Translator: AkazaTL
Pr/Ed: Sol IX
***
Chapter 155 – Return (2)
“Seems the rumors about the Iron Kingdom were exaggerated after all.”
The man in a black uniform—Jas, of the Machine Empire’s Mage Corps—laughed.
“They said never underestimate even the smallest boy from Cherville, that every Iron Kingdom native fights like a demon, that they’ll keep struggling until their last breath. They really scared us with all that talk, but what do we have here? Puhahahaha!”
“Right? Hah! Rember that old man? When I held a blade to his throat, he went pale and pissed himself! And his family was right behind him watching, too. They were crying, sure, but I bet they were laughing inside—disgusted by how pathetic he looked.”
“Puhahahaha! Exactly! Savage idiots who can’t even build a single Iron Horse dare to challenge our Machine Empire…”
Jas and his superior snickered as if they’d just watched a delightful play.
“When’s the next shift coming? Ti crawls when you’re on guard duty. I wanna go inside and have so fun already.”
“Fun? With who? I took a look in there—it’s just a bunch of wrinkly old folk. Not a single woman worth your young eyes.”
“I don’t need won. I can have them anyti. What I do enjoy is crushing terrified weaklings. Watching them tremble, grinding their teeth in humiliation—it makes hum with joy.”
“Heh. What a twisted hobby.”
Jas chuckled darkly.
“That’s the whole reason I volunteered for infiltration duty. Fighting strong enemies scares , but slaughtering the weak? That’s pure pleasure.”
“Just keep it here. You pull that back ho, you’ll end up behind bars.”
“Of course, of course. I know the difference between who I can and can’t do that to.”
Jas turned toward the blazing Fla Veil behind him, the magical barrier sealing the Karavan lands in burning walls of fire. To him, it was beautiful—a masterpiece of his comrades’ sorcery. He couldn’t wait for his shift to end so he could throw a few old villagers into the flas for fun.
Then—
“…‘Who you can and can’t do that to,’ huh?”
A calm voice echoed across the field.
“Who decided that?”
It was a young voice—sowhere between boy and man.
Jas and his superior turned toward the sound.
There stood a striking youth with noble features: golden hair gleaming like sunlight, eyes as blue as the sea. He looked every bit the refined aristocrat—except for the fury burning behind those eyes.
“I’m curious,” the youth said evenly. “Since when does being weak or old make it acceptable to humiliate and hurt soone? Since when does strength or belonging to a powerful nation give you the right to trample others?”
The soldiers blinked.
The young man descended the slope slowly, his posture straight, his tone calm but edged with rage.
“Identify yourself!”
“You’re trespassing!”
“State your allegiance!”
More soldiers gathered, forming a half-circle around him. But none dared move first. Sothing about him felt wrong. He radiated nobility—an aura they didn’t dare touch. Maybe he was an imperial noble? Soone far above their rank?
“And this land…” the youth said, “is not for intruders.”
As he spoke, his hand drifted to his hip. His blue eyes shimred—and turned crimson.
The air itself changed.
“P-prepare!”
“Prepare for combat!”
Too late.
“Form up—!”
Flash!
A thin silver line traced through the air.
A heartbeat later, a soldier’s head spun skyward, spraying blood across the clear sky.
The youth stood holding a gleaming blade—beautiful, deadly.
A heavy thud. A body without a head crumpled to the ground.
The copper scent of blood filled the air.
“Attack!”
“A knight! A knight of the Iron Kingdom—!”
The soldiers shouted in panic.
They knew the tales—Iron Kingdom knights clad in steel, masters of the sword, superhuman warriors. But they weren’t supposed to be here, on this remote border.
“Don’t fight him head-on!”
“Follow training procedures!”
Their fear lessened once they rembered their drills.
They were soldiers of the Machine Empire, veterans of the long war against Cherville. They knew how to fight knights.
“Bind his movent!”
They’d been taught: Iron Kingdom knights couldn’t counter magic. Only a rare few reached the level of Sword Runner, capable of touching the arcane. And this young man—bare-handed, no armor, barely an adult—surely wasn’t one of them.
“If we restrict his movent, he’s finished!”
They mistook him for so hot-blooded idealist—a naive young knight drunk on stories of heroism.
“Fire—!”
Dozens of magitech rifles and enchanted cannons roared.
Explosions of fla and stone crashed down upon the youth.
But the fire and debris dissolved—like chalk wiped off a board.
“Wha…?”
The young man walked out of the smoke unscathed, his body wreathed in strange azure fire.
Every spell that touched him unraveled, undone by that light.
The impossible. He was defying natural law.
Before they could process it, he was gone—then suddenly among them.
Slice.
Heads rolled. Limbs fell.
Each stroke of his sword brought death with surgical precision, cutting through flesh and bone as if slicing tofu.
“You bastard—!”
So tried to grab him, but he was too fast. His movents skipped—fras missing, as though reality itself couldn’t keep up.
“Ghost—he’s a Sword Runner!”
The term spread like wildfire. Ghosts of the battlefield. Knights who’d transcended human limits, wielding both steel and the supernatural. Ordinary soldiers couldn’t touch such beings.
“It’s a ghost! Run—!”
Their spells failed; even their enchanted devices fizzled out the instant they touched that blue fla.
Desperate, a few soldiers charged with bayonets.
Their heads fell before they got within arm’s reach.
Finally, realization dawned—there was no winning this fight.
The survivors turned and fled.
The youth simply watched them go.
A trap detonated beneath his feet—a buried magical mine powerful enough to kill a northern monster. It exploded but the shards of earth rose and shielded him, guided by his sword’s glow.
No hope. No escape.
He didn’t pursue it. He just watched. As if daring them to run.
And perhaps… letting them.
Because he already knew what waited beyond that fla.
***
Unforgivable.
To shroud my ho—my people—in such vile flas?
Crushing the Mage Corps was easy. Their every spell disintegrated before my “Fla of Doubt.”
They were creatures of arcana; I was their natural predator.
“Why do you think they fled like that?” Sherizik asked. “Their faces scread, You’re dead now…”
“There must be War Mages inside,” Elizabeth replied. “The Mage Corps’ elite. They abandon all study of nature or spirit, devoting themselves only to destruction.”
“Hmm.”
“You’ve seen the Wave Tars of the Free Cities, haven’t you? They’re descended from War Mages.”
“Ah. Those ones.”
Now it made sense. Dangerous, sure—but not invincible.
“Tell ,” I said quietly, “are you stronger than Audrey?”
Elizabeth stiffened.
“Ha!”
She laughed, full of disdain.
“You call that a question?”
Confidence radiated from her. Mana surged around her like a storm, so dense I could almost taste it.
“Then prove it.”
“With pleasure.”
Elizabeth stepped toward the Fla Veil. Without a word, she exhaled—
Fwoooosh.
The flas shuddered like they’d t a hurricane.
The blazing barrier wavered, twisted… and vanished completely.
What lay beyond took my breath away.
The burning ruins of my domain. Corpses. Smoke.
The tallic scent of blood thick in the air.
My people— the ones who’d trusted , stayed behind, believed in — lay broken and bleeding.
Rage surged up my spine.
I raised my head. Above, floating arrogantly, were robed magicians adorned with the cogwheel insignia of the Machine Empire.
They looked down at us like gods surveying insects.
“Elizabeth.”
“Yes?”
“Bring them down.”
The words left my mouth—and the sky fell.
The War Mages jerked as if struck by invisible hamrs, their levitation unraveling.
One by one, they plumted.
Screams. Crashes. Bones shattering.
When the dust settled, I stood over them. Now they had to look up.
“...Haa.”
A trail of smoke rose from deeper within. An old man stepped forward—gray-bearded, with a tal prosthetic arm and leg, puffing on a cigarette that glowed crimson. He t my eyes and asked simply:
“…Who are you?”
Simple question.
So I gave him a simple answer.
“The owner of this land.”
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