Villainous Knight

Chapter 25

The capital city, still alive with energy as the night being far from over, thrummed with a vibrant pulse. The scent of food wafted from the taverns, while touts from the brothels loudly called out to the passing men.

"Hey there, young man! We've got some fine girls!"

I gently brushed off an elderly man trying to pull me into his establishment and continued through the city. Tomorrow, I planned to return to my territory and spend the night with Angie. The density of people and the lively atmosphere here were worlds apart from the quiet, rural streets of Bartfort.

Not long ago, martial law had been declared in the capital due to the war with the Duchy. Now, to make up for the losses, the business-minded folk were working into the late hours of the night.

For now, though, my priority was to find a decent place to eat. I scanned a few open shops, but it wasn't until I passed a small, bustling eatery that my nose was drawn to the mouth-watering scent of sizzling meat. The smell of sauce charring on the grill was enough to tempt me. I was hungry, and after a brief moment of consideration, I decided this was the place. Quick decisions are crucial on the battlefield, after all.

Entering, I spotted an elderly man and a young man working busily in the small kitchen visible from the entrance. I took a seat, and soon, a young girl approached.

"What would you like to order?"

I glanced at the wall, which was covered with handwritten price tags for various dishes. Selecting a good meal at a new place is crucial—one wrong choice, and it could dampen your spirit for the rest of the evening.

"Ale. And what's your recommendation?"

"The skewers are popular."

"Then I'll have a few of those."

"Understood."

Once she left to place my order, I took a moment to observe the interior of the shop. Despite its small size, the place was lively, filled with men of various ages enjoying their meals and drinks in a warm, convivial atmosphere.

The girl soon returned, bringing my ale. As she placed the wooden mug before me, filled to the brim, I couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of regret. In taverns frequented by heavy drinkers, it’s common to serve generous portions. I had become accustomed to the more moderate servings at noble banquets.

I found myself reminiscing. Apart from the occasional times my father took me to taverns when I was young or when senior soldiers or colleagues invited me, I had little experience with taverns. Often, on payday, superiors or older colleagues would drag me into nearby taverns. Though I found it bothersome at times, I grew to appreciate the taste of alcohol and came to learn various inside stories. Those were nostalgic times. A boy barely in his teens suddenly drafted for conscription was a clear sign of dire circumstances—a reality easily deduced with just a little thought. All I had ever wanted was to earn money and gain freedom, so I spent what free time I had reading books and training.

Some kind souls bought me meals and took care of me along the way. In hindsight, they were good superiors, good mentors. But those good people, along with countless others, had perished in the war with the Duchy. The only time I had genuine friends was when I belonged to the royal army as a child. I have superficial relationships with nobles of my age, but they are not friends. I felt a weight in my chest, the gnawing loneliness of not having a single friend.

I sometimes wonder why I, of all people, survived while the stronger, more experienced soldiers perished. Was it because I was more perceptive, more competent than I gave myself credit for, or was it simply luck?

There are no answers to be found in those thoughts. Soon, a second son born to a poor rural noble family—one who could never inherit the family estate—will rise to become a count. It feels like a hero's tale from my childhood, but I don't feel heroic in the least. I simply lived desperately, fought when necessary, survived, was granted a title, married a beautiful wife, and had a child. These past five years of my life—spanning less than twenty years—have been nothing short of tumultuous.

"Here are your skewers!"

The girl returned, placing a plate before me. The skewers were perfectly grilled, with tender meat and vegetables, all coated in a rich sauce and seasoning. Just the sight of them made my mouth water. I took a hearty bite, and the flavor exploded in my mouth—the sweet and spicy sauce, the juices from the meat, and the sharp spices, all blending together.

Delicious.

After finishing the first skewer of meat, I took a long swig of ale. The ale washed down the rich taste in my mouth, and I bit into the next skewer—this time, vegetables. Roasted to perfection, they were soft and juicy, filling my mouth with their savory sweetness. Another sip of ale followed, and the cycle of skewers and drink continued until I had polished off the meal and emptied the mug. Though my stomach still had some room, it felt like a good stopping point. I didn’t want to overindulge and risk feeling unwell, and more importantly, I needed to return before the crew noticed my absence and began causing a stir.

I paid the bill, leaving a generous tip and declining the change. Another fond memory was added to my list of things to enjoy whenever I visited the capital. It seems I cannot become one of those aloof nobles; I find more satisfaction in skewers and ale from a humble shop than in a grand feast at a duke's mansion. With my stomach full and the alcohol starting to take effect, I began to feel the pull of sleep. A quick return to the airship and crawling under the covers would ensure a sound rest. Goodbye, capital. My next visit would likely be for the regular report from my territory, but I’d be sure to return to this shop when I’m back.

With those thoughts in mind, I walked toward the airport, my mood content.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

As I turned into a narrow alley, I became aware of a presence behind me. The crowd on the streets had thinned, and the sparse streetlights in the alley cast long shadows. The faint sound of footsteps reached my ears. It wasn’t unusual—given the capital’s size, encounters like this were common enough. I slowed my pace, and the footsteps did the same. I began walking again, and sure enough, the footsteps resumed. At first, I doubted my senses, chalking it up to a drunken hallucination. However, the rhythm of the steps seemed deliberate. Slowly increasing my pace, I noticed a slight delay in the footsteps behind me. It wasn’t a single person—it was more than one. The evenness of their stride suggested they were not amateurs or mere thieves, but trained individuals.

A sigh escaped my lips. It seemed I had stumbled into some kind of trouble. Perhaps I should have stayed on the airship. But if I had, I would have been trapped there, cornered and vulnerable. The better option now seemed to be returning to the ship to arm the crew and knights for a counterattack. But if my pursuers had planted a bomb, I would be walking right into a trap.

I casually stopped to retie my shoelaces, crouching down, and the footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

It was clear now that I was the target. Discreetly, I unbuttoned my jacket and slipped my right hand into my pocket. Slowly, I felt the reassuring presence of the knife hidden in the inner lining of my jacket. Standing up, I adjusted my appearance, pretending to straighten myself as I unfastened the knife’s clasp. With each movement, I carefully considered who might be behind this.

Could it be nobles vying for power against the Duke? No, it seemed too extreme. Harassing me or using such underhanded tactics would be an odd way to challenge the Duke's authority. Recently, the Duke’s power rivaled that of the royal family itself. If something happened to me, the Duke would spare no effort in investigating and capturing the culprit, making an example of them. The idea that the Duke's faction was involved seemed unlikely.

Was it one of the old guards within the Duke’s faction, those who resent my rise? I doubted it. Those old men—who only seek to curry favor with the Duke—were cowards. They'd be too terrified to provoke me directly.

Perhaps it was someone from the Fannos Duchy, someone seeking revenge for the war. That seemed most likely. Many in the Duchy would have liked nothing more than to see me dead after I rose from a mere soldier. If that surprise attack on the Duchy’s forces hadn’t succeeded, the kingdom would have lost significant land. According to the Duke, the Duchy could have advanced all the way to the capital, forcing the kingdom into a humiliating treaty. On top of that, in this war, I found myself responsible not just for my own life but for the lives of my subordinates, worrying about their casualties. As a soldier, I was used to only worrying about myself.

I had used unconventional tactics—night raids, ambushes, and sabotaging supply lines to minimize casualties on our side. I avoided executing prisoners, preferring hostage exchanges and releases to force retreats. These “dishonorable” strategies earned me the title of "Villainous Knight" from the Duchy, a moniker that earned me both fear and disdain. Though I was praised by those whose lives I saved, my reputation outside of my own country had plummeted.

The war had left its scars, and I often found myself haunted by the faces of those I killed. I would likely burn in hell when I died, but there was little point in dwelling on that now. My priority was to figure out how to escape the situation at hand.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I calmed myself, running a mental map of the city in my mind. Just a little further, and I'd reach the broad main street. It was one of the capital’s major thoroughfares, wide enough for carriages to pass and lined with large trees that could offer cover. If they were going to strike, this would be the place. With more people around, the likelihood of an attack would decrease, but the road ahead narrowed again, leaving me with nowhere to run if things went south. I needed to be cautious.

I kept my pace slow, waiting for the perfect moment to make my move. The opportunity arrived when I saw a gap ahead. Without hesitation, I sprinted forward.

Not yet.

I held back.

Still not yet.

Then, a sound cut through the air—a sharp, whistling noise. I turned just in time to see a knife hurtling toward me. Instinctively, I shifted to the left, narrowly avoiding it as it embedded itself in a nearby wooden wall.

I kept running, narrowly dodging three more knives as I sprinted ahead. Looking back, I saw four masked figures in dark clothing chasing me. The moment I entered the wide street, they drew short swords.

Two of them flanked me, while the other two closed the distance from behind. The odds were not in my favor, but there was no turning back. If I fell here, I would never see Angie or our child again.

"Let's do this."

I whispered to myself, gripping the hilt of the knife. The battle was about to begin.

What a warrior needs to rise to power is the strength to defeat his opponent and the dexterity to use his weapon.

What an adventurer needs to succeed is accurate knowledge about dungeons and the good fortune to come across treasure.

So, what exactly do soldiers need?

The answer is the stamina and leg strength to keep running at a constant speed, and the patience to endure any pain.

Soldiers who cannot run will not be able to escape enemy attacks and will die.

Impatient soldiers put themselves in danger through unnecessary actions.

The only reason I survived as a soldier was because I was more of a coward than the others, quicker at running away, and used to unpleasant situations.

Continuing to run as fast as I can, I take off my jacket.

Left my wallet in jacket and but took the knife out of your inside pocket.

I turned the next corner and threw my jacket away.

That's a decoy.

All you need to do is distract the other person's attention for a few seconds, or even just a few tens of seconds.

My heart is beating so loudly I can't stand it.

I desperately move my arms and legs alternately to move forward as quickly and as far as possible.

I probably sprinted for about a hundred seconds.

We went through the back alleys and came out onto the main street.

I shook my head and looked around for a few seconds.

Shit, there's no one on the road but me.

First, I found a roadside tree thick enough to hide my body in, and hid in its shadow.

At the same time, I broke off a convenient branch and held it in my left hand.

Humans are strange creatures; they tend to be slow to recognize things that don't have a human shape.

At the same time, I placed the knife between my trousers and belt.

I was sweating profusely and my heart was pounding.

Even so, I can't even take a deep breath because I'm afraid they might notice my presence.

I took short, shallow breaths to try and keep the trembling in my limbs under control.

A few dozen seconds after hiding, the sound of footsteps gradually grew louder and got closer.

Apparently, I had suddenly taken off running, so he hurriedly followed me.

Two figures came out, both male.

One is large, and the other is of normal size.

I'm clearly the target because I'm holding the jacket that was thrown away.

So, what should I do?

It would be best if I could just hide and get through this.

But the other person was looking around restlessly, searching for me.

There's no telling what they'll do to me if they find me.

The road to the airport where the airship is docked is straight until halfway, so if they catch up with me along the way, it's the end .

Even if I tried to escape to the Duke's mansion, the roads were complicated, and it was late at night, so there weren't even any carriages running.

In other words, to escape, I need to neutralize these two somehow.

I move slowly, taking another moment to assess my enemies.

The larger one sways heavily with each step, while the smaller one moves with steady, controlled strides.

The smaller one is likely trained.

If I’m going to strike, the bigger target must go down first.

Though the streetlights cast their pale glow, the night is deep, and they haven’t spotted me yet.

My mind, not particularly quick in its current state, scrambles for a solution.

They inch closer, as though mocking my every effort.

Damn it, they’ll find me if I don’t act.

This is my only chance to catch them off guard.

I take a long, slow breath, careful to keep silent.

As my lungs fill with air, I see their faces in my mind.

Angie. Lionel. Ariel.

Father, Mother. Brother, Sister. Finley, Colin.

In that brief moment, I recall their faces and the memories we share.

I exhale, erasing the emotions threatening to rise within me.

The previous war broke something deep inside me.

I began to experience the pain of others as if it were my own, numbing myself to the humanity of the enemy, allowing me to kill without hesitation.

You can’t fight a war if you’re concerned with the people you’re killing.

I must be insane.

My mind clears.

I focus solely on taking down these two. With everything I’ve got.

Survive and return to my family.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The two pursuers are almost upon the tree where I’m hiding.

I crouch low, grasping a broken tree branch in my right hand.

The timing is crucial—just as they approach the tree adjacent to mine.

Despite my pounding heart, a strange calm settles over me.

Step by step, they near the tree.

The moment they glance behind it, I throw the branch behind them.

The branch arcs through the air and lands with a dull thud.

They turn, distracted by the sound.

I spring from my hiding place.

My target: the big guy.

It’s better to eliminate the larger threat first.

They’re momentarily caught off guard by the branch’s noise.

"I can do this!"

I adjust my stride, ensuring my momentum is unhindered.

With every step, power flows from my ankle, knee, hip, waist, shoulder, elbow, to wrist.

I slightly open my left hand, curling my fingers, focusing all my strength.

In a fluid motion, I aim a palm strike at the big guy’s jaw.

Military combat techniques prioritize incapacitating or killing an opponent.

Against a larger foe, the most effective approach is targeting their weak points.

A well-executed strike to the jaw can knock out even an adult.

This move is second nature to me, honed by countless repetitions.

The strike should have knocked him out cold.

"He's tough!?"

I’m taken aback by the sensation that courses through my palm.

Normally, when I land a blow, it feels as though my hand sinks into the opponent’s body.

This time, it’s as though I’ve struck a tree or a stone.

The big guy remains standing, unfazed.

I’m surprised, and my reaction falters for just a split second.

Before I can recover, his right hand grips my left hand with unrelenting force.

The strength of his hold is overwhelming, and I feel my joints creaking under the pressure.

"How is this guy so strong!?"

His left hand reaches for my head.

This is bad—far worse than I anticipated.

His strength far exceeds mine.

If he strikes me, I won’t be able to withstand the blow. If he restrains me, I’ll have no chance to resist.

Thinking quickly, I clench my right fist and aim for his groin.

There are areas on the human body that can't be trained to withstand pain—one of them is the groin.

A blow there is universally instinctual in its protection, but if I can land it, it will cause him to recoil.

I strike, but the big guy blocks my punch with his left hand.

He’s using his instinct to shield his genitals from the pain.

Too bad—this is a feint.

While he’s distracted, I drive my left knee into his right side.

The liver and right kidney are vital organs, and the 11th and 12th ribs are particularly vulnerable, as they aren’t connected to the sternum.

I hit with full force, hoping to break his ribs.

Instead, I meet a hard, resin-like resistance.

"How is this guy so tough!?"

Despite the resistance, the strike is enough to make him loosen his grip.

I wrench my left hand free and draw the knife from my belt.

As I prepare to strike, something moves between us.

The smaller pursuer has stepped in to protect the big guy.

I’ll have to switch targets then.

As I lunge forward to stab with my right hand, something deflects the blade.

The smaller pursuer is holding the branch I threw earlier.

He’s using it to parry my attacks.

I test his defense, thrusting again.

The branch deflects my knife, knocking it aside.

Undeterred, I attack again—thrust, right slash, right slash again, then a left slash, followed by another thrust.

My steel knife is thwarted by a mere branch.

Meanwhile, the big guy starts moving again.

I need space—now.

As I shift my weight backward, the smaller pursuer makes his first move.

With a slow, almost graceful motion, he brings the branch around to strike at me.

"Damn!"

Instinctively, I dodge to the side, but my right arm is clipped by the branch.

Despite the distance, the strike is lightning fast, its sting like a snake’s bite.

I grit my teeth and step back, trying to maintain some distance.

The other pursuer doesn’t press forward, seemingly confident.

Damn it, do they think they can take me down at any moment?

Despite the pain, I take stock of my injuries.

My left hand still tingles, and my right arm, though struck, can still move.

The big guy is recovering from my earlier attacks.

If this drags on, I’m done for.

I’ve completely underestimated them.

They’re far stronger than I am.

This is no time for hesitation.

If they get serious, they’ll kill me without a second thought.

I should have brought a combat knife or a handgun for self-defense.

Sweat pours from my brow as I desperately try to think of a way out.

What should I do? How can I escape?

The more I think, the more the pain clouds my mind, and the distracting thoughts intensify.

The big guy is fully recovered now, and he begins to move again.

It’s over.

I close my eyes and see my beloved wife and children in my mind.

“…Haha. Hahaha.”

My laughter surprises my pursuers, halting them in their tracks.

As if by magic, my mind clears, and the sweat on my brow halts.

I recognize this feeling—this emptiness—from when my superiors abandoned our unit during the last war.

I felt no fear.

The sour taste in my mouth, the overwhelming stench of blood—it only sharpens my resolve.

The solution is simple, as it always is.

I’ve been agonizing over nothing.

The answer is obvious.

"Kill them."

I will kill these bastards.

If they threaten my loved ones, I won’t let them live.

It’s a fortunate twist that they ran into me.

I’ll bring them down here—at least one of them, if not both, will die alongside me.

My mind sharpens, and the pain fades into the background.

I grasp the knife tightly with both hands.

To kill with a knife, one must wound deeply, using the body’s weight to drive the blade into vital organs.

A full-body tackle with the knife should do the trick.

The knife might break, but as long as it stays inside, they’ll die.

I’ll target the big guy—he’s too large to dodge my charge.

With the knife embedded in him, I’ll turn to the smaller pursuer.

The branch is an issue, but it can’t kill me.

If I can shield my head and grapple him, I stand a chance.

As I shift my stance, they do the same.

They’re well-trained—highly skilled.

I underestimated them. Apologies for that.

I’ll fight with full respect and all my strength.

The air between us grows thick with killing intent as we close the distance.

One more step, and the final battle will begin.

Just as I lean forward to charge—

“Both sides, cease!”

The ground between us flashes, a sharp sound ringing out.

I see the pavement chipped, something having struck it at high speed.

Turning, I see a new figure approaching.

The light from his hand is familiar—magical energy.

So, he can use magic.

"What are you doing while I’m away?"

The new arrival appears to be their ally.

I’m done for, completely.

I might have managed against two, but not three.

As the three of them argue, my thoughts slip into resignation.

Sorry, Angie, looks like today’s my day to die.

Forgive me for leaving you a widow and our three children fatherless.

I watch the knife reflect the streetlight’s dim glow.

My hand trembles around the hilt.

Should I take my life rather than face a slow, painful death?

I watch the three men carefully—the muscular redhead, the glasses-wearing blue-haired man, and the newcomer with shoulder-length purple hair—all far too distinctive.

“Forgive me, Lord Bartfort. I apologize for these fools’ rudeness.”

“Who are you calling a fool!?”

“You idiots started a fight instead of trying to negotiate!”

“He attacked us first! We were only defending ourselves!”

“Can’t you see that failing to negotiate would’ve been futile?”

The purple-haired and red-haired men bicker as I search for an escape route. Meanwhile, the blue-haired man doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“Who’s this Bartfort? I’m just a worker. You can tell by my outfit.”

“No worker knows military combat techniques.”

“I was trained during my service.”

“That scar on your face isn’t fooling anyone.”

“This scar is from an accident.”

“Give it up, Lord Bartfort. Your face is well-known among the nobility.”

It seems talking my way out of this won’t work.

Well, I didn’t expect it to, honestly.

With a heavy sigh, I slump to the ground, utterly defeated.

“If you’re going to kill me, could you wait about eight months? My wife is pregnant. I’d like to see my child born before I die.”

“Your child was just born recently, wasn’t it?”

“That’s my third. You can take my life, but don’t touch my family.”

“You seem to be misunderstanding something. We’re not here to fight.”

“How can I believe that?”

“It’s the truth. If it were a fight, we’d have approached you directly. But the Duke of Redgrave’s surveillance was tight. Tonight was the first time we could act freely.”

Ah, so the Duke has been pulling the strings behind the scenes all along.

No wonder fewer nobles approached me this time compared to before.

“Please, just hear us out. This isn’t our first meeting.”

“I don’t know you.”

“We haven’t spoken directly, but we’ve crossed paths on the battlefield and at parties.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Stop lying.”

“I want nothing to do with the young masters of the Arclight, Seberg, and Field families.”

"""You remember us perfectly!!!"""

I only just recalled a moment ago.

Right. These men are part of the Prince’s entourage.

If these young members of the royal faction, secretly fighting against the Duke’s faction, want to talk to me, this can’t end well.

“We were supposed to visit your airship tonight, but when we saw you leaving, we had no choice but to follow.”

“So, you’ve been tailing me this whole time.”

“Sorry about that. We didn’t expect you to sneak out of the airship.”

“What do you want from me? I’m just a country lord. I have nothing to do with the capital’s troubles.”

“We’ll explain everything. Will you come with us?”

Honestly, I don’t want to get involved.

But their approach—without force—suggests they’re showing some consideration.

“Is that an order?”

If I remember correctly, these guys don’t hold titles yet.

They might hold some positions, but they don’t have the power to compel me.

“No, it’s a plea. Viscount Leon Fou Bartfort. Please, hear us out.”

With that, the three of them bow their heads to me.

Damn it, it’s hard to refuse when they do that.

“…I’ll listen, but that’s all.”

“Thank you.”

“What about my safety?”

“We’ll guarantee it. No attack can get past my muscles.”

“I don’t care about your muscles. If the airship crew notices, there’ll be a scene.”

“We’ll guide you immediately.”

I loosen up and stand.

Why do I always end up in these troublesome situations?

Did I do something wrong?

I suppose I’ve done plenty wrong, so it can’t be helped.

Ah, I just want to go home.

I want to return to Bartfort territory ,soak in the hot springs, hold Angie, and sleep soundly.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

Sudden battle scene, and the three idiots appear.

I had always planned for Leon to fight the five of them.

It was purely coincidental that the timing coincided with the duel between Leon and the five idiots in the original volume 12.

In this story, Leon is depicted as superior as a soldier but inferior to the five in terms of being a warrior or adventurer.

However, I tried to stay true to the original in that he becomes merciless when his loved ones are hurt.

There’s no verbal assault from Leon here.

The taunting ability of the characters created by Yomu Mishima-sensei is truly remarkable. (I mean that as a compliment.)

Postscript: Per the request of the client, illustrations were drawn by elun＠様 and いち様. Thank you.

elun＠様: [Pixiv Link]

いち様　: [Skeb Link]

Further Postscript: To commemorate the release of the original volume 12 and the Mariel Route volume 2, I will write an SS (short story). I would appreciate your cooperation in the survey regarding the content of the scenes.

Your feedback and opinions would be greatly appreciated and would serve as motivation for future works.