Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 65

Fights between mercenaries were always impulsive. When they’re on a job, they would coldly calculate profit and loss, but when they were off the clock, they would draw their weapons over the pettiest squabble.

In an industry where one proved their worth through force, staying quiet when someone challenged pride only cheapened their own value. Any challenges had to be met head-on, one way or another.

Gustav gripped his zweihander tight, channeling his Aura to burn away the last of the alcohol fogging his mind.

With a hiss, pale steam rose off his bronze skin. The pressure he gave off was so menacing that even the mercenaries who’d come with Jerome instinctively stepped back.

Gustav, leader of his mercenaries, was in the upper tier of B-ranks—already brushing against A-rank.

“Lead the way,” he said to Jerome.

“Still barking orders at me?” Jerome snapped.

Unlike his underlings, Jerome hadn’t lost his composure. His mocking tone dripped with contempt.

Gustav, on the other hand, answered without the slightest ripple, “Look at you, coming here itching for a fight—yet you don’t even have the spine to step forward first? Scavenger.”

“Hah!” The smirk vanished from Jerome’s face as he growled, “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“Are you joking?” Gustav sneered, snorting at the threat.

“What did you say?”

“You want to disrespect me all you want, but I can’t give it back? I wondered why you’d come picking a fight for once—turns out it’s just your mouth running again.”

“Follow me.”

Murderous intent glinted dark in Jerome’s eyes. He too was a captain of a high B-rank squad. If he backed down now, he’d be branded a coward without a doubt.

Their men split into two groups and spilled out of the tavern to witness the duel between Gustav and Jerome—two mercenary captains, both hovering near A-rank. In an instant, the tavern’s patrons turned into spectators, gathering by the hundreds to ring them like a coliseum wall.

“Hm. Something’s off,” Hamel muttered.

“What is?”

Leon spun around right away. Hamel was an archer with Steel Claw and an ex-ranger. His senses were never to be ignored.

Hamel answered as if he’d been waiting for the question, “Jerome’s picked fights with our captain plenty of times, but he’s never come right out like this asking for a duel. If they really went all-out, who’d win was obvious.”

“So there’s that big of a gap between them?” Leon asked.

“Yeah. Their weapons don’t match up well either. On top of that, Jerome’s always been known for chasing easy pickings.”

That’s how he got the nickname Scavenger, referring to a beast that scavenges corpses. Avoiding impossible fights was smart, but always hunting the weak is something else entirely.

What glory is there for a man who only preys on the helpless?

“So his challenge is rather out of the blue...” Leon muttered.

“Mhm.”

Hamel wasn’t the only one who thought so. Other mercenaries muttered the same, eyes narrowed—certain Jerome was scheming something.

Only Gustav brushed aside their concerns with a flat voice as the edge of his polished zweihander gleamed dully.

“Don’t worry. I’ll win.” 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

With that, he stepped forward into the arena, a fifteen-meter clearing ringed by the crowd. The moment the two men faced each other, the chattering audience fell silent.

A deadly tension filled the air—enough to raise goosebumps on the back of the neck. The mercenaries felt it too, faces stiffening. They all sensed it: someone would bleed here tonight.

Gustav spoke first.

“Rules?”

“Lose if you die or surrender. Use only what you hold and your bare hands—no artifacts.”

“Fine by me.”

Neither took their eyes off the other as they each backed up four steps, squaring up. If either turned their backs to walk away, that opening would be their death.

Unlike a knight’s honorable duel, this was different. There’d be no starting signal.

Someone swallowed with an audible gulp, and that alone was enough of a signal. The two men lunged at each other.

“Hup!”

Gustav slashed first. His zweihander, nearly 2.3 meters long, reached Jerome first. The massive blade cut the air with a whoosh, swinging far faster than its size should allow.

It was a strike so powerful it barely qualified as a slash. If Jerome took it head-on, he wouldn’t just block it; he would shatter with it.

A deafening metallic crash split the air as Jerome’s twin blades struck the zweihander’s flat, deflecting its edge to the side. It was a perfect deflection, something Jerome could never have pulled off before.

“Look at you, charging in like a damn boar!” Jerome shouted as he pounced on the opening, his twin blades slashing in a whirlwind.

Jerome wielded a pair of Falcata, single-edged blades used like axes, with masterful ease. They were heavy towards the tip, so their force peaked when cleaving with the forward edge.

Sparks flew where they struck Gustav’s zweihander. The twin blades blurred, seemingly splitting into eight, and even more phantom edges than the eye could count.

It was a clash of power and speed. Gustav would carve out control with one decisive swing while Jerome would slash ten times to pry open a gap.

An immovable boulder versus a ceaseless wave—their polar opposite styles clashed head-on, dazzling the onlookers. Only fighters B-rank and up could follow the full rhythm of their exchange.

“You’ve improved a decent bit, Jerome!” Gustav said and laughed as he swung fiercely.

His blood, fired up by the fight, sharpened his mind. A steel-gray Aura engulfed his zweihander. His Aura attribute was Steal, a special ground-type pronounced in both attack and defense.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, you bastard!” Jerome snapped back.

To him, that praise was an insult. He roared in fury, and the twin blades turned deep navy as the Wave, a special water-type attribute, flooded them, amplified by their master’s rage.

The next flurry was several times fiercer than before. A sweeping slash and an X-shaped crosscut collided. The shockwave tore through the clearing, shoving back the spectators who’d edged too close without realizing.

Any closer, and skin would have been ripped open.

“Gah!”

When the clash ended, it was Jerome who’d been forced back. Blood trickled down his forearms, dripping from hands that must’ve torn under the strain of gripping his twin blades.

Unable to hide his shock, Jerome screamed in a frenzy, “Impossible! Did your mother really shack up with an ogre or something?!”

“That mouth of yours really won’t shut up until you’re dead, huh?”

Enraged by the insult, Gustav leveled his blade at him. He had the upper hand, but he hadn’t completely overpowered Jerome. If he lost his composure now, the tide could easily turn.

Though still furious, part of him couldn’t help but admire Jerome’s growth. To close the gap this far in just a few months—he must have driven himself mercilessly.

“Whatever your reason for picking this fight, let’s end it here. Any further and one of us won’t be walking away.”

“Damn right! And that one’s gonna be you!”

Unlike Gustav, Jerome was itching to see it through to the bitter end. He was dead set on a real fight to the death; the murderous pressure rolling off him didn’t fade, it only swelled.

Yet his eyes, in contrast, had gone cold and sharp.

“I didn’t think I’d still be losing after all this. I really underestimated you. From here on—I’m going all out,” Jerome muttered.

“What?”

Gustav was genuinely taken aback. He still had more power hidden away? Logically, it should have been a bluff—but Jerome’s eyes were dead serious.

And then, he saw it.

“Hm?”

Was it his imagination? Gustav thought he saw Jerome’s pupils flare crimson for an instant. A momentary change, gone so fast he couldn’t be sure, and no one else watching noticed a thing.

Right after that, Jerome moved. Twin streaks of navy lightning exploded forward.

Gustav instinctively raised his greatsword, but his body was pushed back in a straight line. The speed and power were in a different league now.

Gustav couldn’t keep up with Jerome’s movements that stretched into blurs. Only Leon, using Rodrick’s Vision, could properly track that speed.

Leon thought, His form’s a bit sloppy, but that speed’s on par with Karen’s...!

Leon couldn’t figure out how, but Jerome had broken into A-rank territory. Gustav, still only upper B-rank, couldn’t handle that speed at all.

In an instant, the tide of the duel shifted. Speed had always been Jerome’s advantage and now it had multiplied, far beyond what Gustav could deal with.

A blade scraped past Gustav’s greatsword and carved into his shoulder.

“Keugh...!”

No, it wasn’t just his shoulder. In that fleeting moment, three strikes grazed him, and blood gushed from his thigh and flank.

More blood sprayed from countless cuts on Gustav’s body. Even after falling back into a defensive stance, he could barely hold his ground. A pool of blood was already forming at his feet.

Jerome’s relentless fury showed that he had no intention to let Gustav yield. Each slash chipped away at Gustav bit by bit with only death in his mind.

“Captain!”

Unable to stand by, Hansen moved to break in, but Jerome’s men—the Wolf Fang mercenaries—blocked his path.

“Hey now, you know better than to butt into a duel.”

They had their weapons out, ready to fight if needed. There were four of them, the same as Hansen’s crew.

Like Steel Claw, they were elite B-rank mercenaries. With the duel’s honor on Jerome’s side and no clear power gap between the two mercenary groups, Hansen and the others could only grit their teeth, unable to act.

Meanwhile, the situation turned more and more against Gustav.

A slanted cut sent a fresh burst of blood spraying. He’d dodged barely in time to avoid a vital spot, but the cut was still deep.

Gustav staggered from the dizziness but forced himself to stand. Jerome snickered at the sight, shaking off the blood from his blades.

“Hahaha! Go on, big man—talk tough again! If you drop to your knees and beg, maybe I’ll let you live, how about it?”

“You...!”

“What’s that glare gonna do? Look down at your feet. Looks like you’ve spilled a whole bucket by now. How much longer you think you’ll last, huh?”

Jerome’s eyes glowed red as he mocked Gustav. The thick scent of blood tickled his nose, and gazing at all that warm, life-rich blood made his true nature stir awake.

His once-calm breathing turned ragged and harsh, and his deep navy aura began to tint faintly crimson. El-Cid sensed the foul shift instantly.

—Leon. Raise me high and release your Aura’s light, now!

Leon didn’t hesitate for a second. He drew his sword from his hip and thrust it skyward. Confused faces turned to stare at him.

Only the two fighters were too focused to notice but both the Wolf Fang and Steel Claw mercenaries gawked at him. As all eyes locked on Leon, he poured power into the blade.

With a flash, a warm radiance of the fusion between the Sun Aura and the purifying light flared out in all directions. Not so blinding as to burn the eyes—but enough to wash away filth and push back the night’s darkness.

It was a manifestation distinct from a normal Aura Weapon. To most, it was nothing more than comforting light, but Leon trusted El-Cid’s word that it meant something.

Huh?

Sure enough—

“Gyaaaaagh!”

“It burns! My body’s burning up!”

“Hot! So damn hot! Argh!”

The Wolf Fang mercenaries fell to the ground, howling and flailing. Some clawed at their own skin as if to tear it off; others rolled on the dirt, scrambling for a shadow where the light couldn’t reach. To any normal onlooker, it looked like utter madness.

And Jerome was no different.

“Guuh...!”

Spewing black smoke from his body, Jerome fixed blood-red eyes on Leon—only to collapse where he stood, twitching helplessly like a worm on a searing griddle.

“What the hell just happened...?”

Even Leon, who’d done it, stammered in bewilderment. He’d only followed El-Cid’s instructions—he had no clue why it worked.

Why would a mere touch of light make mercenaries seize up in agony? Why did Jerome, who’d brushed A-rank for a moment, go down in seconds?

Countless questions buzzed through his mind when El-Cid explained as if this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

—What’s so hard to understand? They’re all Dhampirs. Against your Aura and my holy power, they didn’t stand a chance.

“Dhampirs? The hell is that?”

—Beings on the boundary between vampires and humans. Half-bloods, basically. They can walk in sunlight, but they weaken badly in it—and grow far stronger in the night’s darkness. That’s how that bastard overwhelmed the big guy.

Leon tilted his head at the unexpected explanation.

Dhampirs—so they’re connected to vampires after all?

—Most likely.

Seriously... the rumor we talked about while being sloshed just fell into our laps.

One thing was clear—he now had a mess to sort out.

Jerome and the Wolf Fang, felled by sudden seizures, and Gustav, battered and bleeding, in urgent need of healing.

In the dead of night, Leon let out a long sigh. He’d just picked up a mountain of extra work.