The World Does Not Exist for ■■

Translator: FenrirTL
Editor: ford53
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< Chapter 23: A Coincidence for the Heroine (4) >

Dung Beetle didn’t know a thing about swordsmanship.

The only blade he had ever swung in his life was a kitchen knife, and he had never swung anything to hurt someone.

The only sword skills he knew were the fake ones he saw celebrities perform on TV and the elven swordplay he had seen just once.

Even then, he had only mimicked the shape; he didn’t understand the manipulation of mana or the profound intent behind the swordsmanship.

Despite this, Dung Beetle prepared to use swordsmanship.

His heart urged him to do so. Instead of pummeling with kicks and punches, it whispered to strike at the neck in one fell swoop.

These were the men who had threatened Jangman and pointed guns at him. There was no reason to spare them.

Dung Beetle raised his hand like the elves he remembered, creating the same stance.

He compensated for the lack of skill in wielding mana with Pyangyeol. He filled the void of profound intent with his natural talent.

“Uaaah!”

Before Dung Beetle could finish preparing, the giant charged first. What was his name? Mortimer? He had the temperament of a brawler, just as his appearance suggested.

‘The target we both seek… is the neck.’

Silently, Dung Beetle swung his hand.

Mana ripped through the air. Hand crossed hand, and the bodies of superhumans collided.

The first clash ended in a draw.

Dung Beetle’s hand-sword had sliced Mortimer’s chest instead of his neck. Mortimer’s grip also missed Dung Beetle’s neck, merely grazing the jacket’s lapel.

‘Too short.’

Perhaps because he had used his hand instead of a sword, the lack of distance meant he could only cut the chest, not the neck.

‘But the attack worked.’

Blood poured from the long horizontal cut across the chest. Mortimer looked at his wound and then at Dung Beetle with a bewildered expression.

Dung Beetle backed off again, raising his hand-sword.

The other gang members thought this was their chance and raised their guns, but Mortimer stopped them with a hand gesture.

“Mortimer?”

“That guy, strong, escape. Call for help.”

As soon as Mortimer spoke, the man with the M-shaped baldness furrowed his brow.

“What are you talking about? You can’t beat that young lad?”

Before he could express his doubts, Dung Beetle charged once more. Mortimer, too, hurled his body forward in response.

Mortimer targeted Dung Beetle’s neck, not his right hand. It was not a gambler’s move for a one-hit victory, but a will to somehow prolong the fight.

However, Dung Beetle was already familiar with his movements.

Above his golden eyes, all of Mortimer’s trajectories were drawn out like lines.

Simple attacks relying on large size and strength. Compared to the feints of Hong Seti or the elven swordsmanship he had faced in the past, it was like a child swinging their hands.

The only problem was his incredible sturdiness.

Now that he knew how to slice through that sturdiness, Mortimer was no different than a fish flopping on a cutting board.

The moment Mortimer swung down his hand, Dung Beetle whipped his hand-sword through the gap.

His rising hand-sword met Mortimer’s right arm. Sharply surged mana sliced through thick skin, muscle, and bone in unison—’cut.’

Thud.

The severed arm fell to the ground, followed by a spurt of red blood.

“What…?!”

The surprise was on the other Blue Rats. Both Dung Beetle, who had cut off the arm, and Mortimer, whose arm was severed, were ready for the next clash, glaring at each other.

‘This time, the neck.’

With a determined thought to kill, Dung Beetle pulled up Pyangyeol.

A nameless sword technique spread along his hand-sword. The turbulent mana once again pushed the air aside, and in the next moment…

“That’s enough.”

Dung Beetle’s hand came to a sudden halt.

***

With a single phrase from an unknown source, the air in the entire bar turned cold as ice.

The Blue Rats, who were trying to escape, and Mortimer, who had braced for death, all froze as if in a still frame.

Just like mice paralyzed before a snake… They rolled their eyes but couldn’t even twitch their lips.

Amid the deadly silence, Dung Beetle was the only one who could turn his head.

‘What… is this?’

He reflexively gathered all the mana in his body. Then, a massive mana pushed back, pressing down on his body once more.

“Wow, he’s actually moving?”

From beyond the broken bar door, a nonchalant voice resonated from between the alleyways of the market.

Even without being told, Dung Beetle knew. The owner of that voice was the cause of this sudden silence.

Clenching his teeth, Dung Beetle turned to look at the voice’s owner, and the moment he recognized who it was, he couldn’t help but gasp in shock.

…!?

The person walking towards the bar from afar was all too familiar.

A neatly tied chestnut-brown ponytail, ageless beauty, and most of all, the eye patch over her left eye, which was like a trademark.

Everything about her was identical to what he had seen in documentaries on TV.

‘Freya Khan…?’

The Holy Sword, Melbourne’s savior, Guardian of the White Fire, Australia’s pride… one of the ten strongest people on Earth.

Why was such a person here, at this place, right now?

While Dung Beetle was too confused to follow the situation, Freya Khan casually entered the bar.

She surveyed the wreckage inside the bar and then, maintaining her composure, took a seat on the still intact counter.

“Well, this is something. These days, superhumans are bursting with energy. Fighting a duel in broad daylight in the middle of the city.”

Her eyes, revealed from under the eye patch, alternated between Dung Beetle and the Blue Rats.

Her gaze fixed on Dung Beetle for a moment before turning to the Blue Rat gang.

“Hey, rat bastards.”

As soon as she spoke, the pressure that had been crushing the Blue Rats lifted.

Regaining control of their bodies, the gang members either fell on their rear ends or rolled their eyes, looking at Freya Khan.

No matter their reactions, Freya Khan pointed a finger, singling out the man with the M-shaped baldness from the Blue Rats.

“Hey, you, what’s your name?”

“Wallard, ma’am!”

“Alright, Wallard. Let me ask you just one thing.”

“Yes, yes! Ask me anything!”

Trembling, Wallard was repeatedly bowing down, but his spine stiffened when he heard the next question.

“What’s your boss thinking these days?”

“Ma’am?”

“You know, Ben. Your rat boss. What kind of life is he living to send people all the way here?”

“I, well, I… I’m not of a high enough rank to see him often…”

“Don’t know?”

Was Wallard’s answer not satisfying?

The moment Freya Khan slightly furrowed her brow, Wallard’s right arm dropped off.

It was an unseen sword stroke.

Only Dung Beetle, who could sense mana, could barely feel the tail end of that terrifying sword skill.

“Hyeeek!”

Blood belatedly spurted from the severed arm. Wallard gasped and clutched at his shoulder.

“Wallard. Tell your boss to live quietly like a dead rat during the enrollment season.”

It was a unilateral threat, but it was Freya Khan’s word. Wallard didn’t dare to ask the reason and just nodded.

“If you don’t want to have a funeral, deliver the message properly. Got it? Now, scram.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Wallard and all the Blue Rats, including Mortimer, fled from the bar as if they were escaping.

When the last of them had left, Freya Khan suddenly called out to them.

“Hey! Take your arms with you. It shouldn’t be too hard to reattach them if you ask a priest.”

With a gesture from her, Wallard’s arm and the one Dung Beetle had cut from Mortimer floated into the air and flew to the gang members.

Astonished by her near-perfect control of mana, the gang members caught the two arms and scampered away, disappearing beyond the market streets.

After some time had passed and their footsteps faded.

Freya Khan looked down at Dung Beetle, who was still frozen in place, and spoke.

“Hey, which school of martial arts are you a disciple of?”

As she asked, the mana pressing on Dung Beetle disappeared. With the removal of the external mana, his own mana returned to its place.

“…What do you mean?”

Dung Beetle responded almost humbly without realizing it. It couldn’t be helped. The person in front of him was superior, not only in skill but also in dignity.

“School, martial arts school. Which school of martial arts did you learn?”

“… ”

“Your murderous intent is quite exceptional. Judging by your age, you’re not from the Jugashvili school, so are you from a school beyond the dimensional gate?”

Murderous intent? School? Jugashvili? Dung Beetle’s brows twitched slightly. A sequence of words he couldn’t understand at all.

“I really don’t understand what you’re talking about…”

“Hey, kid. What are you hiding? I’m famous, I wouldn’t bother you over something like this. I’m just curious.”

“… ”

“…? ”

A brief silence, a mutual exchange of glances.

Freya Khan’s eyebrows arched again, and she abruptly raised her hand. She clenched her fist, and then her index and middle fingers shot out.

Sword fingers.

Unlike Dung Beetle’s hand-sword, it was a hand shape designed to execute real sword techniques with bare hands.

With another arch of her eyebrows at Dung Beetle’s failure to recognize the sword fingers, she thought, ‘What is this guy?’

In the next moment, she swept her sword fingers through the air.

The sword qi surged between her two fingers, slicing through the air.

“?!”

Reflexively, Dung Beetle extended his hand-sword and blocked her strike.

Zing!

As he struck the side of the incoming mana, a shuddering impact traveled from his hand to his toes.

Dung Beetle almost lost his balance and toppled over but managed to maintain his stance precariously.

Half in shock and half in confusion, he glared at Freya Khan.

“What is the meaning of this all of a sudden?”

Freya Khan did not respond.

Instead, she scanned Dung Beetle up and down with a puzzled expression before swinging her sword fingers again as if confirming something.

Ting!

Dung Beetle blocked her attack once more. Unlike the first time, he perfectly deflected the shock, standing firm without his knees even trembling.

“… ”

Seeing this, the one visible eye of Freya Khan grew colder.

What began as a mere intention to lecture a junior superhuman had developed into something more. She didn’t like the sight of someone oozing with murderous intent and fighting in the middle of the city.

However, upon actually facing him, she realized the talent he possessed was not ordinary.

It wasn’t just a fluke that he had overcome her pressure and moved. The mana emanating from his body was so pure it was almost transparent.

Was it just a coincidence to meet such a person at this time and place? Freya Khan didn’t think so.

That’s why she had spoken to him, why she had swung her sword fingers.

She wanted to examine his martial arts and identify his origins. After all, the form of martial arts alone could contain a multitude of information.

But the moment she witnessed his martial arts… instead of resolving her doubts, a giant question mark formed in her mind.

“Hey, you… what exactly are you?”

“… ”

“What is a human doing using elven sword techniques?”