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Chapter 7.1: Light Sports
「Ignorant medieval b*stards.」
With the three of them glaring daggers—actually spitting fury—I had to roll my eyes. Apparently, Hannah had mentioned that there were guards, but they showed no sign of stopping. I guess they figured the worst that could happen was a fine.
Still, whatever sanity remained stopped them from drawing axes, and they simply approached with verbal threats. At that, I removed my hand from my sword hilt.
The one in front was a bald, craggy man. Thick forearms showed that he packed some muscle, but his reach was shorter than mine.
“Goddamned cur. Son of a wh*re!!”
He said this, and then he threw a punch as hard as he could.
The first time someone called me a son of a wh*re, I was deeply shocked, but among mercenaries it was about as generic a term of abuse as “b*stard.”
「Maybe he really is a son of a wh*re.」
Regarding the relationships of this body, I did not know for sure, so there was a possibility that his words were true.
Still, he had fought quite a bit, his fist-throwing posture wasn’t bad. Of course, it wasn’t fast enough to be hit. I slammed my forearm into his. Crack—A horrifying sound, and the b*stard’s forearm twisted in a grotesque direction.
The b*stard’s face contorted at once, mouth opening wide to scream. I grabbed the back of his head.
“Ugh….”
Before his scream could start, I smashed his face into the table.
Crash.
The table shattered, red-stained wood fragments and yellowed, rotten teeth flying.
The guy right behind the fallen one, seemingly flustered by the sudden turn of events, wore a strange expression mixed with anger and bewilderment. His eyes were wide open, but his mouth was twisted into a comical frown as if he was about to curse.
The fight was already over.
I took a step closer, swinging my foot.
“Kyaaaak!”
My foot caught his thigh, his leg bending in an unsightly direction. He let out a long scream, clutching his dangling leg as he rolled on the floor.
The sound was so loud that I hit him on the head with a piece of wood that had fallen nearby, and he quickly fell silent.
The last one left was the guy with weasel-like features. Weasel-face gaped at me and the two who had fallen, his expression like someone caught naked in a shower after a wall suddenly crumbled.
“N…No….”
He fidgeted with his hand resting on the wooden club, seemingly debating whether to draw his weapon.
Within the castle walls, light fistfights among commoners were tolerated as a form of bonding or sport, but drawing steel was a different matter.
“Gonna draw it?”
I asked, picking up a suitably sized piece of wood. At that, he rolled his eyes and thought for a moment before shaking his head. Judging by his crestfallen expression, he seemed to have made his decision.
“Good thinking. Clench your teeth.”
“Ah… T, That… What I said to that lady earlier, it’s just… a custom among mercenaries… A kind of ritual… When a mercenary sees a woman, it’s a ceremonial… I didn’t mean it… Really.”
A sour smell wafted from him, as if he had wet himself. Whatever bravado he had was gone, his eyes pleading with me like a meek lamb.
It wasn’t particularly funny. It was as natural for someone to become a lamb before a stronger being as it was for water to flow downhill. The brave and noble souls who had overcome such natural laws were already in their graves.
Their tombstones would proudly declare that they were braver than anyone else. I’m not sure if that would be any comfort.
I swung the piece of wood at his head as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, seemingly resigned to his fate. Thwack! A sharp sound, and he collapsed. The floor was littered with yellowed, rotten teeth, likely belonging to one of the two owners.
「Uncultured medieval b*stards.」
Tsk. I clicked my tongue and dragged the unconscious men into a corner. They were quite heavy, probably from being well-fed.
“They’re not even worth three days…”
Hannah whined as she picked up the scattered teeth, but the deal was already done.