episode_0060

So now you’re trying to backpedal? Cecil lunges forward once more with near-blinding speed.

Ting!

But Yuria blocks the strike with precise reflexes.

“I’m starting to get used to that speed.”

Already adapting, huh? It was clear the title of “Hero” wasn’t given to just anyone. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight.

“Hold on.”

As Cecil adjusts her grip on her sword, Yuria raises her palm to stop her. She closes her eyes for a moment before reopening them, her gaze now completely different. No longer carefree, her demeanor exudes solemn authority as she speaks.

“Cecil Astria, Sword Master and captain of the Royal Combat Knights. Consider this your warning. Any further actions will be treated not as those of a student or friend, but as an attack against the Hero. Securing Riel Frost is a matter of global importance. If you interfere, I will not stand idly by.”

This meant that from now on, their fight would no longer be a personal conflict but an official battle against the Hero. In simpler terms—if Cecil didn’t back down now, Yuria would report her to the kingdom.

Doing so would strip Cecil of her honor, status, and wealth in an instant. Anyone else would hesitate, but Cecil showed no sign of doubt.

Money, honor, status—those things come and go. But the justice and friendship in her heart? Once lost, they could never be reclaimed.

“Do as you please, Hero Yuria. Do you really think you can hide the atrocities you’ve committed forever?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

The moment Cecil refused to yield, Yuria shut down any further discussion.

Crack.

A torrent of platinum light erupts from the holy sword raised high above Yuria’s head. The radiance soars into the sky, vanishing behind the clouds—only to rain down moments later like a storm of blades.

Boom! Boom! Boom! BOOOOM!

Cecil dashes across the ground, narrowly avoiding the terrifying beams of light.

Tap.

She leaps away, glancing back to see the earth scorched and cratered where she once stood. A single hit would have reduced her to ash.

While mana circulation strengthens the body from within, external durability and resistance remain relatively weak.

For Cecil, whose speed was overwhelming, dodging the falling beams wasn’t difficult—but what came next was the real problem.

Swiish!

She barely evades a horizontal slash by leaping upward, but the Hero’s assault doesn’t stop. Up, down, left, right—Cecil twists and weaves, narrowly avoiding each strike.

Beams from the sky and slashes from afar—this was no longer a swordsman’s fight. A Hero who had mastered their power fought more like a mage, with no weakness in close combat.

Dodging attacks that would mean instant death by a hair’s breadth, Cecil searches for an opening in Yuria’s defense.

She couldn’t afford to drag this out any longer.

‘Her legs.’

To hinder pursuit, crippling mobility was key. Even a Hero couldn’t chase after Arina’s group if her legs were injured.

As much as Yuria had erred, cutting down her own student still weighed on Cecil’s conscience. If things went perfectly, this would be the best outcome.

Then, in the midst of analyzing Yuria’s movements, Cecil spots it—a tiny, almost imperceptible gap in her stance.

So precise in timing and position that it almost felt intentional.

For a millisecond, Cecil considers the possibility of a trap.

But no. No matter how she looked at it, Yuria couldn’t possibly counter from that position.

Against anyone else, maybe—but not against Cecil, whose swordsmanship was faster and sharper than any other.

Convinced this was a mistake, Cecil lunges before the opening vanishes.

In swordsmanship, Yuria was still far beneath her. She probably didn’t even realize she’d slipped up.

The overwhelming skill, experience, and confidence Cecil had built over the years—

And the bold judgment born from them—

What had always led her to victory now cornered her instead.

Cecil’s judgment wasn’t wrong. Yuria couldn’t stop her from going for the ankles, nor could she swing her sword in time to counter.

She had perfectly calculated her opponent’s strength and her own, striking with flawless precision.

But that assumption only held meaning in a one-on-one fight.

“Guh—?!”

Arrogance, underestimation, carelessness—the causes of defeat. Yet no one could blame her. After all, who would’ve thought a mere porter—a man who had been watching idly until now—could possess the combat prowess to stop a Sword Master?

Cecil was sent flying, rolling across the ground after taking a direct hit to the abdomen from the porter.

Not enough to critically injure a Sword Master’s body, but—

Boom! Boom! Boom! BOOOOM!

—the Hero’s light rained down mercilessly, obliterating the spot where Cecil had been. When the bombardment ended, her skin was blackened with burns.

“H-How…?”

The answer was obvious even without words. The porter’s fist shimmered, encased in a brilliant golden light.

“Hm? Call it a bonus effect of my ability. I can borrow a perfectly tamed woman’s power—just once.”

If so, the timing was impeccable. The moment Cecil had dismissed him as a threat, he had exploited Yuria’s opening to strike.

This man was dangerous. Now Cecil understood how Riel Frost had been taken down so easily. This wasn’t just about catching someone off guard or being cunning.

That “opening” Yuria showed? Probably part of his strategy. He had read Cecil’s mind completely.

Almost as if he had prior knowledge about her.

Forcing her wounded body up, Cecil stood. The fact she was still conscious was a miracle in itself. Her legs trembled just from standing.

“Why not stay down? I held back to avoid killing you.”

Yuria’s voice was cold, but beneath it lingered concern for her former teacher. Seeing that, Cecil grew even more certain—her student hadn’t completely fallen to darkness yet.

That man was the problem. The one who had corrupted and shattered the Hero’s party.

“I can’t do that. …Now I see. Riel’s true enemy wasn’t the Hero’s party—it was you.”

Gripping her sword, Cecil glares at the porter with murderous intent.

“Me?”

“Yes. You, who manipulates the Hero’s party at will, and still weren’t satisfied until you set your sights on Riel. What will you covet after you have her? The entire world beneath your feet?”

The porter, pointing at himself, runs a hand through his hair and grumbles.

“And here I thought I was saving the world. Guess I’m just not understood.”

“Who could ever understand a monster like you?!”

Cecil’s roar echoes as the mana circulating within her body converges into her sword and arm.

She had already accepted defeat. That’s why she abandoned any thought of escape and poured everything into one final strike.

What she did best—a single slash, carrying her entire being.

At the peak of her focus, the world seemed to slow.

She takes a smooth step forward. Dirt sprays as her foot digs into the ground, locking her stance.

A blue flash erupts from the sword raised high above her head.

A swordsman’s mana wasn’t vast in quantity—but it was enough.

Not abundant, but sharp. Infinitely, lethally sharp.

The technique of the first Sword Saint, the inaugural Sword Master, Radan Astria—the single stroke that beheaded a dragon, passed down through generations.

Astria-style secret technique:

“Dragon Slayer.”

—

“Stop. That woman beside you—that’s Riel Frost, isn’t it? Leave her behind.”

They had tried to avoid crowds, sticking to remote areas, but it was impossible to evade all the bounty hunters after Arina. Everywhere they went, people were eager to capture her.

And why wouldn’t they be? The bounty on Arina’s head was a life-changing sum—enough to make even nobles envious. For adventurers who risked their lives daily, this was an opportunity they couldn’t ignore.

Add to that the rumors of the Hero’s party recently engaging in battle, and word had spread that they were injured. Now, hunters were banding together to track Arina down.

“Ugh, how many is this now?”

Surrounded by adventurers, Millen lets out a sigh. Arina, unusually nervous, wipes sweat from her brow as she watches. This was the seventh time today—at least once, sometimes three times a day, they faced this.

Each time, it fell to Ian and Millen to deal with the enemies while Arina, stripped of her combat abilities, could only watch and bite her nails.

Seeing others fight her battles for her left her deeply unsettled. Once, she had tried to help—only to bungle it and nearly get herself killed.

She was reminded of the useless recruits she’d seen dragged to the front lines. At this point, she had to admit it—without magic, she wasn’t much different from them.

Under the others’ silent urging to stay back, Arina’s shoulders slump as she reluctantly retreats.

“Well, well. The great Riel Frost, hiding behind a man? Guess becoming a woman turned your heart into one too.”

Thud.

Arina’s footsteps halt.

A childish taunt—not even laced with profanity, just a run-of-the-mill provocation. The kind of thing someone might mutter out of petty frustration.

Arina wasn’t foolish enough to fall for something so basic. If the opponent had been truly dangerous, she would’ve ignored them and fled without a second thought.

But.

Even so.

Really? Now even bottom-tier trash thinks they can look down on me?

“The fuck did you just say, you shitstain?”