134

I followed the thread of magic power that had been attached to my shoulder.

If they chose to pursue, we would soon have each other in sight.

If they chose to withdraw, then I would become the one pursuing—either way, it did not disadvantage me.

I trudged through the rain-soaked forest, where droplets kept falling from the leaves.

Step by step, leaving footprints in the muddy ground, I swept my gaze around as I moved forward.

Then I spotted a group of four ahead—two men and two women—but the magic thread extending from me pointed in a different direction.

Snorting, “So you still won’t show yourself,” I ignored the foursome in front of me and kept staring down the line.

After standing there and watching for a while, an old man slowly emerged from behind a tree.

“…Alberto, this thing can recognize magic power.”

At the old man’s words—after he severed the magic thread from his fingertip—the spirit-sword wielder, Alberto, glared at the captain beside him.

“Just so you know, I only learned now that it can use weapons and recognize magic power.”

Saying that, the mercenary clicked his tongue like, “That’s cheating,” and raised his greatsword.

Because we were in the forest, this was not a suitable place to swing that weapon around.

That applied to me too—but I had not brought this out without thinking.

So I made them see.

Among the creatures classified as monsters, there were some that wielded weapons.

But they usually handled them crudely, relying on brute force—and they probably assumed the same of me.

To correct that misunderstanding, to make them properly recognize the threat in my hands—because I could not stand not showing someone the results of the secret practice I had kept up—I demonstrated a single swing poured with everything I had.

I cut through a tree in front of me—about as thick as the captain’s well-trained arm—with one stroke.

The tree collapsed, and the group’s faces twisted in shock, as if they finally understood my weapon was not just decoration I could not wield.

I prayed they were not looking at me like some dangerous lunatic going, “Whoa, this guy just started destroying nature out of nowhere.”

Anyway, I should act a bit more like a monster here and drag their thinking back on track.

“GRAAAAHHHHH!”

I leaned forward, thrust my face out, and roared to announce the start of round two.

I had been casually thinking up “monster-like” poses for a while, so it was probably perfect.

Alberto warned his allies—“It’s coming!”—but then a pointless thought popped into my head: “What happens if I feint and stop?”

Still, showing off this gear came first.

And I would actively use that comic-book swordplay lost two hundred years ago whenever I got the chance.

With a shield in my left hand, I could only use one-handed techniques, but in a forest, two-handed options were mostly dead anyway—so I would live with it.

My opening move was a huge, full-body thrust with a deep step.

An attack that would normally guarantee a counter the moment it was blocked became so powerful with this body’s specs that even if a counter was set, I could smash through it anyway.

I thought it was too fast for a human to handle, but he avoided it by throwing himself backward while bending his upper body far away.

The spirit-sword wielder was not for show; from that awkward posture, he swung up, aiming to destroy my saber.

Naturally, I still lacked information, so I pulled my saber back instead of clashing blades.

At the same time, a greatsword came down from my left—so I knocked it aside as if punching it with the tower shield.

The gap in weight and power was too vast; the captain went flying and slammed into a tree behind him.

First, I would receive the spirit sword with this shield—if there was no issue, then we could trade blows freely.

I stepped forward and closed in on Alberto, who had set himself to intercept.

Immediately, I felt as if weights had been attached to both hands.

Around twenty kilograms, by feel?

“Yeah, that doesn’t matter,” I thought as I raised my saber like nothing was wrong—then threw a sweeping kick instead.

“Tch! If you’re a monster, then fall for it!”

The “front” was an illusion made by magic, and the real body was slightly off to the side.

That old man would try to disrupt things the moment he saw an opening.

He liked underhanded methods, and given that only the spirit sword could land a decisive hit right now, it was a very rational approach.

So, I raised the threat level of the mage who kept vanishing again, one step higher in my mind.

Alberto revealed himself after dodging my kick by jumping back, and he slashed in.

I had been waiting for that; I received it with the shield, then tilted my head at how little impact there was.

It seemed my concern had been unfounded—the shield felt normal even after stopping a spirit-sword strike.

Judging that I could now clash with the saber, I forced Alberto back with brute strength as he tried to pour power in and cut down the shield.

He jumped back in time with my movement and managed not to be blown away, landing firmly.

I unleashed a flurry of saber strikes that practically said, “Time to punish your landing.”

The first was a light downward cut prioritizing speed—against a human, it would have been knocked aside, but unfortunately for him, I was a monster.

He somehow succeeded in deflecting it… and then I forcibly changed the trajectory.

A sweeping slash that could have split a torso in two was blocked by that incomprehensible defensive barrier of the spirit sword, but I followed through anyway and slammed both saber and Alberto into a tree.

Then I quickly drew the blade back and showed the same preparatory motion as my earlier thrust.

But just before I could fire it off, a thrown small bottle disrupted me.

I caught the bottle with the tower shield in a snap, and knocked down a flying stone spear with my tail.

They must have meant to cut in during that opening, but their timing did not line up; I blocked the mercenary’s downward strike with the shield, instantly knocked his arm up along with the greatsword, and slashed upward.

But just before my saber could reach, the captain was violently blown away.

That old man really did excellent work.

“Damn it! He’s moving his right hand like it’s completely healed!”

Alberto took distance while everyone fumed about my ridiculous recovery, buying time.

Facing him, I sent only my gaze toward the mercenary captain.

When I silently pressed, “Wait—did you seriously not tell them about the potion?” he smoothly looked away.

Oops. That would reveal I understood words.

Still, it had looked like a “probable noble” situation—and maybe I had been right.

Otherwise, there was no reason to conceal such vital information.

(Mercenaries move for money, but… did he cheap out too hard? Or is their relationship just that bad?)

I started worrying about their internal dynamics, but with the reset, they went into a brief “consultation time.”

They had decided to pursue after seeing my condition, but if I had already recovered, further fighting was too dangerous.

There were words I did not understand here and there, but that was roughly what they said.

I respected their judgment for considering withdrawal so quickly—but they should not think they could escape that easily.

I laughed in a way that sounded like, “GAH-HAH,” and the captain—who smirked back and tossed away an empty bottle—stepped forward.

Naturally, they healed with potions too.

Then we could still have plenty of fun.

Spinning the saber in my right hand, I began walking slowly toward Alberto, the greatest threat.

I watched him closely.

He watched me too, but if I asked whether those eyes held a will to fight, the answer was no.

He had clearly switched his thinking to escape, because even when I deliberately showed openings, he did not take an aggressive stance.

Or was he suspecting a trap no matter how much composure I showed?

If so, then he no longer saw me as “just a monster.”

That was a good trend—yet I still wanted more information.

Sorry you decided to withdraw, but you were going to humor me whether you liked it or not.

With Alberto still refusing to break his defensive posture, I stepped in even deeper—shamelessly close—and drew my saber back so far it nearly vanished behind my back.

A strike that was obviously impossible to block.

It forced a binary choice: “Dodge right or dodge left?”

I would leave it to your imagination what awaited on either side.

He could also gamble on a counter for a sudden reversal, but if he failed, he would die instantly.

Someone already set on escape would never take that risk, and as I brought my right hand down, he leapt hard to the left.

“Don’t jump, you brat!”

A warning came too late from somewhere—my right hand was not holding the saber.

The saber, wrapped by my tail around its hilt, shot out toward the Alberto who had jumped sideways.

I had switched hands at the moment of the downswing, planted my right hand on the ground, and changed posture for an ambush.

It was a perfectly lined-up strike, but as expected, that barrier-like defense from the spirit sword blocked it and the blade did not reach.

Still, Alberto was shoved in midair and bounced and rolled across the ground.

I dashed in for the follow-up, switched the saber back into my right hand, and charged forward like I was going to run down the captain who jumped into my path.

Something seemed to have been thrown from behind, but I was already gone from there.

The mage, whom I had thought was doing nothing, had apparently been trying to interfere this whole time; right after I felt my arms grow slightly lighter, she began chanting.

Alberto slammed into a tree hard, coughing out air.

That left the invisible old man… and if he could still turn this around, I almost wanted to see it.

The distance between me and the mercenary who had cut in between me and the spirit-sword wielder shrank.

A few more steps—just when I got that close, the mercenary in front of me made an unexpected move.

He reached behind himself and threw something he pulled out.

Not at me—he tossed it upward.

Spinning slowly, it entered my view.

A cylindrical object with a handle—matched something in my knowledge perfectly.

I slammed on the brakes with both feet, threw my saber backward, and raised the tower shield with both hands.

The unseen old mage spoke.

In sync with that voice, the mercenary hid himself behind his greatsword like a shield.

Then a metallic clink rang out as something struck my braced shield—

…and an explosion erupted.

The blast was strong enough to blow even this huge body away, producing exactly the result I knew it would.

(A grenade! Where did they get it!? How were they storing it!?)

Because it exploded at point-blank range—close enough to hit my shield—the shock was immense.

I slammed my back into a tree behind me and glared irritably at the burning scene ahead.

I had no intention of letting them escape now that they had started withdrawing.

But the moment I stood, I heard several small popping sounds.

I recognized them instantly.

Purple smoke spread around, hiding them from view.

And a brutal stench drifted in.

Not just a bad smell—something sharp and irritating, dangerous enough that even a slight breath suggested it could harm my breathing.

I looked up at the sky.

It was still raining.

Then the smoke would not last long.

(I could go around. But…)

A trace of magic extended from my side.

So faint that I would have missed it if I had not trained whenever I had time—thread-thin magic, like a spider’s silk.

(Did you think I wouldn’t notice? No—until now I could barely deal with that old man’s magic at all. So that’s why…)

“You got greedy,” I said out loud, laughing at their mistake.

I turned my back on the fleeing group to retrieve the saber I had thrown away.

I pulled the saber from where it had pierced an exposed tree root, and started walking.

“…Fine. Round three.”