Chapter 265: Man, Those Experts Are All Liars
As it turned out, Roy had overestimated the situation.
"I've been perfectly polite this whole time," Steven said, furrowing his brows with a troubled look, as if he couldn't understand why Roy was suddenly so tense. "Or… do you think this kind of attitude is rude?"
He even sounded a little aggrieved, as though he were the one being wronged.
Heaven help him—Steven himself felt his current behavior could only be described as exceptionally well-mannered. What more did this assassin want? Should he drop to his knees and kiss the man's boots, begging for mercy?
Yeah, no. That just wasn't happening.
"Heh. So what you're saying is…" Roy's smile began to fade, his voice growing colder with each word. "…if we were to invite you to come visit the Armorless Union headquarters, you wouldn't cooperate?"
The temperature around them dipped. The evening air, still far from winter's bite, suddenly grew chilling. The easy atmosphere on the bench froze solid in an instant.
"Ah, come on," Steven sighed, stretching lazily. "It's late. I really don't want to disturb anyone this time of night. As for cooperating? Yeah… not gonna happen. I'm not interested. What, you planning to force me?"
With a shrug, he stood up—smooth, casual, not the least bit alarmed. Roy tensed, but Steven simply began pointing around as though counting items on a checklist.
"Now, about those three squads of yours… let's see. A few in that alley over there. One in the tree. A couple near that car. Some more on the rooftop above me."
He glanced back at Roy, a look of disappointment spreading across his face.
"I'm not counting sixty people. Are you underestimating me?"
It was an almost childish complaint. But coming from Steven, it carried an absurd, dangerous edge—like a man challenging a firing squad to aim better.
"…"
Roy's smile had long since vanished. For a moment, all he could do was stare.
"I see," he said finally, his tone dry and tight. "Trying to have a conversation with someone like you… was my mistake."
Honestly, Roy had no idea how Steven could be so aware of their setup. But in the end, it didn't matter. There were no reinforcements coming. No variables left unaccounted for.
Not even the Silverlance Pegasi—one of Kazimierz's strongest knights—could survive an ambush this perfectly orchestrated.
With a flick of his fingers, Roy snapped once.
The command was silent, but the result was deafening.
Fffft—shhhk—fwhoom!
Arrows screamed through the night air, tearing across the darkness like vengeful shadows. Roy didn't blink. He didn't need to. No one could react in time to an ambush like this.
Steven was smiling a moment ago.
Now, Roy couldn't wait to see that smirk twist into pain.
And yet—
Nothing happened.
Steven hadn't moved. He didn't even flinch. No attempt to dodge. No effort to block. He simply looked at Roy… with an unreadable, almost pitying expression.
Then—
thud—clink—clatter.
The arrows, meant to pierce flesh and end lives, bounced off something invisible. They hit the ground with dull, harmless sounds, like twigs tossed against a wall.
Some hadn't even gotten close. A few that did manage to reach him were calmly caught out of the air with a single hand.
That's right.
He caught them. Mid-flight. With his bare hand.
The volley ended, and Steven stood exactly where he'd started—untouched, unscathed, and looking as relaxed as ever. The only difference was the pile of arrows at his feet… and the handful still held loosely in one hand.
It wasn't until that moment that Roy finally realized something was very, very wrong.
He had assumed too much.
From the beginning, he hadn't sensed even a trace of Originium energy from the youngster. He'd dismissed Platinum's injuries as an elaborate ruse—a bit of theater, nothing more. But now, with everything unraveling before his eyes, he realized just how naïve he had been.
Had he… met a hidden monster?
Just as he lunged for the long, jade-colored bow resting beside the bench, a sharp, crisp click echoed in the silence—like the safety being disengaged.
It stopped him cold.
His fingers froze just centimeters from the bow's grip, while his eyes locked onto Steven—just in time to see the young man casually flick the arrows in his hand toward the shadows.
Like throwing darts at a board.
Screams burst from his earpiece. Agonized, dying cries from the elite squads he had so carefully positioned. Precise. Remote. Hidden.
All gone.
And still—Roy didn't dare move.
Instead, he forced a bitter smile and slowly raised his hands above his head.
Because Steven's now-free hand held something small. Compact. Black. Metallic.
A seemingly ordinary iron block—no larger than a bar of soap.
But Roy recognized it instantly.
As someone who lived in the Grand Knight Territory of Kazimierz, as a bearer of the prestigious Lazurite rank, he knew exactly what that object was.
A concealed handgun. One of the more serious kinds.
And he didn't doubt for a second that whatever came out of that barrel could turn his head into a splattered watermelon in the blink of an eye.
What chilled him even more was that he hadn't even seen Steven draw it.
One moment, his hand was empty. Next, the weapon was there. It was as if time itself had frozen for a beat and reality had skipped a frame.
More than that—Roy knew, even without the gun, he wouldn't have dared move a muscle.
The furthest sniper he had placed was positioned several hundred meters away… yet now, the comms were silent.
It meant that this young man had casually grabbed a few arrows—objects not even meant to be thrown—and tossed them with such force and precision that he'd wiped out elite assassins at sniper range.
What kind of horror was that!?
Forget someone of the Lazurite RANK—even a veteran at the Darksteel RANK wouldn't be able to pull off something that absurd!
Just what kind of monster was standing in front of him?
Was every foreigner from outside Kazimierz like this? Was this truly the power of a "regular" Liberi civilian?
Roy's face paled to the color of ash. His confident demeanor had long since crumbled. Now, he couldn't even muster indignation—just raw disbelief.
For the first time, he genuinely believed the young man's claim of only sparing Platinum because of their friendship.
The reason why he didn't kill Platinum is not because he can't kill her. It's because he chose not to.
And now?
Now Roy understood just how laughably weak he was in comparison.
What unsettled him most, though, was that he still hadn't seen this young man use a single Arts technique. No glow. No spell formation. No signs of Originium activation.
So how, exactly, had those arrows been deflected like that? And how had he moved without being seen?
If Roy could do anything at this point, it would be to strangle the entire intel division of the Armorless Union.
'This,' he growled internally, 'this is the harmless spendthrift Liberi with some mental quirks? The 'non-threatening civilian'?!'
Since when did civilians casually deflect volleys of arrows or kill assassins across city blocks with glorified darts?
'This is your idea of a normal person?!'
As if on cue, Steven bent down to pick up a few more arrows, then lazily flicked them toward the last few assassins attempting to flee. Their deaths came without drama—quick, silent, clean.
Only then did Steven casually switch the pistol to his other hand, flash Roy a bright, friendly smile, and speak in that same soft, good-natured tone.
"You said you wanted to make a move, right? Honestly, that was kind of disappointing."
But Roy… Roy was no longer calm.
"I think… maybe this was all just a misunderstanding?"
With the last dregs of his pride flushed away, Roy forced a groveling smile as he tried to laugh off the situation. But his expression was clearly carved with regret.
If he had known this guy was such a freak, there was no way—absolutely no way—he would've led a team here himself.
Then again… who else was available?
Monique was still in the hospital. His subordinate, Platinum, had just been sent there by this very guy. And as far as the Armorless Union was concerned, Roy was the only combat-capable member left standing.
It wasn't like they could just dispatch a Darksteel to do it.
"Come on now," Steven replied, spinning the M1911 in his hand like a toy, not even pretending to worry about accidental discharge.
He didn't fear Roy making a move. Not one bit.
"You said it yourself—loud and clear—right from the start. You came here demanding answers."
He gave a casual shrug, face still lit with that carefree, lopsided grin.
"Well, here you go. I'll give you your damn answer."
He stopped spinning the pistol.
"I broke your surveillance. I injured Platinum. I'm taking responsibility for Zofia. You send people after me, I beat them down. You come again? I will do it again. That's my answer. Loud and clear enough for you?"
The smile vanished in an instant.
Steven's expression turned cold, cocky, and dripping with menace.
Then—smack—he tapped the barrel of his gun against Roy's cheek.
"Now then. Would the esteemed Lazurite of the Armorless Union be so kind as to pass this answer along to your bosses for me?"
His eyes narrowed, the amusement returning—like a cat playing with its food.
Roy stiffened but forced his lips into a smile.
"O-of course! I'd be delighted to deliver your message to the Darksteels. I'm sure they'll be… very interested in hearing your answer."
At this point, Roy looked less like a proud commander and more like a cowardly henchman from a bad mob movie—one breath away from dropping to his knees and begging for his life.
But in truth, he was relieved.
Steven had just implied he wanted someone to relay his message. Meaning—Roy had a purpose.
Meaning… he'd live.
"Well then," Steven said, satisfaction clear in his voice, "since we're working together so well, I've got just one more small question for you."
"Of course, anything!" Roy responded instantly, practically bowing with his smile.
What else could he do at this point? Fight back? Against this?
Steven tilted his head slightly, voice smooth as ever.
"Pick up your bow."
"…Huh?"
"I heard an old saying once. 'At more than seven paces, a gun is faster. At less than seven, the bow wins.' I'd like to test that theory."
"…"
Roy's smile froze like cracked porcelain.
But he didn't dare refuse. With slow, trembling hands, he reached down and gripped the jade-green longbow that had been resting beside the bench.
He never got the chance to draw it.
The bang came a fraction of a second later.
Agonizing pain erupted in both of Roy's hands and legs at once. He collapsed to the ground, the longbow clattering beside him, his limbs useless and twitching.
Steven lowered his smoking gun with a thoughtful expression, then blew gently on the barrel like an old-time cowboy.
"Hm… turns out, the gun's still faster. And more accurate, too."
"Man, those projectile experts back home are all liars."
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
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