Chapter 22 : Chapter 22

Chapter 22. Fang (5)

A mountain shrouded in darkness.

A sick knight and a girl were climbing its rugged paths.

“Khak, kehk! Lord Arhan… just how far…”

The knight, Fetel, wheezed with bloody coughs. It was ridiculous. Even before he took up the sword, he had always prided himself on his stamina.

Yet here he was, gasping like an old man just from climbing this hill.

As Fetel stopped to catch his breath, Seol Yoon came over to support him. He leaned against the small frame of the young girl. It was humiliating.

“You all right? Don’t push yourself.”

“I… I am fine. Just catching… my breath.”

He could not afford to show weakness. That was all he had left of his pride.

Looking at the exhausted Fetel, Seol Yoon spoke.

“Do you really have to go after him?”

“Yes. He is a deserter knight. Lord Arhan cannot handle such an opponent. I was the one who said it was only bandits…”

Unlike himself, who was dying, Arhan was a rising sun. Fetel had even glimpsed the spark of talent within the boy. As one who also walked the path of the sword, Fetel could not allow Arhan to die in vain. Never.

“And what if the knights chasing the deserter mistake Lord Arhan for a bandit and attack him? He has talent, but he’s still only a greenhorn.”

Fetel forced his lame leg forward.

“Hm.”

Seol Yoon stopped suddenly. Fetel turned back in puzzlement.

“Why stop?”

“You’re wrong.”

Wrong? The words came out of nowhere.

Fetel looked at her for an explanation. Her voice was unwavering.

“The little gladiator is no greenhorn.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“His talent has already begun to bloom.”

***

I discarded the needle-blade and gripped a dagger in each hand. In the dark, they looked like fangs—fangs meant to tear out a beast’s throat.

Why discard the needle? Because from now on, I would use the art of an assassin. A long, slender blade was a hindrance. A fang was the perfect size.

Shorter reach, but an extension of my own body.

This was enough.

From now on, the 「Fangs」 would move as part of me.

“Hoo.”

I took a shallow breath and sank into the heavy darkness.

This was the stealth once used by the fangs’ former master.

『Darkness was my friend.』

It was not magic, nor mana techniques. It was trickery—an illusion.

『To fight those stronger and many times more numerous, I borrowed my friend’s strength.』

『I became the darkness itself.』

I stopped breathing. No rustle of clothes, no sound of footsteps. I moved like a ghost.

“Damn it—what are you doing now—”

That alone concealed my presence.

“What the hell are you?”

But there was preparation required. Normally I breathed louder, let my Mana Heart pound, rustled my clothes, brushed against the brushwood. I made myself noticeable.

So when all that suddenly vanished, I felt like a ghost.

“What are you!”

Human senses could be absurdly sharp, but also absurdly dull. With the contrast, illusion was born.

Assassins called it ‘becoming the darkness.’

“……”

The bandit leader’s breathing echoed. His men were already dead, and the noise I had been making was gone. A dreadful silence fell.

The mountain was utterly still. In such silence, humans grew overly tense. Even the superhuman were no exception. I knew this well.

『Even enforcers were only human.』

I picked up a pebble and hurled it into the blue glow of his Road. His head whipped around, sword flashing reflexively.

“Got y—”

The sword cut the pebble cleanly. His face twisted in rage.

“Damn—?”

Throwing all his strength had broken his balance. I leapt forward, aiming my fangs at his exposed side.

『Like a hawk striking, pierce in one blow and snatch life away.』

I struck. The tip brushed his neck Road—then his whole body twisted, reacting as if with eyes in the back of his head. This was the Road. Superhuman power.

His sword came crashing down.

“Caught you!”

His bloodshot eyes blazed like a beast’s. His swing twisted unnaturally. Could my fangs not pierce the Road?

No.

『There is always a hole.』

I resumed breathing. Inhaled deeply.

My body trembled, my Mana Heart thundered.

My blades hardened, unyielding.

『Yes, always.』

Veins bulged on my arms. Power surged.

『Even if death is before me.』

And with that, memories poured from the fangs.

『I always desired freedom.』

『And I engraved it in my sword.』

My heart chilled, as if frozen.

『For freedom to return, someone had to bear the blood.』

***

The Free City of Crowley did not live up to its name.

It had lost freedom long ago. To restore it, someone had to stain themselves with blood.

I chose that role willingly.

“Citizens of Crowley! Behold the end of the blood-drenched assassin!”

Yet at the end, I wondered. Would they recognize my sacrifice?

“Look well upon the ghost of Crowley, the rat from the alleys who made enforcers tremble!”

I had fought in the arena of the Iron Kingdom’s Chervil, learned freedom’s worth from scholars of the Sky Empire.

I thought: this is for me. Even if I died, I would not regret it. Yet at the end, I wondered.

Would they know I took up the role of villain for their freedom?

“Orderbreakers meet a miserable end! Obey, citizens—resist not, if you would live!”

No—they would not know.

The victors would twist the truth. My blood and sacrifice would be forgotten, and they would live again as slaves.

That must not be.

Even in death, I wished to leave them something: a glimpse of freedom, a moment of resistance.

“Enforcer.”

The daylight revealed my cornered end. Surrounded, I felt the Roads of death close in.

They would kill me.

Then what should I do?

“Enforcer.”

It was obvious.

I must resist.

I must carve into them the fact that resistance is possible.

So that…

“Enforcers!”

Those left behind would remember my freedom.

I lifted my bloodied fangs. The enforcers laughed, as if at a barking dog.

I said nothing and charged into their Roads.

“Ah—”

Their longswords cut my arm, but I pushed on, driving a dagger into a neck.

“Ghh—”

A sword pierced my chest. I ignored it, killing again.

Blades cut my side, my shoulder, my ear, my face. Still, I advanced.

No one laughed anymore.

“Hear me.”

Bathed in blood, with death gnawing at me, I looked upon the last trembling enforcer. The citizens were watching.

“Do not bow your heads. If they take what is yours, if they cross the line, if they trample your lives—resist. Show them your fangs.”

I forced out my final strength.

“Only then will we be free.”

“……”

“The Free City of Crowley has lost its name. You know it too. To reclaim freedom… Do you know what must be done?”

My body felt like sand crumbling away.

The citizens watched, entranced.

“To reclaim freedom, someone must bear the blood. Whoever it may be.”

My consciousness collapsed. Through it, I heard the citizens’ roar.

It was not my fangs that killed the last enforcer. It was their clubs, their fists, their rage.

They had shown their teeth at last.

“Freedom! Freedom!”

They lifted my body high, surging as one. Hoods pulled over faces, daggers in hand, they marched.

As if honoring me.

“Freedom for Crowley!”

At the moment of death, I felt truly free for the first time. I closed my eyes with a peaceful face.

My sword had pierced a hole through this damned city. Through it, all would escape, seeking freedom.

Forward. Always forward.

***

Clang!

The assassin’s memories ended, and my heart turned cold as winter. Like molten metal suddenly quenched.

“What—!”

My dagger met the bandit leader’s sword and did not give way. Even against the Road, it held. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“What the hell are you!”

Instead of retreating, I stepped closer. At near-touching distance, savage blows exchanged.

Clang!

Fangs and heavy blade clashed. Sparks flew. I spun my dagger midair, reversed the grip, and stabbed his thigh, then his side.

Spurt! Blood splashed. I pressed forward, stabbing again and again. I hooked his leg to topple him.

“Tricks! A greenhorn dares sword-wrestling with me?”

But he did not fall. His legs were like pillars.

I twisted my body, moving like a snake.

“……!”

I erased my presence, then flared it again.

To him, I was a ghost.

Appearing and vanishing, I stabbed from every angle. My blades were crimson, but I did not stop.

Piercing flesh, tearing muscle, ripping skin, gouging holes.

“Uaaaah!”

The leader howled, swinging wildly. Then suddenly, he threw away his sword and lunged barehanded.

Foolish—yet unpredictable.

‘You maniac—’

He seized both my daggers in his palms. Flesh tore, blood gushed, but he held fast and wrenched them away.

“I’ll crush your skull! Tear it open and hang it in the village!”

He slammed me to the ground. Pain shot through my back. His weight pressed down.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

His crazed face loomed. He raised his fists to pulp my head.

Yet I did not despair.

Lightning split my vision—a line appeared.

「Once again, my words are proven true, young descendant.」

A line I had glimpsed before. Faint at first, then clear, dividing the world in two.

「That is the Road.」

Thump.

My Mana Heart pounded harder than ever. Mana surged like a waterfall through me.

「But our Caravan is unlike others. Our Road is unique.」

「Ours is the Road of Steel.」

I reached to my belt. I had not bought two daggers in Ferma, the Steel City, but four. Two hidden still.

A beast’s fangs numbered four.

I bucked my hips, making him shift. I raised my legs, creating space, and drew the hidden fangs.

I thrust with all my might. His eyes wavered, then sneered.

“Try it—”

He covered his neck with his arms, his Road shielding him. He would sacrifice flesh to save bone.

But—

「Others called our Road by another name.」

Wrong choice.

「The Line.」

Light flashed. My blades traced the clear line. Nothing in its path could stop it.

His thick skin split, his arm burst like a balloon, bone shattered, muscle shredded. His Road crumbled.

The line reached his neck.

“Ghhk…”

Two fangs pierced his throat. His eyes went wide with disbelief, then the madness faded.

I stared at his dying face, drenched in blood.

「No one can block the Steel Line of the Caravan, young descendant.」

That was it.

The moment I stepped into the realm of the superhuman.