Volume 3 Chapter 128-2 Quest： The Nameless Asura I
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Chanting softly, he swung his katana in a reverse grip—a warrior monk cloaked in silence. His eyes gleamed obsidian in the dark. Like Kian, he was Azraelian. He smiled beneath his bearded face and showed Kian all the sword techniques he had learned.
In a sudden motion, he leapt and perched lightly on Kian’s shoulder—balanced and still.
If the attack was dodged, he would crush the opening with a ‘thread,’ create distance, and rotate his body to slash horizontally in the meantime.
If the sword’s path was deflected by the flash of Windsong Blade, he would step in further and perform another horizontal slash. It was as if he were dancing.
When Kian deflected the enemy’s sword, he noticed the man’s awkward left hand swinging toward his neck. He stopped it with his free hand, grabbing the wrist. The man, struggling, thrust a hidden knife from his monk’s sleeve.
But Kian kicked the man’s stomach and twisted his wrist. The man’s white teeth showed in pain in the darkness.
The man raised his arm to press shamshir against his neck, but Kian, still holding his wrist, moved around to his back. Without pause, he gouged the man’s armpit with a magic sword.
”Ugh.”
”────”
The man staggered.
Still, a deadly shamshir flew toward his neck.
Kian stopped it at the root of Windsong Blade and thrust his fingers into the man’s eyes.
”Aaaaah!”
He stabbed the man’s wavering right thigh.
The man, finally kneeling, looked up at Kian with a fierce smile.
”Kill me…! You were the superior warrior monk!”
”────”
He spoke quickly.
After stabbing the man in the chest, Kian cut off his neck before he fell to the stone floor. This was the third one.
”Well done, Kian Vahid.”
”──Next is five people.”
Kian gathered wind into Windsong Blade, blowing away blood and fat, and slowly looked into the corridor behind him.
There, five warrior monks with larger builds than the previous three were waiting.
Two of them were women, and the remaining three were men.
”Hand match, Kian Vahid.”
”I want to taste your wonderful sword techniques with my body.”
(It seems I’m gradually being led further inside.)
Kian glanced at the corridor exit.
If they went any further, retreating while facing the enemy would become difficult.
”What’s wrong? Are we scary?”
”Come here. Fight us.”
”If you want to use a magic sword’s strike, that’s fine too.”
”────”
(Very well. I’ll go with them. I have no intention of retreating to begin with.)
Kian wrapped ‘Leap’ around his legs and swiftly closed in on them.
The warrior monks had significantly lower physical ability than the warriors of ‘Storm Herd.’
However, they had mastered Azrael’s swordsmanship, which pursued reason, and were skilled at sudden surprise attacks from blind spots. They were troublesome enemies when fighting in groups. Even with a magic sword, one must not let their guard down.
”Yeaah!”
The warrior monk who dodged Kian’s first strike with ‘Penetration’ swung his shamshir in a horizontal slash as a counterattack.
Behind them were two female warrior monks.
They aimed for his lungs.
Unlike Linca, these five were fully intent on killing.
Even with the intent to kill, they attacked based on the trust that Kian would avoid immediate death.
They probably had Jibril’s permission, but these people showed no hesitation whatsoever.
(Then… shall I show them something beyond their expectations?)
Kian swung the Windsong Blade, releasing a burst of wind pressure that staggered the four warrior monks.
One of them, still clinging to a half-mastered Penetration technique, lashed out with raw force—enough to jolt their internal organs with the blast from his magic sword.
Dazed and reeling, another monk didn’t notice the flash of steel Kian had hidden in the wide sleeve of his robe.
The dagger flew—silent, unseen—targeting the thigh, a blind spot in their guard.
Their eyes were locked on the Windsong Blade. The real threat came from the shadows.
”…!?”
The man stabbed in the thigh knelt down with a thud.
Kian broke his face with his elbow, then immediately turned and tore open the abdomen of the female warrior monk.
Furthermore, he fired wind blades twice more, killing another woman who was trying to activate a ‘thread’ from behind.
Two remained.
”────” “Ha…”
The dark dagger flew, silent and swift.
The first man never saw it—Kian had launched it from beneath the Windsong Blade, burying it deep into his right eye. A whisper of wind magic ignited at the last moment: Blast.
His skull detonated from within.
”Yiya!”
The final monk raised his shamshir beside his ear—a textbook quick-draw stance—and lunged, slashing for Kian’s left shoulder.
In a blink, Kian shifted.
He reversed his stance, sheathed his sword behind him in a single motion, and drew again.
When he dodged slashes to the right and left, the third attack was shot down with Windsong Blade, cutting the man in two.
Taking the initiative, it was a one-hit-kill style that the Shakerdoust family specialized in.
It was a Great Sword that swung at the enemy’s slash late and cut them down along with their weapon.
Kian watched with an emotionless gaze as the warrior monk was split in two by a trail of blood and collapsed. This was not a battle. It was a massacre using Windsong Blade.
To master the magic sword, it was necessary to ruthlessly trample enemies like this, but as a swordsman living by the sword, it felt somewhat empty.
He flicked blood from his fingers, exhaled slow and thin.
That’s eight people.
Even though they weren’t highly skilled, they managed to lure eight people and draw Kian in.
In the preliminary estimate, he thought there were 20 to 30 people, but it might be twice as many as expected.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t be employing tactics of repeatedly sending small forces like this.
Kian directed his eyes to the warrior monk whose face he had broken with his elbow.
He was still alive, lying on the ground, weakly groaning.
As if desperately clinging to life, he was being dragged toward the corner of a wide corridor, underneath evenly spaced stone pillars.
He looked very distressed.
Because both his eyes and nose were completely crushed, he could no longer fight.
If he couldn’t fight, he must be sent to Azrael quickly.
Thinking so, Kian silently approached him──
”Sir Kian.”
”――――.”
Honestly, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t waiting for this.
Secretly, he’d hoped things would turn out this way.
Kian adjusted his glasses, pressing the bridge with his thumb—his fingertips were stained with blood.
Stepping on the back of a warrior monk clinging to a stone pillar, he turned toward the voice.
There stood a distinctive lightly armored warrior monk, clad in a white haori.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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