Chapter 73 - Smack, Smack

'Mana Arrow...'

Galahad's eyes gleamed coldly.

Not compressing mana, but honing it to an edge.

'Just like the tiers of magic.'

Magic ordinarily worked by adding strokes. If Tier 1 Mana Arrow was the movement of mana, Tier 2 Fire Arrow added the stroke of an element to Mana Arrow. A Tier 3 Fireball, for instance, added the stroke of weight to Fire Arrow.

That was how magic advanced through the tiers, one added stroke at a time.

He called them strokes for simplicity's sake, but the concept was anything but trivial.

Higher-tier magic devoured the magic of lower tiers. Mana concentration played a part, but no ordinary Mage could compress mana enough to overcome a difference in tier.

That made a Mage's tier an absolute measure of standing. It was the scale by which Mages were classified.

Yet that Demon had honed a Mana Arrow.

'No, that must be the original.'

Honing did not add a stroke. Like mana compression, it was a supplementary factor.

An ordinary Mage would have paid it no mind. Mages devoted themselves solely to advancing their tiers.

But a Mage who had reached great heights knew such little tricks could make all the difference in a split second.

Galahad was an excellent Mage.

'Hone the mana.'

He recalled the sensation from a moment ago. He had even deliberately taken a hit to the shoulder to grasp it.

Studying the little hole, he considered the concept of honing.

Compression felt like pressing mana down. Honing, then...

'Means grinding it sharp, like a sword.'

He knew the concept, yet still could not understand it.

How was one supposed to hone mana? Mana had no physical form.

'Just once more.'

Galahad took an unconscious step forward. The Demon furrowed its brows.

"Can't you make it sharper?"

"Keep bluffing."

His request was sincere, but the Demon's face twisted as though it had been insulted.

Still, it seemed to work. The Demon swept its hand more violently than before, as though throwing a dagger.

Galahad focused without so much as blinking. The mana he had scattered mapped out the Demon's authority from instant to instant.

Then his barrier was pierced with ease.

'So that's it.'

A broad smile spread across his face.

Just then...

'Hm?'

Agony shot through his back.

He turned his head slightly to find Gwen glaring ahead, looking ready to burst into tears.

Her finger was buried in his back.

"What are you doing..."

Instead of answering, Gwen swung her other hand as though throwing a dagger.

Small holes opened in the Demon's shoulder and thigh. Blood gushed out, and it staggered.

Galahad's eyes widened.

All he had wanted from Gwen was a simple imitation. But what she had just unleashed...

'A genuine authority.'

Not a stroke, but an authority. Exactly the same as theirs.

In fact, because she had drawn on the Egg of agony, hers was more powerful.

"Excellent, Gwen! Truly remarkable!"

"Huh?! Yes..."

"You can be proud of yourself. Look at those holes. A perfect authority. You've exceeded my expectations. Your aim could use some work, though. Their authority is like an arrow: sharp and swift, but covering very little area. How should you use an arrow effectively?"

"I... I don't know."

"Aim for a vital spot. For instance... Come over here. Ah, don't pull your finger out just yet."

Before Gwen knew it, Galahad had pulled her along. He stopped before the fallen Demon and pointed as he explained.

"For this Demon, for instance, targeting the neck, heart, or groin would be effective."

"... What?"

"Now, try again."

"Urgh..."

Gwen whipped her head aside. Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

"Very well. I'll clean up."

Galahad glanced at the Demon. It was struggling, but there was no fear on its face. It was still brimming with desire for Gwen.

'Like a zombie.'

He crouched before it and wagged a finger.

"Thank you. That was an excellent lesson."

"... Lesson?"

The Demon narrowed its eyes. Galahad smiled at it.

"This is your payment."

Galahad briefly recited an incantation. The spell consumed so much mana that he reserved it for when it was truly necessary, but right now he felt like using it for no particular reason.

"Hellfire."

A tiny ball of flame appeared over his finger.

He flicked it forward.

"It's all thanks to your teaching."

At Galahad's heartfelt expression of gratitude, the Demon shrieked as though in a fit.

"I never taught you any of that..."

Of course, it burned up before it could finish.

"Ah, thank you again."

Galahad offered his thanks once more to the pile of ash.

By then, Gwen had stopped retching. Galahad turned to her.

"Can you use it?"

"As long as I have help."

"Help?"

THUMP! THUMP!

"Um... it says to leave one hole open?"

Galahad frowned at her request. Mage or not, leaving a hole in his body was a bit much...

'No, it's already plugged.'

Dark red flesh filled the hole. The Egg of agony.

He would have to teach this thing some proper manners.

Hiding his thoughts, Galahad nodded.

"Are you all right?!"

He turned toward the urgent voice to find Gilberton and Adrianna. Behind them, Tom was collecting Demon blood.

All right?

Galahad chuckled at Gilberton's question.

"Never better."

Smiling, he pressed down on Gwen's round head.

CLATTER.

* * *

"To Demons, human blood is a meal, sleep, and a sweet drink all in one."

Adrianna watched Galahad quietly as he explained.

The Demons treated him as one of their own. They showed him respect. He moved as though he knew his way around their city, and just now...

'That was a Demon's power.'

Was he going to call that magic too? It left Adrianna feeling strange.

The more she learned about Galahad, the less she understood him.

"I've learned that humans supply them with blood. Like merchants."

Galahad pointed ahead. Some distance away stood a building noticeably larger than the others. Several men were talking outside it.

'The smell of blood...'

A scent all too familiar to Adrianna hung thick in the air.

"I've looked into it, and security is fairly tight. Blood seems to be the most popular line of business here. House Proxel owns two of these."

He remained perfectly at ease, as though there were nothing unusual about their situation.

"Now, the plan is simple. We neatly destroy House Proxel's blood warehouse and leave traces of House Vance behind. Any questions?"

It was not simple at all. Gilberton thrust up a hand.

"How do we get in?"

"How do we get in? What a typically Sir Gilberton question."

Gilberton clamped his mouth shut. Galahad openly clicked his tongue.

Adrianna quietly lowered her own half-raised hand.

"As customers, of course."

"... Pardon?"

As customers? Galahad was certain the Demons would see him as one of them.

Adrianna's gaze grew intent.

"Sir Gilberton, you and the rookie keep watch here. Let me know if any Demons approach. Gwen and Tom, you're coming with me. Ah, Tom, do you have a spare shirt?"

"Pardon? Of course I do."

"Ever dependable, Tom."

Galahad casually pulled off his shirt.

His back was so covered in scars that it was impossible even to imagine what he had been through.

Then their eyes met.

Though she had done nothing wrong, Adrianna averted her gaze for no reason.

"How lecherous."

CLATTER! CLATTER!

* * *

"Aren't those Proxel bastards taking things too far?"

Venta, one of the gourmets, grumbled under his breath.

"We're stretched thin enough already, and now they want even more. What are they, pigs?"

"Fucking hell. Do they think we're their servants?"

Things in the North had already become difficult lately. They were struggling to meet their existing supply quota, yet House Proxel had requested even more.

Complaints were inevitable.

"Wouldn't we be better off siding with Vance? Proxel hasn't been doing so well lately. A whole bunch of them died in that huge failure last time."

Venta shook his head.

House Vance was a rising Demon house, but it still could not compare to House Proxel.

"The Proxels here are a branch family. They're real nobility, with their main house in the Demon Realm. Vance is no match for Proxel."

This place was a den of outcast Demons.

The real Demons lived in what was called the Demon Realm. This was where the losers driven out of it had settled.

Just then, someone approached: a handsome, neatly dressed man. At the air of refinement he naturally exuded, the men hurriedly straightened up.

'Haven't seen that face before.'

Venta did not know every member of House Proxel, but he knew the ones who visited the warehouse. He had never seen this Demon.

Still, the man's poise and refinement were not things one could fake.

He even had a pretty maid and a porter with him. Walking around like that in a place full of Demons meant he was confident he could protect them.

"Why haven't you opened the door?"

The man spoke coldly, his voice steeped in that particular arrogance of nobility.

Venta hurriedly opened the door and stepped aside.

The man walked inside without hesitation. The door slammed shut behind him.

Only then did Venta breathe out.

"I've never seen him before. Should we really have let him in?"

At the uneasy question from beside him, Venta openly clicked his tongue.

"He's obviously a high-ranking Demon, dumbass. Do you have to taste shit to know what it is?"

His companion scowled at the rebuke.

"How would you know?!"

"So you think someone who isn't a Demon would come unarmed into a city crawling with them, with just a pretty maid and a porter in tow, and throw his weight around at a warehouse run by House Proxel? Even knowing it's House Proxel's warehouse?"

At Venta's reprimand, his companion pressed his lips shut.

"Nobody's that insane."

They all nodded.

* * *

'Hmm...'

Inside the building, Galahad wrinkled his nose.

A repulsive heat prickled all over his face.

The smell of hot blood filled the air. It had been a very long time since he had smelled blood this overpowering.

Furiously boiling cauldrons stood everywhere, bubbles of blood bursting at their surfaces.

The men moving among them had sweat-covered faces. Anyone ignorant of the truth might have mistaken them for diligent laborers.

One of them, wearing an oversized hat, approached Galahad. He removed his hat and bowed.

"You must be new here."

"A pleasure."

Galahad nodded and snapped his fingers.

A small hole opened between the man's brows. He crumpled on the spot. Galahad snapped his fingers again.

The mana he had prepared spread out: a spell to keep sound from escaping.

"Call me if anyone approaches the door."

"Yes, sir."

Tom answered, drawing his shield closer. He would not need to intervene.

In a windowless building, there was no chance of Galahad letting a target escape.

Galahad snapped his fingers again.

A man clutched his neck and fell backward. The cauldron behind him overturned, spilling red blood. The metallic stench grew stronger.

The man thrashed in the blood, letting out a long scream.

Only then did everyone turn to look. Galahad snapped his fingers.

"Hard Shell!"

One man chanted a spell—apparently a Mage. Hard Shell was a fairly high-tier defensive spell.

Galahad's Mana Arrows tapped against it.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

A bright smile spread across the Mage's face.

"This bastard isn't a Demon!"

"Correct."

Galahad snapped his fingers again.

"Attacking Hard Shell with Mana Arrow? You idiot—"

The Mage's voice faded. Blood spilled from a small hole in his neck instead of words. He toppled backward.

CRASH!

A cauldron overturned, sending blood cascading like a waterfall.

Galahad clicked his tongue softly and snapped his fingers again.

Another man drew a sword. Judging by the aura he summoned, he seemed to be one of the gourmets.

"How dare you—"

Galahad answered with a snap of his fingers.

The man snorted and swung his sword. His aura was respectable—enough, at least, to justify that snort.

His sword clipped the Mana Arrow, and it vanished in an instant.

The man snorted again. Knights who wielded aura were certainly troublesome.

Aura could cleave any magic apart.

A small hole opened in his left foot. It lay outside his sword's path, so he could not block it. Not without a second sword.

"When—"

His eyes widened almost to bursting.

Rather than answer, Galahad snapped his fingers in rapid succession.

The man gritted his teeth and swung. His aura cut through a Mana Arrow. The sword's path was so predictable it made Galahad want to yawn.

A hole opened in the man's thigh. His sword slowed.

A hole opened in his heart. His sword tipped forward.

"Should a knight really take off his armor just because he's hot?"

There were twelve people in the building: four Mages, three knights, and the rest menial workers.

The heat of their work had left them all without their battle gear, making this quite easy.

What mattered was leaving traces behind.

Even if he had learned to hone mana from their authority, his traces would inevitably differ from those of a Demon's authority.

That was why he needed Gwen.

Gwen had been throwing up constantly since they entered. He had thought her tender heart would prove an obstacle, but contrary to his expectations, she did not hesitate.

"Let me borrow it for a moment!"

POP.

Though she kept retching, she never weakly protested that she couldn't do it. She steadfastly unleashed the authority.

'She's becoming useful.'

Meanwhile, Tom moved around pushing over and smashing the cauldrons.

There was so much blood that even after soaking the entire floor, it overflowed.

Watching the long stream flow toward the door, Galahad moved his mana.

The overflowing blood soaked the floor and continued onward, soon reaching the front entrance.

"What the hell?! What's going on in there?!"

The door was flung open.

A hole opened between the newcomer's brows.

"What—"

The heads of the men on either side flew upward simultaneously.

Gilberton and Adrianna had struck.

"A success. Ah, Gwen, could you take your finger out?"

"Yes!"

POP!

* * *

'Hmm...'

Gilberton had learned something in his time with Galahad.

There was no need to bother trying to understand him.

Galahad was a Mage. Trying to understand him would only give Gilberton a headache.

His results were always good, though, so Gilberton generally followed without questioning him.

Even he, however, could not help asking now.

"Why?"

A short distance away, Demons were locked in a chaotic melee.

The humans caught among them let out long screams.

The Demons did not stop even when their limbs were severed. They kept lashing out with their hands or swinging swords until their dying breath.

The Demons of House Proxel and House Vance were fighting.

Which brought him back to the question.

Why?

"Why are the Demons fighting each other?"

"Why? What have you been doing all this time?"

Gilberton frowned at Galahad's clicking tongue.

"Didn't we just attack one warehouse?"

It had not even been a particularly large one. Just a shabby warehouse guarded by humans rather than Demons.

And striking that one place had made them fight like this?

"What nobles need is a pretext."

"A pretext?"

"Indeed. A pretext is worth less than dirt, but to nobles it can sometimes be more precious than gold."

"What does that... Never mind."

Gilberton shook his head. Listening would not help him understand. It would only give him a headache.

"Hmm, has Proxel sent out about twenty? Fewer than I expected. Damian must be more precious to them than I thought."

Galahad swept back his tousled hair.

The Demon city had originally been quiet and chilly. There was a reason Galahad had ordered his people to keep their mouths shut.

But now...

"Aaargh! Kill them! Kill them!"

"You fucking bastards..."

Blood flew and screams rang out. A building's wall collapsed in the fighting. Aura sent long sprays of blood through the air.

The entire city had grown noisy.

Galahad was unmistakably the cause.

Yet the man himself was smoking a cigarette, as though none of it had anything to do with him.

He was utterly relaxed.

"Well, shall we go rescue Damian now?"

Galahad spoke as he tapped out his finished cigarette, a subtle smile on his lips.

Gilberton swallowed.

Gilberton had considered Galahad a highly capable man—so brilliant that his mind had broken.

He had to revise that assessment.

Galahad was not merely a capable man.

He was a calamity.

A calamity that swept everything away, stopping at nothing.

"Yes, Commander!"

Gilberton was sincerely relieved to be on the same side as him.

* * *

SMACK, SMACK! SMAAACK! SMACK!

Helsington, deputy head of the Proxel branch family, frowned at the vulgar sounds.

Damian kept spearing meat with his fork and stuffing it into his mouth.

He held the fork so close to its tines that he might as well have been eating with his hands.

Though using it served no purpose, Damian stubbornly stuck with the fork.

The clothes they had taken the trouble to provide were covered in grease and sauce. There was not a shred of dignity to be seen.

It was because half his blood came from those uncivilized humans.

Disgusting, but that was precisely what made him valuable.

They coveted humanity's fangs: aura.

So they had sown their seed. When children were born, they planned to eat them and obtain aura.

Only House Proxel could do such a thing.

And the sole fruit of those efforts sat before him.

'We will claim aura.'

Helsington broke into a broad smile.

His house head had been unjustly relegated to a branch family, but obtaining aura would change everything.

The head would eat the boy.

To wield both humanity's weapon and the Demons' weapon...

'Our age is coming.'

It was decided by purity of blood, so there was no chance of the head being eaten by Damian.

If, by some chance, that did happen...

'A pointless thought.'

Helsington shook his head.

The time was approaching.

'He's put on weight. It won't be long now.'

Helsington nodded as he watched Damian.

Just then...

SMACK, SMACK. SMACK. SMAAACK!

"More, please."

At this rate, they would go bankrupt first.

They needed to hurry their grand undertaking along.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.