When the five judges declared Pashian the winner instead of Norman, the crowd erupted into boos. “What kind of crap is this? Anyone can see Sir Norman won!” “That’s a biased judgment! We don’t accept this!” Norman stood still, watching how things unfolded, but the look on his face was murderous, as if he were ready to tear the judges apart. However, the announcer, seemingly prepared for this reaction, began to explain. —We understand why some of you may disagree with the judges’ decision. It’s true that in the duel between Sir Pashian and Sir Norman, Sir Norman had a slight upper hand. We don’t deny that. However, the reason we sided with Sir Pashian lies elsewhere. As the announcer claimed to have a reason, the audience fell silent, as if waiting to hear what excuse they would come up with. —When the explosion occurred in the city, Sir Pashian immediately halted his attack, upholding the knightly code. Sir Norman, however, took advantage of that moment to deliver a surprise strike. The judges witnessed this clearly and deemed it a violation of chivalry. It was a shameless statement, but soon, people began to chime in, saying they had seen it too. “I definitely saw it. Sir Pashian lowered his sword, but Sir Norman kept going and aimed for his neck!” “No matter how strong he is, that’s just dirty. Not knightly at all.” “This tournament is to choose the knight that represents the south. I don’t want some coward who ambushes people to be the Sword of the South.” In an instant, public opinion shifted in Pashian’s favor. Though Pashian was bloodied from the relentless onslaught, his wounds weren’t deep. He gave Norman a faint smile. Power alone isn’t everything in this world, you brat. It was true Norman hadn’t stopped his attack, but that wasn’t against the rules of the tournament. Yet the judges still took issue with it, which made it a problem. This was because the judges were nobles who had received bribes from Galahind. Even if they hadn’t, there was no benefit in siding with a regular noble like Norman over a high noble, especially one as wealthy as Galahind. And those witnesses from the audience who claimed they saw it were agitators hired by Galahind. Thousands of people weren’t needed to sway public opinion—ten people were enough. Of course, not everyone agreed, but minority voices are easily drowned out by the majority. The announcer waited a moment, then continued. —If anyone wishes to formally contest this decision, please step forward. That sealed it. Who would dare speak out now? Norman was just a regular noble, and his opponent was a high noble. Plus, it wasn’t like Norman had a shining personality that won him allies—he was ruthless and unkind. There was no one who would stand up for him. As expected, not a single subject or noble spoke up. There wasn’t one person willing to protest on Norman’s behalf. —Then, once again, we confirm the result of the match: the winner is Sir Pashian! No one questioned why the outcome of a team tournament was decided by the result of a duel between two individuals. If someone had a problem with the sloppy way things were run, all they had to do was speak up. If they didn’t, things would just proceed as they were. Watching the disarray and corruption of the tournament, Myle muttered in disbelief, “This is a damn mess.” Of course, Myle didn’t have the slightest intention of stepping up for Norman either. By the time the match ended, the city had regained its usual calm, thanks to the swift response of the Public Security Army, after the chaos caused by the explosion. “We will now begin the execution of the terrorists!” Three people were pulled up to the execution stand that was set up in the middle of the city plaza. They were all wearing luxurious clothes, but their faces were unrecognizably swollen from the beating they had taken. To the crowd, the executor shouted, “Listen, all. By the strict judgement of Her Majesty the Queen, no criminal who defies the law shall be spared, even if they may be a noble. The three nobles before you here are spies of the Samael Empire. They planted bombs in our mill and grain storage, two of this city’s vital facilities. For their crimes, they shall be put to death!” The executor did not even announce what family these nobles were from, but the citizens didn’t care. They just cheered at the fact that the perpetrators who caused their anxiety were being executed. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭·𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢·𝗇𝗲𝘵 “Go to hell, you dogs of the empire!” “I’m going to take their heads!” The executor swung his sword, cleanly severing the heads of the three nobles. Their heads tumbled to the ground, and chaos erupted. The crowd ran forward, shoving and scrambling, each desperate to claim a head, as according to a myth, eating a noble’s eyeball would bring wealth equal to theirs. Even if that myth were true, none of these subjects would even become rich. It was because the three supposed nobles were not the terrorists who planted the bombs, nor were they actual nobles. These three people were beggars, common in any large city. The Public Security Army had just pretended to have caught the terrorists to calm the people’s anxiety. “Humans are foolish,” murmured Norman, who was standing in the crowd. That was when someone behind him whispered, “Norman, Lord Marquis has asked for you. Follow me.” “...That’s why they are entertaining.” Norman followed the man, who was wearing a mask, out of the extravagant streets of the city and into a dark, narrow alley. Norman entered an abandoned building and looked around. Knights in full armor filled the first and second floors, all glaring at him. “You came. At least you’re not stupid,” Pashian said as he entered the building. He was also holding a sword. Silently, Norman smiled creepily with only his mouth. “Seriously, I hate looking at you. Hey, Norman, do you know why I called you here?” Pashian asked. “Beats me. I still have no idea.” “Heh, so stubborn. It’s probably because you’re a Master, huh? Well, I get it. That omnipotence… that sense of superiority, like you’ve got every human in the world under your feet—I’ve felt it, too.” Pashian took out a cigar from his pocket, cut the end off with his fingers, and lit it with a match. He blew the hot, smoky air into Norman’s face. Without even blinking, Norman glared at Pashian. “What are you, you monster?” An intense killing intent suffocated Norman. In the team tournament finals, he dodged Pashian’s sword with an inhuman movement. There was no way Pashian would just let that go. As Norman just chuckled, so did Pashian. “Don’t be so scared. I’m not here to judge you. In fact, I actually think quite highly of you. A monster pulling off the perfect human disguise... honestly, isn’t that impressive? I bet you’ve got all kinds of useful talents, huh?” Pashian ground the cigar into Norman’s chest. “Work for me, you monster. I’ll make sure you are able to live as a human forever. Oh, and make sure you think really hard with that little brain of yours. If you refuse, I’ll just kill you here and announce to the world that you were a monster. Then, I’ll become a hero who slayed a monster. I don’t have anything to lose.” “Let me ask you one thing.” “Who else knows that I’m not human?” “Oh, don’t worry. Only my subordinates and myself know. Not even Marquis Galahind knows, since that greedy grandpa will want you if he does.” “I thank you for that.” Norman extended his left hand as if wanting to shake Pashian’s hand. Pashian smiled and said, “Wise choice, monster.” When Pashian took Norman’s hand, Norman’s lips curled into a terrifying smile. “You made a foolish choice, human.” When Pashian sensed something was off, he instinctively swung the sword in his right hand. As a former mercenary and now a five-star Master, he was always on guard. He knew something might happen—that ㅈㅁㄴ why he had been ready to strike at any moment. Thanks to that vigilance, his aura-infused sword sliced cleanly through Norman’s neck. Or at least, it should have. The sword seemed to have cut through Norman’s neck, but it hadn’t. Instead, his flesh jiggled like jelly and reattached itself the moment the blade passed through. “Y-you… Fuck! Kill him!” Pashian shouted to his subordinates. The knights immediately charged toward Norman from all directions. Pashian wanted to fall back, but he couldn’t because he couldn’t pull out his hand from Norman’s grip. It was as if they were attached with glue. Norman’s wrist was severed from his arm, and his hand disintegrated into a clear gel-like liquid. The problem was that the gel-like substance penetrated Pashian’s skin as if it were alive. “What the hell is this?!” He let go of his sword and tried to scrape the gel off with his other hand, but more of it seeped into his skin than he managed to remove. But that wasn’t it; the real issue was something else. The knight who had reached out to Pashian was sliced in half. A grotesque being that used to be Norman was slicing up the knights. He used to look human, but he had now become an indescribable monster. Dozens of bladed tentacles whipped through the air at lightning speed, slicing the knights and their swords. Pashian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Norman’s bladed tentacles were not just fast. “It’s swordsmanship?!” He had fought warriors from many different places, so he could tell Norman wasn’t just flailing his tentacles randomly; it was swordsmanship. He didn’t know what style it was, but it was clear that every movement of Norman’s tentacles followed a precise swordsmanship technique. He could follow Norman’s movement, but he could not understand it. Pashian tried to retreat from this massacre being carried out by this grotesque monster, but… …the mucosal monster that used to be Norman threw the knights’ corpses to block Pashian’s path. “Why… are… you in… such a… rush…?” A horribly deformed mouth, loosely formed on one of the tentacles, let out a terrible voice. It wasn’t Norman’s voice. It was as if dozens of voices were jumbled together. Pashian gripped his sword with both hands and glared at Norman. Click, click, click, click. His whole body trembled with fear, his teeth chattering. Never in his life had Pashian faced such terror. I… I need to use Martial Spirit. I-I also have the Rage Elixir in my pocket! Even if it was a monster that had slaughtered dozens of knights in an instant, with the Rage Elixir and his Martial Spirit, he could stand a chance—no, he had to. That was what Pashian thought, but… A sharp sound ripped through the air, and dozens of bladed tentacles came slicing down on Pashian. This was one of the few weaknesses of Martial Spirit: one needed time to speak. If the opponent didn’t give them that time, it couldn’t be used. Pashian blocked the same deadly bladed tentacles that his subordinate knights stood no chance against without using his Martial Spirit. It was thanks to his fully powered Aura Sword and Aura Armor. But he couldn’t escape, nor could he counterattack. He had two arms and one sword. Norman had over twenty tentacles. To make matters worse, each tentacle was imbued with concentrated aura, and they were being swung with the precision of swordsmanship. It was as if twenty Master-level swordsmen had surrounded him. Feeling he would die if things continued , Pashian roared and unleashed a massive Aura Wave. He didn’t aim to kill Norman; he just needed a moment to grab the Rage Elixir at his waist. Norman snatched the elixir from Pashian’s hands. “This is the Rage Elixir?” “H-how do you even know about the Rage Elixir?!” Norman popped open the elixir and dipped a tentacle into it, then shuddered with disgust. “Ugh… Why the hell would anyone drink this crap? Good thing I stopped you. Something could have happened to me.” Norman tossed the elixir aside and, with a squelch, approached Pashian. His grotesque body gradually began returning to a human form. Stepping over pools of blood from the dead knights, Norman, naked now, reached out toward Pashian. Instinctively recoiling in horror, Pashian unleashed his ultimate sword technique—a secret art forged through hundreds of life-or-death battles as a mercenary and perfected in the Adeus Kingdom, the kingdom of warriors: Extreme Galewind Sword. Pouring every last drop of his aura and stamina into one overwhelming blow, Pashian shredded through Norman. Slash slash slash slash! It seemed like even Norman couldn’t defend against the Extreme Galewin Sword. Before he could react, he was ripped to pieces. He didn’t spell any blood; instead, the moment he was hit, he scattered into a spray of transparent liquid. Norman disintegrated without even leaving behind a trace of a human form. Pashian scanned the area with anxious eyes. The abandoned brown building, its color nearly faded away, was drenched in blood, like an image of hell itself. The sound of dripping blood tickled his ears. Among it all, the remnants of Norman’s monstrous body—the clear slime—clung to everything, creating a disturbingly eerie scene. Pashian poked a nearby blob of goo with his sword. There was no movement. With trembling eyes, he scanned the area and then muttered the one thing he absolutely shouldn’t have.