Episode 46 - C-Course

Another cannon shot rang out.

Kaftin glanced sideways to track the incoming cannonball's trajectory, then lifted his left foot and kicked it away with his sole.

"You're right — you've seen through every technique my master had...!"

"......?"

The instant the cannonball was kicked, a series of small rapid detonations rang out — and the ball reversed course at tremendous speed, driving straight back into the main deck.

"In that case — to honor my master's memory by killing you with his techniques... that goal is no longer achievable."

"That's right. So — what now?!"

"What now? It's obvious. From here, it's not my master's techniques—"

"......!"

He set his left foot lightly back on the deck — and with a sharp hissing sound, steam began curling up from where the foot had landed.

"What is—?"

"...My techniques. That's all."

"...! Your — techniques?"

"Yes. What I'm about to show you is a secret technique of the Torture Martial Arts that you have never seen before — Kaftin's Torture Martial Arts!"

Bizeth set his jaw.

Whether that was bluster or the truth, he couldn't be sure — but there was no question the man was about to do something different from anything before.

"Do it then — I'll see right through it!"

"Then—!"

Kaftin suddenly gathered every torture instrument left on his bandolier and spread them out in his hands —

"C-Course—!"

"......?!"

He scattered them — and the instruments shot upward into the air all at once.

Bizeth tracked them with his eyes, then suddenly realized the man was still standing exactly where he had been — and looked back down.

"What are you—?!"

"Rondo—!"

"......!!"

The full set was forty-nine instruments.

Two sets of twenty-four, each instrument slightly different in material, plus Number Twenty-Five — the all-purpose knife. Normally, only the twenty-four instruments mounted on the front of the bandolier were used — but from B-Course onward, the Rondo was employed: rotating the mount to bring the back set forward into use.

And that was now happening in Kaftin's hands as he named the C-Course.

"Hm! You're throwing them into the air to come down as a combined follow-up attack—!"

"Hff—!"

Even the second set of instruments he had brought forward were sent spinning up into the air.

The only thing left in Kaftin's hands now was Number Twenty-Five.

"You little — don't push your luck—?!"

"......!!"

Different.

This was unmistakably different from every movement he had shown before.

Footwork that wove and shifted like a dance — and a knife cutting in on curved arcs.

The primary purpose of Number Twenty-Five had always been to drive into a vital point and grant the tormented victim release. And now the blade was turned outward, slicing in like this.

"You little BRAT—!!"

Bizeth's finely tuned fighting instincts told him the instruments thrown skyward were descending toward him with killing intent — but he couldn't care less.

Those scraps of metal with no Aura coating — he could cut Kaftin down and then raise a sword barrier to deflect them all with ease.

He closed both hands firmly around his sword and charged in.

"How dare you — how dare you try to cross blades with me—!!"

"Hm...!"

The two blades collided with Aura blazing between them.

But the opponent was a Sword Master.

The knife was being steadily sheared apart like tofu being cut—!

"Hfheheh... hahahahaha...! You foolish little brat—! I'll take your hand along with it!"

"I told you. This is different from before."

"Wh—?!"

The sound coming from the left foot — the one that had been there since before — was growing louder.

And the footprints Kaftin had left as he charged in — they were black. Scorched black, tracking from the left foot in a line.

"What is that sound — wait—?!"

A familiar smell reached his nose. Something burning.

The instant he understood what it meant, Bizeth moved to take a defensive stance —

"...Number Twenty-Six — Devil's Hoof Brand—!!!"

"......?!?!?!"

Kaftin's left foot launched upward and drove directly into Bizeth's exposed chest, unguarded from the downward sword swing.

The impact itself was beyond the limits of common sense — but at the same time, a horrific searing heat spread from the point of contact like a brand burning into Bizeth's chest, as though heart and lungs were being scorched alive!

"GHAAAAAAARGH—?!"

Coughing blood, badly injured internally, Bizeth desperately tried to tear his sword free and cut Kaftin's knife in two to escape.

"Where do you think you're going—! The branding isn't finished yet!"

"Kgh—! Ngh... L-let go—!"

The knife sheared through — useless now. Kaftin immediately dropped the handle and seized Bizeth's forearm instead, locking him in place —

"One more—!!"

"KGHAAARGH—?!"

Like a stomp, he bent the leg and drove it out again — connecting with a slightly different spot and branding it too.

"Ngh... C-Course is... a kick technique—!"

"Correct. A kicking combination that brands burning marks into the target — built around Number Twenty-Six, the Devil's Hoof Brand, a new instrument of my own design."

"K-kicking combination—?!"

Still desperately trying to wrench his forearm free, Bizeth's face went white.

This attack — as a combination—?! There was no surviving that.

"Ngh—! You lot! Kgh—! Fire the cannons—!! Fire everything — now—!!"

The order dropped and cannon shots rang out in rapid succession — and at the same time, Kaftin's kicks poured into Bizeth without mercy.

Simultaneously, the torture instruments thrown skyward earlier came raining down from above, battering Bizeth across the entire body.

Scorched black devil's hoofprints stamped across him from head to toe — and Bizeth collapsed.

He was hurled backward, his lower back slamming into the rear deck railing, and crumpled to the floor. Even as his consciousness began to fade, he kept his teeth clenched and his glare fixed on Kaftin.

Even if he himself was about to die — with all those cannons firing simultaneously, even the creature that was Kaftin—!

"Tch—!"

Of the fifteen-odd cannonballs, he managed to kick away the first three — but the rest followed in rapid succession, striking him across the body. Kaftin too began getting pushed rapidly toward the railing.

"Damn gunners — at least they trained them properly—!"

"...Welcome. To the entrance of hell—!"

"......!!"

Right behind Kaftin as he was backed against the railing, Bizeth had somehow dragged himself upright, streaming blood.

The instant Kaftin turned with an exhausted look —

"Kgh—! Come with me — to the very bottom of the abyss—!"

"What—?!"

Still vomiting blood, Bizeth forced Aura through every inch of his body and lunged — throwing his arms around Kaftin's waist and hurling himself with everything he had toward the railing already half-broken from his collision with it.

"Be my companion on this journey—! Kaftiiiin—!!"

"You old fool—?!"

Meanwhile, on the main deck, the fight was one-sided.

"Haah... haah... ngh...!"

"You fought well enough. But that's as far as it goes."

Gabelth was genuinely furious.

He — who had always considered himself the finest martial artist in the Maritime Kingdom — was being outmatched in a fight by some demi-human who had come from who knew where? And not by a narrow margin either.

This should not be possible.

"You... damned half-breed mongrel—!"

"And that is exactly why you cannot reach a higher level."

"What?!"

"You see only what your eyes show you. You hear only what your ears tell you. Anyone who has truly mastered their art should know that's not everything there is."

"......!"

Maengseol was shaking his head with something that looked genuinely close to regret.

This man who called himself the Night Fist Lord — there was real talent there. That was undeniable.

If he had turned his back on the world the way Maengseol had, and spent over ten years pursuing truth through training — he might have reached a level equal to Maengseol himself, or perhaps half a step above.

But he had chosen the world. And the world had soaked into him so deeply that he could no longer see beyond it.

"Don't make me laugh—! I am — this body is the finest in the Maritime Kingdom—!"

"...And that's all?"

"What—?!"

"You were satisfied with being the finest in the Maritime Kingdom. That's what I'm asking."

"......!!"

Maengseol smiled.

"I turned my back on the world to pursue the strongest fist in existence. The scale of what we were aiming for was different from the start. The moment you looked down on me for being a demi-human, the outcome was decided."

"Ngh — you damned—!"

"At least let you fight to your heart's content as a martial artist, and fall with no regrets. Come."

"Enough of you and enough of him — I am the finest martial artist in the Maritime Kingdom—!!"

Gabelth came in screaming, both fists blazing with unmistakable Aura.

Aura Fist.

The supreme technique said to be achievable only by those who had reached the Master level.

But he had picked the wrong opponent.

Maengseol concentrated the minimum necessary Aura into the heel pad of his palm alone and caught Gabelth's fist in his grip.

"What?! Ngh—! Let go—!"

Left fist seized — he ground his teeth and immediately drove his right fist's cestus toward Maengseol's remaining left eye.

"Foolish."

But Maengseol swung the captured arm to break Gabelth's balance, and immediately drove a kick into his abdomen.

"Kghuukk!"

"That's enough—!"

"......!!"

Bracing frantically for a massive follow-up attack — Maengseol simply dropped him onto the deck.

"Kgh—! What — what are you—?!"

"Come here."

He grabbed Gabelth by the hair with the same hand that had dropped him and hauled him up.

"You would do well to come quietly."

"You think I'll just do as you say—!"

"If you don't, I'll hand you to Kaftin. He'll say he only needs your head and try to rip it off your body while you're still breathing."

"Ngh—!"

Gabelth ground his teeth and turned it over.

He needed to survive this and live to fight another day. But was he really going to endure this humiliation?

"Simply go to my friend's grave and bow in apology. Leave behind everything you own and go."

"......!!"

"And if you're willing — come back to me one day, when you've grown stronger."

"What—?! Are you mocking me?!"

"No. This is my own selfishness as a martial artist. I want to face you again when you're stronger."

There was no deception in Maengseol's eyes.

Gabelth — the Night Fist Lord — ground his teeth for a long moment —

"Fine—! I surrender. But! I will come back stronger, and when I do — I'll kill you and that little brat Kaftin both! Mark my words!"

"Of course. I'll be ready whenever you come."

Having declared his surrender, Gabelth sat down on the deck through clenched teeth.

Turning your back on the world to see beyond it — if he had known that was the path, he never would have gotten involved with the Gang Lords in the first place.

It was late to realize it now — but better late than never.

And besides — a man well into middle age staring down his later years had just found himself a new goal.

"Damn it. I'm supposed to feel rotten from losing — but I feel ten years younger. This is the worst."