The Coward's Weakness
Eusilif narrowed his eyes toward the direction of the voice. It was her, all right. Arabella Mayona. The woman who had shoved him into this godforsaken pit in the first place, and was now reaching out her hand as if to pull him back out.
With her face swollen grotesquely from whatever she'd eaten, and dressed in threadbare rags besides, she stood out remarkably amid the blooming throng of nobles. In the worst possible way, of course.
Has that woman completely lost her mind?
Even as the nobles around her wrinkled their noses, she looked at no one but him — a presence like a puzzle piece wedged by mistake into a colorless still life.
I promise you, Eusilif. If you win this match and survive, no matter what it takes, I'll take you back from Princess Regita and free you from slavery. I'll save your sister Allin too. And then… I'll make you a Swordmaster! I mean it! I'm serious!
She was rattling on with promises that amounted to granting his every wish, and that was precisely what made it all so suspect.
Why on earth would you do any of that? What do you want from me?
Someday, when the time comes, I hope you'll lend me your strength. That's all I ask.
He was the princess's plaything — what possible strength could he offer a noblewoman, a candidate for Crown Princess at that?
Every word out of her mouth reeked of suspicion.
But strangest of all was that everything was unfolding exactly as she had said it would.
The pastries and food were just a stopgap. The way you are now, you can't possibly win this match.
So you'd have me forfeit, then?
No. Princess Regita would never allow it.
You know that well enough.
Which is exactly why — just this once — you cheat, Eusilif.
What? Cheat?
Yes. I know you despise those who foul in the middle of a match, but this is a matter of survival. What good does standing all alone and upright do you in a fight to the death? Naive people only end up betrayed like that and turn dark inside — there's a reason it happens!
That tone — as though she saw straight through to the marrow of him — grated unbearably. Yet, to his chagrin, not a word of it was wrong.
Butcher Jack would hardly be satisfied with victory alone. A showman obsessed with spectacle was certain to do far more cruelty than the fight required — and if he did, the secret Eusilif had guarded all this time might come to light.
The cursed regeneration. The power of a mutant quarter-elf. His father Sheryen had warned him again and again that if people ever learned his secret, they would revile him as a monster and subject him to horrors unspeakable.
"What is this? All he does is run in circles!"
"Boring! What kind of semifinal is this?"
Boos and jeers erupted from the stands.
"Quit stalling and finish him, Butcher Jack!"
"Slave swordsman! Earn the face you were born with!!"
The furious roar of the crowd came crashing down on Eusilif's head. His forehead, at some point, had gone slick with cold sweat.
Butcher Jack, by contrast, was riding a rising tide of confidence. Licking the axe blade for show, eyes glinting, he hefted his battle axe high.
"Shall we have a proper bit of fun now, then? My darling here says she's getting bored."
The instant he planted his foot to launch himself forward, Eusilif — silent all this while — parted his bloodless, white-pressed lips.
"Ah, I see. Planning to take my head off with that axe and hang it from the city wall, are you? Just like your sweetheart and the people of your home?"
"…!"
In that moment, as if struck by lightning, the color drained from Jack's face — a transformation so dramatic it startled even Eusilif, who stood facing him.
"Y-you son of a… Have you l-lost your damned mind? What would you know about my h-home, about Katrin, you— what g-gives you the right to run your mouth?"
The bellowed roar had a strangely convulsive quality to it, and his pupils wavered visibly. Eusilif studied it closely, then opened his mouth again — exactly as Arabella Mayona had instructed.
Coward. Gutless wonder. Call him that, and taunt him. That's his Achilles' heel.
Achilles? What's that?
Oh — it's, well, it's a thing. It means a weak point, so just get the gist of it.
A suspicious woman. Even muttering that to himself, Eusilif provoked Butcher Jack precisely as she had told him to.
"Coward. Gutless wonder."
"…!"
"Shouldn't those be the words hanging before your name, Jack, rather than 'Butcher'?"
"Why, you… little…!"
Watching Jack's wavering pupils, Eusilif slowly raised his voice.
"To slink away and hide all alone while your family and your sweetheart suffered such indignity — if it were me, shame alone would keep me from ever touching an axe again. You spineless coward."
"Y-you f-ing piece of—! I'll f-ing skin you alive!"
"Seems to me you're the one who ought to be skinned. A pathetic, loyalty-less, gutless f-ing coward of a man."
Face to face with Jack, who had gone deathly white and trembled like a man stabbed through the heart, Eusilif knew with certainty that Arabella had been right.
Butcher Jack came from a woodcutter's village. He even had a fiancée, with the wedding not far off — until the imperial army, sent by the Emperor, slaughtered the villagers for the crime of an unlicensed settlement and beheaded them as an example, hanging their heads from the city wall. He watched his family and his fiancée die and hid, then fled alone. Mention it to him, and I guarantee the man will crumble. He believes no one alive knows what happened that day but him.
And how, exactly, do you know about something no one else knows?
I-is that what matters right now? Focus, Eusilif.
A suspicious woman, indeed. The moment Eusilif thought it, Jack began screaming violently, spittle flying.
"You… what would you know? A slave whelp who's l-lived soft and pretty as a dog under the P-princess's heel — what, what could you possibly… have any right to say? You d-damned wretch!"
As Jack flushed scarlet and spat out whatever came to tongue, the crowd responded not with cheers but with winces and clicking tongues at the oafish display.
"GRAAAAAH! Today I will kill you if it's the last thing I do, you miserable son of a bitch!!"
Completely unhinged now, Butcher Jack began swinging his axe in wild, indiscriminate arcs.
The killing intent riding the blade exploded into something far denser — but the precision of his attacks degraded just as sharply.
When Jack starts to lose his head, don't meet him head-on. Evade, drain him, and wait for the one true opening.
Arabella's voice — certain as though she'd already glimpsed every moment to come — lingered in Eusilif's ears. With cold, level eyes fixed on his opponent, he pressed himself flat against the wooden palisade ringing the arena. Jack came thundering toward him, face twisted with pent-up fury, and brought the axe down.
"RAAAAGH!!!!"
CRACK, BOOM! SLAM, SLAM!
Again and again Eusilif slipped the attacks — and again and again it was only the hapless wooden fence behind him that split and shattered.
BOOM, BOOM, CRACK!
Blow after blow went wide, and Jack's breathing grew ragged. Panting hard, he summoned every ounce of his monstrous strength and swung the blade down with everything he had.
THUD!
But it was the excess force that betrayed him. The axe buried itself deep in the thickest, sturdiest span of the palisade, and the dense wood grain clamped the blade fast.
"Ah, damm—"
Gritting his teeth, Butcher Jack threw his whole body into wrenching the axe free — but the blade, wedged tight, did not so much as budge.
"RAAAAAGH!"
He shrieked with pure boiling madness, thrashing at the haft to tear it loose. And that was the moment.
Shff.
Somehow already behind him, Eusilif seized him roughly by the hair and pressed a blade to the nape of his neck.
"The games end here, coward Jack."
Looking down at him with a face cold as frost, Eusilif's bloodless lips twisted at the corner.
"You must have missed your fiancée terribly all this while. Go join her."
"P-please… spare…"
Looking Jack dead in his terror-widened eyes, Eusilif drew his sword without a flicker of hesitation.
"Rest well, you wretched excuse for a man."
Shff.
The instant his blade passed through the nape of Jack's neck, scarlet blood fanned out across the arena floor.
WHAAAAAA—!!
"The slave swordsman won! The Princess's slave swordsman has beaten Butcher Jack!"
The crowd's roar shook the arena as though to tear it from its foundations.
"Congratulations, Your Highness."
"Another victory — just how long do you intend to keep this invincible miracle running?"
Princess Regita, awash in congratulations flying at her from every side, composed her face into a serene smile. Inside, however, she was seething.
How in the world did it come to this? Everything is ruined!
Regita had planned to expose Eusilif today as a quarter-elf gifted with uncanny power, then watch him be trampled into a wretched, broken thing.
It was to be punishment for his insolence these past weeks — and, at the same time, preparation to break him into an even more useful hound of the imperial household.
"And here I was told I'd be treated to something interesting today."
Without warning, a dry murmur sounded at her side. She turned — and the lightless eyes of her elder brother, Crown Prince Sota, were fixed on her with a chill that crawled along her skin.
"Are you having fun yet?"