When Siegfried was a child, he thought the eleven-year-old boys looked like adults, and once believed he would naturally become an adult himself someday.
At the age of ten, he started playing with younger children—though looking back, he was more of a rascal leading them around. If anything, tending to them was an exaggeration. At that time, he still thought those older boys, now grown-ups, were adults.
As he approached adulthood, he saw married individuals with children as adults, and when he became an adventurer after leaving the manor, he noticed that all the senior adventurers appeared to be adults.
And every time, he believed the same thing: that he too would naturally transform into an adult when the time came.
But nothing changed. Not even now, at eighteen, having tasted battle and lost his virginity—he didn’t feel much different from the snot-nosed kid he had been at five. His way of thinking, his hobbies, even his food preferences remained largely the same. The beer that everyone said tasted better when you were an adult was still bitter on his tongue, and the tobacco he tried blowing smoke rings with was unbearable, nothing like the “delicious” experience others described.
Ultimately, Siegfried’s body had grown since those days, but he had no sense of having become an adult.
“Listen up! Don’t lose your nerve! The arrows won’t reach you for sure! Believe in your medic!”
“‘‘‘Yes!!’’’”
The wind was at their backs, and for the enemy, the opposing gusts blew strongly. The arrows and stones that rained down had little force and fell weakly. They might pierce through their armor, but even if they did, the weapons would still be painfully effective. Despite this, Siegfried still had to address his audience from behind while facing the threat.
In front of Siegfried stood a small line of fifteen people, a mix of those who had nothing better to do and volunteers. Against an enemy that outnumbered them several times over, their numbers seemed as unreliable as a lantern’s small flame.
“Stay focused! There’s a wall behind us, but there’s no wall in front of us. This means that if we don’t stop them, the other younger men and capable women will be the ones getting hit with arrows!”
“‘‘‘Yes!!’’’”
Though their weapons were a mixed assortment, and their armor insufficient in the face of this emergency, the vigilantes had even less battlefield experience. Even accounting for this, alongside the adventurers who weren’t particularly skilled in direct combat, the line seemed far too fragile. Even now, with enemy numbers reduced by the scattered skirmishers and the distant fire columns, their numbers were still more than doubled.
“Picture your parents, your wives, your children! Did you picture them? If not, anything will do! The barmaid, the stranger on the street who caught your eye, or even the person who once broke your heart!”
“‘‘‘Yes!!’’’”
The men standing there tried to behave resolutely, but the strain on their faces peeking out from under their helms was obvious. Even members of the Sword Friends Association who had already fought in real battles and stained their swords with enemy blood weren’t much different. In fact, Siegfried wanted to commend the ones who didn’t visibly wet their pants.
Siegfried himself was exerting all his effort just to keep his voice from cracking at an embarrassing high pitch, instead using a deep tone from the bottom of his stomach to maintain control.
Even now, he didn’t feel like an adult. He had never reached the vague image of adulthood he imagined as a child: knowledgeable, courageous, unwavering, and living confidently with full energy in everything he did. His heart remained the same as when he was a child, captivated by the heroic tales his parents told him or the adventures recounted by visiting poets at the manor.
Still, he had managed to cultivate the courage to pretend to be an adult.
“If we retreat, imagine the cold, lifeless hands grabbing at those we’re meant to protect! Picture how their bodies would be torn apart and displayed! Do you think we’ll be greeted with respect as fools returning defeated?”
The reply was unanimous: “No.” The response was laden with emotion and varied in words—“Hell no,” “This is unacceptable,” “Who would approve of this?”—as each man worked to transform their fear into fighting spirit with trembling voices.
Someone with golden hair once said: sometimes, it’s more painful for others to die on your behalf than it is for you to die yourself.
And so, the task became to make sure that those others could die proudly.
“Then do your job! Stand firm, make your resolve, and ask if your necks are straight! If you retreat here, you’ll regret it until the day you die! Spite the possibility of a miserable life!”
What a bothersome task it was to lead, thought Siegfried as he recalled the face of the obnoxious golden-haired person puffing out smoke, now vividly clear in his mind. Whether he liked it or not, he resolved to carry out the duties of a leader in this situation.
It was a disagreeable task. Stirring up their fighting spirit might sound noble, but in essence, it was cutting off all their escape routes.
What Siegfried considered an adult wouldn’t do such things unless necessary. An adult was someone who voluntarily faced pain head-on.
Therefore, since he needed to do it this way to confront his own limitations, he concluded he wasn’t an adult. Even at eighteen, earning money, knowing about war and women, the five-year-old feces-loving fool was still alive in his head.
“But above all, we’re not that disadvantaged!!”
The sound of something cutting through the air, masked by the counter-wind, followed a moment later by brilliant lights blooming in the sky.
Siegfried’s childhood friend Kaya had worked tirelessly overnight to create these magical drugs—parachutes made from patched-together rags, which lingered in the air much longer than expected thanks to catching the wind. They illuminated the ground as brightly as day, pouring dazzling light onto the battlefield.
The men cried out in joy as several of these lights rose into the air. The darkness of the battlefield amplifies fear and provides a cruel disadvantage to species without night vision. This sudden illumination effectively neutralized much of that disadvantage.
Then came another magical drug, one that exploded into violent flames upon landing in the defensive trench. While not as intense or destructive as the bonfires cremating the scattered skirmishers, it still burned fiercely and was difficult to extinguish once ignited on the ground.
This was Kaya’s magical fat concoction, designed to burn for a long time. Inspired by the catalytic abilities of the golden-haired adventurer, known for producing short bursts of intense flames, she had instead devised a long-burning flame wall meant to block enemy advances.
Since the trench would eventually be crossed anyway, she wondered if maintaining a wall of fire could make a difference. Even if the undead could cross, it would take time, and their clothing and gear would deteriorate from the burning heat, just as their flesh would scorch and weaken them.
While lamenting that she was developing too much skill with fiery substances, her reasoning behind independently seeking destructive capabilities required no explanation.
With mobile horse barriers and the burning trench, enemy movement was now limited, and the width of their approach was narrowed. They could no longer fully leverage their numerical advantage.
“Look! The number of enemies attacking us at once has dropped significantly! If we’ve gone this far with all the effort, you guys can start cutting them down from here! What use do such cowardly bastards have? The women wouldn’t want them anyway!”
It was the first time the men genuinely laughed from the bottom of their hearts at the vulgar taunt. They understood that trivial laughter could be just the right thing to drive away fear.
“Here they come, here they come! Form up the shields! Spears up! This is our blood-soaked street! We’ll become knights for the realm of Mottenheim!”
Siegfried finished with a call that superimposed himself onto the figure of a historical hero to stir faint desires for honor.
He thrust and tapped the spear points of the men who stood in the line, extending their weapons forward. The clashing sound of iron was hoped, by Siegfried, to distract himself and the men from their fear even slightly.
“Let’s do this stylishly! At this rate, it won’t just be a poem—it’ll be a festival! It might even turn into a nursery rhyme for hundreds of years, sung by the brats around here about us! Are you ready, men?!”
“‘‘‘Yes!!’’’”
The shields and boots struck the ground with bold vigor. The men, having built up the resolve to fearlessly face imminent death, were emboldened.
Siegfried thought he hadn’t become the kind of adult he had admired.
His reason for standing here was only one: it was the same pride that drove him during his first battle when the golden-haired adventurer’s horse farted everywhere. The only thing that kept him here was this cheap, shallow pride of his own which made him think that retreating now would simply be too embarrassing.
To everyone else, however, he appeared as a dependable commander. For the tranquility of the manor, he placed himself at the forefront, suppressing his fear to fight like a grand adventurer.
The world considered such behavior as being “adult”…….
Siegfried thought he hadn’t become the adult he admired.
There was only one reason for continuing to stand here: his pride told him that retreating now would be undignified, a pride he found too cheap and superficial.
Nevertheless, in the eyes of others, he looked like a commander they could rely on. For the peace of the manor, he put himself forward and suppressed his own fear to fight like a distinguished adventurer.
The world, it seemed, called such conduct “adulthood”…….
【Tips】 Illuminating flares. This source of light utilized sound and flash spells, and though it could only be used outdoors, it had the ability to brightly illuminate large areas for extended periods. It was requested to be made by Erich for Kaya as a precaution against night raids. More effort was spent by her on making the parachutes than on the magical drugs themselves.
To witness injustice and not act upon it shows a lack of courage. The men who knew the Eastern proverb had no intention of leaving behind the golden-haired adventurer.
Etan had originally gone to see the golden-haired adventurer for a story, and when he was lightly rejected, he became enamored with the man’s skills and joined the Sword Friends Association.
Karsten had left his old group as an adventurer, unable to bear being looked down upon by his peers, and joined the Sword Friends Association to gain strength.
In both cases, though the reasons for joining may have been trivial, they stayed because they truly admired the character of “the golden-haired one.”
To be honest, the man was quite a peculiar individual. His somewhat feminine features made him less reliable looking as a man, and his somewhat affected mannerisms often grated on people. However, it was precisely because of these traits that his swordsmanship became strikingly appealing, making it hard not to mock him for his exaggerated stage presence during training sessions.
But his swordsmanship was top-tier, and his teaching methods were commendable. His fatherly-like approach, breaking down each necessary correction, might have been off-putting to those with high self-esteem, yet what was most infuriating was how utterly accurate those corrections turned out to be. His own actions demonstrated an impeccability that left no room for critique. Through consistent training, he could easily cut down his last week’s self. This made it clear how earnestly he was teaching for their benefit.
Though the golden-haired adventurer had a tendency to do bizarre things as if it were the most normal behavior, perform feats beyond human capability, and act as if they were nothing special, he was indeed a revered adventurer and swordsman.
There were certainly a fixed number of adventurers in the Sword Friends Association who weren’t particularly fond of the golden-haired one internally. Some, without tact, pointed this out, but the head himself simply laughed it off, insisting that the association was not a group to idolize “Golden-haired Erich.” Rather, it required a degree of courage to even challenge him physically, he claimed.
This kind of personality allowed the Sword Friends Association to function—because even those who didn’t like him respected him as a person. Not a single person existed who didn’t respect the “golden-haired one.”
In any case, both Etan and Karsten trusted the skill of this golden-haired adventurer’s swordsmanship. Yet, neither could stay idle when they saw their leader surrounded by heavy cavalry, no matter how grown-up they were.
Being men who had left the manor to make a name for themselves by the sword, their determination had been underestimated.
Even those who had been helped in emergencies felt the same sense of justice. When they saw the golden-haired adventurer putting his irreplaceable life on the line, even for gold, they could no longer stay silent. The adventurers of the Sword Friends Association and the young men made sure to gain sufficient distance before making their way back, having sent the women, children, and elderly through the same escape route. They couldn’t let their leader and savior fight alone.
What met them after their rushed return seemed unreal, like an illusion.
Horses, riderless and fleeing, scattered bandits groaning across the field.
And then—leaping towards the lines of soldiers—a “group of swords without wielders.”
It was like a dream one might have when unwell: illogical, lacking coherence, and terrifyingly unreal, yet mesmerizing to watch.
The swords danced in elegance, carving through enemies. Hands and fingers were severed, weapons were snapped, and blades dug into the ground. It wasn’t haphazard; each sword had its own invisible handler, creating a stunning spectacle before the eyes of Etan and Karsten, who immediately recognized the unmistakable shadow of their leader in it all.
Through this infernal chaos emerged a towering knight in heavy plate armor, his imposing presence undeniable. A sense of overwhelming intimidation seemed to exude from him, and the men swallowed hard, even common villager who hadn’t undergone much training could sense his power—an intimidating figure that caused trembling.
A knight fully covered in plate armor was the ultimate nightmare for a swordsman. Difficult to fell, and with conscious enemies always guarding their weak spots, there were hardly any openings. Added to that, their sheer weight made grappling and joint techniques nearly impossible, and a careless lunge might even get one crushed underneath the armored mass.
The muscular and the dwarfish among them would likely have pondered how to counter this weapon of violent wealth. The best they could come up with would be to trip him and cut joints while the knight was down or use their lightweight advantage to wear him out and find an opening.
Instead, the golden-haired one directly crossed swords with him in a head-on charge.
This scene was the root of their feeling like they were experiencing a bad dream, his sword raised, resonating with a unearthly moan louder than the night.
The sound wasn’t human but somehow conveyed meaning directly to the brain, an unsettling experience. The deep emotion sung by these anomalous swords seemed akin to passionate bedroom whispers, a song so intense it threatened the sanity of its listeners.
Under the pale moonlight, the golden-haired adventurer radiated like a substitute divine body hidden in night shade, strangely “compatible” with the unsettling group of weapons.
The exchange of techniques between the two combatants immediately showed they were at a level far beyond the duo’s own abilities. All their prior speculations were meaningless as the heavily armored knight was confident to use his skills and eliminate weaknesses to deliver a fatal strike in one cut. If it were them standing in that situation, they were certain they would be bisected from their defensive weapon to the protective layers of their armor and clothing.
However, this lethal strike never once affected the golden-haired one. The sword cluster calmly served as his living shield, cutting down the riders in a battle they couldn’t visually track, after which the knight was down on the ground.
Etan and Karsten alone barely noticed something terrifying—when had the horrifying sword matched in length with the favorite sword the golden-haired one wielded?
The sword could change its length to fit the wielder’s need during battle.
The realization struck them with a fear greater than the weapon itself. The simple act of swallowing saliva felt like gulping down a lump of lead. The sensation of a sword blade changing length at the worst possible moment in a fight, either extending or contracting, was disheartening.
It was akin to cheating in the game of rock-paper-scissors. If the enemy could change his move at the last second, the swordsmanship for all who relied on narrowly avoiding the tip would become a nightmare.
Or perhaps, the ability to merely change the sword’s size would only count as a poor trick—no, the true terror resided in the skill and timing to deploy such tricks perfectly in the heat of battle.
One couldn’t help but question if this was even human. There existed various non-human entities that took human-like forms in the world: apostles of gods, pillars of spirits, and fairies that play between dimensions…
Certainly, he appeared to be one of these “somethings.” His presence in the blood-scented night breeze radiated an aura that couldn’t be from the same category of beings…
Even as he engaged in such horrifying deeds, they were not afraid of the golden-haired adventurer. Was it simply relief that he wasn’t their enemy, or was it a sense of awe at the accomplishments beyond human potential?
They just respected him. Neither the reason behind the dancing swords nor the strange weapon mattered.
They had only realized too late that worrying about him was a form of disrespect. The golden-haired adventurer turned to them with a smile.
“……Didn’t I tell you something?”
Unable to respond, they straightened their posture as he smiled more, placing his sword on his shoulder and saying:
“Well, that’s fine. It’s good you’re ready to fight. Do you think you can take care of one or two more jobs?”
It was an abrupt invitation, but they nodded in assent.
“Then good. Can you ride a horse?”
From somewhere, horses appeared, being pulled by an invisible tether. The nervous horses obeyed, though reluctantly, to the unseen force pulling them.
“Let’s deliver the best possible payback, shall we?”
As the golden-haired adventurer petted the strong horse clad in armor, smiling broadly, Etan and Karsten suddenly wondered if they had said something inappropriate after all…….
【Tips】 Various legends exist about divine incarnations taking the form of humans across the land, and their resultant offspring.
Siegfried diligently cast buffs on everyone.
I apologize for missing the update yesterday due to some prior commitments.
