Rookie Holy Knight Azadine (3)

For a moment, everyone had to chew over what Azadine had just said.

“What do you mean?”

“If you hated getting caught embezzling, you should’ve poisoned my food or ambushed me in my sleep. But you did nothing, as if I’d disappear soon even if you just sat still. Why?”

“Ah, well, Platoon Leader, you were on guard too, weren’t you? You cooked your own food and slept so no one knew where you were sleeping.”

“I should do at least that. Otherwise I’d look too stupid, wouldn’t I? If anything, you should’ve tried something. You didn’t look that stupid.”

“…….”

Azadine scolded the soldiers as though it was their fault for not attempting assassination even after he had prepared defenses.

Those listening could only go pale.

“So then—if you’re too scared to say anything, tell me and I’ll take care of you. I’m saying this because it looks like you need my help.”

Azadine genuinely seemed to believe the soldiers were frightened and required his assistance.

The attitude was so absurd that the soldiers burst out laughing.

“Bwahahaha! What do you think we’re doing right now? This liquor? These drugs? Do you know how much they cost? We’re living better than a lot of broke nobles, we are!”

Unable to hold back, the soldiers shoved forward the bottles and drugs they had been using, boasting. But Azadine only sighed, as if he found them pathetic.

“You’re running away—trying to forget reality with liquor and drugs. You idiots. If you had any sense, would you say you’re happy just because the food tastes a little better in a backwater like this?”

“What?!”

The soldiers bristled at Azadine, but he was right.

Trapped in a remote place like Vermilion Fortress, unable to move—there was no reason to be happy just because something decent entered your mouth.

‘That’s not something you, the platoon leader, get to say.’

And yet Azadine—whose duty was to keep them penned in this fortress—said it anyway!

Then Azadine spoke with confidence.

“You’re satisfied indulging yourselves with money from selling off a little stolen cinnabar. What small vessels you are. Follow me, even now. I’ll get you out of this place.”

“This bastard—getting cocky now!”

“Kahahahah!”

Kallan, the dwarf berserker who had been listening quietly, burst into laughter.

“You little shit—are you treating us like children?! You want to die right now?!”

“Kallan.”

Rijen tried to stop him, but Kallan grabbed the battle axe propped against the wall. A long two-handed battle axe—something like a halberd-axe for dwarves, and overly long for humans. He glared at Azadine.

“I was going to keep my hands clean, since you’d die soon anyway because of the curse. But I can’t stand that smug mouth. Come outside! I’ll fix your manners.”

“A curse?”

“Stop, Kallan. You’re a berserker. Once you start fighting, you don’t stop until it’s over.”

Rijen tried to restrain him.

“I’ll do it.”

As Rijen stepped forward like that, Azadine snorted.

“Both of you, come out.”

“What?”

“I was planning to fix all of you anyway. Funny lot. You think you can kill me anytime just because you’re trapped under the Rescue Knights Order and flailing? Get out now. I’ll teach you why the Messenger Clan gets called the God-King Slayers.”

“…….”

Rijen and Kallan were thrown off by Azadine suddenly calling them out.

“This bastard!”

The barracks soldiers, unable to watch anymore, grabbed liquor bottles or stones from the floor and charged at Azadine.

Azadine casually flicked his hand. There was a sharp slap sound and blood sprayed. It looked like he had only lightly smacked someone, yet the man sprayed a nosebleed and slammed into the wall.

“Oh, good! This bastard actually knows something!”

Kallan exhaled hard enough to ruffle his hair, delighted—but Azadine ignored him and walked out of the barracks.

-Shaaahhh.

A downpour was falling. Azadine stood in the middle of the rain.

“Weapons—”

“You may use them.”

When Azadine said that, Kallan set down his axe-halberd.

“Good, you bastard! I’ve never seen anyone as insolent as you in my life!”

“I told you to take your weapon. You’d better listen.”

“Even better! A man fights with his bare fists!”

Kallan slapped his own cheeks until they cracked, roared, and began foaming at the mouth.

“I’ll show you why they call me Kallan the Bear-Ripper! If you learn my lesson, your body will be ripped apart too! KRAAAAH!”

Berserk Kallan lunged at Azadine. The soldiers watching were inwardly rattled.

“C-Captain Rijen.”

“Is that… okay?”

“Leave it. He’s doing it because he’s confident. Let’s just relax and enjoy the Messenger Clan’s skill.”

Rijen watched with a faint smile, as if savoring the situation.

This dwarf warrior, called Kallan the Bear-Ripper, had actually torn a bear to death with his bare hands.

Berserker fever—it was a disease that spread among humans and dwarves. Once it flared, the afflicted became a terrifying combat engine that fought until death or unconsciousness, indifferent to losing limbs.

And dwarves were already stronger than humans.

With berserker fever on top of that, Kallan was a monster who had once clung to the back of a red bear as large as an ox, torn open its hide with both hands, plunged his hands inside to tear flesh again and again, and exposed the bear’s skull to open air while it was still alive.

That was why Kallan had become an object of fear in Vermilion Fortress—because he had achieved such a grotesque “feat.”

No matter if the opponent was from the Messenger Clan, if Kallan got his hands on you, you couldn’t escape unscathed.

Even when he wasn’t berserk, he had the strength to rip off a person’s pinky with his bare hands.

And yet everyone gaped at the unexpected result.

Moving like lightning, Azadine slipped behind Kallan and choked him. Even then, Kallan desperately raised a hand to gouge Azadine’s eyes, but as soon as Kallan’s arm rose above his shoulder, Azadine briefly released the choke, caught the arm, and hooked it with his legs.

Kallan—whose grip could tear living flesh—went limp like a child, unable to struggle, and sagged slackly.

“N-no way.”

“Squad Leader Kallan went down that easily?!”

“No—Messenger Clan or not, isn’t that too much? Are they really a different species from us?”

Azadine set the sleeping Kallan down, then curled a finger at Rijen.

“Next.”

“Haha. Me?”

“If you don’t want to fight, then sob and beg, swearing absolute loyalty to me. I might be willing to spare you.”

Azadine said it right after subduing Kallan far too easily.

He certainly had reason to be confident. Still, Rijen snorted at him.

“Heh. Hahaha. Subduing Kallan so easily is impressive, but I’m a bit different from Kallan.”

Even after seeing a berserker fall this easily, Rijen did not waver at all. It was the kind of composure you could only have if you truly believed you were above Kallan.

“So—could you take off that mask for a moment?”

“What?”

“In case I end up killing you today, Platoon Leader. Your face probably won’t remain intact, so I’d like to see it bare first.”

“Hahaha.”

Azadine laughed at Rijen’s words. Even after watching Kallan get dropped like nothing, Rijen still seemed certain of his victory.

‘Is this okay? That platoon leader looks like he has real skill…’

‘But Squad Leader Rijen is that, you know. That.’

‘And Squad Leader Kallan is a dwarf—his arms and legs are short. You know how important distance control is in a fight, right?’

The soldiers watched with gleeful interest as Azadine and Rijen sized each other up.

“All right. We’ll be seeing each other until we’re sick of it anyway.”

Azadine readily removed his mask.

-KWAAA-RUMBLE!

Lightning tore the sky behind Azadine, casting a long shadow. In the darkness, purple eyes glowed.

“…Huh?”

Rijen stared at Azadine’s revealed face and looked startled.

“Platoon Leader… are you a woman?”

“Are you blind?”

“Ah—no. Not a woman, but…”

Rijen sounded almost regretful.

“It pains me that I might have to kill someone this pretty. On the other hand… thinking about eating you makes me happy.”

“Don’t worry about pointless things. Come.”

“Ah, for fairness, I’ll say this—Platoon Leader, you should take up a weapon.”

“A weapon?”

“Yes. For fairness.”

“I don’t think I need a weapon against you. If you get hit by a ceramite longsword, it won’t end with ‘just pain.’”

“Haa. I did warn you.”

Rijen said that—and suddenly dropped flat to the ground. In the next instant, his body swelled to nearly twice its size, thick wire-like fur sprouted from him, and his mouth lengthened as sharp fangs emerged.

“Eek?!”

The soldiers hurriedly dragged over a wooden lattice fence, set it up, and trembled behind it.

Half-elf Rijen was a werewolf.

“You! I’ll kill you and eat you!”

In werewolf form, Rijen drooled as he licked his chops at Azadine. Hunger and lust seemed to mingle, exciting him.

“Eek!”

Even the soldiers—on Rijen’s side—recoiled at his grotesque state.

“Ah. That’s all you were relying on?”

Azadine sprang forward. Rijen reflexively swung a forepaw at the Azadine charging straight at him—but it only cleaved through an illusion.

“Huh?”

Flowers, Birds, Wind, Moon—Twilight.

An illusion so convincing it was indistinguishable from the real thing had lunged at Rijen.

And right behind that illusion, Azadine leapt and drove his heel into the crown of Rijen’s head.

-CRACK!

A horrifying sound of bone breaking rang out as Rijen’s body buckled. For an ordinary person, it would have shattered the skull and bent the neck.

‘Gah—this bastard! What kind of kick is that?!’

Rijen was shocked by the unexpected trajectory and power of Azadine’s kick.

But a werewolf didn’t die from something like this. Rijen recovered instantly and tried to grab Azadine.

‘No matter what, he’s human! If I just get my hands on him, I can tear him to pieces—huh? What is he doing?’

As Rijen reached out, he froze at an unexpected response. Azadine was reaching his hands out too.

Until now, when he transformed and extended his claws, most people either fled in terror or resisted with torches or toothpick-like blades.

But someone coming to clasp his hand?

‘Is he insane?’

Azadine’s next move exceeded imagination.

Azadine grabbed the werewolf’s fingers—sprouting sharp hook-like claws—and used them as a hold to vault, flipping clean over Rijen.

“Huh?”

-CRUNCH!

Rijen’s arm and fingers bent the wrong way. But Azadine didn’t let go—he kept hold and dragged Rijen along.

Rijen’s feet scraped the ground. He tried to brace and apply strength, but his whole body was lifted upward, his legs kicking at empty air.

“When you raise a dog, walks are very important!”

“No way!”

Everyone watching was aghast.

A werewolf said to carry off even an ox—being dragged around by a human.