well.
He’d seen countless knights die trying to mimic it.
Ten exchanges, and his power would be spent.
“Demon techniques aren’t meant for humans!”
“Well, it seemed like he was about to die if he kept it up for too long.”
The calmness in Eldmia’s voice, the casual reply amidst such a frantic exchange, was unsettling.
“But since he couldn’t hold on and died, I’m still here, alive and well.”
The calm, matter-of-fact response sent a wave of unease through Gish.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, determined to break the barrage.
He’d learned this through countless encounters: when skill faltered, risk your life.
Even with sufficient skill, it was never easy, but it was the only way.
Push through, disrupt the flow, turn the tide, and endure until the demonic power waned.
“Then you should know this too!”
If Eldmia had truly faced a demon, he would know this.
He thrust his sword with all his might, aiming to end it, but…
“I know. I did the same.”
Eldmia effortlessly deflected the blade aimed at his throat and resumed his attack.
“Not bad!”
“You’re pretty underwhelming for all your boasting.”
A forced smile plastered on his face as he parried the relentless attacks, a vague sense of unease washed over Gish.
He dodged, parried, and countered, his reactions becoming instinctive, yet Eldmia remained unfazed, his breathing steady, his attacks precise.
Maintaining the exchange wasn’t difficult, but Gish’s stamina was waning while Eldmia remained unnervingly fresh.
Like a training dummy.
Attack here, counter there, find another way to block the counter.
A nightmare opponent in a one-on-one duel.
“Are you sure you’re not lying about your age?!”
“Don’t talk if you haven’t been swinging a sword since you were eight.”
Gish, who had begun training with a wooden sword at eight, found Eldmia’s reply absurd.
He had only studied swordsmanship theoretically until he was thrown into the hellish demon war for five years.
He’d joined a knight’s retinue at fourteen, a typical path, and had excelled, but he hadn’t truly understood the purpose of the relentless training until then.
He, too, had been a foolish child, swinging a sword with misplaced bravado.
How could a fifteen-year-old, just because he’d started training at eight, reach this level of skill?
Something was fundamentally different…
“Gah!”
A sudden, unexpected strike sliced through his thigh, snapping Gish back to reality.
It wasn’t the unexpectedness of the attack, but the fact that it had pierced his armor.
“Lost in thought?”
That damned tongue.
That mouth was the problem.
The absurdity of his casual remarks kept distracting him.
But the fact that his sword could pierce armor was a separate issue.
“Your armor is pretty average, huh?”
“A magic sword…!”
“…Never mind.”
Was this why he’d mentioned using a good sword?!
His strength fading, Gish retreated, hoping to create some distance.
He knew Eldmia would pursue relentlessly, but he had to try.
“…Huh?”
But Eldmia, instead of pursuing, paused, tilting his head in confusion.
“Did you run away after killing a couple of demons and start calling yourself a ‘Demon Slayer’?”
Suppressing a surge of anger, Gish forced himself to remain calm.
Despite the intense exchange, Eldmia’s breathing was only slightly ragged.
That alone had stripped Gish of his initial bravado.
He prided himself on his skill, his calm assessment of his own abilities.
He knew he was in serious trouble.
Breaking into the mansion was nothing special; he could have done it too.
The decapitated bodies were impressive, but he could have done it if he’d wanted to.
But to remain this composed after such carnage, after fighting an Expert-level knight, a veteran of the demon war… it was unnatural.
And in this unnatural situation, Gish felt a chilling familiarity.
A feeling he’d experienced only once, a feeling that had broken him, driving him from the demon war to fight his own kind.
The nightmare of overwhelming violence, wielded casually, belonged to a demon centurion.
“Are… are you a demon?”
“Judging by your nonsense, I must have hit a nerve.”
That level of strength was only attainable by the King’s Ten Swords.
But the true horror was the unknowable limits of demonic power, unlike humans who relied on Aura and mana.
Like Eldmia now.
“Didn’t you see the horns on their heads?”
But Eldmia simply scoffed at his question, replying calmly,
“Because otherwise, your strength makes no sense.”
“Why not? I know someone from Riviel who swings a warhammer the size of a battering ram without using Aura. Maybe you’re just weak.”
“Did you run into one of Riviel’s Dragonblood?”
“Dragonblood what?”
Normally, Gish would have pursued the conversation, but he decided to exploit the opening.
This monstrous stamina was dangerous in a prolonged fight.
He had to end it with a single, decisive blow.
He channeled all his Aura into a desperate lunge, aiming for Eldmia’s throat.
“Damn it.”
Even this direct thrust, aimed at the most vulnerable spot, was effortlessly parried by Eldmia’s whirling blade.
It was so clean, so perfect, that it seemed choreographed.
Thanks to his heightened senses, amplified by Aura, Gish witnessed the entire sequence and knew.
This isn’t human.
He dropped his sword without hesitation, drawing two daggers hidden beneath his shoulder armor.
Discarding his sword for hidden blades was a blow to his pride, but that was only against humans.
Fools who clung to chivalry against monsters died first on the battlefield.
Even the most skilled knight would be forced to take a serious blow from this attack.
An Expert-level Aura user, wielding daggers at close range with deadly intent, was difficult to evade, even for an equal.
He lunged without hesitation, certain of victory.
“There are two ways to piss someone off.”
That was, until Eldmia’s foot slammed into his chest.
Crack!
It wasn’t the sound of a kick against armor, especially not an upward kick, but Gish had no time to question it.
His breastplate caved inward, crushing his ribs, and he dropped his daggers.
“The first is to leave them hanging.”
Even amidst the blinding pain, Eldmia continued speaking calmly.
Unable to breathe, Gish collapsed, but with a final surge of willpower, he looked up at Eldmia.
“The second is…”
He wasn’t trying to provoke him.
He was simply drawn to the incessant chatter, against his will.
So, what’s the second one?
He tried to speak, but only blood came out.
His lungs were punctured.
He knew he was dying.
Even if Eldmia spared him, he wouldn’t survive in this condition.
To die like this…
Looking down at Gish, Eldmia swung his sword.
Wait, what’s the secon-
The gleaming blade descended, ending his torment before he could even comprehend the final jab, the final wordplay that had haunted him to his last breath.
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[Your Text Here]
I guess we’ll never know