Vol 3 Chapter 9 – Boyhood: Late Spring at Age Twelve ・Part 6

Convenient stuff? Love it. I’m a sucker for shiny new things—no shame. In my past life, my wallet suffered from way too many “Ooh, this looks cool!” impulse buys.

But relying on others too much? Yeah, learned that lesson the hard way.

“Holy heck, fairies are nightmare fuel…”

I stood there, knees practically clattering, as four monsters lay KO’d at my feet—all thanks to a single OP racial skill. Brutal.

This was the maids’ waiting area next to the central dining hall. Lolotte had dragged me here, and when she said, “There’s four inside~”, I groaned, “Uwaaah…” If this weren’t fantasy-land, I’d be screaming for a death flag or a flashbang right now.

Four solo? No thanks. Not impossible, just exhausting. I’d already brawled six head-on earlier, but spamming my backstab “hands” probably drained my mana to fumes. Stamina’s fine, but magic-wise? Running on empty.

This weird… hollow feeling? At this rate, I’ll pass out before my MP hits zero. Guess I wasn’t blessed with that “fight till HP/MP zero” cheat. Way too realistic—who’d play this garbage?!

Anyway—time to wrap this up. Had Ursula flashbang the monsters, then zipped in and crit-stabbed their weak spots with “Fairy Knife: Armor? Lol, Ignored.” Easiest cleanup ever.

This power’s broken. Getting hooked on it? Bad idea. Like maining an S-tier fighter until you forget how to block. Convenient? Sure. But get too cozy, and I’m toast.

Someday, I’ll have to survive without crutches.

“That’s right, darling~☆” 

Lolotte purred, her voice syrup-sweet yet laced with knives. 

“Fairies are terrifying… Adore me all you want, but cling too tight, and I’ll devour you. Though…”

She twirled, giggling, as if proposing a picnic. 

“Dancing on a twilight hilltop sounds delightful, no~?” 

Why do all the lolis around me get off on whispering death threats while clinging to my arm?!

Ahhh, the good ol’ spine-tingling thrill of danger—been a while! I savored the shiver crawling from my tailbone to my brainstem as I tucked my knife, still spotless despite the carnage, back into its pouch. Better dial it back a notch. If I keep slicing everything like butter, I’ll forget basic swordsmanship—like, y’know, actually aiming the blade.

With the four minions down, only the big bad remained: a giant oni. Lolotte had already scouted its location—waiting in the dining hall. Classic ambush setup. Charge in recklessly, and the backup squad flanks you from the waiting area. Straight-up murder for noobs.

Shivering at the sheer malice of this dungeon design, I kicked open the dining hall doors.

Let’s. Freaking. Go.

The once-luxurious hall, where families probably laughed over fancy meals and praised the chef’s “exquisite quail confit,” now looked like a discount horror set. The long table was smashed to splinters in a corner, the red rug aged into a moldy black, and the decor screamed “post-apocalyptic yard sale.”

And there, at the far end, sat the guest of honor: a 3-meter-tall, stunning blue-skinned oni.

Sunlight from the cracked skylight glinted off her azure hide, and her fur armor—barely processed—somehow made her look more intimidating. She lounged lazily in the main seat, a massive tower shield planted beside her and a sword the size of a telephone pole cradled in her arms.

“Aw, c’mon… Seriously?!”

Her eyes—glinting with metallic blue murder—locked onto mine. Unlike the mindless male oni I’d diced earlier, this one radiated sharp, calculating intelligence. A warrior’s gaze.

She rose slowly, stretching like a bored cat, then hefted her shield and sword (which, for humans, would classify as a spear). After rotating her neck with a crick-crack, she charged.

No monologues, no trash talk—just pure, unadulterated violence.

Her shield covered her vitals like a textbook example, angled to deflect attacks, while her sword hid behind it, ready to strike from any angle. Charge in? Shield bash → sword slash. Dodge? Sword adjusts mid-swing. Half-hearted attacks? Deflected → counter combo. Basic? Yes. Brutal? Absolutely.

Add her 3-meter-tall, armored-tank build, and most people would either bolt or pray for a quick death.

But me? I grinned and dashed forward, Wolf’s Delivery stance low.

Yeah, I’d heard female oni were stronger. But old man Lambert drilled me for this exact scenario.

What’s the most important thing in battle? Strength? Speed? Smarts? Nah.

It’s controlling the distance. Dominate the spacing, dominate the fight!

As I entered her range, her shield roared upward in an uppercut. I ducked, sliding forward until my helmet scraped the shield’s edge—screeeech! Sparks flew, and my ears rang.

Before I could blink, she twisted the shield’s momentum into a rising slash, the sword howling like a hurricane.

I dodged it by reading the range of motion in its joints and diving into a position where the blade couldn’t reach. Even though the enemy’s midsection was a death trap, by accurately understanding and reading its structure, the position I occupied could transform into a stronghold in its own right.

And then, as I dove in, I countered by slamming an upward slash into the arm that streaked past overhead at a pace that nearly made me tremble.

“……!”

Without diminishing the momentum of my charge, I slid so closely that my thigh nearly brushed against it. My hand was struck by a numbing sensation that nearly robbed me of feeling, accompanied by an indescribably heavy impact. With a perfectly raised blade line and a full-body, synchronized, all-out strike, I was in awe. Had the entry been even slightly off, the sword would have been deflected—and my wrist injured.

However, it seems I did indeed pay the price for that numbness. When I looked, blue blood slickly clung to the blade’s tip.

“GUIII……”

As I created distance and instantly spun around, I saw the sword fall from the giant oni’s hand with a deafening crash. My sword had sliced through the joint between its arm and hand guards, severing its wrist halfway.

With dynamic vision honed to the extreme by <Thunder Reflection> and the ability to perceive the enemy’s movements and weaknesses through <Kanken>, channeling all of <Multithought> into predicting his actions, and the tactical framework of <Battlefield Swordsmanship> refined to <Enjuku>—elevated to perfection by <Enrei-Senko>—even the “sending wolf’s” fangs can reach alloyed bones.

The piercing blade likely severed the tendons in the giant oni’s right wrist. Unable to properly grip his right hand, he failed in his attempt to retrieve the dropped sword.

That was a wasted move. Not missing the opportunity as he reached for his sword, I charged forward. At the utmost speed before my legs would tangle, I slung the sword over my right shoulder and advanced toward his unprotected back.

“GURUOOOOOOO!!”

However, the giant oni’s reaction speed exceeded my expectations. He spun with a velocity that would have compensated for his wasted move, attempting to deliver a spinning kick with his still-functional legs. A heel—possessing enough force to blast a compact car to splinters—approached right before my eyes.

Even if my helmet had shielded my head, had that counter-kick struck directly, my head would have burst like a pomegranate.

So, I put my “hand” to a new job.

My body sank under the overwhelming impact from above, as a lethal kick sliced through the wind at a painfully close distance. Using my “hand,” I forcefully shifted into an evasive posture.

I immediately manipulated my “hand” to support my chest from below, preventing a fall. With my next step, I steadied my posture and delivered a slashing blow to his knee in a rightward passing maneuver. The hard leather protector wrapped around my knee was shifted aside by my “hand” to create an opening for the sword strike.

This is the maneuver of a “Magic Swordsman” as I conceive it. Rather than switching between magic and sword, one combines them. In doing so, the blade can reach deeper into the enemy’s life, and the brilliance of the technique shines even more.

Blood splattered, creating blue stains on my breastplate, as the giant oni—his tendons severed—buckled his knee.

This is not the time to hold back. Judging from the murderous intent that stabbed sharply like spikes, the giant oni had not yet abandoned his desire to kill me.

Harnessing the remaining momentum to slash through, I hooked my leg onto the “hand” I had conjured in mid-air. Then, in a leap—while my mighty arm roared behind me and skimmed past the armor—I pressed on.

Even while buckling his knee, he charged with a fist whose wrist had been cut halfway. His fighting spirit was incomparable to that of a giant oni who, upon losing one hand, would have collapsed and lost his will to fight. This must be why they are called a warrior race and are feared.

It was only because it was a punch that I barely managed to dodge; had it come from his left side, I would have been caught by a shield bash and sent flying through the air. That might have been the end. However, it is precisely because I read the situation correctly and acted accordingly that I am here now.

I kicked the consecutively conjured “hands” into the void, spinning and leaping as I did so. In sync with twisting my body mid-air to change positions, I swung my blade, aiming to drive it between the gaps in the hide armor protecting my neck and shoulders.

The sharply wielded tip severed about a quarter of his neck. Blood spurted out like a powerful pump, creating a blue mist. To avoid being engulfed by it, I quickly created a new foothold with my “hand” and leaped into the void like a dragonfly.

The final scream—and a violent wind churning through the void amid dying gasps—lashed my face with a clinging, lingering fury. As if chasing after me while I disengaged, a shield bash struck. Had my escape been delayed by just a few seconds, I would have been slammed against the ceiling like a crushed frog.

Yet, only the murderous intent in his eyes reached me fully, pounding a fear that pierced deep into my mind. It was the first time I had been hit with such raw, intense emotion.

An undefinable, pure murderous aura licked at my heart and tightened around my body. I wonder what would have happened if, in the midst of battle, I had met those scarlet, gleaming eyes? Without the all-encompassing gaze of <Kanken>… it might have been disastrous.

Propelled by that murderous aura, my posture faltered mid-air and my landing ended in a clumsy failure. Still, the moment I felt the impact, I snapped back to my senses and managed to roll—taking a proper fall to avoid injury.

While struggling to stanch the incessantly overflowing blood, the giant oni failed to rise and collapsed forward. Yet his face remained turned toward me, unleashing unyielding murderous intent as if screaming, “At the very least, I’ll kill your will!”

The blood that sporadically spurted in time with my heartbeat eventually weakened, thinned out, and finally stopped.

All I could do was sit there like a fool, staring at his final moments.

…Is this what it means to truly fight to the death?

How terrifying it is. It sent shivers from the very core of my being, making my resolve wither away. Every bone felt depleted, and the crushing exhaustion made even standing up a chore. The burning murderous intent—and the mental clashes exchanged dozens of times in a single moment—drained my spirit to a horrifying degree.

At that moment, I felt not the thrill of victory or the joy of having done it, but the relief of having not died.

Until just a while ago, in both good and bad ways, I hadn’t been truly engaged in a “fight to the death.” Slaying an enemy one can handle with ease is more akin to “murder” than a true duel.

However, I experienced for the first time a “fight to the death” in which a single misstep or moment could cost your life.

Possessed by that electrifying sensation, I slapped my cheek and stood up.

What good would it do to stop here? I had no time to brood over the life taken or the debt for the fallen foe. The defeated would at most think, “You sure did it, buddy,” and surely wouldn’t expect me to fight honorably in their stead. If you were in my shoes, you’d understand easily.

I recalled why I took up the sword. I would never let someone dear to me experience such a dreadful, terrifying ordeal. As Eliza’s onii-chan, I stand for her future. There is simply no room here to break down.

“…May the soul of a master swordsman rest in peace under the blessing of the Martial God.”

I recited the sacred verse dedicated to the god of war—one that guides the soul lying beneath the sword—as I wiped away the blood from my blade.

Now, I wonder if I can offer a proper smile to the fairies who watched over me without interference until the very end…

【Tips】If it is a monster of a species with a strong fighting instinct, that instinct becomes even sharper.