103 The Godless Style
Even if one were to strip all of the blades off of Vandread’s body, they would find their oversight met with swift impunity.
That oversight was one, simple concept: they didn’t strip the blades from within his body.
After removing the stitching, a hole opened up in the flesh of his heel, to which he reached in with his toes, sliding out a blade that was stored within his foot.
The benefit of his immortality kicked in quickly as his heel compartment reformed; strands of flesh reunited, stitching itself back together as within moments, it was back to new condition.
“Open pa mara!”
The Outrider warrior that was dressed head-to-toe in bearskin shouted out, leading the carrying of the massive pot. It seemed these words translated roughly to “Open up the damn cage before I eat you!” because it quickly served to make the joke-cracking guards turn around.
He assessed the situation and his surroundings, darting his eyes around quickly.
Though his cage was out in the open of nature, it was in a secluded section of the forest, just on the outskirts of the Outrider village; besides the two guards, there were the two carrying the boiling pot, meant to “escort” him within it, most likely.
I can do this. Four targets right away, he thought.
With such a large pot being carried, and the rumors of the Outriders having met his ears–he knew what sort of fate awaited him if he fell into their hands right now.
It would be a gruesome and agonizing future for him.
–However, the man had already made his move.
He had jumped up, using his core strength to wield the hidden blade between his toes, slicing the rope that bound his wrists in a swift kick.
It was a quick, precise movement that freed his hands, leaving him landing back down on the mud cleanly, now wielding a singular, small blade in his hand.
“Mugala!”
“Mugala!”
Though he didn’t know what that word meant, yelled from two of the bear demi-humans, it seemed like either a warcry or a call to attack.
–
[Before Emilio Left | Yullim, Milligarde | The Dragonheart Residence]
Sitting in their room, the parents of the young boy spoke. Treyna spoke confidently in front of him, but behind closed doors, the mother of the boy was plagued with doubt.
“…I can’t help but worry. I know Emilio is a smart boy, but…the world out there can be too unforgiving for a child,” Treyna said.
Julius understood the worries of his wife, but he simply laughed, which earned him a funny look from the golden-haired woman.
“You wouldn’t know it because you were never in a party with Vandread, but I’d trust that guy more than myself to protect Emilio,” Julius said.
“What do you mean?…It’s not like you to say something like that,” Treyna looked at her husband as if he were sick.
Julius smirked, “That’s just how much I trust Vandread. He’s saved my life countless times. It just so happens I was the last one to do the saving, so he owed me one,” he continued, “…Unlike me, he’s been continuously pushing himself to his limits. And that style of his, well, to put it simply…it always sent chills down my spine when I witnessed it–”
[“That taboo style–it’s not just for swordplay, but crafted for killing–beast, man, god–you name it: the ‘Godless Style.'”]
–
Through the droplets of rain, the figure slipped out like a phantom; silently and with platinum eyes of stone conviction.
“Magala?!” One of the Outrider warriors yelled out in shock.
A rain of blood sprayed down onto the soil, mixing with the falling rain as the two guards of the wooden cage had their necks split open in the blink of an eye.
The scar-covered man held only that small knife that looked too dull to even slice paper, and too small to cut deeper than an inch, but with it, he cut through the locks of the cage and slit the throats of the guards within a moment.
[If it bleeds, you can kill it.]
[If it is of flesh, you can kill it.]
[If it feels fear, you can kill it.]
[If you hold a blade, no matter how small, no matter how dull, you can kill it.]
[That’s the “Godless Style”]
“GRAAAGH!”
Rushing towards him, the pair of the large, bulky demi-human warriors roared out, having dropped the pot, attempting to use their large size to ensnare him in their large hands.
But, the stoic, dark-skinned man quietly slipped through their attempts to grab them, using the tiny scalpel to counter with a succession of slashes against the warrior with long, bristly hair of a brown complexion.
“Grah–?”
The result of the slashes; silent and swift as if not even being evoked–the bear demi-human’s arm gushed out blood before the limb went limp completely.
With the other closing in quickly, wielding a large, wooden club in his hand, he finished off the opponent directly in front of him with a stab straight into the man’s neck.
Fortunately for him, the swiftness in which he acted, at an opportune time in which his captors were distracted, allowed him the freedom of confronting them in separate encounters before they could react and coordinate.
These guys are troublesome. They might be barbarians with muscle for brains, but that muscle is no joke. Even if I can regenerate my wounds, there’s limits to that–and if I’m knocked out, it’s over, he thought.
He pushed the body of the warrior bleeding out in front of him away, using it as a shield as the bearskin-wearing Outrider slammed his club against the body of his kin.
SQUELCH.
A single hit by the club of the two-and-a-half meter tall Outrider, who growled in anger, had crushed the bones in his dying companion’s body, sending the compromised demi-human flung to the side harshly.
It made him more wary seeing how much force was behind a single swing of that club; it would likely be able to smash boulders easily, even with a wooden club.
I bet this guy is some sort of elite. I have to be on guard–I can’t run now. In terms of speed, I might edge him out, but stamina is the issue here. A demi-human of this caliber…I don’t see him tiring out, and I want to take him out before he calls his buddies, he planned.