Grasmere Village, Two months before Ainz Ooal Gown
There was screaming that echoed throughout the entire village. Shrill and vocal-cord-tearing in its intensity and pitch. Under normal circumstances, it would activate anyone's fight-or-flight response without a second thought.
When it came to Brain Unglaus and the Death Spreading Brigade, there was no "flight" to be had, only fight.
The village they were attacking, Grasmere, was noted as being a flourishing and profitable lumber town, which in-turn worked with another profitable lumber town that was closer to the Forest of Tob.
Much of their money was tied into the valuable equipment the village-folk purchased to continue their hard work, but there were rumors of them hiding a great treasure somewhere in the village, which their mysterious employer sought to have for themselves.
Where it could be was uncertain, so the commissioned group of mercenaries were instructed to raze the place to the ground and search every last centimeter of dirt until they found what they were looking for.
As expected, it was a massacre all around. The main population was mostly farmers and lumberjacks with their families, with very few actual defenders to protect them. Grasmere may have been profitable, but it was nowhere close to some of the dedicated lumber mills that the Re-Estize kingdom employed, which meant they had no official protection from the king.
The blue-haired man watched with a bored expression as his associates tore through the pitiful workers with axes that called themselves "warriors". He was standing in an open road, quietly observing the chaos that was happening around him.
Women and children fled as quickly as they could, hiding in-between houses while the men did their best to fend off the bloodthirsty mercenaries. Those who dared to stand and fight were swiftly cut down, their blood splattering the walls of their former homes.
It was almost kind of sad, watching how easily the villagers were killed. If Brain were not on his journey to become the ultimate swordsman, he might've felt regret at the lives his group were taking.
Unfortunately, he couldn't afford such a luxury as regret.
A war cry off to his right grew louder, causing him to lazily glance over and see an older man rushing him, or trying to at least. A short sword was raised above his head, preparing an over-head strike to try and cleave Brain's skull in two, as if he were some common bandit to be fought on the battlefield.
Watching the man hobble up to him, Brain noted that he was approaching an advanced age, as evidenced by his weak gait. His grip was shaky and entirely too tight, making for a poor stance. The combination of fear and absolute rage on that man's face meant he was not in the right state of mind to be fighting, especially against someone like the blue-haired swordsman.
He huffed, merely backing up and sticking out a foot for the man to trip over, who did just that. The man squealed like a stuck pig when he inevitably fell on his own sword, and then his cries slowed to choked gurgles.
"Just like I thought, not worth my time anyhow. How much longer until the rest of these fools are finished?"
The clash of blades and uproarious laughter reminded him of his time fighting in the tournament that held the prize of becoming Re-Estize's Chief Warrior, an honor that would place him at the side of the king himself.
He recalled how easily he defeated every other swordsman present at that tournament, a majority of them pompous nobles born into money and believing themselves superior to him in every way.
The record was quickly set straight, as a lowly farmer's child was able to stand among the best of them and absolutely destroy their sense of self-worth. Back then, his ego had rampaged out of control, and Brain truly believed that he was unrivaled by anyone with the sword.
At least, that's the way he felt all the way up to his final match against Gazef Stronoff himself.
Gazef… Ever since that day, I've trained to best you, to prove once and for all that I'm the better warrior. It's only a matter of time and running with these thugs before I stand before you again, ready for our rematch.
For a brief moment, he almost lost himself to the fantasy. He imagined himself standing victorious over his rival, his ego restored and his skill uncontested once again. Everything would be as it should, once Gazef lay at his feet.
Shouting shattered his daydreams, and Brain found himself looking up to see that the same mercenaries from earlier were engaged with another peasant. Only, this time, rather than some overworked farmer, he saw an absolute ox of a boy, single-handedly manhandling two of the three warriors he was up against.
Brain guessed the boy to be around sixteen years old, based on his youthful appearance, but with a body that suggested he could probably pick up livestock and sprint with it. He was tanned, a mop of brown hair on his head and brown eyes to match.
His "armor", if Brain could call it that, was composed of a mash of hastily tied on cast-iron skillets at his shoulders and knees and a thick leather apron. For his size, he was surprisingly fast, able to duck and weave between the blows of his opponents.
Those who fought the boy were no push-overs by any stretch of the imagination, but they lacked raw strength, hence why they fought in numbers. Brain didn't remember the trios' names, he never bothered to learn any of them, but he at least knew they were run-away brats with more cruelty than sense.
One of them had been grabbed by the neck and promptly choke slammed by the physically imposing villager, who picked up the sword that the mercenary dropped and was swinging wildly at the other two.
One of the other two jabbed at the boy, who, to Brain's surprise, actually grabbed the blade of the mercenary and yanked on it. The mercenary was sent sprawling, and in the confusion that followed, the boy stabbed the final mercenary in the gut.
That one cried, falling to his knees and wailing like a baby. It was at that moment that the blue-haired swordsman decided his interest was piqued enough for him to start walking over.
His pace was leisurely, taking his time to study the boy and to watch the hare-brained trio roll around in the bloody mud, groaning. He sneered at them, contempt blooming in his chest at seeing their sorry state.
Definitely green, that kid. Who the hell thinks to grab a sword during a fight and actually use it to knock somebody down? It's so stupid, but it worked. His posture's all off too, and he's swinging a sword like you would a damn club. He's likely never had to use an actual sword in his entire life.
"Not everyday you see a village kid take down three mercenaries by himself," Brain called out, stopping in front of one of the collapsed men. "But then again, it's not everyday I see a village kid built like he could wrestle a bear with only his hands."
Expectedly, the boy flared his nostrils, taking a fighting stance and pointing it towards Brain's throat. The hand which the boy used to grab the sword from earlier was bleeding, leaking steadily onto the ground.
Something jostled his foot, causing Brain to look down and see the mercenary in front of his foot had grabbed it. He stared up with a pleading sort of insanity, as if he lost his mind in the short moments it took to be thrown down like a rag-doll.
"T-thank god you're here, Brain! This damn brat is treating us like we're some cheap toys! P-please, for the love of the gods, cut him down-"
The contempt in Brain's chest deepened, and he shook his foot to dislodge the mercenary's hand. He ignored the ranting moron in favor of the village boy, focusing on him instead.
"Look, I understand you must be upset, but this group of mine, we do what we need to survive during times of peace," the blue-haired swordsman said, "Don't take it personally. Although, you seem like you have potential. What do you say you run with us? You could make a killing with the training you'd get, and your natural strength already puts you above bozos like these."
Another one of the mercenaries, the one who was stabbed, hissed in pain. "B-boss, you can't be serious! This shitty villager, I think he tore my stomach open-"
"You've proven you can handle three men all at once. Your skills are sloppy, but with refinement, you'll be a force of nature on the battlefield. Leave this place behind, carve yourself a new path away from here."
As he spoke, Brain did begin to legitimately believe that this child really could become someone important if he had the right guiding hand. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something told him that there was a future ahead for this particular villager.
Unfortunately, it seemed like his words were falling on deaf ears, the boy baring his teeth in a primal snarl of hatred. He rushed Brain, brandishing the new sword he acquired in a simple thrusting motion.
Alright, time to test his mettle against someone with real skills then.
Brain easily evaded the attack, and the boy retaliated by pivoting on his foot and slashing wildly with his blade. With a duck, the blow was dodged entirely, Brain quickly jabbing the boy in the left kidney.
That seemed to do little to slow him down, as the boy instead reached out with a meaty hand to grab Brain instead, who merely back stepped out of the way. He stepped over one of the still-incapacitated mercenaries, who didn't receive the same mercy from the villager.
"Come on! You're using a sword, not a hammer! Cut with the edge, stop trying to hit me with the flat of the blade. Poking me won't work for very long either." Brain called out, dodging and weaving in the same way the boy had in his first fight.
Despite his clumsiness, the more experienced warrior noticed that the village boy kept up with him, but his own lack of technical skill prevented him from being a credible threat. The way the air whooshed with each strike indicated incredible strength, but no means of properly directing it where he wanted.
All the commotion began to draw in other mercenaries from all over the village, who were more or less finishing up their work. They came to watch the spectacle, circling around the two like a street fight.
Their loud cheering for him and taunting towards the young man annoyed Brain, but he hardly gave it attention. Brain was paying attention to the potential recruit in front of him, analyzing his strengths and weaknesses as he ducked and flowed around him like water.
His sword's weight at his hip reminded him that if he so chose, he could simply end the fight. He could give the men their bloodbath, if he so wanted. It would be so easy, just another dead villager and his home, pillaged for supplies and… late night entertainment.
Bunch of animals, all of them. I half-wonder how the hell anyone in their right mind would ever hire any of them during war. For that matter, I don't foresee most of them getting hired for the annual war between Re-Estize and Baharuth. Might be a decent time to split then.
"Kick that brat's fucking ass!"
"Cleave his head clean from his shoulders, show 'im who's boss!"
"Just another peasant to add to the corpse pile, how pitiful."
"B-beat him within an inch of his l-life boss! Show him n-not to mess with the likes of the Death Spreading Brigade!"
Every last word of praise or plea for punishment from the men, Brain ignored entirely. After a certain point, it all became a harmless buzz in his ear, no more important than a fly. He could tell though that the boy was becoming more and more enraged, the veins on his forehead pulsing.
Deciding he had enough, the boy charged him like a bull, not even bothering to point his blade at him. He just held his arms out like he intended to tackle him to the ground and start wailing on the blue-haired man.
Brain, of course, saw the move coming from a kilometer away. Because of the close space and large bulk of his opponent, he couldn't simply dodge like he had been up until that moment.
Instead, once the boy reached an acceptable distance, Brain muttered under his breath. "[Martial Arts: Ability Boost]."
Feeling the extra strength course throughout his entire body, he leapt completely over the charging villager, allowing him to bowl over several of the mercenaries that stood behind him. Brain landed back down, watching with faint amusement at those who were knocked down.
It didn't last long, as the men scrambled back to their feet and immediately drew their weapons, ready to end the boy's life for his infraction against them.
"If any one of you so much as nicks the kid, I'll kill you myself," Brain warned calmly, stepping past the ring of men and back out into the greater village.
They stared at him with confused glares, but they sheathed their weapons. They knew better than to try and mess with him, especially when he was getting serious. Now they were a mob at his back, watching to see what happened next.
Brain's hand fell to the hilt of his sword, gripping it loosely. The familiar weight and texture of the hilt always set his mind at ease, an extension of himself as much as his arms and legs.
During his travels, he had bought it from a great city out in the desert southwest of Re-Estize, a place called Eryuentiu.
Supposedly, it was once the capital of the Eight Greed Kings, who first appeared in the world nearly five hundred years ago. If the stories were to be believed, it was them who laid waste to the dragon lords of old and claimed their place in history.
The details of their adventures and contributions to the world at large were hazy to Brain, who mainly picked up stories of their exploits during his travels. As he understood it, they eventually fell to infighting, leaving behind a wealth of treasures and innovations still present in the modern era.
It was the introduction of the brand of sword that he wielded, the katana, that primarily stuck out in his mind the most. If it weren't for the Greed Kings, he wouldn't have such a unique and powerful weapon.
On their own, most katanas had a cutting edge that exceeded even some magical weapons, and this was in an unenchanted state. They were highly sought after weapons, afforded only by the richest or most skilled swordsmen around.
At least, that's what the salesman who sold Brain the sword had said. Given its trustworthy track record in all of his fights, easily surpassing other common weapons, he had little reason to doubt that salesman's words.
He came a long way from being some simple farmer's son, time to show the kid what he could attain himself with his own natural talents.
"Seems to me like this little session of ours has dragged on long enough," he called out to the villager, who was practically shooting fire from his eyes at Brain. "How about a wager? We settle this all on one final strike, to end all of this. What do you say?"
That caught the boy off guard, and reinvigorated the men behind Brain into a frenzy. He could almost see their vicious grins in his mind.
"Not that you will, but if you somehow manage to land a hit on me, my… associates and I will leave this village in peace. If I land a hit on you, that'll be it for you. Care to take the chance and cross swords with Brain Unglaus the Swordsman?"
A flash of different emotions erupted across the boy's face, beginning with another dose of rage, before leading into confusion intermingled with fear. His grip on the sword he took from the previous mercenaries he fought slackened, not quite dangling.
Finally, a cold, quiet acceptance came over the villager, and his hand tightened on the sword. He held it with both now, looking like he was strangling it.
Alright kid, let's see if you really have the nerve to go through with this.
Brain assumed his usual stance, bending his knees and lowering his center of balance. He unsheathed his blade, its surface glimmering in the sun from the extra polish and care he lathered on it before the raid.
He held the blade up so it was extended and hanging, the hilt pulled backwards close to his eye for maximum thrust power. Along the edge his eyes trailed, lining up the tip of the katana with his target.
Likely hoping to give himself a better chance at landing a hit, the boy copied his stance, which looked somewhat awkward due to his larger size. Regardless, he stood with purpose, ready to bet everything on his sword arm.
In the background, the jeers and taunts of the Death Spreading Brigade faded to a buzzing ambience, some sick and twisted version of white noise. In that moment, all Brain saw and heard was his opponent in front of him.
Hyper-fixating on the villager, he noticed the trail of sweat that leaked from his brow and down his cheek. His eyes were squinted so hard they were almost closed. There was still blood dripping from the hand used to grab the sword from earlier.
For a second, whether it was because, somehow, the situation mirrored that fateful day in the tournament, or the fact the boy looked like a proper southerner, or even just a heat-of-the-moment observation, there was a distinct similarity between the boy and Gazef Stronoff himself.
It was impossible that the two were in any way connected, but it was something that Brain thought nonetheless. A smirk almost came about from the resemblance. Fate, it seemed, might be throwing him a bone.
That almost-smirk became a minor frown when he thought like that. He didn't need to be given a freebie of some kind. Just because he thought Gazef and the villager appeared related to each other didn't mean anything. He had trained with his own blood, sweat, and tears, there was no reason for any force, divine or not, to place such a boy before him in a final confrontation.
It almost made his blood boil, but he took a deep breath to settle himself and return back to normal. He couldn't rile himself up just because of a minor detail, it would make the whole fight pointless.
Guess the heat of the day must be getting to my head. It's time to finish this.
Nobody moved, and even the buzzing of the mercenaries behind him stilled. The wind itself stopped, and any noise it carried on it vanished entirely. It was as if the entire world itself was waiting with bated breath, curious to see the outcome of the fight.
With a bellowing war-cry, the villager initiated their clash, Brain reacting instantaneously. The blue-haired swordsman was quicker in his movements, but the stride of his foe was longer. They would meet each other in the middle at roughly the same time.
When that final clash came, the boy swung downwards with all his might, a last, desperate smash with the blade he took to try and cleave Brain's skull open. The force he exerted actually raised some visible dust from the dry earth below him, adding to the dramatics of his strike.
His eyes were wide open, bulging and about ready to pop out of his skull from his anger. Every vein was visible in his face, a motley map of blood vessels and stress. Those impressive muscles were tensed to their limit as well, showcasing his brute strength.
Brain, meanwhile, was tranquil. He kept an even pace of breathing, and as the villager swung down, he lunged forward, his sword shooting out to hit its destined target.
FWOOM!
A blast of air shot out when they both connected, obscuring the final outcome of the duel to the onlookers that watched. Some coughed from the large amount of dust that was kicked up, waving it away.
Eventually, the dirt did settle, and both combatants were revealed, showing off the ultimate winner of said fight. Once the first mercenary caught sight of their leader, he immediately cheered. The others joined him.
In that last second that both swordsmen struck, Brain lunged and managed to have the wrists of the villager land on his shoulder, missing him completely and keeping him safe from harm.
The boy, on the other hand, bled profusely from the long cut across his left shoulder. The muscle that connected arm to shoulder wasn't severed, but it was deep enough it would need to be bandaged after the fact.
With a grunt, the boy fell to his knees, dislodging the edge of the katana and allowing more blood to spill. His sword fell out of his hands, burying itself in the dirt behind Brain.
In the midst of all the cheering his associates gave him, the blue-haired swordsman nodded with respect. He relaxed his pose, resheathing his weapon.
"Not bad, kid. You've got balls to go toe-to-toe with someone like me. There was never any chance in hell you'd have been able to beat me, but you still stood up and took it like a man."
He held out a hand, shocking the kid. He held one hand onto his bleeding shoulder, looking unsure if he should accept it or not.
"This is your last chance to get out of this alive," Brain advised, "I can promise you won't be killed by these men. Join us, make something of yourself, and then maybe you can get some revenge on these sorry bastards when you become a real warrior."
Briefly, he thought the boy might spit at him, or grab the offered appendage and yank him to the ground to be strangled. There was no doubt that Brain could hold himself in a sword fight, but physically fist-fighting? The margin for error was a little narrower in that regard.
Thankfully, the boy accepted his hand with great reluctance. Brain didn't need to pull up, as the boy helped himself up, wincing from the pain of jostling his injured shoulder.
"That's a wrap then! I want two of you to find some bandages for the kid here, as well as some new clothes. And for the gods' sake would you also get him a proper set of gear? The pots and pans are beginning to insult my sense of style."
"Boss! You're not really gonna let some nobody join us, are you?! He's hurt some of our own, and he needs to pay for that, blood for blood!" One of the mercenaries shouted, his friends joining in agreement and voicing their own complaints.
They shut up once Brain glanced back and gave them a quick glare. A man who essentially acted as the group's medic stepped forward, reaching into a pack he carried and unfurling some bandages and a vial of medicinal alcohol.
While the title of "Boss" was bestowed upon Brain by the other mercenaries he ran with, it was more a symbol of their respect for his skill and strength than an actual leadership position.
Which was fine by him. There were very few in the band of thugs that Brain actually respected, and even fewer that he could count on one hand that he would actively call a "comrade" of sorts.
Despite the distance he kept from all of them, they almost worshipped him for his near-legendary status. The moment he joined, they elevated him to a position they could never touch, and followed his word like they would a commander.
It was why, regardless of their complaints and whining, they listened to him in the end. Perhaps he could lead them off a cliff and be done with it, once they served their purpose to him.
The medic was already taking care of the boy, muttering under his breath as he applied the medicinal alcohol to clean the boy's wounds. The mob had dispersed, going back into the various houses to finish their looting of the village and get any last minute baubles that might have caught their eye.
Brain's group had brought along heavy-duty wagons to haul off. They formed a single file line, beginning to deposit everything they acquired so far.
They'd be busy for a while.
"Hey kid, I just realized, but what's your name?" Brain asked, trying to pass the time.
The boy said nothing, silently gritting his teeth in pain from the sting of the alcohol on his wounds.
Sensing that he would be a tough nut to crack, he continued on his small tangent.
"Every aspiring warrior has a name. It's what defines them, it's what the people first hear the moment you get into the battlefield. Well, actually, I take that back. It's the second thing people hear, the first thing should be the sound of your sword being drawn."
He patted the hilt of his blade. "Given your circumstances, that's pretty much the path you'll have to take now. Work with me, and you'll become a fine warrior, but I need something to work with. So what's your name?"
The boy said nothing at first, merely hanging his head. At first, Brain thought he was crying, but when the boy brought his head back up, he actually looked quite calm.
"Hannibal," he muttered, "My name is Hannibal."
"Make sure Hannibal is well taken care of, doc," Brain said to the medic. "If I see him roughed up or beaten in any way, they'll answer to me, got it?"
"As you say, boss."
Another one walked up to him at that time, nodding to the medic and glaring at Hannibal while they walked away. "Hey Brain, thought I should let you know none of the boys have found anything yet. That 'treasure' our employer mentioned isn't in any of the houses."
"You sure none of the houses have basements you missed? The villagers could've been hiding something down there," he asked, incredulous that they hadn't found anything.
The man shook his head. "Nah. The boys are thorough. We've practically ripped apart each house and found nothing. Only thing I can think is they buried it somewhere, but we'll keep looking here for clues. Some of the peasants are still alive, so we'll interrogate them for info too."
"You do that. We're lucky we got paid a sizeable chunk of money up-front, otherwise this would've just been another bullshit venture."
"I'll keep them looking alright, though if you want my advice, I don't think we've checked out the warehouse yet. Men didn't seem keen to go in, probably 'cause it would've taken them out of the fun."
Brain Scoffed. "Yeah, I figured. Go back and make sure those morons don't accidently blow anything up. I heard Dale was making grenades, and I don't want anyone losing a hand or foot because they started to mess around."
As if on cue, an explosion rocked one of the nearby houses, eliciting a cheer from the mercenaries who blew it up. Brain shook his head, watching the mercenary talking to him run off and cursing.
Now that Hannibal, the medic, and the mercenary left him, Brain was by himself again, watching as the mercenaries made the final rounds around the houses. Following his associate's advice, he decided to walk towards where the mill and warehouse for lumber were, since those had been left somewhat untouched in the initial raid.
Getting closer, he saw that the mill was nothing extraordinary or extravagant. It was a simple, raised platform with a massive, automated saw for cutting logs in half and getting them ready for shipment.
The warehouse was completely closed. An iron lock and chain served to keep outsiders out, which made Brain raise an eyebrow. It seemed an odd detail that the villages would lock up the warehouse with anything other than a key of some kind. He wasn't exactly aware of lumber thieves in the area.
It might be that they store more than just lumber here. I think I saw a field further out from the village, so maybe this is where they put the crops after harvest before processing them.
His curiosity winning out, Brain sliced the chain with a quick slash, pushing open the massive doors afterwards. The afternoon sun shone through the door, brightly illuminating the admittedly dusty interior of the warehouse.
Walking inside, he rested a hand on the hilt of his katana, in the event there was something hiding in the dark corners of the place. The air felt stuffy, as if nobody had stepped into there for a little bit.
Given that the mercenaries of his group hadn't found anything of worth, it was likely this was where the treasure would be hidden. He would just need to look around, possibly search every nook and cranny until he found something of worth.
"It's a good thing our mysterious employer paid us so generously upfront," he said to himself, brushing his hand against the warehouse wall as he walked around. "Still, what the hell kind of business do they have that they end up hiring mercenaries to sack some nowhere village?"
"The kind of business that's looking to scout you and hire you for more work."
A feminine voice spoke above Brain, his sword shooting out of his sheath with lightning fast reflexes and at the ready. He was in a stance, turning in place and observing all around the top for the source of the new intruder.
He saw nothing in the darkness of the rafters, his senses on edge while his eyes darted around. This time, a giggle echoed all around him, his alertness skyrocketing.
"I've heard all about the Death Spreading Brigade and their cruelty. Every last one about who they and what they've been up to," the voice dragged on, "Especially about yooooouuuuu… Now that I have you up close, you're actually not bad on the eyes."
"Tch. Didn't think I'd get ambushed in the dark like this. Are you really so feeble that you have to resort to garbage tactics like hiding?" Brain grunted.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I'm not here to kill you, if that's what you're really worried about. Although, if you were an adventurer, I might've taken your plate for my collection."
"Alright, cut the shit. If you're not actually here to off me, why all the cloak and dagger then? Is there something you want? Maybe we can come to an arrangement of some kind?"
A lithe figure dropped down behind him, almost soundlessly. "That's exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear from you! You mercenary types always do have a one-track mind, don't you?"
Because of the way he was positioned, Brain had to turn and face the doorway into the warehouse. The darkness of the building, combined with the bright-afternoon sun poking through the door, obscured the woman in a deep shadow.
The Necklace of Eye, which he wore around his own neck, had an enchantment on it that protected his eyes, granting him a host of abilities to aid him in battle.
Of those enchantments were Blindness Resistance, Infrared Vision, and Lowlight Compensation, including some that helped to guard against ranged and sneak attacks.
There was the temptation to activate the necklace now, but with so many of those enchantments focused on compensating for a low light environment or dealing with a hiding enemy, there was no point for someone who willingly revealed themselves and stood in the light already.
He doubted those vision enchantments would help much anyways, due to the sharp contrast of the light with the woman's back, which only darkened her front because of how bright outside it was.
From an initial glance, he could tell she was wearing a cloak or cape of some kind, wrapped around her body. She had short hair, and while his eyes adjusted somewhat to the sharp contrast, he could make out the red tint of her eyes.
Brain didn't relax, his sword tip pointed at the woman's throat. "You're a cut-above the rest of the villagers who lived here. I didn't even sense anything was off when I walked in. Not a whole lot of people could sneak up on me like that."
"I wouldn't flatter yourself too much if I were you. You'll definitely do for what I have in mind, but don't get ahead of yourself."
"… Are you, by chance, the one who hired us to ransack the village? Sorry to disappoint you, lady, but we haven't found your treasure yet. If you maybe give us a little more time, we could scrounge something up-"
"Oh, that? Please, I already found what I was looking for when you and the rest of your meatheads were out there enjoying the bloodbath. It's not exactly like I wanted the treasure in the first place," the woman waved him off.
Her cloak shifted, opening slightly to reveal she was holding a dark, square shaped object. A box, if he had to guess. She tossed it at his feet carelessly.
"Go on, open it. I'd tell you that you earned it, but in all honesty, I never really cared about it in the first place," she gestured to the box, her red eyes watching him with amusement.
Keeping her in sight the whole time, Brain knelt down to retrieve the box she gave him, fiddling with the clasp and opening it. He reached inside slowly, his fingers grasping something thin and cold.
He raised it up to his eyes, squinting as he studied the item that was stored within the container. He shifted a bit so the woman wasn't blocking the light so much, getting a better look at what he was holding.
So far as he could tell, it was an amulet or talisman, the ones that a person could either wear around their neck or hang off their waist. It was smooth, fashioned of a black metal and hammered expertly into the shape of a grinning skull. A pair of horns jutted out and sharply angled up at a near ninety-degree angle.
There was a motif behind the skull to signify flames, which gave the impression the skull was on fire. A crown nestled between the horns, like that of a king. The weight was heavy, and the surface of it glistened magically.
"Seriously? You hired us to try and take this amulet? It's enchanted for sure, based on the look of it, but I wouldn't even know what kind of magic," Brain said, frowning, "This is so… small."
"It's not the enchantment I'm particularly interested in, but rather what that amulet symbolizes. It actually belonged to that old guy you cut down earlier. The really pathetic one."
The amulet dangled from a chain that Brain unfurled. "That right? He did seem rather spirited for an old man. So… what, was he a retired mercenary himself who aged badly? I'm not exactly connecting the dots on why the hell you care so much about this thing.
The women stepped closer to him, which set the blue-haired swordsman on edge again. He held onto the amulet still, not letting it go even as he stood up and gripped his sword's handle with both hands.
"All you need to know is that he belonged to a specific group that I want dead. I'd do it myself, but I'm in a bit of a pinch and can't, hench where you and your cronies come in."
With another step, the katana was at her throat, though she hardly cared from the shadow of her malicious grin. "I needed to make sure you guys were up to the task first though, so I had to do some research and try to find something suitable that would show off your skills. I'm not especially impressed, but I don't need heroes for this job."
She punctuated every word with a sickly sweet tone, as if she were talking down to a dog or small child. It irked Brain to no end, but he kept his mouth shut, now intrigued to see where the woman was going with this.
With her closer, he could make out more of her features. She was younger than him, perhaps early twenties. Her red eyes were closer to a shade of crimson, like blood, and her smile reflected the special kind of blood thirst that only an assassin could portray.
The aura she exuded and her ability to blend in with the darkness indicated she had prior history in the line of work. If she suddenly were to divulge her entire life story and that part of it was being an assassin, he'd believe it.
"Right, so you want us to go and, what, ransack a more difficult village? Are these some old employers of yours? We still need to talk about payment before I agree to anything, so start explaining before I lose my patience and end this."
The woman had the audacity to laugh to his face, even with a sword right at her throat. "Sheesh! We're getting there, but first, how about a little history lesson. You ever heard of a group of people called the Knights of the Weeping King?"
Brain scoffed. "The hell kind of question is that? I have, but not much. Apparently they're their own type of mercenaries, but they fancy themselves as noble wolves, protecting the innocent and blah blah blah."
"Mmhmm, and you've probably heard a little bit about their history too, right? You know how far they stem back."
"If what I've heard is true, apparently all the way back to the evil deities. They're secretive though, not many know where they are based out of, but I'm guessing it's gotta be here in Re-Estize. That's where I've heard most of their exploits take place."
She bobbed her head in agreement. "That's exactly right. Thing is, I'm one of those few that do know where their little base is. I'd be willing to tell you, if you agree to do your best to kill them all."
Her request was so out of the blue, so nonchalant that it sounded no different than if she asked him to take care of her housepet. Brain barked a laugh at that.
"Lady, I'm not willing to go and chase ghosts for you if I still don't know what I get out of this. Either you cough up some payment, or I start slashing-"
Within the blink of an eye, the woman was next to him, holding up the amulet to his eyes. Now that she was so close, Brain was able to fully make out the details of her eyes, and the deep-rooted sadism that dwelled within them.
It was not often that Brain was unsettled when in the middle of a fight. He stared down more opponents than any other and never blanched in the face of death before. Yet, that primal instinct to hunt and devour that gleamed in her eyes reminded him of a savage beast, lurking in the underbrush for her next meal.
She leaned in close and whispered seductively in his ear. "I know what a man like you wants. You want to take that nice, sharp, blade of yours and bury it in the heart of a worthy opponent, preferably someone like Gazef Stronoff."
"Except… Gazef is too far away from you, isn't he? He's just out of your reach, you need someone who you can beat to push you to the point that you can defeat Gazef alllll by yourself."
The amulet she held rattled in her grip, drawing attention to it. "You want some incentive? Here's your incentive: Those knights have treasures, treasure beyond anything your little pea-brain can comprehend, but their greatest treasure is their leader, a man who can easily stand toe-to-toe with Gazef. You beat him, and you'll be one step closer to getting your actual wish."
As quickly as she invaded Brain's personal space, she stepped back into her original place, hiding herself in broad daylight. She giggled in a way that might've been cute, if he didn't feel like it was coming from a deranged psychopath.
"But what do I know? For all you care, I'm just a simple employer, looking to get her money's worth in corpses. Tell you what, if your men aren't convinced by what I say, take that amulet to a magic appraiser. Have those idiots tell you exactly what kind of enchantment is on there, and think about what kind of stuff the knights have that's even better."
She swiftly turned on her heel, apparently done speaking to him. Before she fully went out the door, she paused, drumming her fingers in thought on the doorframe. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here's the rest of your payment," she said in boredom, flinging a bag over her shoulder without turning. It landed on the ground with a heavy jingle, and gold coins spilled out of the bag in a cascade of wealth.
"Count it out, bite into it, hell, melt it down into gold bars for all I care. Once you figure out your next move, come find me in E-Rantel. I'll be outside the appraiser's shop. Don't keep me waitinnnggg!"
With a flourish of her cape, she was gone. It was like she simply stepped through an invisible portal and vanished off the face of the world. Even minutes after she left, Brain didn't feel comfortable or safe enough to move unless he kept his sword out.
Like with the amulet, he knelt down and grabbed the bag of coins, scooping in the spilled ones while he leveled his katana at the door. It wasn't until he did a full perimeter check of the inside of the barn and walked outside to do the same that he truly felt safe enough to sheath his sword.
What the hell was that kind of experience? Just what did I walk into with this job? What do I even tell the others when I get back to the village proper?
Brain scratched his head, looking down at the amulet that had been left behind. The weight contrast between the bag of gold and the amulet was staggering, but that black piece of metal held his attention more.
On a whim, he slipped it onto his neck, taking off his original necklace to make room for it. Though he could see the faint magical aura hovering over it, he felt nothing noticeable change with himself.
"Maybe it needs a code phrase to activate like my Necklace of Eye? Shit, I wish I hadn't killed that old man now. I might've been able to wring an answer or two out of him about how this thing works."
Taking it off and replacing the amulet with his original necklace, he slipped the former into his pocket for safekeeping. He hefted the bag of coins, appreciating the clinking noise it produced.
He reflected back on the woman's words, mulling them over and the implications they brought. Someone who was as strong as Gazef Stronoff? There were very few humans who possessed that level of power and ability, and Brain was nearly one of them.
The Knights of the Weeping King were also an intriguing aspect of the "job" the mysterious woman alluded to. If the attack on the village was her way of testing the Death Spreading Brigade's viciousness, then just who would they be putting themselves up against?
She mentioned that she would be waiting for him in E-Rantel outside an appraiser's shop. Was she truly that certain that he'd be that interested enough to get the amulet tested and to find out the details of her task for him and his crew?
There was a part of him that wanted to outright refuse. The Knights were basically urban legends, figures spoken about in hushed whispers by wayward criminals and their syndicates. He had no time chasing fairytales in his quest to become stronger.
And yet…
Defeating Gazef means everything to me. If there's even a hint that I can achieve that by beating someone of a similar caliber, then I should at least look into it.
His mind made up, he began to walk back the way to the village, intent on finding the mercenary group and forcing them onwards to E-Rantel, for "supplies" if need be.
"Besides, maybe I'll get lucky and they'll all get killed in the fighting with the Knights. It'll solve one problem of mine, at least."
Nazarick, After the fall of E-Rantel
Cocytus knew that to live by the sword was to die by the sword. The path of a warrior was no easy one, fraught with danger at every turn and a potential to lose one's own life. Should one hone their instincts, their skills to the absolute limit, they would not just live by the sword, they would become the sword itself.
CLANG!
Such was the logic that commanded all warriors, no matter their background, species, or occupation. Words held no meaning greater than the sound of steel versus steel, amidst the battle for their life.
CLASH!
If the pen was mightier than the sword, then why was it that no pen in all the world could compose a novel's worth of life through bloodshed? How could a pen possibly hope to capture the look of jubilation or trepidation that came about at the end of a blade? It could not.
SLAM!
A pen was a facsimile of a sword, meant to create that which no scholar could understand from their stuffy libraries and behind their opulent desks. Warriors were the world's truest authors and poets, for only they could live life to the fullest, writing a symphony and epic with a single stroke of their chosen tool.
SMASH!
Such as it was for Cocytus, the creation of Warrior Takemikazuchi, the Supreme Being of War and Honor. Both were titans in their own right, but compared to his creator, Cocytus barely held a candle to his beloved master.
Both were engaged in combat, dueling in a way that was reserved only for the gods and their chosen elite. To be considered among those ranks was an honor that made the blue-shelled warrior nearly weep with joy.
He couldn't focus on that, not in the heat of battle, even if it was a sparring match.
"Don't lose focus, Cocytus," Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi roared, slamming down with a heavy slash of his katana. "I gave you my god-slayer for a reason! Put it to good use, dammit! Make my heart pump!"
"OF. COURSE. DEAR. CREATOR!" Cocytus practically sang, managing to deflect a strike and hit back in the same motion.
Their weapons were a blur in the air, barely perceptible to those watching from an outside viewpoint, if they had such watchers. Sadly, for the time being, they were alone in the Amphitheater. That was fine with Cocytus, for it meant they could spend more time together anyways.
His creator executed a flowing combo of slashes and jabs that reminded the NPC of a coursing river, the current striking against his weak points and shoving him against the bank. He reached down to one of the extra sheathes strapped to his hip, pulling another katana and now dual-wielding the two.
"Yea! Keep it up Cocytus! Show me how powerful you are, show me what it means to be a pinnacle of a warrior!" Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi cheered, slicing even faster.
Each hit was a light tap, though the amount of air released from them would indicate he was attacking with lethal force. Despite wielding two swords at the same time, Cocytus was barely able to keep up, delving into levels of speed he didn't think he'd ever use in the new world they'd arrived in.
When both of his upper shoulders got tapped, his dual katanas missing Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi's chest by mere centimeters, he drew a third katana, effectively becoming a whirlwind of enchanted weaponry.
Despite the addition, his creator kept up the pace, even shoving back the insectoid Warrior at times. Quite literally, Cocytus found his back against the wall more often than not.
Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi would change his grip style, switching from one-handed to two-handed effortlessly in the middle of a fight. The single katana he wielded would change hands entirely, going from left to right and vice versa.
The constant change-ups kept Cocytus on his toes, slashing and blocking each attack that could easily pierce mountains. His entire body vibrated with the thrill of combat, relishing in the shock of his strength being shoved against itself.
Truly, his creator was the ultimate warrior! No-one could ever surpass him, not even-
TAP!
The point of his master's katana tapped Cocytus's chest, signifying what the supreme being wanted. A steam of frigid air blasted out from his mandibles in surprise.
"My. Lord? Are. You. Certain. You. Wish. To. Push. Past. This. Point? It. Has. Already. Been. Three. Hours," the NPC asked, staring at his creator with heavy breaths. Though he asked the question, he hardly found himself wanting the sparring session to end.
It would be bad manners if he didn't ask anyways. He would hate to keep pushing his master if he so desired to rest, even with the signature chest tap.
"Yes. I'm sure I'm fine. If you're willing, I wish to go all the way and truly take this fight up to the next level. I want to see just where my skills lie after all these years," Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi said, a determined glare boring through Cocytus.
It already took some time for his lord to convince him to spar with him. He couldn't imagine asking his creator to spar with him willingly, for to even suggest doing so was the height of folly. Who was he, Cocytus of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, when compared to the absolute that was the samurai powerhouse?
Alas, Cocytus didn't have to worry about such things, for it was his creator who sought him out first and requested the two fight. Already after transporting themselves to another realm, there was no time to waste.
Still, there was hesitation on his part, if only because an intrinsic part of him couldn't bear to harm the nephilim. What would the other floor guardians say if they found out he somehow wounded a supreme being?
No, that in of itself was impossible! Nothing in this world or the next could do such a thing! It was inconceivable!
"Very. Well," Cocytus relented, slowly drawing his fourth katana from its sheath. All four of his hands were occupied now, and it was here that he was at his absolute deadliest.
Three of the katanas he wielded were of the legendary tier, with the God-Slaying-Emperor-Blade, his most prized possession, being of divine tier. He had forgone the use of Decapitation Fang, his halberd, in today's training session. It felt only right that he and his master go sword-to-sword completely.
Out of the twenty-one weapons that Cocytus had, it was the katanas he valued most of all, especially when sparring with Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi. He would do his creator proud, unleashing the full brunt of his power against the indomitable might of a supreme being.
Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi entered a familiar stance, one that indicated he was taking the sparring more seriously than before. Stances, as a whole, were nothing really special, more so just acting as a trigger for warriors in Yggdrasil to fight with different styles.
In the case of the nephilim, he favored the stances of Ogame Ryu, which was an unconventional style of katana-use divided into five elemental methods.
The stance Cocytus's creator took was that of Ikazuchi Kata, or the Form of Thunder and Lightning. It favored speed above all else, and it was meant to end a fight quickly.
My. Lord! Such. Dedication. To. The. Art. Of. War! To. Think. I. Have. Been. Given. The. Honor. Of. Being. Your. Partner. In. Today's. Fight. I. Shall. Make. You. Proud. Of. Me.
Likewise, the blue-shelled insectoid assumed his own stance, that of Dokou Kata, or Form of the Earth Lord. It was mostly defensive, but also allowed for powerful counterattacks.
He crossed his lower katanas and locked them into an x-formation, while fanning out his upper katanas to his side. His knees bent slightly, granting him better balance and a greater sense of control.
They stared one another down, waiting for the other to make the first move. More blasts of frosty air blew out of Cocytus, but he was otherwise calm. A sense of tranquility washed over him, ready to meet his creator head-on.
From Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi's side, he appeared serene as well. His crescent shaped horns dipped, the Supreme Being of War and Honor closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath.
If it weren't for the massive blades they wielded, an outside viewer might think they were meditating, practicing a strange form of yoga or stretching, such was the totality of their pause.
The subtlest movement would give the other away, so Cocytus's senses were dialed to the maximum they could be. If he failed here, then he would've failed as a sparring partner for his beloved creator.
Shame wouldn't be enough to describe how he'd feel if he was unable to do anything to help Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi improve. He'd be no better than a straw training dummy in the Supreme Being's eyes!
What occurred next happened in three stages, each distinct but joined together for a final move that would decide the match itself.
First, Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi fell forward, as if he'd been pushed from behind. He caught himself at the last minute with his own feet, using the momentum of the fall to accelerate exceedingly faster than someone would from a simple standing position.
It caught Cocytus's attention, drawing his gaze to the ground to keep up with the expert swordsman and not let him out of his side. After that, the nephilim crossed his legs, unbalancing himself to fall again to the side, cutting diagonally across the field with the same speed as when he started out with.
That one switch up took him entirely out of the frost warrior's sight. However, he could remember from his time in the nine realms specifically training with Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi to defend against this attack, which meant he knew what would come next.
For this reason, he kept his upper katanas flared to the side, so as to catch the cut to his flank that the nephilim would employ. It would finish off an ordinary warrior, but he was far from the norm, in this world or the next!
"You. Have. Taught. Me. Well. Lord. Warrior. Takemikazuchi," he said, his left katana slashing out to catch his creator off guard. "I. Know. Well. What. Must. Come. Next!"
"Oh? Then I hope those lower arms of yours last long enough to win the fight!" Came the excited reply.
Time slowed down as Cocytus turned to look his master in the eye, his upper-left katana moving before he could process it. As he expected, his master had his blade at the ready, able to pierce any armor with its razor-sharp tip.
Only, rather than the slash that should've come, something extraordinary happened instead, which cemented Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi's position as the absolute warrior in his eyes.
With a jump, his creator completely bypassed the defensive slice, propelling himself forward with the last of his momentum. While in the air, Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi flattened his body into a plank positon, his sword pointed towards Cocytus's chest.
In mid-air, his sparring partner began to spin his entire body in a clockwise rotation. Gusts of wind flew out from the force he exerted, transforming the samurai into a living drill.
Incredible! Lord. Warrior. Takemikazuchi. Has. Switched. Styles. Completely. While. In. The. Middle. Of. A. Combo! He. Has. Managed. To achieve. Kosen. As. A. Finishing. Move!
How could he have been so stupid?! He should've predicted that his master would remember drilling him on such an attack, and thus changed how the final portion of the attack would've gone.
To think that not only would he be able to change tactics mid-fight, but to completely change the style he used at the last minute too! It was a stroke of genius that only a Supreme Being could come up with!
The living drill slammed into the direct center of Cocytus's locked katanas, forcing him back and to dig his feet into the dirt to hold steady.
He groaned from the weight of the attack, doing his absolute best to shove back. In a regular fight, he would've brought down his upper katanas to try and finish it.
Except the wind itself battered against Cocytus, preventing him from doing little more than serving as a brick wall for his master to obliterate.
In seconds, Cocytus's swords failed him, the force of Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi's airborne Kosen, or Tiger Drill, sending him flying back into the amphitheater wall.
Simply put, he fell onto his bottom, his lower katanas clattering to the ground. He could see the cracks in their spine from the exertion he forced upon them.
The supreme being had followed the frost warrior in his attack, the last of his momentum dissipating. He landed back on his own two feet right in front of the fallen NPC.
I. Have. Failed. Him. I. Could. Not. Even. Be. A. Proper. Bulwark. To. Test. His. Strength. On. I. Collapsed. Like. A. Cheap. Sack. Of. Straw.
"Forgive. Me. Lord. Warrior. Takemikazuchi," he said, bowing his head. "I. Could. Not. Anticipate. Your. Next. Move. And. I. Paid. The. Price. For. It. My. Weakness. Is. Inexcusable."
As expected, his creator was hardly out of breath. He took the time to sheath his katana, letting the satisfying click of the weapon sliding back into place speak for him.
Cocytus cringed out of reflex, and he bowed his head further, awaiting punishment. He closed his eyes too, unable to look at him in light of his failure to be an adequate sparring partner.
"Hey, Cocytus," he heard his master say, "You did good. There's no reason to be so upset about it. There will always be next time to improve yourself, so chin up, and take today for what it was, a lesson."
The insectoid's head snapped up. "Wait. You. Mean. You're. Not. Disappointed. In. Me? But. I. Barely. Provided. A. Challenge! You. Read. Through. My. Every. Move. With. Ease. How. Can. You. Not. Be. Furious. At. My. Lack. Of. Skill?!"
Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi held his chin in thought. "Maybe it's because I made you, so I know pretty much how you think and react to such things. Might also be because I myself am somewhat rusty. Guess it helps that my body feels like I just used it yesterday, so I don't feel particularly out of practice? Point is, all this training was, to me, just practice. We do it again, and we fix what didn't work and continue what did work."
A hand was held out to Cocytus then, the nephilim offering his own version of a smile. "No warrior is ever perfect. Part of it is losing, over and over again, so when you do rise to the top, it's because of all the hard work you put into it. The ultimate prize isn't just to be the best, but to protect that spot"
"And if you can't have fun with it, then what's the point? Live life on the edge of a sword, Cocytus, so that way when it ends, it doesn't feel wasted."
He still held out his hand, waiting patiently for Cocytus to take it and hoist himself up. Eventually, gingerly, he did just that, dusting off the dirt that got caught in-between his exoskeletal plates.
Down where he had locked the katanas in front of his chest, he noticed the faintest of all cracks there, barely perceptible, if he hadn't known where to look.
With a look of awe, Cocytus stared at his creator, amazed by the wisdom and compassion he was shown. He shouldn't have been worthy of it, no one should, but he'd been bestowed with it anyways.
An image of Lord Touch Me came to mind then, reminding him of what the ultimate purpose of all the training was for. Now that the Forty-One were back together again, it was time to begin preparing for that final clash between the two, to decide who would be the true ultimate warrior.
It was likely why Lord Warrior Takemikazuchi forgoed the use of his latest iteration of the World Champion beater, the Takemikazuchi Mk. 8. He had yet to see the latest rendition of it, but the supreme being was hard at work on it, improving it and working on a new design for a sheath that would compliment the electrical power that coursed through it.
Until such a day came that he unveiled it, Cocytus was content to keep waiting. He beat a fist on his chest, beaming in a way that felt natural to him.
"As. Always. My. Lord. You. Inspire. And. Honor. Me. With. Your. Kindness. I. Shall. Strive. To. Repay. It. In. Full."
"That's the spirit! We'll take a short break, hit up the hot springs. Maybe I can share with you some of my war-stories while we relax. We've earned it after today."
Before the two were to be on their way, Cocytus could've sworn he saw a flash of yellow up in the seats of the amphitheater, but as soon as he looked up, it was gone. He tilted his head in confusion, wondering what it may have been.
Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but there may have been another implication about what he saw. The thought made his mandibles chitter in excitement.
One. Day. Soon. I. Shall. Carry. A. Prince. Or. Princess. Of. Nazarick. Upon. My. Shoulders. That. Shall. Be. My. Reward.