Episode 45 - All Weaknesses Accounted For



"Seems like you put some thought into your preparations — unfortunately, you'll be dead before any of it amounts to anything."
Neither man let the reaction show on his face at Kaftin's easy tone.
Show the face of a winner now and the target might run.
Until the ship Kaftin had arrived on drifted past and out of reach, Bizeth held up a hand to keep his subordinates in place, maintaining the standoff.
"What are you waiting for? Don't tell me — once our ship is gone, this one becomes your home ground. Better odds. Is that the thinking?"
"More or less. Credit to you for knowing and still not running. Kid."
Kaftin's characteristic smile settled across his face.
"I see... so the story about heading to the Old Capital was the trap itself."
"......!!"
Bizeth's expression faltered.
This brat — sharper than expected. And that smile, completely at ease despite having walked into the trap —
"Correct — you're completely cornered! You can't swim, and out here on the open sea, on a rocking ship — do you honestly think you can survive against two Master-class Gang Lords?!"
Kaftin shook his head.
He wasn't alone right now.
"Two, you say — unfortunate, but there happen to be two of us as well."
"Hm! We have the ship's crew and our own people on top of that!"
"Oh? Whether it's a few dozen or a few hundred of those types who pop like snails when you step on them... at your level, you'd know as well as I do how little that matters."
"Ngh—!"
Bluster.
The man was cornered and putting on a front — obviously. Keep up the posturing to stop them from charging, then hold out until land came into reach. That had to be the plan.
"Doesn't matter! Everyone — get ready!"
"Sir—!"
Hatches across the deck flew open, and gun decks that had been suspended below on pulleys were hauled up to the main deck.
As if this was exactly what they had been waiting for — every cannon mouth trained squarely on Kaftin and Maengseol at the center of the deck.
"You really did prepare thoroughly..."
"Indeed. My motto has always been — 'a fight prepared with thoroughness is a fight that cannot be lost.'"
Bizeth's smile was one of pure satisfaction. A motto that had served him since his bandit days, and it was proving its worth again now.
"Brace yourself, Kaftin—! It won't go the way it did last time! I'll take that head of yours and deliver it to Athunga personally—!"
He raised his treasured sword to the sky, and the gun crews immediately began loading powder and shot with practiced urgency.
"Tch — thinking a cannon barrage is going to do anything to me, you're softer than I—"
"Who said it was only a cannon barrage?!"
"......!"
An Aura slash came in without warning and Kaftin rolled sideways to avoid it.
Bizeth adjusted his grip on the blade with visible irritation.
"Hm. Better instincts than you look. Annoying brat."
"So — you intend to come at me through the cannon fire."
"Obviously. That's what this trap was built for."
"And you're not concerned about being hit by your own guns?"
"Taking a few hits is a cheap price if it means your head comes off—!"
"You old fool—!"
The moment Kaftin moved to charge, Bizeth caught Gabelth's eye and gave a nod.
He would handle Kaftin — Gabelth was to deal with the tiger demi-human.
"Hey! I want that one too — I told you I had a debt to repay for what he did to my leg!"
"For the sake of my honor as a swordsman — I need you to yield this one to me."
"Don't make me laugh! This time I—"
"That tiger demi-human's level looks considerable, doesn't it? He's almost certainly an important ally to Kaftin. If you take him down, it'll hit the man hard."
"......"
Bizeth's persuasion landed. Gabelth clicked his tongue, spat on the deck, and gave a reluctant nod.
"You owe me for this one. Bizeth!"
"Yes yes, I'll put it on the tab."
Bizeth leapt up to the rear deck where the helm was, and Kaftin sprinted after him — while Maengseol, moving to follow, found Gabelth suddenly blocking his path.
"Oho. Tiger friend? You're going to have to entertain me for a bit—!"
"Grrr—! Out of my way!"
"Heheh, make me. You flashy—!"
He had to roll sideways before he finished the sentence.
Because a hand had shot out at invisible speed mid-sentence.
"Damn it! You demi-humans have no manners at all?! When someone is speaking to you, you listen!"
"There's nothing to be gained from crossing hands with something like you!"
"What was that?!"
"I can tell from the Aura waves alone. You're not on my level. Get out of my way!"
A vein stood out on Gabelth's forehead.
The tiger demi-human was a full head taller than him — over two meters. But size and strength were not the same thing.
"You... how little do you think of me?! I am the Night Fist Lord! One of the finest Fist Masters in the Maritime Kingdom—! Keep underestimating me and those precious fangs of yours are going to snap—!"
"Hm. Break my fangs? You? ...Fine. Go ahead. I'll give you three free shots. If those three don't open my eyes—"
"......!"
Maengseol's eyes shifted to something purely predatory, and he began to growl through his teeth.
"I'll beat you half to death and drag you to Vesren's grave and make you apologize on your knees—!"
"What?!"
Gabelth's expression twisted.
Even this one was invoking that name — what exactly was going on here?
"Wait — you — you know Vesren?!"
"Of course I do. He was my only friend in recent years. I learned only recently what he did in his past — but that doesn't change the fact that I mourn him."
"Damn it all—! That bastard, we should have finished him off that day—!"
Before the words were out, the fists of both men collided — and Aura sparked between them.
Meanwhile, up on the rear deck, the two faced off in a considerably narrower space.
The gun crews on the main deck had already swung their cannons upward toward Kaftin's position as a matter of course, ready to fire — and in front of him stood Bizeth, sword in hand, settled into his stance.
"Hfheh... to think this much would be enough to do something to me... almost endearing."
"Is that right...? You seem to have feelings for Whispermere — that woman."
"...Hey. Don't call her that."
"Hm — if that's not a lie, then... you can't swim. Which means I only need to knock you overboard somehow on this narrow deck to win. Isn't that right?"
"......"
"Oh — and one more thing. You know that Whispermere isn't her real name, don't you?"
"...What of it."
Bizeth laid down the card he had been saving for this moment.
"...I know her real name."
"......!"
Grrk.
The sound of grinding teeth — and Kaftin tore open the front of his robe, revealing the torture instruments strapped across his abdomen.
"Come then. I'll drown you along with that insufferable Vesren's techniques—!"
At Bizeth's shout, Kaftin seized an awl-shaped instrument and charged.
"Not so fast—!"
He had already anticipated that the wrist of the sword hand was the target — Bizeth shifted his stance with practiced speed, deflected the awl, and drove his shoulder hard into Kaftin's body.
"Ngh—?!"
"Now — look behind you! Fool—!"
"?!"
Clang—!
Metal on metal — and Kaftin's head snapped forward sharply.
A cannonball fired from behind had connected directly with the back of his skull.
"Ngh—!"
"Hahah—! Nice shot! Keep it up! Everyone — let's make a bet on which hit cracks his skull open!"
The sudden jarring impact made his vision swim, and Kaftin's feet started to stagger.
His body felt almost nothing that could be called pain — but this kind of concussive shock was something even he couldn't simply override.
"Now—! Die, Kaftiiiin—!"
"......!"
He whipped out Number Twenty-Five and swung to meet it — but the opponent was Bizeth.
He read even that movement and sidestepped it, and in the same motion drew a diagonal cut across the wrist holding the knife before pulling back.
"......!!"
"Still don't see it, Kaftin—?! The one who mainly fought your master head-on — was me! Every move you make was learned from him — I've seen through every one of them—!"
Kaftin refused to accept it — he took one instrument in each hand and reset his stance — but there was no momentum on his side.
Two cannon shots rang out from behind, and he had to glance back through gritted teeth.
He kicked aside and dodged the cannonballs coming at his face and side — and then felt a razor-sharp killing intent from behind and immediately rolled.
"Tch!"
"...Ngh—!"
He had rolled fast enough — but not quite. A long diagonal slash opened across his back.
Not deep — but at this rate, something decisive was coming sooner rather than later.
"One more thing — you clearly evolved the Torture Martial Arts through your footwork. I'll give you that much... but!"
"......!"
"Your overall movement is too slow! Which makes it practically meaningless!"
A furious series of sword strokes followed, and Kaftin kept narrowly evading them through clenched teeth.
"Yes — you're slow! The reason it looks like you're evading well despite that — it's your instincts. You twist the axis of your body to let attacks slide past!"
"So you've seen it—!"
"In a word — it's improvisation—!"
He twisted his axis to let another sword strike pass — or thought he had — and Bizeth mid-downward-cut suddenly wrenched the blade sideways into a horizontal slash.
Kaftin flinched and tried to flatten out to dodge, but ended up having to raise a guard and take the cut on his arm instead.
"Ngh—! That—!"
"Until now, that overwhelming physical power and destructive force of yours has covered the gap. But against a master of my level — it means nothing. Your technique is shallow through and through. Give it up!"
Kaftin's expression went still.
He was right.
Every offensive technique Kaftin had shown came from his master, Vesren. He had combined them with his own footwork and believed that was enough differentiation.
But the opponent was Bizeth — the Phantom Fang Lord.
A Sword Master with decades behind a blade. And in his prime, someone who had taken on and repelled nearly the full breadth of the Torture Martial Arts.
On top of that, cannonballs flying in every time his stance broke, precisely timed.
Under normal circumstances, surrender would have been nothing to be ashamed of.
"Even if you draw your secret techniques, it makes no difference! A-Course or B-Course — I've seen both more than three times each! Come at me with either, and whichever course you choose won't be a Torture Martial Arts combination — it'll be your express course straight to hell."
"......"
Kaftin let out a quiet sigh and shook his head.
Formidable. Genuinely.
He had felt it with Veilslayer too — the ones called Gang Lords had earned the title.
Then he had to let go of useless stubbornness. Without that — talking about avenging his master, washing blood away with blood — it would all be hollow.
He truly had to put everything on the line. Or there was no way to win this.
"...You may be right."
"Credit to you for being quick on the uptake. If you're surrendering, I'll accept it. Athunga has an interest in your body, after all."
"Not a chance."
Bizeth's expression soured at the headshake.
"Fool! Do you need to lose your limbs before you come to your senses?!"
"Heheheh... that's not what I realized..."
—To be continued—