Blood gushed everywhere as the beastman sliced with kitchen knives, hacked with hatchets, struck with clubs, and crushed with hammers. They collapsed one after another.
Gone was the unified pack.
I moved through the melee, sensing threats by presence and killing any who stood in my way as I eliminated the sorcerers one by one.
“B-Blast!” chanted a catfolk sorceress I’d failed to identify, her spell dispersing the spice powder.
At that moment, I lunged with enhanced agility and stabbed my dagger into her. My reflection was a blur in the frightened eyes of the surrounding beastmen.
Good for me. Not for a certain someone, though.
“Fang Brothers!!!” Batil roared from the terrace as he shot to his feet.
Hope mixed with profound dread flickered in the wounded beastmen for a moment.
I could practically see the hostile aura leaking from the depths of the mansion.
“Raaaaaaaaaaah!!!”
There was obvious delight in those deafening roars. The sounds of chains snapping followed, and I could sense a massive presence drawing nearer.
Four bearlike beastmen with bulging, abnormal muscles burst out of the mansion’s entrance and window into the harsh sunlight.
Batil’s expression was somewhere between hateful scowl and twisted smile.
“Now you’ve done it,” he said smugly. “Brothers! Tear her to pieces!”
The beastmen—the Fang Brothers, he’d called them—roared joyfully at the scent of blood.
I see. That’s where Batil’s confidence comes from. He had these cards up his sleeve.
These men looked like bears, but that was because of their enlarged muscles. They were catfolk, and I wagered they’d been artificially enhanced and driven mad by drugs, like Gord of the Assassins’ Guild.
The four of them had around 1,000 combat power each, and I suspected that was the result of forcibly raising Martial Mastery and Brawling Mastery to Level 4.
“Kill her!!!” Batil commanded.
“Graaaaaaaaaah!!!”
The Fang Brothers shot forward, claws and teeth bared.
Keeping my cool, I closed my eyes and pointed a fingertip at them.
The strength my mistress and I sought was simple: We wanted to raise all of our powers equally. That was all. But in a world like this, where life was cheap, focusing on specific powers to grow strong quickly made sense. So people focused on sorcery only. Or melee weapons. Ranged ones. Stealth. Anything could be honed into a weapon—which was why people spared no effort to cultivate their strengths and build advantages around them for unparalleled displays of power.
Even the Adventurers’ and Assassins’ Guilds considered focusing on one power the optimal strategy. Those who tried to diversify were called fickle, scorned as unwilling to commit. And true, collecting low-level skills was akin to collecting cheap weapons. It didn’t make one stronger.
What did was using that arsenal to duel much stronger opponents.
But wars were different. My mistress had been thrust into all manner of battles, fighting multiple opponents at once. She’d sought stable, genuine strength. The power to eliminate enemies, the agility to parry attacks, the sorcery to increase her offensive and defensive capabilities. By practicing sorcery, one could achieve high amounts of aether and improve one’s capacity for sustained combat. Detection and Stealth improved survival rates. But Cere’zhula, with her heart compressed by four elemental aethercrystals, couldn’t master close combat.
I was different. I’d carefully selected my skills from the beginning and trained them equally, each skill improving the next. To handle that range of powers, my mistress and I both saw Aether Manipulation as the most important skill of all. It was only through aether that every other skill manifested. Combat techniques became stronger and Boost more precise. The effects on sorcery were self-explanatory, but even Detection and Stealth were greatly affected.
That was why Aether Manipulation was my only Level 5 skill. Thanks to that, I could focus Boost on my strength or agility, and my Martial Mastery and Non-Elemental Magic were at the peak of Level 4.
I was fortunate to have been granted another opportunity to foster that power.
And now, I would obtain true strength.
“Pain.”
My Level 5 Aether Manipulation made it possible for me to use that spell on multiple targets.
All four of the Fang Brothers froze in place for a moment. Just enough for my mana vision to confirm their Boosts had deactivated, lowering their defenses.
“Iron Rose.”
Void and matter. Darkness and light. Two opposing forces working in harmony.
That was the power my master sought, the power gained by raising everything equally. I wasn’t yet at that stage, but through Iron Rose, which doubled my physical ability...I would show them what that looked like, even if for just a moment.
Particles of light, imbued with Iron Rose’s power, concealed my four pendulums and enhanced them beyond what the Fang Brothers could perceive. A moment later, each blade found its mark—one Brother’s brain was pierced, the second’s throat torn, the third’s medulla slashed, and the fourth’s skull crushed.
With my thoughts accelerated, blood splattered around me in slow motion as the Fang Brothers dropped onto the dry soil before they knew what had killed them. The battlefield was silent, as though time had come to a halt.
Faint sounds of retreating footsteps began to arise as the remaining hundred-plus beastmen turned tail with terrified expressions.
“Eeeeek!”
“What happened to the Fang Brothers?!”
“This girl is an abomination!”
“Move! Out of the way!”
In their desperation to flee, they dropped their weapons, shoved aside their fellows, and clambered over one another. So much for being a pack.
I dropped Iron Rose and exhaled, mental and physical fatigue hitting me all at once. I shook the sweat from my hair as it returned to its usual color, then pointed my black knife at the remaining foe.
“Done with your tricks, Batil?” I taunted.
Batil trembled with barely suppressed anger and grabbed a pair of hand axes, eyes gleaming with pure hatred as he leaned out over the terrace railing.
“You little shit,” he hissed. “I’ll tear out your damned guts!!!”