Chapter 152 - A Great House is Not Called Great for Nothing (3)

Gawain's trio raised their swords in unison and stepped forward.

I warned them.

Not to allow even a small wound. That even the slightest scratch on their flesh would spread the mutation's plague.

At my warning, the three who were just extending their swords and charging toward the beastman flinched and froze.

"Graaargh!"

In that fleeting moment, the Lycanthrope pounced.

SLASH!

The beastman's attack, with its long, raised claws, swept over the three knights.

The knights either dodged or blocked it.

And then stepped forward again to counterattack.

That was the beginning.

The three knights engaged with the massive beastman, fiercely exchanging sword strikes and claw swipes.

That punk Eli remained completely motionless.

He was hesitating.

And I had already known for a while why he was hesitating.

Bernardo Eli.

Even when the world changed due to mana of the ring,

Even after mana of the heart came to be treated as a low-grade technique learned by cheap mercenaries,

the eldest legitimate son of the Eli family who had stubbornly stuck to mana of the heart until the end.

A man whose family was once called the kingdom's greatest knightly house, yet who, until just recently, operated a decadent club in The Capital and fleeced the pockets of scoundrel noble youths.

He was terrified.

Of drawing his sword and reciting his family's Poem of Martial Deeds again.

And of the drawn sword breaking, and his family's Poem of Martial Deeds vainly fading away.

At the thought that his entire life, dedicated solely to rebuilding his family and reclaiming its former glory, might be denied.

He was afraid.

Afraid that just as his father's and grandfather's lives were riddled with defeat, he too would be left as a loser.

Hiding his true feelings behind a swaggering tone and expression.

He had concealed his skills with a swordsmanship that was nothing but an empty shell.

So that he could make excuses even if he lost.

I looked at Adelia. And then I looked back at that punk Eli.

The way they were trembling in fear was not so different.

Death and pain, or failure and defeat.

What they feared was different, but the fact that they had collapsed in front of a wall, unable to overcome their fear, was exactly the same for both of them.

My dear cowardly knights.

It was pitiful.

The fact that all I could do in this moment was just watch was so agonizing it was unbearable.

Fear was a challenge they had to overcome themselves.

Even if I stepped in and temporarily cleared away that fear, they wouldn't be able to take a single step forward.

That punk Eli groaned.

Adelia trembled.

I merely watched.

GRRRR.

Just then, an extremely low growl, distinctly different from the roars and shrieks flying across the battlefield, rang out.

And a wolf standing on two legs revealed itself from the shadows of the sea of trees.

It was another messenger sent by the Full Moon Clan.

It growled low in its throat as it approached me.

Adelia looked at Gawain's trio with a face that looked like she was about to cry.

However, Gawain's trio, busy enough dealing with just the one enemy in front of them, had no time to pay attention to this side.

Adelia looked at me again.

Her eyes were speaking to me.

Asking me to at least give her an order instead. That she would fight if I did.

I did not grant her request.

Trembling uncontrollably, she took a step forward.

And then blocked my front.

Her absurdly slender shoulders were shaking with fear.

Nevertheless, she did not step back.

A golden aura bloomed over the shoulders of her who was blocking my path.

It was a far too faint light compared to the original, but to me, that light looked more radiant than anything else.

That was a sword drawn not by anyone's order, but by her own will.

Out of pride for her, I ended up smiling brightly without realizing it.

But unfortunately, with a body stiffened by tension and fear, she could not face a beastman as swift and fierce as that animal.

Even so, I wasn't worried.

Because she wasn't the only one here.

A broad back stood alongside her.

It was that punk Eli.

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."

He cursed incessantly.

"If I die, it's all Your Highness's fault."

He spoke without even looking back.

"If I fail to rebuild my family, that's also Your Highness's fault."

That punk Eli raised his sword up straight.

"If by some stroke of luck I manage to strike that bastard down."

That punk Eli's energy suddenly skyrocketed.

"That's entirely because of my own greatness."

A playful remark to shake off his anxiety.

With those last words, that punk Eli's sword began to cry out.

VWOOOOM.

Amidst the crystal-clear Sword Resonance, a resonant voice rang out.

"The wind does not linger on the blade. When it reaches out, it is a gale; when it swirls, it is a typhoon."

In that instant, that punk Eli thrust his sword.

It was a lightning-fast thrust.

A beat later, a rumble like thunder could be heard.

"Kegh!"

The beastman, who had lowered its body and pounced, was pierced by that punk Eli's sword.

Letting out a short shriek, the beastman extended its claws.

But before the beastman could fully extend its hand, a second thrust pierced its torso.

"Kuaak!"

GRAB!

The beastman reached out its hand as if to grasp the sword.

It was a meaningless gesture.

Because that punk Eli had already withdrawn his sword and was thrusting again.

That was the beginning.

That punk Eli's awl-like thrusts pierced the beastman's body countless times.

"Graaaargh!"

Screaming in pain, the beastman swung its hands fiercely.

That punk Eli, standing at an angle, moved his feet lightly and dodged all of the attacks.

And whenever he saw an opening, he ruthlessly thrust his sword in.

He sometimes unleashed slashes, but not very often.

That punk Eli's swordsmanship was so linear it could be called exclusively focused on thrusting.

Under those lightning-fast thrusts, the beastman's body was quickly dyed crimson.

Its entire body was riddled with wounds.

Even at a glance, many of them were fatal wounds that had pierced vital spots.

Had it been an ordinary knight, just a few of those wounds would have brought them to the brink of death.

But unfortunately, his opponent was not human.

It was a semi-immortal monster whose flesh wounds healed in an instant.

The beastman's wounds, which had been gushing blood from the holes, quickly healed over. Coarse fur sprouted over the pale flesh.

The beastman howled fiercely and snapped its jaws toward Eli.

Eli thrust his sword again.

It was a thrust aimed at the heart.

The beastman shoved its forearm out. That punk Eli's sword, which had aimed for the heart, ended up merely piercing its forearm.

"Ah..."

A sigh slipped out on its own.

The Eli family's swordsmanship was certainly excellent.

The footwork was light, and the thrusts had no wasted movement.

I had never before seen swordsmanship that so perfectly adhered to the not-so-novel basics of swordsmanship: floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.

But that was all.

The crucial core was lacking.

The grade of the Eli family's Poem of Martial Deeds had already been damaged beyond repair.

Only its thunderous sound was loud; its power was so abysmal it rendered the lyrics of gales and storms meaningless.

My brow furrowed on its own.

It was the first time I had confirmed with my own eyes that a Poem of Martial Deeds that must have dominated an era had become so unsightly.

It made my stomach churn.

If I felt this way, how much worse must it be for that punk Eli?

"Damn it!"

That punk Eli spat out a curse and kicked the beastman's body.

He must have intended to use the recoil to pull his sword out.

But the beastman didn't even budge. Instead, it reached out its remaining hand to grab that punk Eli.

Eli let go of his sword and sprang back.

"Damn Poem of Martial Deeds. Damn monster."

Having rolled on the ground, the punk spat out a curse.

It was a voice full of self-loathing, imbued with regret and even despair.

"Is this the sight Your Highness wanted to see?"

A voice filled with resentment rang out.

Instead of answering, I drew Dusk, which I had strapped to my back.

And tossed it to Eli.

SMACK.

The punk who caught my sword sneered.

"Are you really telling me to fight until I die?"

It was a fiercely spiteful voice unlike ever before, and it was behavior uncharacteristic of Eli.

It was to be expected.

He must have lived his life hoping only for his family's Poem of Martial Deeds and swordsmanship to regain their former glory and shine once more, yet what he confirmed with his own two eyes was merely a Legacy damaged beyond repair.

It wouldn't have been strange at all even if he lost his mind.

"If you tell me to fight to the death, I will die. What's the point of living anyway?"

That punk Eli poured out words of powerless anger, bordering on resignation. Extreme words of resentment and denunciation were an added bonus.

I merely listened quietly.

Then, right around the time he stopped spewing resentment at me, I opened my mouth.

"The Eli family's Poem of Martial Deeds is definitely finished. It's been damaged to the point that even recovery is impossible."

That punk Eli, who until then hadn't taken his eyes off the beastman for even a moment, looked back at me for the first time.

"What are you..."

"But that's not all."

Saying that he couldn't even use the latter verses of the poem, the punk growled at me.

"I'm telling you, that's not all."

"Hah. You really make a man feel miserable until the very end."

Hearing his voice full of self-loathing, I shook my head.

"What's finished is the Eli family's Poem of Martial Deeds, not your Poem of Martial Deeds."

"The family's Poem of Martial Deeds is my Poem of Martial Deeds, and my Poem of Martial Deeds is the family's Poem of Martial Deeds, what kind of sophistry is that..."

"How long will you live clinging only to the Legacy established by your ancestors?"

At my words, that punk Eli looked as though he had been struck in the back of the head.

"A Poem of Martial Deeds is not just following the exact path someone else walked before."

In a world where it had become impossible to accumulate feats, Legacy alone would have been everything. It wasn't strange that that punk Eli acted as if a faded Legacy was everything in the world.

But he needed to know.

The world had changed.

If he wanted to, he could accumulate new feats at any time.

"Facing the Full Moon Clan. Don't you think a pretty plausible Poem of Martial Deeds will be born?"

Fortunately, there was an entity right in front of him that was sufficient to become the lyrics of a new poem.

Even if its beginning was merely Ordinary or Extraordinary, there was no rule saying it had to remain that way until the very end.

"So are you telling me to create a new Poem of Martial Deeds right now?"

That punk Eli asked.

"Why? You don't think you can do it? It's not like you have anything left to lose anyway."

At my words, he growled.

"Who do you take the great Bernardo Eli for!"

His anger had vanished at some point, replaced by his usual bravado-filled voice.

Even though he had been whining just a little while ago about how his family's Poem of Martial Deeds had become terrible.

That punk Eli raised Dusk and aimed it at the Full Moon's messenger.

Watching that sight, I whispered softly.

"That's enough now, Ann."

["You remain as two-faced as ever."]

Agnes, who laughed softly, hid the presence of the original body that she had secretly released once again.

The beastman, which had been frozen stiff, only then began to move again.

Eli charged toward that beastman.

It was a refreshing strike that held no trace of the lingering regrets and fears that had clung to him like useless baggage just a moment ago.

I was honestly impressed.

I hadn't even expected him to shake off the Inner Demon that had dominated his entire life so quickly, just from exchanging a few words.

["Even if what was contained inside was a vain and murky lingering attachment to the past, the vessel itself is not bad."]

I completely agreed with her words.

Eli's affinity for words could not be obtained simply by holding a sword, swinging it, and training. It was something he could attain because he had steadily continued his internal cultivation since he was young.

"Indeed, a Great House is not a Great House for nothing."

To think a guy like that had been living in The Capital, fleecing the pockets of scoundrel-like noble youths.

I couldn't decide whether to pity the scoundrels who were played for fools, or to pity that punk Eli who had thrown himself into the mud.

Just then, Agnes spoke up again.

["It seems my aura has provoked a bothersome one."]

As soon as she finished speaking, a majestic roar rang out.

It was a roar containing a mightier energy than any beast's cry I had heard so far.

"Oops. Looks like we got on the boss's nerves."

["This is not the time to be so carefree; that creature's aura is too mighty to be called a mere beastman."]

It was just as Agnes said.

Not long after, a half-human, half-beast monster as massive as a typical ogre revealed itself.

It was a pale silver wolf, the same color as the full moon.

The leader of the Full Moon Clan, who had rushed over after sensing the aura flowing from the original body.

However, the silver-furred beastman's gaze was fixated on an unexpected place.

Following that gaze, I found Adelia.

At some point, her shoulders had stopped trembling.

Come to think of it, besides Eli, there was another descendant of a Great House here.

And not just any Great House, but a woman who inherited the blood of a Prince-Elector, of which only five existed in the world.

"Bloodlines don't go anywhere."

Watching the gradually intensifying golden aura, I ended up laughing out loud.