Chapter 24

What the hell is this woman?

That was General Mello’s frank impression.

"Of all the things you could’ve said, you call me a loser?! Fine by me, I’ll slaughter you where you stand!!"

The female swordsman was so enraged that you could practically hear the "Grrr!" sound effect. He had been taunting some cocky adventurer woman, but the one who took the bait was this inexplicable swordswoman. It was no wonder he was bewildered.

"……"
"……"

Mello wasn’t the only one dumbfounded. The two who had been desperately enduring the verbal abuse were equally confused—why had Flatche flown into a rage and barged in like this?

You’ve got nothing to do with this, they thought.

"Calling yourself the strongest? What a conceited bastard! Draw your sword, I’ll cut you down where you stand!!"

"Ahh, I wasn’t actually trying to provoke you, but… hmm."

Mello sighed but took another look at the swordswoman.

Her features were refined. Though twisted in fury, her gaze was sharp and clear. Even her tone when speaking betrayed an almost rigid seriousness.

To put it bluntly, this intruder was exactly the type of swordswoman you’d want to defile.

"……I like it! Fine. If you want a fight with me, you draw your sword first. That’ll make you a proper riotous thug—and I’ll personally put you down."

"Perfect!!"

"Wait!! Miss Flatche, please calm down!! This man isn’t someone you can pick a fight with just because of his usual taunts!!"

Mei jumped in to intervene, but Flatche wasn’t listening. She was completely consumed by rage—the phrase "blood rushing to her head" might as well have been coined for this moment.

"Stay out of this, Mei!! I won’t be satisfied until I teach this bastard a lesson!!"

"He’s a general!! A general!! Even Lord Rex won’t be able to protect you if you—!"

"I don’t care!! I’ll make this delusional motherfu#! understand what a real sword is!!"

"What’s wrong? Not drawing your blade? Still a coward after all?"

"Grrr!!"

With Mello’s final taunt, Flatche finally lost all reason. Shaking off Mei’s tearful pleas, the swordswoman unsheathed her weapon in blind fury.

At that moment, Flatche’s fate was sealed. She had openly drawn her sword against the nation’s highest authority. No one could save her now.

"A-ahhh… Flatche, you idiot!"

"There, I drew it! Come at me! I’ll take your head right now!"

"Ah… Ahahahaha!! She really did it. Alright, men—surround her!!"

Seeing the foolish swordswoman, General Mello’s mood improved dramatically.

Criminals could be dealt with however he pleased—there’d be no repercussions. Unlike prostitutes, no matter how extreme his demands, there’d be no consequences afterward.

And best of all? She was free. A rigid, serious woman who’d fallen right into his lap, ripe for the taking. Of course he was in a good mood.

"What? Gonna have your lackeys do the work? You’re the coward who can’t fight his own battles!"

"Just making sure you don’t run. But if you insist, I’ll fight you one-on-one. Men—don’t interfere. Only grab her if she tries to flee."

"Understood."

Grinning, Mello rested a hand on the sword at his waist.

"Rejoice, swordswoman. You’re lucky enough to cross blades with the real strongest. The price for that privilege, though… might be a little steep."

"The strongest? You? Don’t make me laugh!"

And so—the two swordsmen faced each other, standing straight on, poised for battle.

---

"A-ahhh, wh-what do we do?! I have to contact Lord Rex…!"

"I’m still unfamiliar with the area. Could you make a quick run back to the hideout? I’ll stay here and keep watch."

"Y-yes, of course! But Natal, please don’t take the bait either!"

"I’m not that much of an idiot."

On the outskirts of the soldiers encircling the two combatants…

The black mage, face pale, took off running to seek help from their reliable leader, Rex—leaving the silent maid behind.

---

"Now then, a question for you, swordswoman. Am I a swordsman? Or a mage?"

General Mello, still in high spirits, addressed Flatche casually, not even bothering to take a stance.

"Are you saying that thing in your hand is just for show? You are a swordsman."

"Half right. Go ahead—strike whenever you like. I’ll let you have the first move."

"Oh? How generous… Quit looking down on me!!"

Taking the bait of Mello’s provocations, Flatche launched a straight, textbook-perfect slash at him.

"……What a beautiful sword."

"Die!!"

But Flatche wasn’t the type to initiate attacks. No matter how refined her technique, a woman’s strike posed little threat. Normally, she’d never do something so reckless—but with her temper boiling over, she had charged in head-on like an idiot.

The clang of metal rang out as Mello and Flatche locked blades in a direct clash.

"……Flames of the netherworld, wandering spirits, raging sandstorm—"

"—Incantation?!"

But Mello’s counter wasn’t with his sword.

As they remained locked in the clash, a massive orb of fire formed behind Mello, swirling with unrestrained magical energy.

"Explode—Requiem of the Calming Flame!!"

Realizing the danger, Flatche immediately leaped back—just as a violent explosion erupted before Mello. Had she been a second slower, she would’ve been knocked out cold.

"Oho! Impressive. You dodged it."

"……You! You’re a mage?!"

"Half right. Like I said—calling me a swordsman wasn’t wrong either."

With a click, Mello leveled his sword parallel to the ground once more, his lips moving silently as he spoke.

"With the sword, I am the strongest. With magic, I am the strongest. That’s me—Mello the White Light."

"A spellblade—"

"Well, I could just fight you with my sword… but I’m feeling generous today."

Before he even finished speaking, a great white flame materialized above Mello’s head, slowly drifting toward Flatche.

"I’ll go all out against you. After all, I did promise to show you what true strength looks like."

"Damn it!!"

The moment she dodged the flame and leapt aside—Mello appeared right in front of her, slashing her down mid-air and sending her flying once more.

A mage who wielded his own blade, buying time for incantations. In theory, the most overpowered combat style in existence.

Mello the White Light was no mere arrogant fool.

"The strongest."

Mello believed those words existed solely for him.

He was the embodiment of talent. With a sword, none in the military could rival him. His magic was boundless, capable of wielding any spell. And he possessed the dexterity to fight with a blade while simultaneously casting magic.

In all things, he stood at the pinnacle. There was nothing he couldn’t do, nothing he hadn’t mastered. That was Mello’s pride.

Even his swordsmanship—unlike Rex, he hadn’t devoted his entire life to the blade.

Between studying magic, he’d casually practiced swings, developing his own sword style: a godlike speed meant to cover magic’s gaps. With that alone, he’d defeated every swordsman in the military.

His swordplay was incomparable to Rex’s. No, in this world, no human could keep up with his blade.

He was undeniably the fastest swordsman. Enhanced by his own magic, his speed defied mortal limits.

"Missing your first strike was a mistake! That was your last chance to win!"

Against his speed, counterattacks were impossible. Even blocking was a struggle. Even if she somehow parried, the next slash would already be upon her before she recovered.

Unlike Rex, Mello didn’t need power in his strikes. He had magic for that. So he pursued speed alone.

"Calming Flame!!"

"…!"

He never forgot to mix in magical ambushes. Dodging the wide-range spell would leave an opening.

"Let’s see… can you block this?"

The swordswoman staggered from the blast but avoided the flames, leaving her unscathed. Seizing the moment, Mello lunged.

"…Hmph. Dodged again?"

His black sword grazed her cheek as she pivoted, narrowly evading.

"…Hah… hah…"

"Out of breath already? Ready to surrender?"

But she wasn’t unharmed. Cuts littered her body, and her steps wavered from exhaustion.

"Don’t… mock me. I’ve got your measure now—this is where I turn things around!"

"Oh? Impressive."

Despite the gap in skill, her fighting spirit burned. Drenched in sweat, her eyes blazed with defiance.

This one’s worth breaking, Mello thought, his grin widening.

"Well then… do your best."

"—!!"

He struck again, faster this time. His blade aimed to shred her clothes, testing her limits like a child torturing a toy.

---

"That girl’s… incredible."

The soldiers watching murmured in awe. Against Mello’s godlike speed, this young swordswoman not only held her ground but avoided fatal blows.

She was beyond adventurer-tier. Had she joined the military, she’d have been promoted to general instantly—a master of the sword’s peak.

Which made it all the more tragic.

Swordsmanship alone couldn’t defeat Mello, the empire’s strongest. To match him, one needed both blade and magic.

Against anyone else, she’d have won.

What a waste, one soldier thought, watching the genius girl doomed to become the general’s plaything. For a moment, he considered begging for her life—but Mello’s whims ruled all.

Most soldiers followed him out of necessity, not loyalty. They had families to feed. But none took pleasure in seeing this brave girl broken.

---

Mello’s blade accelerated. A shallow cut opened on her skin, blood trickling.

Yet no fatal strike landed. She clung desperately to his pace, even as her body became a canvas of wounds.

Don’t lose, the soldier silently urged.

But reality was cruel. Another speed increase—a deep gash split her arm.

Her deepest wound yet. Even healing magic might leave a scar. The limit of her endurance had come.

"What’s wrong? Hitting your limit?"

Mello’s taunt came from everywhere and nowhere, his afterimages blurring.

She deflected, dodged, twisted—miraculously weathering his storm of strikes. Her parries were art.

"Let’s end this."

Time to shatter that art. Mello stopped playing.

At full speed, he moved to carve her apart—

────Slash.

Yet the girl’s body remained uncut. Instead, her clothes were carved away, her form laid bare.

────Slash.

A lock of her hair fluttered free. Like a leaf tossed in a storm, she swayed under the onslaught of Mello’s strikes.

────Slash.

At full speed, Mello was a blur even to the eyes of his soldiers. They could only perceive the aftermath—the girl’s body, gradually being whittled down.

────Slash.

The general was relentless. Still unsatisfied, he refused to land a decisive blow, drawing out her torment amidst the flurry.

────Slash.

But one soldier, watching intently, noticed something. Though the others couldn’t track Mello’s movements, the swordswoman could. Every strike, she followed with precision.

────Slash.

Mello wasn’t toying with her. He simply couldn’t land a clean hit. Even at speeds that overwhelmed her, the girl dodged like a wisp of smoke.

Grazing her skin was his limit. No matter how he aimed for her vitals, she deflected or evaded—never cleanly, but always just enough.

It didn’t feel like cutting flesh. Didn’t feel like fighting a person at all.

As if he were trying to cleave the wind itself—

"…Wha—?!"

Frustration flickered across Mello’s face. In his desperation to catch her, he’d pushed beyond his usual limits.

The faster he moved, the heavier the strain—balance wavered, directional shifts grew sloppy, and the control over his body-enhancing magic frayed.

And then—

A misstep.

Mello stumbled on his landing, crashing onto his backside with an undignified thud.

"……"

His face flushed with humiliation and rage. The self-proclaimed "strongest," brought low by a girl half his age.

Whose fault was this? Who made him look like a fool?

That petite, wind-like swordswoman before him—

"Hey."

All composure vanished from Mello’s face. The fall was her fault. She would pay. He’d carve her into a limbless doll, make her beg for death—

"When exactly," came her voice, "do I get to see this ‘strongest’ you keep bragging about?"

Only then did Mello notice it—the tip of a battered, cheap sword pressed against his nose.