Kenji
These bastards were skilled at hiding, but their deceit couldn't evade my heightened senses. I darted a glance at Yushiro, who had swiftly intervened to save Taka from another bandit's deadly strike. The situation was a blur of motion—each second a razor's edge between life and death.
I ducked, narrowly avoiding a sword aimed squarely at my head, and spun around, harnessing momentum to deliver a crushing blow to the back of a bandit's skull. The crack of bone against steel echoed in the chaotic air. My attuned ears picked up the clashing steel and the grunts of effort from the other side of the carriage.
A fleeting glance revealed Gareth and his companions valiantly fending off the attackers, each movement driven by the urgency of survival. Their individual combat prowess was undeniable, but their teamwork was still raw—fragmented, like an unpolished blade. Another sword thrust toward my chest, but the Division Knight uniform's protective material absorbed the blow, its reinforced fibers taking the brunt of the attack. With a swift kick, I knocked the assailant's leg from under him, sending him stumbling backward.
My gaze fell to my sword, its black blade gleaming like a dark mirror, reflecting the vibrant orange of my eyes and the fiery crimson of my hair. The sudden rustling of bushes pulled me from my thoughts. Fleeing figures disappeared into the underbrush. Instinct screamed at me to pursue, but caution tempered my actions. I sheathed my sword with a practiced fluidity.
I headed back to the carriage, finding Yushiro standing alone next to it, his expression unreadable as he observed the others. Taka, still recovering from the chaos, was watching Gareth's group as they fought, their movements fluid but not yet perfected.
Gareth, Naiz, and Donovan were making progress, but it was clear they were still finding their rhythm. Gareth's aggressive, dynamic movements were well-suited for one-on-one combat, but he lacked the subtlety required for a group fight. Naiz, on the other hand, was all precision—each strike deliberate, his sharp blade cutting through the air like a master of the dance. Donovan, ever the shadow, darted from the periphery, striking from unexpected angles, his silence a weapon in itself. Yet, even with their varied strengths, the rough edges were evident.
Their teamwork was promising, though unrefined. As time went on, they'd form a deadly synergy. Gareth's boldness, Naiz's calculated control, and Donovan's stealth would become a force to reckon with. For now, though, they were learning through battle. The tension of their struggle ebbed as they caught their breath, exchanging silent glances.
"Well-executed," Gareth said with a nod toward Donovan's swift attacks.
Naiz sheathed his sword, eyes scanning the battlefield. "Room for improvement."
The fight had lasted only six minutes, but in that time, their stamina was tested to the limit.
"I guess handling seven men with only three people is tiring, huh?" I mused, crossing my arms as I watched them slump against the carriage, breath heavy, sweat beading on their brows.
By the time the last of the bandits were subdued, Yushiro had already tied up the ones we'd taken down earlier. I seated myself cross-legged, my sword leaning against my shoulder as I watched from the safety of the carriage.
Taka was still staring intently at Gareth's group, his eyes following their every move. I could see the flicker of admiration and something else—perhaps the growing respect for the group's capabilities.
"Took you all long enough," I teased, rising from my seat with a stretch.
"I know, right?" Taka replied with a grin. "Division Knights are built different if you aren't tired right now."
I shrugged. "It's all training."
Gareth's group slumped to the ground near the carriage to rest. Naiz, always the one to remain composed, wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I was scared when I saw you get stabbed," Naiz confessed, his voice betraying a hint of unease.
"Yeah, I thought you were going to die," Donovan added casually, as if speaking about a minor inconvenience.
I chuckled, brushing off the comment with a casual grin. "Yeah, me too. Sometimes I forget how tough our uniforms are."
Yushiro tilted his head, eyeing us with an almost innocent curiosity. "They're tired because of their armor."
Everyone's gaze shifted to Gareth and his companions' armor, the weight of it now more apparent. It was cumbersome, designed for protection but not for ease of movement.
"Oh, right," I muttered, my hand brushing against the edge of my own lighter, more flexible attire.
Donovan moved over to the bandits, checking them for any remaining weapons or useful equipment, tying them up with swift precision.
Then, the air was shattered by the unmistakable shrill voice of Jerry Zel, the "noble" fool. He came stomping out of the carriage, his face beet-red, eyes bulging with fury—wet, too, as if he'd been sweating in a fevered rage.
"HEY! HEY! KILL THEM! KILL THEM NOW!" Jerry bellowed, pointing his pudgy finger at us like some spoiled child.
We all stared at him in disbelief.
"Why would we do that?" I asked, confused by the sheer absurdity of his outburst.
He puffed up like a balloon, his face contorting further. "THEY DARE TO ATTACK ME, ME, JERRY ZEL! A MEMBER OF THE ZEL NOBLE FAMILY!"
"So?" I shot back, not impressed in the least.
Jerry's face turned as red as a tomato, his breath coming in furious huffs as he lunged toward me. But before he could take even two steps, Yushiro moved like lightning, stepping between us and placing a small bug on Jerry's face.
"Huh?" Jerry mumbled, his confusion almost comical.
The bug exploded with a faint pop, releasing a small white fog that enveloped Jerry's face. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap, unconscious before he could even register what happened. Yushiro stepped aside with the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times before, his smile as innocent as ever, though there was no trace of a grin left on his features.
The old man, who had been mostly focused on driving, gave a silent nod to Yushiro and moved to pick up the limp body of Jerry, placing him back into the carriage with a surprising amount of care.
Everyone stood in stunned silence, the oddity of the situation sinking in. It was as if the incident had been nothing more than an afterthought—a simple resolution to a trivial problem.
"Is he okay?" I asked, the absurdity of it all catching up with me.
"Yup, unfortunately," Yushiro replied, his tone almost playful. "He'll be asleep for about two to three hours."
The old man grunted as he adjusted the unconscious noble. The group remained silent for a moment, each processing what had just transpired. Donovan, ever the first to snap out of it, spoke up.
"Wait, what just happened?" he asked, his confusion clear.
"Hmmm, what do you mean?" I answered, genuinely puzzled.
Takahiro, eyes wide, moved toward Yushiro, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him with surprising intensity. "What did you do, Yushiro?!"
Gareth and Naiz, still trying to piece things together, exchanged glances, but they stayed silent—though their stares were sharp, focused on Yushiro as if he'd just performed some dark ritual.
Yushiro simply smiled his most innocent smile, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "I simply solved the problem," he said, as if the solution were the most natural thing in the world. Then, as if to punctuate his words, he took out a small green orb from his waist pouch and released it into the air. It soared gracefully before vanishing from sight.
The silence that followed was thick—everyone uncertain if they should be impressed, horrified, or both.