5. Enemy
Ranta drank his spirits to the last drop, then left the pub.
He could see the back of Wezel, who had left the bar before him, off in the distance. The elf was carrying some awfully large luggage, but he seemed light on his feet, or at least his steps were smooth.
Two orcs had left the pub to go after Wezel, but Ranta didn’t see them now.
The mining town was filled with noise at night. The main streets were as congested as ever.
Ranta tailed Wezel at a distance.
It might not just be him; they could be watching Ranta, too. He was on his guard, but for the time being, he didn’t think he was being followed.
Wezel took a right turn. Immediately after, one of the people on the street quickened their pace.
That orc’s hair was a dull orange. He was suspicious.
The orange-haired orc turned the corner after the elf.
Ranta made a point of walking past the corner, rather than rounding it, and when he did, he spotted both Wezel and the orc.
Ranta turned right at the next corner, and started running. Then he took another right, and the moment he went into an alley, he heard a noise.
Wezel had fallen to the ground, and his things were scattered around. There were two orcs on the other side of him. The orange-haired orc from before, and another pink-haired orc.
The pink-haired orc had been in the pub.
“Personal skill...” Ranta laid his hand on the hilt of his katana, then instantly accelerated.
He leapt over Wezel.
The pink-haired orc was trying to clobber Wezel with some kind of fold-up club. It seemed he noticed Ranta, but by that time it was too late.
“Dazza?!” the orc shouted.
“...Time Flies Like a Dream.”
Ranta effortlessly severed the pink-haired orc’s head.
He wanted to say, That’s talent for you, but the fact was, though there had been quite a difference in power between them, it was easy to do this when someone was caught off-guard.
The remaining orange-haired orc went for the two handaxe-like blades that hung at his waist.
“Gash!” the orc yelled.
“You wanna go?” Ranta grinned.
Orange-hair was only maybe 180 centimeters tall. He wasn’t that thick, either. He was a lightweight, as far as orcs went. He was dual-wielding axes, so he must have been the type that competed using speed and the number of moves he could employ.
Ranta unleashed a three-strike chain to test him, and Orange-hair deflected them all with his handaxes.
Ranta wasn’t going to start out underestimating the orc. He anticipated Orange-hair was a reasonably capable opponent. Those axes were dangerous. Plus, this was an orc, so he had more strength than appearances would suggest. Ranta couldn’t make light of those handaxes’ power.
He tried moving left, then right, to keep his opponent in check, but Orange-hair showed no sign of that movement disturbing him.
Ranta went for another swing, but it was deftly parried.
Orange-hair’s stance was low. He lowered his hips, bent his knees, and leaned forward. There was no wasted strength in his axe-wielding hands. He, like Ranta, was watching and waiting.
Orange-hair was cautious. Was he waiting for reinforcements? That seemed possible.
Guess I’ll hook him, Ranta decided in an instant, kicking backwards off the ground using his heels and the tips of his toes.
It was Exhaust.
As Ranta moved backwards as if he had been launched that way, Orange-hair charged in.
If Ranta had been in Orange-hair’s position, he’d have attacked now, too. That seemed to be the only option, the thing one ought to do, so Orange-hair did it. The orc’s choice was, by no means, a bad one.
However, it came half a second too late.
“O Darkness, O Lord of Vice.”
The true form of darkness, or perhaps malice made manifest, pooled in a horrifying miasma.
Then it formed a vortex.
“Dread Venom Wave.”
The miasma enveloped Orange-hair.
“Bugoh...?!” Alarmed, Orange-hair backed away, swinging his axes.
That wasn’t going to dispel Skullhell’s miasma.
The poisonous gas permeated Orange-hair through every orifice in his body—no, even through his skin.
“Nnnnguh...!” Orange-hair’s whole body shuddered, and he foamed at the mouth.
That’s gotta be tough. Let me give you a hand. Ranta leapt over Wezel to strike at Orange-hair again.
He meant to settle this right away and put the orc out of his misery, but it looked like the orc was going to be stubborn a while longer.
Orange-hair used both handaxes to parry Ranta’s katana.
Dread Venom Wave was Ranta’s own original Dread Magic spell, made by forcibly combining Dread Venom and Dread Wave. It robbed the target of their life force, and enervated them as if they were suffering from a high fever.
Orange-hair had to be having a pretty hard time, but he wasn’t giving in.
“Glad to see it,” Ranta grunted. “—But still!”
He suddenly planted a front kick in Orange-hair’s gut. It hit him in the solar plexus, and even the orc had to go down after that.
“O Darkness, O Lord of Vice.” Ranta gripped his right wrist with his left hand. “Dread Aura.”
This rising miasma, was it an unending malice, a premonition of destruction? He accepted it with his whole being, and it made him seethe. He was seething.
This is the will of Skullhell. The Dark God commands me to kill.
Bring death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death.
Unmistakable death. Nothing but death.
The overwhelming urge to kill activated every cell in his body, and that wasn’t really a contradiction. Life was connected to death. Life and death were laws.
“Secret Art—”
I am the bringer of death.
Ranta charged in with Leap Out, thrusting his katana.
Orange-hair was still struggling, and must have tried to twist out of the way. If he weren’t being violated by Dread Venom Wave, he might well have managed to dodge.
Instead, the katana plunged mercilessly through his throat.
There was an unmistakable end of life, a sensation of death, there.
“Blossoming of the Gaudy Flower.” As Ranta pulled his katana free, he pushed Orange-hair away.
Orange-hair was entirely dead. The dead could resist nothing, and when pushed away, the orc merely crumpled.
Wezel was sitting cross-legged on the ground. He had a knife in his hand. At first glance, it looked like the sort of thing you might give to a woman or child for self-defense, but it was nothing so cute. That blade contained a demonic glow, and it had sucked a terrifying amount of blood. It must have harbored some special power.
He was a creepy gray elf. He might have managed to handle his pursuers alone, without Ranta’s aid. If so, why had he made Ranta get his hands dirty? He had some ulterior motive here. Was that what it meant?
“So, why are they after you?” Ranta questioned.
“...You do not need to know.”
“Well, not like it matters.” Ranta laughed it off, then sheathed his katana.
It was a given that the gray elf had ulterior motives. Everyone had things they were carrying. At times, they couldn’t hold onto them, and they spilled out. And once they dropped them, it was all too common to be unable to get them back.
Wezel put away his knife, and began gathering up his scattered luggage.
“I, too, have business in the south,” he said.
Ranta helped out. “Oh, yeah?”
“There is a place I must go.”
“In other words, you and I could travel together, huh?” Ranta asked.
“If you wish it... yes.”
Ranta stopped and asked himself: Am I being true to my own heart?
The answer was clear.
Yes, I am.
“Do you think there’s any reason I wouldn’t?” Ranta offered Wezel his right hand. “This should be a fun trip, Wezel.”
“Tch, tch, tch...”
Wezel’s shoulders simply heaved with ominous laughter, and he made no attempt to take Ranta’s hand.
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