A Mage Reborn: Legacy of the Fallen Emperor
Chapter 64: Frontier Justice

Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Frontier Justice

The end of the alley came into view, and the assassins sprang into action. Their quiet pursuit ended, replaced by the overt threat of their presence. Only a few steps more led to the main road, and the narrow, shadowed confines of the alley were far more advantageous for their grim task.

"Ian?"

"You know me?"

Whoosh!

The moment their target was confirmed, the conspirators drew their swords and charged. Cloaked in black hoods that concealed their faces and bodies, they seemed like shadows lunging forward.

Clang! Clash!

Beric reacted instantly, drawing his own sword to parry. The impact was sharp, sparks flying from the blades in an instant. It was proof that his opponents were attacking with all their strength.

Whoosh!

And that, in turn, meant they were already aware of Beric’s skill. They knew that if they didn’t take him down with the first strike, they stood little chance.

Three or four of them focused on keeping Beric occupied, while another aimed to deliver the killing blow. The attacks came relentlessly at his cheek, neck, and side.

"Oh?"

Swords locked, a struggle of pushing force against force ensued. Beric hadn’t unleashed the power of a Spellsword, yet his opponents were pushing back with surprising strength.

Ian, observing the situation, stepped back. The way they held their swords, their ability to maintain distance—it was all far too practiced. This wasn’t the raw, untamed fighting style of the back alleys, but the movements of those who had received systematic training.

Given the circumstances, it was highly likely they were directly connected to Molin.

"Beric! That one! Yes, that one—don’t kill him!"

"If I don’t kill him? Should I just cut off his arms?"

"Just do it well..."

"Aaaaargh!"

As he spoke, Beric plunged his sword into the thigh of one of the lesser thugs.

But something’s strange. If they know Beric’s skill, they must also know I’m a mage.

No one was attacking Ian. Molin, who knew the power of magic better than anyone, wouldn’t simply leave Ian, his target and obstacle, alone.

Sss.

In that instant, countless shadows stretched long behind Ian. From the main street, over a dozen armed thugs were entering the alley.

"Ha. I knew it."

More than I expected. They really prepared.

Ian tried to gauge the number of enemies by sight, but the darkness made it difficult. As they drew their swords, Ian stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You all are working hard late at night."

"Don’t waste your breath. Are you Ian?"

"Yes. I am Ian."

The reason for the delay between the assassination plan and its execution became clear. It wasn’t just a lack of opportunity, but also the time needed to gather this many men.

Thrum.

Ian opened his Golden Eyes. Mana surged, creating a wind with a subtly shifting temperature, and those who had never seen a mage before hesitated in surprise.

But only for a moment.

Confident in their overwhelming numbers, they closed in.

"Aren’t you afraid? Why are you doing this?"

"Shut up! Just hand over your life."

"Do you know how much money is on your head?"

The truth was, even after repeated training to earn the title of mage, there were few usable spells a mana wielder could actually employ. Mana could interact with mana, but it was still far from the glory of legend, when magic was said to overturn the world.

"Die!"

Whoosh!

Clang!

The man in front charged first. Ian also drew his sword, swinging his arm wide to deflect the attack. Simultaneously, he grabbed the man’s face with his left hand.

"Wha—"

Thrum!

And he poured out his mana with all his might. Just as he had done to Beric in the training ground, an invisible force surged into the man’s inner being.

"Kuh, keugh..."

As the man staggered back, the thugs hesitated briefly. Blood flowed from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. All his orifices. The man wiped his face, his hand trembling in shock.

It’s not working.

Ian looked down at his hand, frowning slightly. It was an offensive spell, one of the easier ones, though not one he used often. Normally, the man’s head should have exploded.

"Wh-what the hell—"

"You idiot! Why are you hesitating? Just stab him!"

"You guys seem to know each other well."

"What’s it to you, you soon-to-be-dead bastard!"

Judging by their crude and vulgar language, they weren’t from the Imperial Palace. They seemed like commoners, but were they from Bratz?

While Ian was pondering, the thugs, pushing the blood-soaked man aside, charged simultaneously.

"Yaaaaah!"

Shhhrk!

In an instant, flashing blades appeared before them. It was Beric. He had already taken down the ones who had been clinging to him and rushed over. Blood dripped from Beric’s hair. Turning around, Ian saw a flood of blood on the ground. All of it spilled from the thugs.

"I’m so sleepy, and these fuckers are making me exercise at night?"

"Beric, did you kill them?"

"I don’t know. I just stabbed them."

"...Beric. Just in case, leave one alive. Please."

If they weren’t from the Bratz territory, he needed to know where they came from. Cooperating with Molin meant they were obstacles to Ian.

Thrum.

Ian, giving the order, grabbed Beric’s shoulder. Blood-soaked hair swayed in the night breeze, and Beric’s vitality began to return. The clouds that had been hiding the moon dispersed, and the surroundings gradually brightened.

"Haaa... Is it because I’m tired? The juice is really flowing today."

"Must you put it that way?"

"Get out of the way!! Fuck!!"

Crack!

Beric’s voice, which had been weary with fatigue, cracked sharply. At the same time, someone’s head flew off.

Shhhrk!

It happened so fast that the thugs stood frozen, even as blood spurted from the severed neck. It was a speed they couldn’t perceive as reality.

"A-a-aaaagh!"

"K-kill him!"

"Forward, forward!"

"Don’t push, damn it!"

Beric, pushing off the wall, swung his sword. Screams, whose origins were impossible to determine, scattered everywhere, following the arc of his blade. Those who tried to reach Ian, avoiding Beric, were met by Ian, who had assumed a defensive stance.

Shhhrk!

It didn’t seem like human movement. He merely brushed against the rain of blades pouring in from all sides, giving no opening. Reflexively parrying, thrusting, cutting...

"Aaaaargh!"

"Damn it! Aaaagh!"

The narrow alley. It should have been a fatal disadvantage for Beric, but the reality was the opposite. The slightest swing brought his blade into contact with a vital point. For Beric, the alley was just that.

"Haaa..."

And a moment later, a mountain of corpses and a pool of blood. Apart from his eyes, Beric was completely crimson.

"I told you to leave one alive."

"There’s one alive here. He’s twitching."

Beric tapped someone’s head with the tip of his sword. Then, he grinned and clenched his fist.

"Aaargh! Feels so good!"

It was a different kind of pleasure from defeating a strong opponent. The feeling of slaughter that came from an overwhelming difference in strength. Sometimes, instead of fierce and desperate battles, this wasn’t so bad. The taste of a cheap blade, Beric reveled in that simple pleasure.

"Exhilarating! Refreshing! Thrilling! Hahaha!"

He’s a madman.

Ian, leaving the raving Beric behind, approached the group that had initially attacked. He began to remove their hoods, checking their faces.

Among them, a man was groaning. It was the man Ian had told him to spare. Feeling his upper body, Ian was certain from the well-defined muscles. This was a man who lived by his body.

"He looks familiar..."

"Really? Let me see."

"Don’t you think you’ve seen him somewhere?"

"Hmm. I don’t know. He’s ugly, for sure."

The man groaned, his left hand twitching. Then, he brought his palm to his cheek, as if to cover it. Ian thought it was just the meaningless struggle of a dying man.

He thought it was just an attempt to hide his face...

"Aaaaargh!"

"Wh-what the hell? What’s wrong with him?"

"Damn it!"

On the man’s left middle finger was a ring. It seemed to be a tool for suicide, containing a poisoned needle.

The man screamed in agony, his body trembling violently. Ian instinctively tried to stop him, but it was too late. As a temporary measure, he could only stuff a cloth into the man’s mouth.

"Keugh..."

"Ugh, his face is really messed up."

Beric, who rarely flinched, stepped back and muttered. Necrosis was progressing rapidly around the area where the needle had pierced. The flesh was melting away, the form becoming horribly disfigured. Even his parents wouldn’t be able to recognize him.

"We’ll move that survivor and this one to the mansion. Go and call for people."

The man had disfigured his face to completely conceal his identity. This meant that he had been the one leading this operation. If the man’s identity remained a mystery, Molin would be safe.

Then, Beric kicked the man’s side.

"Should I carry him? He’s heavy, though, so I’ll cut off some parts."

"Beric."

"It’s a joke. A joke."

The path to the main road was blocked by a pile of corpses, leaving no room to step. Beric carefully picked his way through the bodies, and soon, the lights of the guard post, which had been intentionally extinguished for days, flickered on.

"Did they succeed?"

Mac, watching the window anxiously, couldn’t contain himself and gulped down his wine, ignoring the liquid that trickled down his chin.

"There are over ten of them. In that narrow alley, even a single graze would result in over a dozen wounds. There’s no way they could have survived."

Dregor, sitting on the sofa in silence, replied. Even if they failed, their subordinate, Petrayo, was not one to leave a messy trail. He carried a poisoned needle that would instantly melt a face, ensuring that their connection to Molin and his group would remain forever silenced.

"What if they fail?"

"Mac. You tend to worry too much."

"This is about planning ahead!"

Thud!

Mac slammed his fist on the table nervously. Molin glared at him, a silent order to be quiet.

"You’re going to wake up all the servants."

"I-I’m sorry, sir."

"Petrayo is a skilled man. He’s aged, but he was once the deputy commander of the Crown Prince’s personal guard at the Imperial Palace, and above all, he’s trustworthy. There will be no loose ends. You and I both know that."

Just two youngsters.

He had heard rumors of Beric being a skilled fighter, but Molin had only listened in passing. Ian was also a mage, but he was only sixteen. His limitations were obvious.

"It takes time to pour out mana. He’ll be exhausted before he can deal with over a dozen men."

"And even if, by some miracle, they fail, can they easily touch us without evidence? If we die, another investigation team will come down."

That was the situation they wanted to avoid the most. Mac, finally calming down a little, apologized and shook his head.

"I’m sorry. I, I think I got a little excited."

Just then.

Knock knock! Knock knock knock!

Someone knocked roughly on the door. All three men froze, swallowing hard. In the dead of night, there were only two people who would come to them.

Petrayo, having succeeded in his mission.

Or...

"Wh-who..."

Creak.

Red hair visible through the crack in the door. Whether he was covered in blood or his skin was peeled off, he was entirely crimson. Beric wiped his face and smiled.

"...Were you waiting for someone named Petrayo?"

"What the..."

Molin, startled, stood up involuntarily.

"All of you, follow me."

"H-how dare you!"

Snikt.

Beric’s answer to their outcry was to draw his sword. He aimed it at Dregor’s neck, coming close enough to cut him at any moment.

"Ian said I could cut if I wanted to."

"You lowlife! We are from the Imperial Palace..."

"I know. But this is the frontier."

The frontier.

A place that opened up so many possibilities.

"Ian said the frontier doesn’t care about that."