The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon-Chapter 316: The Empires Blade (4)

When he reached the great training yard, it was no different. There was neither scent of sweat, nor sharp tang of steel clashing. Instead, the air was thick with perfume and wine.

"Hahaha! This is the life!"

A man had carelessly cast his armor aside, the Blue Lion's crest etched across its breastplate. He clutched two courtesans by the waist and drank from the cups they raised to his lips.

One of the courtesans, dutiful to her craft, eyed his discarded blade and laughed breathlessly. "Oh my, to wield something that heavy... I'd just drop it in fright!"

"Kukuku! That's not the sword you should be worrying about!"

Laughter roared around them. Everywhere, it was the same. Their swords, helms, and cuirasses lay discarded while they reveled. One knight hummed a tune with his hands locked over a courtesan's chest. Another lay shirtless, basking in the sun.

A man seated on a bench at the center looked up when Leandro entered. "And who are you? A new recruit? No word anyone was coming."

The others joined in with jeers.

"New blood? What's with the rags?"

"Handsome enough, but that must be it! Playing beggar for a laugh, eh? Hahaha!"

"..."

It took Leandro a moment to take it all in. Most were young men, no older than their thirties. Many appeared weaker than the gate guards and the knights he had dismissed. Yet the crests were unmistakable. This was the Blue Lion Knights.

Was this truly the order his mother spoke of?

Still, he had to be certain. "You are the Blue Lions?"

"That's right. And you are...?"

"You are all trash."

"What? Hey! Guards! Guards!" 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

The frozen sentries from outside rushed in.

"What's this? Who is he?"

"Uh... well, sir..."

They faltered. The man on the bench glanced at them, saw they bore no wounds, and smirked. Rising slowly, he strode toward Leandro.

"Well, if they let you in, you must be some noble's brat." Step by step, he closed the distance. "I know every lordling higher than myself. You're not one of them. So, take this. My introduction."

His flushed face, drink still hot in his blood, twisted as he swung a fist for Leandro's cheek.

"Huh? Wh-what?" The hand did not move. "Wh-why can't I?"

The drink left him in an instant, his face blanching pale.

"Sir!"

"Are you all right?"

He clenched his teeth. The courtesans were watching. To falter here was humiliation beyond repair, yet his trembling hand refused to obey.

"You."

"Uh...uhh..."

"You're the commander?"

He forced a nod, pride alone holding him upright.

"I came to the capital, chasing the name of your order. Why is this what you've become?"

Leandro's killing aura spread, and even the drunken and drowsy shot upright in terror.

"Th-that... well, one must b-build a knightly record..."

"And?"

"We, we're all highborn! I'll never lead a charge myself, so training is hardly..."

"How long have you been here?"

"F-four years."

Leandro let his aura fall. "Draw your sword."

Sweat-soaked, the man fumbled his blade from its scabbard. His grip, his stance,

Leandro's face hardened. "Show me your best."

The man could not disobey. All eyes were upon him. He swallowed hard and slashed down. For the first time in years, the ring of a blade split the air of the training ground.

"Again."

The boy's words carried the weight of an executioner's sentence. The man obeyed, and again the steel came down.

Leandro shook his head, slow and heavy. "Name. Title."

"L-Lord Robin!"

"..."

"By right of the Blue Lions, I am granted barony. My father is Count Ryard of the Chancellery! I will soon inherit..."

"Good. Then, Lord Robin... once more. Your finest form."

"Hrrahhh!"

The world around him vanished. It was only himself, the boy, and the blade. Robin struck three times in succession with all he had. Around them, the drunken knights fell silent. The courtesans, slipping from their grasp, were long gone.

"Hrraaah! Ghh-aaaah!"

Robin's blade came down thrice, his breath ragged, his face contorted. It was less a battle cry than a seizure. Leandro's face hardened as he shook his head. The chill silence he had cast over the yard pressed down on all.

"That's not it, Lord Robin. If you're going to shout, then with your first strike, kill as though your life depends on it. Your footing..."

He explained the stance, the weight, and the distribution of force. Robin lifted his blade again.

Before he could even bring it down, Leandro raised a hand. "Not speed. Not strength. Only the form. Slowly."

Robin obeyed, teeth clenched as he raised his sword.

Yet, Leandro shook his head once more. "Again. I'll raise a finger. Match me."

Leandro's finger rose steadily. Robin's lips bled where he bit down, lifting his sword in turn.

"No. Again."

Hurried now, Robin heaved the sword up once more. Leandro folded his arms, watching without comment. The stance was even worse than before, but he let it pass. Robin slashed downward, then again, then diagonally, movements tumbling one into the next. He hacked and he hacked until all strength fled him—until he sagged and his lungs dragged in air like bellows.

Neither the guards nor the Blue Lions dared to interrupt. They stood transfixed, not only because of the boy's killing aura, but because the scene itself bound their throats shut.

When Robin's ragged breaths finally slowed, Leandro asked, voice low, "How much is the Blue Lions' yearly budget?"

"I-I never... noted it."

Robin's tone had shifted without him realizing. It no longer sounded lordly, but deferential. None of them noticed the change. It felt natural, inevitable.

"The roster?"

"F-forty... forty men."

"All forty receive titles?"

"A-automatic, upon entry to the Blue Lions..."

"No one to teach swordsmanship among you?"

"H-he was bothersome, so we drove him out..."

Smack!

Leandro's hand cracked across Robin's cheek. His head whipped aside, the skin flushing red.

"Forty knights lost their chance at the title because of you."

Smack!

The other cheek split, blood seeping at the corner of his mouth.

"Forty knights lost their chance to serve the Empire. Instead, you squander their funds on empty armor and midday revels."

He could not tell why his fury burned so hot. Because this journey had led to nothing but wasted steps? Because men of promise were left unguided, left to waste away as assassins and cutthroats?

Or because he remembered a little country girl, folding her hands in prayer for the knights who protected her Empire? Or perhaps... because his own mother, once captain of the imperial guards, had died without leaving enough behind to feed her family for three years.

"If you are not true knights safeguarding the Empire... if you are worms gnawing at it from within, then I will cut every last one of you down."

His blade sang free. Even he could not tell how much of that vow was bluff, and how much was truth.

"O-ho-ho-ho! Ho-ho-ho!"

Just then, a shrill and grating laugh spilled from the far side of the yard. A choking perfume swept in, thick as smoke, drowning out even the stench of liquor. The air itself bent.

The dominion Leandro held over the field shattered in an instant. His second domain, the space none had ever trespassed, was seized as if it were nothing.

"My, my. A sparring match? How delightful. I never asked for such diligence. How impressive."

Twenty paces. If he turned, it would already be too late. One chance only: drag them into the first domain and end it.

Ten paces. Still, the intruder walked unimpeded, treading through his territory as though it were air. Leandro mocked himself bitterly.

Isn't this what you sought? Was it not you who prowled three orders, grown arrogant, thinking none could match you?

Five paces.

"Oh my, Robin. Who's gone and spoiled that pretty face of yours? Both cheeks, ruined. And to think I chose you only for your looks..."

Three paces.

"You there. Was it you?"

Thock.

A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Leandro's greatsword roared free, three arcs of blue lightning detonating outward. Twelve flares burst within three steps of his foe, a storm of light skewed and overlapping. Strike or block, dodge or deflect, it mattered not. Every motion only led to another cut.

Lightning Dragon of Twelve Fangs.

The technique he had conceived, failed to master countless times, now blazed forth at last.

Kaaaa-crash!

Sound devoured sound, the world breaking in a single clash. Leandro knew from the moment he struck that he'd failed. He couldn't even deliver half of the strike.

"Oh my! A little harder and you might have killed someone! Terrifying, really!"

He forced himself to see, to look upon his foe. The blade first: only three marks marred it. Three out of twelve. And then her eyes, fixed not on his sword, but elsewhere.

"Well now... aren't you handsome."