Chapter 870 - Gap
Ping-
It was not a sound actually heard.
It was just the form of the sound captured by her sixth sense.
Elma narrowed her eyes.
'If you try to see, it's already too late.'
She focused all her nerves, her grip tight on her sword's hilt.
The knightly orders of the South were originally five and called the Five-Colored Knightly Orders, but as time passed, the number of orders shrank to three.
Only three of the five colors remained.
Among them, Amethyst was the weakest.
This was the evaluation within the South.
Elma's goal was to overturn that evaluation.
People go to battle for their own reasons.
Some for loyalty, some for fame.
Elma's purpose was to prove her own skill.
From the age of twelve, she had trained by having her side beaten with a steel hammer and had grown up fighting Knolls, Satyrs, and Lycanthropes.
From there, she had entered the knightly order.
The order's training was even more severe.
The Empire's knight, Balmung, had discussed knight training, and Enkrid, too, had found his own path to knighthood. Did the South not have such things?
The start was distinguishing poison by only a faint smell; next was preparing for an attack even while sleeping.
Then, she fought alone, not against one or two monsters, but against a colony.
She had to be chased for three whole days to wipe out a Lycanthrope colony, and she had also fought a "named" Satyr.
A monster with a lower body resembling a goat's, but its whole form resembling a human's, was a Satyr.
It wasn't a creature that just used strength, but one that utilized techniques.
Was it just one or two such creatures?
No, there were many.
A great many.
She struggled in their midst and survived.
She proved her skill and was now one of the most promising new talents in the Amethyst Knights.
'Build your skill with your life as collateral.'
That was the spirit of the South.
Elma was a genius who had completed all that training with excellent grades.
Her sword was a two-handed greatsword, as long as her own body.
She was used to this size, having fought monsters with a sword larger than herself since childhood.
The blade was jagged like a saw's teeth.
It was because she had added steel to the sword she had used since childhood, maintaining its shape and making it her inscribed weapon.
The inscribed weapon's name was Grind. Her pupils contracted.
The focal depth of her narrowed pupils increased, and she caught the shape of the object she had missed before.
'A stone?'
To be precise, it was a stone polished like a smooth glass ball.
It was the projectile Rem called a bullet.
Elma swung her greatsword.
A blade drawing a straight line from top to bottom.
It was aimed precisely at the direction the projectile was flying from.
The muscles in her two arms swelled in an instant, adding power.
Kkiiiiiieeeeee-Kang!
A noise exploded as the lump of steel split.
A shockwave erupted from her, and wind blew.
The bullet, split in two, slammed into the ground with a peong-peong sound.
That alone sent dirt flying up as high as a man's head.
"Hoo, I cut it."
Elma said, with a light exhale.
Was it difficult?
Considerably.
The opponent must have thrown that strike with all his strength.
"He must have thrown it because he's not confident in close combat."
Galuto's analysis followed. Elma nodded. The first one had been missed, causing some soldiers to panic, but the second one was cut.
"...Uooooh, Amethyst!"
"Elma!"
"Elma of Purple!"
Elma of Purple.
That was the name they called her.
The soldiers cheered.
In front of them, the owner of the projectile and his party approached.
"Blocked, huh."
"They're not all husks over there, I guess."
"Knights of the South, eh? Shall we gauge their skill?"
"If you die, I'll collect your remains. Should I just sprinkle them in the wilderness?"
"Who's dying? Should I kill you first?"
The one in the lead was the owner of the gray hair.
He approached, his arms, holding an axe, swinging back and forth loosely.
Right next to him was a beastkin whose yellow pupils resembled an animal's, and behind them, two human men.
The ones chatting were the two in the back.
They didn't know, but their names were Fel and Ropord.
Their composure was visible in the way they approached, not even silencing their tabak-tabak footsteps.
'Bravado?'
Galuto sized up the opponent.
'No.'
It wasn't arrogance or pride either.
'Familiarity.'
That's how it looked.
It was natural for a knight to be accustomed to battle, but even so, this was too natural.
'They look as if they've been through this dozens of times.'
Galuto's insight was accurate.
Rem, Dunbakel, Ropord, and Fel had fought countless times.
They had even come close to having their heads cut off while sparring with each other.
Their shoulders didn't tense just because the opponent was a knight.
'They look as if they have experience fighting knights dozens of times?'
It was similar on this side.
The knights of the South do not avoid fights.
Fights with monsters that pop out of the Demon Realm weren't the kind you could avoid just by avoiding them, so they, too, were knights who had fought continuously, half by choice and half by force.
Gelric narrowed his eyes and gripped two short swords, one in each hand.
Elma alternated her hands on her sword, gripping and un-gripping.
Elma was a master of high-speed slashes based on a heavy sword; her inscribed weapon, Grind, would tear flesh just by grazing it and would chip away at any ordinary weapon.
Its name was Grind; its nickname, the Grinding Sword.
Gelric's instantaneous acceleration was unrivaled within the knightly order.
The two swords he held were the poisoned fangs of a snake.
They were inscribed weapons, made by processing the fangs of a famed monster after killing it.
'A poison with no antidote.'
It was Gelric's hidden technique.
He had fused his Will with the monster's poison.
If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to remain in the Amethyst Knights.
He would have died when he was bitten by the Lamia, a monster with the upper body of a human and the lower body of a snake.
Every time Gelric prepared the synthetic poison made in his body, he furrowed his brow.
It wasn't intentional, nor was it because of pain.
It just happened.
He just knew it was because some abnormality had occurred in his body while he was overcoming the poison.
"I'll take that one."
The beastkin pointed a long finger at Gelric.
"Fine, I'll kill you first."
Gelric received her words.
It wasn't Cypress.
They were all unknown faces.
That didn't mean they let their guard down.
A moment ago, Simlak had died above their heads, and that one bullet they had just avoided had killed or maimed a dozen soldiers.
Even now, groans echoed from all over.
Some of them held on, wrapped in bandages, but some had lost too much blood and were left to wait for death.
It was not the time to be careless.
"Archers!"
Galuto called the unit he had prepared.
The archer unit, which had been on standby, drew their bowstrings with all their strength.
Kkigigik!
It was a weapon modified from an anti-personnel ballista, a method where three soldiers used one bow. Two pulled, and one nocked an arrow. The bow itself was the size of a man's torso. It was used by planting it in the ground.
"Fire!"
Before Galuto's words had even finished, a tudududung sound rang out.
It was an arrow several times faster, thicker, and heavier than a normal arrow.
Kwang!
Ropord and Fel smashed a total of four arrows.
The impact made their arms sting.
It would heal quickly, but that wasn't a reason to leave the enemy alone.
Ropord knew he had to strike them.
"We must deal with the enemy soldiers."
So he entrusted that to Fel and charged at the enemy knight who had called the archers.
"...This crazy bastard?"
Fel's high praise followed from behind.
Right, I have to deal with the enemy soldiers, so that knight is mine.
Ropord had said with his actions.
Fel did not insist here.
This was a battlefield, not a playground.
Just because they were skilled and familiar did not mean they would do something stupid.
"A guy like a coyote. I'll get you later."
The sheep of the wilderness ignore most wolves, but the beast that stubbornly hunts those sheep is the coyote of the wilderness.
They are a group that even hunts monsters.
In other words, "a guy like a coyote" was the highest praise Fel could give.
"Yeah, yeah."
Ropord replied roughly and stood before Galuto.
"Hold on. I'll kill him and join you."
Galuto ignored who was in front of him and shouted.
The southern commander gritted his teeth.
It was time to face the disaster.
The disaster had brown hair and long arms.
He strode forward.
His dangling arms swung back and forth like a swing.
The three knights of the South knew a massacre was about to unfold, but they let it be.
Galuto felt the discipline of the unit behind him waver.
But it couldn't be helped.
'Buy time with the army.'
Then one knight wouldn't have to face two.
If even one of the three won, the tide of victory would turn.
What was the skill of the ones who had stepped up instead of the Crimson Cloak Knights?
Should he pull back the army, even now?
Was there no other clever plan?
"Hoo."
Galuto blew away his worries with a single exhale.
He had too many stray thoughts before a fight.
"I'm bored of waiting. I held back from just cutting you, so if you apologize, I'll accept."
"…What?"
Ropord grated on his opponent's nerves, just as he did with Fel.
This was, you could say, an essential skill of The Madmen Knights.
He taunted his opponent.
Rem, who heard it from afar, cackled.
"Little bastard, he talks well."
It was the result of training with high-quality insults and high-quality beatings.
He was proud.
"Don't be so relaxed, Ash-head."
Elma said.
Rem nonchalantly turned his body and raised his axe.
The tip of the two-handed sword was aimed obliquely at her opponent.
Elma, looking at her opponent from behind the blade, inwardly denied Galuto's words.
'He threw a projectile because he's not confident in close combat?'
Nonsense.
The hand dangling, holding the axe, kept catching her eye.
The blue veins on the back of the hand gripping the axe handle, the vambrace of the one holding it looked as if it were squirming.
It was because the muscles within had expanded and filled the vambrace.
'One strike.'
Elma did not see the fight dragging on.
Victory or defeat would be decided in a single exchange.
Someone would live, and someone would die.
'With all my strength.'
She steels her heart and focuses.
Veins bulged on Elma's hands as well.
Sssss.
She raised her sword and changed to a good overhead-strike stance.
Her arms formed a triangle, narrowing her vision.
It was fine.
A knight does not see only with her eyes.
Her opponent, without a trace of a smile, raised the axe he held in his right hand.
Elma continued her thoughts in high-speed.
'After making him recognize it's decided in one blow…'
She had realized this when she was young, charging at a monster larger than herself.
'There are too many opponents you can't cut in one blow.'
The Elma of that time had revised her tactics.
If one strike doesn't work, strike twice.
If two don't work, strike three times.
'Into the world of no-breathing.'
She stops her breath and thrusts her sword.
The pressure created by the blade pressed down on Rem's head first.
Then, she saw the light in her opponent's eyes stretch out in a long line.
'While striking down from above.'
It was a sword that bound his whole body.
The power in that one strike was no less than Fel's.
'Still.'
It was not nearly as good as that lazy, directionless idiot.
Rem swung his axe upward.
If he relaxed his wrist, it would snap at once.
So, his wrist was straight, and instead, he twisted his body with his right foot as the axis.
It was the Flowing Sword Style.
The Deflecting Sword.
It was a technique that he had matured recently after facing Themares.
Kkang!
Sparks flew as the inscribed weapon and the downward-striking weapon met.
The thick-bladed greatsword flowed to one side.
Elma, as if she had expected it, pulled the flowing sword and slashed horizontally again.
Rem struck it again with his axe, deflecting it upward.
Tak-kang!
The two weapons failed to meet their objective and cut the air.
'Three times.'
To strike just a little faster than her opponent, Elma held her breath and swung her sword down.
Rem blocked that attack by drawing a throwing axe from his right hip.
Kkwang! Udeuk!
The axe was also made by dwarven skill, but it was no match for an inscribed weapon.
Elma's "Grind" crushed the throwing axe.
The blade shattered and scattered, and the bog-oak handle, which had been oiled for ten days and dried in the shade, split, sending fragments flying.
Ppeok.
The sound that followed was relatively small.
Compared to the sound of steel breaking and the air exploding, it was an endlessly small sound, but it was a sound imbued with death.
Elma's vision turned red.
She tried to open her mouth, but it didn't work as she willed.
And yet, her ears were open, and she heard her opponent's words.
"You had some bad luck. This side plays all day with a bastard who swings a greatsword like a homicidal maniac."
Rem often bickered and fought with Ragna.
Compared to the lazy, directionless oaf, this opponent was easy.
Rem shrugged his shoulders.
With his left hand, he had drawn and offered up the throwing axe; with the axe in his right hand, he had struck his opponent's head and pulled back.
He hadn't received the inscribed weapon, but rather gathered sorcery power in his right arm and struck.
In this, all the techniques Rem had experienced, including Jaxen's stealth, were imbued.
There was no point in giving it a name.
He had just swung his axe at his opponent's gap.
'I didn't know I'd use it here.'
But she wasn't an opponent he could take lightly, either.
Fel, regardless of whether Rem won or lost, blocked the front of the army and drew a line on the ground with his sword.
He had seen Enkrid do it once and had always wanted to try it.
"I don't want to kill you uselessly. Don't cross the line. If you don't cross, you won't die. Simple. Anyone who doesn't understand?"
Silence.
A good quiet.
Fel was inwardly satisfied.
It was after a brief silence.
A part of the archers, in teams of four, drew their bowstrings.
Kkigik! Tududung!
Three arrows flew, aiming for him.
Fel instinctively twisted his body and dodged them all.
Peobeobeobeok!
The arrows slammed into the ground.
It was an aggressive attack.
"…Didn't I say not to cross?"
Fel's eyes gleamed fiercely as he corrected his posture. He had ended up in a strange posture from twisting and turning to dodge the arrows.
"The arrows! Only the arrows crossed! The people didn't cross!"
The enemy commander shouted.
It was a stretch.
"Um, what?"
Fel doubted his ears.
What are those bastards saying?
"The people didn't cross, so."
The commander said, his face pale.
He would die soon.
His opponent was a disaster.
"Are you kidding me?"
Fel said, scowling.
"Are you not keeping your word? A man who calls himself a knight?"
The southern commander was an extraordinary man.
He had found the gap in his opponent's words.
He had poked that gap with abundant courage.
Fel could have just ignored him.
He could have gone in, cut them down, killed them, and shut their mouths.
But then, he would be the one not keeping his word.
It wasn't a knight's oath or vow, but it was a word he had spat from his own mouth.
Should he break it?
"Fine. Let's do it."
Fel said.
As long as people don't cross, I won't kill.
He made up his mind.
Krang, who was watching, burst into a hearty laugh.
"Only madmen have gathered under a mad captain."
At those words, the Royal Guard unknowingly nodded.
At the same time, they felt that their king was laughing like that out of true satisfaction.
He did not wish for a one-sided slaughter.
Even if the ones dying were the enemy.
***
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