Chapter 96

Chapter 4 The Monster Becomes a Legend! “Huh. Looks like Jack the Ripper isn’t coming,” one of the Nightblades says impatiently as he sets to work on his dinner. It’s past midnight, meaning that the date’s already changed. “Guess he was too scared of us to show.” “I got my hopes up when I heard he beat that Wakoku martial master, too. What a shame.” “I say this is a good thing. It’s just proof that when we Nightblades come together, there’s nobody who can stand against us.” “Maybe we pulled together too many forces. It was just too much for Jack the Ripper to bear.” A chorus of mocking laughter rises from the Nightblades. “We’ll start spreading rumors when the sun comes up,” says Earl White. “Soon, everyone will know that Jack the Ripper fled from us and that the Nightblades are going as strong as ever. That should make sure they never doubt us again—” Before he can finish his sentence, a dim flash appears from the arena. The light gradually grows stronger, almost like it’s reacting to something. “What’s going on?” “Perhaps he came after all. The arena is responding to a foreign source of mana.” Light fills the entire arena as the artifact finishes erecting its dome-shaped barrier. It’s unclear when, but a bloodstained clown has appeared at its center. “Is that Jack the Ripper, then?” “It’s a clown drenched in blood. He matches the reports.” “Hmph. He doesn’t look all that strong.” “Looks can be deceiving. If nothing else, though, we can tell he’s an idiot. He’d have to be, to walk into our trap like that.” “You can say that again. But hey, if he’s happy to help stave off my boredom, then more power to him.” The Nightblades lean forward in their seats to get a better look at Jack the Ripper. “Hello and welcome, Jack the Ripper. So glad you could stop by this evening,” Earl White says in a theatrical tone. “But you certainly took your time, didn’t you? Did it really take you that long to work up your nerve?” Jack the Ripper doesn’t so much as twitch. “If you have something you’d like to say, the floor is yours. You must have some sort of business with us Nightblades. Go on, tell us all about whatever grudge you might hold. Did we kill your parents? Sell your children off into slavery? Steal away your fortune? Forgive me for not remembering you, but we’ve wronged so many people I simply can’t keep track of them all.” The Nightblades’ laughter echoes through the arena. “Too scared to speak up, are you? Well, that’s fine, too. We’ve prepared a very special game for you. The rules are simple. If you defeat all the contenders we’ve arranged for you, the barrier surrounding the arena will go down. Then you might very well get to kill us all like you said you would.” Earl White’s expression as he looks down at Jack the Ripper is one of utmost confidence. “And just so you know, the barrier is being generated by a powerful artifact, one that cost me more money than you could earn in a hundred lifetimes. You can try to break through it, but you’d simply be wasting your time. No, there’s a path available to you: defeat all comers!” The earl spreads his arms out wide and shouts. “Now, let the game begin! Send in the first killer!” The arena door opens, revealing a dark knight. It’s a man wearing heavy armor and wielding a massive sword. He’s a large man, the kind that towers over people. After giving his greatsword a couple of casual swings, he turns around and bows to the Nightblades over in the spectator seats. “He’s a dark knight from the city-state of Spartan!! The Spartan Colosseum is said to be the most brutal in the world, and he racked up two hundred fights there without a single defeat! They call him the Mincemeat Butcher because of how he uses his mighty blade to cleave each and every one of his foes in twain!” The Butcher lumbers over and looks down at Jack the Ripper. With a smirk, the dark knight slings his greatsword up onto his shoulder. “What the hell? I figured I’d be in for a gnarly fight, considering all the nasty folks they’ve got lined up in the waiting room, but all I get is some dumb clown?” “It’s time for the first match!” As soon as the starting signal is given, the Butcher swings his sword down. The arena shakes from the volume and force of the slash. “Wh-what a mighty blow!” “That Spartan dark knight is something else. If anything, the rumors sold him short!” “It doesn’t look like his attack landed, though.” Sure enough, the Butcher’s strike didn’t find its mark. However, it isn’t because Jack the Ripper dodged it. He wasn’t even in the swing’s initial arc. “I missed that one on purpose. How’s the audience supposed to enjoy themselves if I end the fight on the first hit? Dark gladiators who only care about winning, they’re second-rate. The best ones make sure to give the crowd a show,” the Butcher says smugly as he hoists his greatsword back onto his shoulder. “Come at me, clown boy. I have your measure. If you couldn’t react to that attack, then you’ll never beat me no matter how hard you try. But don’t you worry. Making bouts against third-rate fighters look good is what they pay us dark gladiators to durrrrrgh?!” The Butcher goes shooting straight up. Blood sprays from his face as his body splatters against the top of the barrier. Droplets drip, drip down and paint the clown red. The clown slowly lowers the leg he just kicked with. “…W-winner: Jack the Ripper,” Earl White stammers. A stir runs through the Nightblades. “Wh-what just happened?!” “That was a kick. An unbelievably fast kick!” “You saw it, Earl Battler?” “Barely, but yes. I might not look it, but it was my strength that got me this far in life. And that fight sure was something…” “Ah, that’s right. You’re a pretty accomplished dark knight, aren’t you?” “Ridiculous. You’re telling me Jack the Ripper ended the fight with a single kick?” “Look, we chose someone we thought he could beat on purpose for the first fight. We’re still well within expectations.” “I think we might want to change up our second combatant. Wouldn’t you agree, Earl Battler?” “I would…” Not a single person speaks up in dissent. Earl White drinks some wine and calls in the second fighter. “Now, without further ado, I present you your second challenge!” It’s not one dark knight that appears this time, but three. “It’s the captains of the legendary White Wolf mercenary group that made their name in the Velgaltan civil war!! When their client Perv Asshat died in battle in Oriana, the group fell on hard times. It’s not every day you get seasoned fighters like them to agree to participate in a match like this, but each and every one of them could put the Butcher to shame! Behold the teamwork they’ve honed on the fields of battle, and behold the nerves of steel they’ve honed by operating in the red!” The three dark knights are in their thirties and forties. They wield a sword, an ax, and a spear, respectively. All of them look calm and composed, and they give Jack the Ripper a steely set of looks. “What do you think?” the swordsman asks. “I don’t know. I can’t get a read on his strength at all. But that’s weird in and of itself,” replies the mercenary with the ax. “And here I was, thinking we were in for an easy payday. Don’t blame us for coming at you three on one, guy,” says the spearman, and the three of them ready their weapons. “Now, let the second match begin!!” The moment the starting signal is given, the three mercenaries spread out to fence Jack the Ripper in. From there, they gingerly try to gauge his range. Meanwhile, Jack the Ripper doesn’t move an inch. Slowly but surely, the White Wolf captains circle him. Once around, then twice, then thrice… Nothing is changing, and it doesn’t make for a particularly interesting fight. “All they’re doing is walking in circles,” says one of the Nightblades. A chorus of disgruntled agreements follows. The White Wolves can certainly hear them, yet even so, they stick to their paths and continue circling Jack the Ripper. Nothing is happening. That’s what it looks like from the outside, at least, but tiny changes start coming over the White Wolves. Sweat begins dripping from their foreheads in oddly large droplets, their breathing gradually grows heavy, and their eyes turn bloodshot from their intense focus. An odd sense of tension falls over the arena, and eventually, the complaints die down. Everything is dead silent. Then Jack the Ripper makes his move. He takes a single step forward. It’s just a regular, casual old step. There’s nothing dangerous or threatening about it. However, the White Wolves react in the strangest way. In the blink of an eye, they leap to the far ends of the arena. Their breathing is ragged, and their expressions are strained. The clattering of their quivering weapons speaks volumes about their mental states. They’re terrified like they’ve never been terrified before. All they’re staring at is a bizarre clown, yet to see the look in those seasoned mercenaries’ eyes, you would think they were gazing upon the end of the world. One of the mercenaries lowers his sword. The ax wielder and spearman follow suit. “I’m out. It ain’t worth it…,” the swordsman says, his voice trembling. “You’re…out? You mean you’re abandoning the fight?! That’s a breach of contract!” “We’re mercenaries,” replies the spearman. “We’re willing to die on the battlefield if we have to, but I’ll be damned if I go down in some musty basement.” “Cut the crap already! Have you forgotten how much the penalty for a contract breach is?! As soon as word gets out that their captains fled from a fight, the White Wolves’ reputation will be in the gutter!” “A hundred million, two hundred million—we’ll pay it. And you can spread whatever rumors you want,” the ax wielder says with a laugh. “Wh-what’s so funny, you wretch?!” “The fact that you people think you’re gonna live to see tomorrow.” With that, the three mercenaries turn away and depart the arena. Jack the Ripper makes no move to follow them. He just lets out a small chuckle from beneath his mask. “Grr… Those uncivilized mercenary swine!” Earl White roars, his face flushed. “Well, they certainly didn’t live up to the hype.” “We need to make sure those idiot mercenaries get what’s coming to them. Let’s put together a posse to hunt them down.” “With captains that cowardly, White Wolf is done for. Hmm? What is it, Earl Battler?” Earl Battler’s face is pallid. “What’s wrong, Earl? You coming down with something?” “We might need to send in everything we’ve got.” “What are you talking about, Earl Battler?” “…I didn’t understand any of that fight we just watched,” Earl Battler replies. “That’s because all they did was walk around in circles. There’s nothing there to understand.” “The thing is, I know how strong White Wolf and their captains are. Without a doubt, they’re the strongest mercenary outfit on the continent.” The other Nightblades laugh mockingly. “Pretty pathetic, if that’s the best our continent has to offer.” “They ran away without even trying to fight,” Earl Battler goes on. “They fled their foe, knowing the damage it would do to the White Wolves’ reputation. They must have had a reason.” “What kind of reason?” “I think perhaps Jack the Ripper is a greater monster than any of them anticipated.” “Don’t be absurd. Why, I think you’re just trying to scare us for a laugh.” “Still, perhaps we should heed Earl Battler’s warning and make sure our next fighter is up to the task. What do we think about sending in that Velgaltan master swordswoman?” “Yeah, I like that. Hey, we’re changing up the roster.” When they tell the butler about their swap-out, he frowns. “About that, sirs… I believe the Velgaltan swordswoman just left.” “What? She left?!” “She did. She said, ‘I have a bad feeling about this, boing,’ and took off.” “And you just let her go?!” “I-I’m afraid so. She returned her payment in full, and, well, she vanished like the wind, too fast for anyone to follow.” “This is outrageous… These bastards think they can walk all over us!” Earl White’s voice trembles with rage. “Oh, forget it. Send in the demon from the city-states and the Lawless City legend!” “Y-yes, sir. At once, sir!” The butler hurriedly rushes off. “I swear, this boils my blood.” “Come on, Earl, it could be worse. The rabbit didn’t even look that strong in the first place.” “She was good-looking, and it’s not often you see a rabbit swordswoman. That’s probably why her reputation got so inflated. Dark knights whose fame outclasses their talents are a zeni a dozen.” “Yeah, we would’ve just embarrassed ourselves if we’d sent out a weakling like her. The city-state demon and Lawless City legend are all we need.” “I can’t believe we’re sending out our best fighters when we still have so many in reserve. And two of them at once, no less.” “Well, this is fine. Drawing this out too long would kill the fun in and of itself. I take it you’re on board with this, Earl Battler?” “Yeah…” The earl nods, his face still pale. It isn’t long before the city-state demon and Lawless City legend take their spots in the arena. When Jack the Ripper fights the city-state demon and the Lawless City legend at the same time, he drives them both back without breaking a sweat. Alexia gasps as she watches the bloody clown fight. “So that’s what Jack the Ripper is capable of…” The battle is completely one-sided. Jack the Ripper’s foes are both expert fighters, but the clown is dancing circles around them. When the city-state demon and Lawless City legend turn to flee, he shreds them to ribbons. All that remains of them is the blood staining the arena. “It’s like he’s not even using his full strength.” That’s the part that shocks Alexia more than anything. By all accounts, the city-state demon and Lawless City legend were formidable dark knights, and they had the skills to back up their reputations. The raw skill required to slaughter them like that was beyond comprehension. There is only one person on Alexia’s mind who could have pulled off a feat like that. “Shadow…” Jack the Ripper’s talent might well be on par with Shadow’s. It’s hard to believe, but it’s the sole conclusion she can draw. What catches her eye most of all, though, is the way Jack the Ripper carries himself—it so vividly reminds her of Shadow. “The way he’s moving… No, it can’t be.” The way he fights and the quality of his magic are completely different from Shadow’s. At this point, Alexia finds herself remembering how the War Goddess once said that all the strongest fighters move in fundamentally similar ways. “What should we do, Princess Alexia?” Christina asks in a hush. “We should hold tight.” “But isn’t this our best opportunity now that everyone’s distracted by Jack the Ripper?” “No, we’ll have an easier time getting around afterward.” “Afterward?” “Yeah. Once it’s all over.” With that, Alexia continues staring at Jack the Ripper over in the arena. She’s so intent on catching every last move he makes, she forgets to even blink. The next set of opponents has arrived in the arena, and this time, there are a full hundred of them. “What a joke. They’re burning their force little by little. It’s right out of the dying nation-state playbook.” “Will Jack the Ripper actually be able to beat that many opponents?” Every one of the dark knights closing in on Jack the Ripper is an elite fighter. The Nightblades spared no expense gathering them, and Alexia can tell they’re more talented than members of the royal Knight Order. “I’ve slowly started being able to pick up on things lately. Things like what strength really is. Things like how big the gap is between me and the strong.” “And what do you make of Jack the Ripper, Princess Alexia?” “I would say…” She sinks into silence for a moment to find the right words. “…he’s in a league all of his own,” she eventually manages. “You would really go that far?” Kanade audibly swallows. Then… “Go forth, my vassal,” Kanade mutters. “Go forth, Jack the Ripper. Kill them. Kill those idiot Nightblades dead.” A moment later, over a hundred dark knights descend on Jack the Ripper. “What’s going on here?” Earl White gasps. The rest of the Nightblades in the spectator seats have all been struck into silence, unable to utter a word. Losing the city-state demon and Lawless City legend was what first brought down their moods. The city-state demon chipped Jack the Ripper’s mask. The Lawless City legend hacked a chunk off Jack the Ripper’s outfit. However, that was the sum total of what they managed to accomplish. Jack the Ripper had promptly seen through their moves and slaughtered them. A question rises up from the onlookers. “Did we have anyone stronger than them?” Nobody answers. The city-state demon and Lawless City legend were the mightiest combatants on the Nightblades’ roster. Terror spreads in a flash. The smug confidence is gone from their faces now, and they abandon all pretenses and throw every dark knight they have at their foe. The battle is still ongoing, but the writing is on the wall. Once all the dark knights are dead, Jack the Ripper stands at the bloodstained arena’s center and fixes his gaze on the spectator seats. “Sorry, but I’m getting out of here! This whole mess is your fault, Earl White. Figure out how to clean it up!” As soon as the first Nightblade rises from their seat, the dam breaks, and the others follow suit. Earl White clings to his fleeing compatriots. “W-wait, hold on! I can still—” That’s when a deep, dignified voice booms out. “Where are you going, gentlemen? There’s no need to be in such a rush.” There’s a new figure in the spectator seats now, a regal man in the prime of his life. “M-Marquis Despoht! I didn’t see you come in!” “You people are worthless, so I thought I might intercede on your behalf.” Several of the Nightblades grimace at Despoht’s condescending tone, but none of them say a word. “With the way things have gone, is there anything that can be done?” “Hmph. Just for you all, I went and got a very special helper from the Cult.” With that, Despoht gestures over at the arena. There’s a person in a hood standing there. Actually, are they even a person? “A helper from the Cult? What is that thing?” The silhouette the long hood casts is crooked. Whatever creature is under there, they certainly don’t look human. “Heh-heh-heh. Through their human experiments, the Cult has managed to create the ultimate weaponized life-form. Go on, show them your glorious form!” On Despoht’s command, the creature removes its hood and reveals its hideousness. “Wh-what the—?” Beneath, there’s a horrible mass of stitched-together flesh. It’s hard to even tell what gender it is. Is it a man? No, probably a woman. It has a vaguely feminine aura, but at the end of the day, what meaning does gender even have to a mass of flesh such as that? The creature is a monster, barely maintaining its human form. “They call her Experiment No. 227 Millia.” “Her? So it is a woman?” “She’s one of the Fenrir sect’s old test subjects. They abandoned her when she lost to the Shadow Garden, but the Loki-sect researchers recovered and restored her.” “She lost to the Shadow Garden?” A series of disappointed sighs rise from the Nightblades. “Worry not. When the Loki-sect researchers took the Fenrir-sect test subject, they improved her, taking techniques that were never meant to be used together and building her into the ultimate bioweapon. They assured me she’s over ten times stronger than she was before.” Despoht strides up to the front row, speaking loudly to raise morale. “Now go, Experiment No. 227 Millia! Heed my command and put Jack the Ripper in the ground!!” The battle begins. The horrific test subject, Millia, bounds forward like a feral beast. She circles behind Jack the Ripper, moving so fast her body is a mere blur. Then she lashes out with her mighty right arm. “Whoa?!” A torrential surge of magic rages through the arena. The barrier is supposed to be unbreakable, yet it begins creaking under the strain. “S-such power!” The waves of magical aftershock gouge deep chunks out of the arena’s floor. “Where…? Where’d he go?” After taking a full swing with her arm, Millia is the only one left in the arena. Jack the Ripper is nowhere to be seen, and it dawns on the Nightblades that he’s been obliterated without a trace. “Now that it’s over, it feels like it went by too fast,” Earl White says from the now-quiet spectator seats. Looks of relief creep across the other Nightblades’ faces as they begin chatting about their thoughts. “I guess that’s the Cult’s ultimate bioweapon for you. I was afraid she was going to break the barrier.” “Ha-ha-ha. The barrier is impenetrable. Though I’ll admit, I did have my doubts for a moment. The Cult is nothing to be trifled with.” “We should consider deepening our ties with them even further than we already have.” “Indeed,” Despoht says. “We lost a lot during these recent incidents, but the bond we forged with the Loki sect is a great boon we’ve won.” He’s greeted by a round of applause from who-knows-where. “Everything I do, I do for the Nightblades.” Despoht looks around. However, he doesn’t see anyone clapping. Everyone’s just looking at each other as the crisp applause echoes through the spectator section. One person is trembling, his face as white as a sheet. It’s Earl Battler. He points a quivering finger at one of the empty seats. Despoht gives him a quizzical look. “What’s the matter, Earl Battler?” “O-over there…” There isn’t anyone there. There isn’t supposed to be, at least. Unbeknownst to everyone, however, a bloody clown has taken the seat. “Jack the Ripper?! H-how are you over here?!” The Nightblades scatter like flies as they flee from him. “Wh-what happened to the barrier?! What’s going on?!” As long as the barrier holds, there shouldn’t be any way for Jack the Ripper to reach the stands. “But how…?” Jack the Ripper stops clapping and slowly rises to his feet. In his hand, he’s holding the seven of spades. He gives it a lazy toss.