Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 110

“Dammit, at this rate we’re all dead...!”

Hamel bit down hard on his lip as he aimed his bow from behind the wagon, directing the mercenaries. The metallic stench of blood steadied his faltering limbs.

His instincts, honed as a former ranger in a mountain guerrilla unit, screamed at him to retreat. To survive, to stall for time, to force attrition—that was a ranger’s duty. However, he was no longer a ranger. He was a mercenary. He had accepted this escort contract and had to fulfill his duty by protecting these people.

Shit. I knew that face looked familiar.

As he belatedly recognized the enemy, Hamel ground his teeth. This was Garlond the Gale, an A-rank swordsman who had been making a name for himself in the mercenary world.

Garlond’s swordplay was said to surpass that of most knights. Why he had suddenly snapped in broad daylight was anyone’s guess.

The five mercenaries here are C-ranks, and I’m the only B-rank. How are we supposed to take down a rabid A-rank?

It was absurd. Forcing down the urge to abandon everything, Hamel nocked one of his three remaining special arrows. The two explosive arrows and one frost arrow were their only shot at taking Garlond down.

Even A-ranks weren’t immune to artifacts. If the others could just stall him for a few seconds, he’d fire all three and end this.

“Kehehe...”

Garlond, clutching the cursed sword, let out a chilling laugh. The moment the other mercenaries flinched, the sword flashed blood-red in his hand.

Kill. Kill every last one of them.

That was probably what it was saying.

“Kahahaha!”

Garlond’s eyes flared open as he surrendered to the boiling bloodlust and charged. Though one arrow had pierced his thigh and another his shoulder, he seemed unfazed by pain.

True to his nickname, Gale, his charge was swift and relentless. One mercenary stepped forward with a halberd to block his path.

The outcome of an exchange between a longsword and a halberd, despite the weight difference, was clear. The axe blade shattered, and the mercenary was sent flying into the wagon, unconscious.

Although their ranks might have been unimpressive, the mercenaries were still veterans. Despite losing one of their own, they didn’t retreat. They quickly repositioned to surround Garlond.

“Die, you bastard!”

“Freakin’ junkie!”

With fierce curses, two spears thrust at him, aiming for the heart and abdomen. The timing was near-perfect. It was clear the two had trained together. Even a B-rank would’ve hesitated under that joint attack.

Unfortunately, Garlond was an A-rank swordsman.

As his blade ignited red with Aura, it cleaved through the spears in a single motion. The smooth cut alone revealed its lethal power.

Activating his Aura Sword, Garlond stepped forward to bisect the two mercenaries—until an arrow slammed into him from the flank, forcing him three steps back.

“Die.”

With eyes as clear as glass, Hamel calmly demanded death from his bow, now nocked with all three special arrows. Kill him and live. Miss, and die. The first arrow flew straight for Garlond’s forehead.

“Kagh!”

At point-blank range, it should’ve been terrifying, but Garlond had already spotted the angle and timing. He twisted his body and just barely managed to dodge it—or so he thought.

The blast from the explosive arrow struck his temple, dropping him to one knee. Blood poured from his ears, and he swayed, unable to rise.

Hamel had fired a predictive shot, aimed just slightly off, to catch him mid-dodge. Against a berserk swordsman, the calm sniper won.

Hamel’s second arrow followed, this time, straight for Garlond’s heart.

“Kaaargh!”

Determined not to fall for the same trick, Garlond didn’t even try to dodge. He swung his sword at the arrow, not knowing it was a shot that anticipated exactly that.

The moment his slash cleaved it in two, the frost arrow exploded, encasing the area in ice. Though he instinctively shielded himself with Aura, it would take time to break through the ice.

At least three seconds. Maybe more.

And then the third arrow struck his forehead. The final explosive arrow, infused with all of Hamel’s remaining Aura, detonated directly against Garlond’s skull.

Dust and smoke swirled violently. It had enough power to take down a mid-tier monster. Even an A-rank couldn’t survive a direct hit unprotected.

“Tch.”

Instead of relaxing, Hamel tossed aside his now-broken bow and drew a backup dagger. Bad feelings never lied. From the haze, a pair of glowing eyes appeared.

“Grrrh...”

Blood dripped from Garlond’s mouth instead of saliva. Though staggering and soaked in blood, he stood, and the cursed sword in his hand still gleamed crimson.

Hamel had no more power left to face the Aura Sword.

“If that stingy merchant had hired just one more B-rank, maybe we’d have had a chance.”

Grumbling bitterly about his employer, Hamel poured what little Aura he had left into his limbs. If their blades clashed, his dagger would snap in half. There was at least a threefold difference in power between a longsword and a dagger.

“I promised the captain I’d drink with him after this job. Guess I can’t keep that one.”

A grim, bitter smile crept across his stoic face. As a mercenary, this was inevitable. Even in a fight he couldn’t win, he wouldn’t back down.

However, just as he prepared to throw himself into one final clash, two shadows dropped from above.

They landed between Hamel and Garlond as if to drive a wedge between the two—without a trace of presence. The moment they touched down, they turned their backs to Hamel.

Something about them felt strangely familiar to Hamel. The other mercenaries, on the other hand, belatedly raised their weapons in alarm, but it was clear they were more scared than threatening.

“Wh-who are you?!” one of them stammered.

Only Hamel remained composed, calmly assessing the newcomers. Then, one of them turned around—Leon—and greeted him first.

“Long time no see, Hamel. How’ve you been?”

“K-kiddo? Then the one next to you is...”

Karen gave a cheerful wave as if answering his hopes and said, “Hey! Fancy seeing you again.”

“K-Karen, you’re here too? Whew, we’re saved.”

Feeling the scythe of death retreat from his throat, Hamel finally let out a breath of relief. He’d braced for death, but that didn’t mean he wanted to die.

Now, with an A-rank and a B-rank added to the fight, and considering how much damage Garlond had already taken, victory seemed within reach. Just as Hamel was starting to relax—

“I’ll handle him. Karen, keep an eye out in case he tries to escape.”

“Got it.”

Leon drew the sword at his waist and stepped toward Garlond alone.

“Wait! Kid!” Hamel shouted in desperation to stop what he saw as madness. “I know you’re strong, but that guy isn’t normal! He’s A-rank! That’s Garlond the Gale! And it’s like he’s on something—he doesn’t feel pain, and he’s got nothing but murder in his eyes!”

“A-rank, huh? No wonder this group had a hard time,” Leon muttered, looking around at the mercenaries.

A-rank adventurers were among the strongest in the Guild. Even if Garlond had lost his senses, the fact that they had done some amount of damage was worthy of praise.

Leon looked around the area, piecing together what had happened. The smell of gunpowder. Ice still lingering on the ground. Garlond’s scorched appearance.

Special arrows. At least three. Garlond was probably too far gone to react to such irregular tactics.

The direct hit from the explosive arrow had done considerable damage. His eardrums were likely ruptured, his brain shaken, ruining his sense of balance. If he hadn’t been possessed by the cursed sword, he would’ve passed out long ago.

Letting the fight drag on would only endanger Garlond’s life. Leon raised his sword to a mid-guard position.

Gotta end it quickly.

El-Cid added to the plan with quiet advice, —Don’t try to overpower him. That cursed sword can convert the wielder’s life force into its own power. It’s a last resort since it kills the wielder, but if cornered, it’ll use it without hesitation.

So what do I do?

—Force an opening. Use Holy Flame then. With your current strength, you can cut up that fake cursed blade in one strike.

Leon took in the advice and stepped forward. Garlond matched the step, closing the distance. The space between them was fifteen meters—a single dash.

Leon and Garlond both held their swords, eyes locked. Golden irises met blood-red glow, and Garlond moved first.

“Kaaaaaah!”

With a scream, he lunged, cutting the distance in half a breath, driving his sword forward. The blade shot through the air like lightning, but Leon deflected the tip with precision and countered.

It was a textbook parry and riposte. Leon’s blade swept sideways, grazing Garlond’s belt, and with a clean snap, it broke off and fell to the ground.

Though he was nearly cut in half, Garlond didn’t hesitate. No—it was the sword’s will, not his own.

Kill before being killed.

Even if you die, you must take him with you.

That berserker’s instinct was what now guided him. He didn’t retreat once, lunging again and again in a frenzied assault.

This is getting tricky.

Leon, who wasn’t aiming to kill, could only click his tongue.

If I parry too hard, he just gets more reckless. Then...

He began feigning retreat, drawing Garlond in and giving him more space to move. It was an obvious trap. Any sane person would have seen through it.

However, being possessed by the cursed sword, Garlond boldly charged into the path Leon had laid out. That’s when it began—his signature secret technique, the reason behind his nickname, “Gale.”

Storm-Blade: Gale Slash.

Galland unleashed a chained assault that amplified the centrifugal force of his blade, converting it into overwhelmingly destructive power in a single blow. If executed properly, it could cleave an ogre in two. A cruel grin split Garlond’s face as he gave in to the thrill.

“A splendid technique,” Leon said, looking not at the cursed sword, but at Garlond himself. “It’s a shame we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

Without so much as a glance at the bloody Aura Sword, Leon raised his own blade, now shimmering with a platinum glow. The timing, the trajectory—it was all as he’d predicted. He would cut only the cursed sword.

As Garlond’s vicious storm of a blade bore down on him, Leon swung.

Grand Chariot: Eclipse

Platinum light surged forward to meet the blood-colored storm. Augmented with Holy Flame, it was the sharpest technique Leon could unleash.

The Holy Sword El-Cid crossed blades with the cursed sword once. And, without much resistance, the cursed blade split in two.

Its broken halves burned in midair, then disintegrated without a trace. The half still in Garlond’s grip shattered next. Having barely matured and gone against the Holy Sword, the greatest in the world, it never stood a chance.

“Ku-uuugh...”

Whether it was from the backlash of losing his ultimate technique or from the sword’s destruction echoing through his body, Garlond fell to his knees as blood trickled from his lips. His body, abused and ruined by the cursed sword, was in tatters.

A few more minutes of fighting, and he might have died. With great difficulty, Garlond finally spoke.

“Th-thank... you...”

His blood-red eyes had returned to normal. Garlond’s gratitude was sincere.

Leon smiled faintly and reassured him in words truly befitting a Hero.

“I only did what had to be done.”