Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 140

What was a beast’s greatest advantage over humans? The crushing bite that shatters bone and rends hide? Thick fur that shields against cold and shock? Keen senses of smell and hearing, many times sharper than man’s?

One could count off ten fingers and still fall short, yet one advantage stood out above all others. There was an ability that humanity gave up when they chose hands and tools in exchange for intellect.

Quadrupedal gait.

“Hooo...”

Hati crouched low, drawing a long breath. Her hands had become forepaws of a wolf, furred and clawed like her legs.

This was the defining power of the beastkin: Beast Transformation. By awakening the animal traits in their blood, they drew out their primal strengths in a way that bordered on unfairness. And on top of that, Hati was no common beastkin—she was heir to the royal blood of the Fenrir clan.

With a crackle and zap, blue Aura coursed over her body, scorching the air. To meet the oncoming storm of Zahar’s secret technique, she poured every last drop of her power into acceleration.

Win and live. Lose and die. That law was absolute, whether in desert or plains—like a starving tiger after a failed hunt, like a lion cast out for losing its throne.

Here I come, she thought as the warrior’s instinct, honed by countless battles, pushed her forward.

Her hind legs kicked the ground, her foreclaws raking as they struck forward. Quadrupedal maneuver was quick. Acceleration, turning—everything exceeded the clumsy strides of bipedal man. It was no wonder that hunters spent years, decades learning to follow a beast’s movements.

Lightning cloaked her like a mantle as Hati ran. She called this the Sirius Sprint—straight ahead, unthinking. The absolute lack of stray thoughts meant there was nothing slowing her, only the purest, sharpest rush, a thunderbolt racing across the ground.

The air burned as she passed, footprints searing black into the sand. Her first acceleration tore sound itself. Her second acceleration sent her well past that barrier. And then, having become a single streak of blue light, she flung herself straight at the storm of blades.

Compared to the whirlwind that sucked in the desert sands, a single beastkin was tiny.

However, the power packed into that charge was monstrous.

Then, immediately followed a deafening blast and shockwave that deafened the entire area.

Woah!

Leon reflexively unleashed Aura to shield the watchtower, Karen and Elahan matching him to protect the crowd.

It was an inefficient defense, but enough. The explosion was only a backlash, not the true impact. Meanwhile, storm and wolf clashed on.

Hati cloaked herself in compressed Aura, bracing her charge. The pressure of the storm mounted. How many times had Zahar swung? The whirlwind held over a hundred blades. She didn’t need to break them all, only those in her path—but even that was dozens.

To break through was the only way to shatter his secret technique.

“Haaaah!” she roared, driving herself faster, meeting the storm head-on.

With a loud clang, one blade snapped. Then another. And another.

Her body bled from a dozen cuts, but she never faltered. Once inside the storm, there was no turning back.

And then, with the momentum of Sirius Sprint, she tore a hole through Khamsin. Hati’s eyes flashed as she burst through. Zahar grit his teeth at the nightmare unfolding.

“You goddamn wolf wench! You broke through my secret technique?!”

“Yes! Hah, your secret technique is nothing more than a pitiful breeze!”

She grinned savagely and charged, still holding strength. Unlike Zahar, who had poured everything into his strike, Hati still had reserves. She drew the lightning gathering in her limbs.

That left her with four strikes. She was confident she could end it with those.

The first—a spinning high kick crushed the air. Zahar barely dodged, stumbling off balance.

The second—she swept his legs on the return, forcing him upward. It wasn’t a significant amount of Aura, but the difference in speed was vast. Zahar knew the trap but could not react in time.

It was over.

“Sirius Kicks, Chain Technique: Ascend and Strike.”

Two kicks slammed into his gut and chest, blows that could crumple a full plate. Zahar’s body flew, smashed through the fence, and crashed into the dirt. Anyone could see who had won.

However, Zahar staggered to his feet among the splinters, eyes blazing. Hati crouched, ready to continue if he wished.

The arena held its breath in anticipation, tension still thick in the air. That silence, however, didn’t last long.

“Khff!”

A few mouthfuls of blood gushed from his mouth as Zahar fell to his knees. The last blows had crushed his chest; a bone jutted grotesquely from beneath his skin. It wasn’t enough for an instant death, but it was still fatal, certain to kill without treatment.

“I yield...”

His bitter words released the tension.

Hati straightened and cried out in a ringing voice, “Overseer!”

“Match!” Leon answered, his voice carrying to all. “The victor, with grazing rights of the pasture at stake—champion of the beastkin! Warrior of the Fenrir clan, Hati!”

The crowd roared. The winner or loser mattered less than the spectacle they had witnessed. Not all desert folk were Bedouin, after all. Few mourned their loss.

Zahar’s men rushed in, eyes bloodshot, lifting him up.

“Commander! Are you all right?”

“Give the word and we’ll—”

Flat on a stretcher, Zahar shook his head.

“Enough. Raging here only disgraces our name. There will be another chance. Next time, I’ll win. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“As you command!”

“Then let’s go. We’ve no time to lie in the dirt.”

Unlike when he had entered the arena, Zahar left in a pitiful state, carried off by his men.

Yet no one mocked him. His performance against Hati had proven worthy of the title “Great Warrior of the Bedouin.”

—Hey, I think I know who that is now.

You actually know her?

El-Cid hedged, —Not directly. Her footwork and kicking forms were so all over the place I couldn’t place it, but Sirius made it clear.

Sirius?

—Yeah. The martial art I made specifically for the beastkin. Back when I was tearing up slavers, I saved a wolf and made him my squire. I taught him that technique. Since Sirius Sprint was to be passed only to direct heirs, she must be his descendant.

A beastkin from three hundred years ago. Leon frowned.

Would he still be alive?

—Hard to say. He was weaker than Kasim, so probably not thriving anymore, but maybe not dead either. Still, he was at his peak when I was alive, so, by now, he’s likely little more than a walking corpse.

Walking corpse...?

—Besides, why are you asking me? Why not ask her? She’d know better than I would.

Leon agreed. He waited until the crowd fell out like the tide, then dropped down toward Hati, who still lingered in the arena. Few eyes remained, and none close enough to hear.

“Ms. Hati,” he called.

She was tying bandages around her wounds when she looked up.

“The Guild’s overseer?”

Without another word she stepped close, scanning him head to toe—then pressed her nose to his neck for a couple of sniffs.

“W-what are you doing?!” Leon yelped, startled.

Hati, however, looked almost impressed and replied, “You’re stronger than I am, despite being such a young male. Truly, humans are not a race to underestimate.”

“You can tell that... from scent?”

“No. Your scent was simply to my liking.”

“Ah, I see... wait, what?!”

Leon was utterly shaken up. Hati, on the outside, was a classy beauty. Her mannerisms were also stiff and formal, whether that was due to her personality or simply the way she learned to speak.

When a woman like that suddenly closed the distance with what seemed like friendliness, Leon couldn’t catch a breath.

—Oh no, my poor disciple will definitely get swindled by any half-decent face.

Shut up!

Snapping back at El-Cid, Leon forced his voice steady and asked Hati, “How’s the wound?”

“No problem. To come away with scratches after dueling a warrior like Zahar—I should be glad. Tonight, I’d drink myself under the table.” Perhaps because she had finally settled their unfinished match, Hati even smiled faintly and added, “I’ve found no companion worth sharing a glass with in Nuwas. You, however, might do.”

“You mean... drinking?”

“Of course. Or did something else come to mind?”

Her eyes curved slyly, her face shifting from serene to sultry in an instant. Leon had never dealt with a woman like her.

—My disciple. I cannot watch on any longer.

What do you mean?!

—Do as I say.

Leon, too flustered to think, obeyed El-Cid’s whisper. He gathered a touch of Aura in his palms, preparing to slap the fingers of his right hand into his left palm to produce a loud and clear sound.

“Come to think of it, we’ve yet to exchange names properly. You know mine, but I don’t know yours. That’s unfair, isn’t it?” Hati said.

“I am Leon, adventurer of the Guild.”

“Hati, daughter of Varg.”

Leon, following El-Cid’s advice, said carefully, “Ms. Hati?”

“Just Hati will do.”

“Hati.”

She nodded. Then, Leon stepped back and struck his palms twice.

Hati blinked in confusion. Was this an applause? Was he congratulating her on her victory all of a sudden?

Leon then clicked his tongue, making a brief yet clear snapping sound. He didn’t understand the meaning himself. He was only following instructions.

That was when disaster struck.

Two claps, one click—a trigger embedded three centuries ago within Sirius, a prank El-Cid had encoded into the style, came alive.

“Huh...?” Hati muttered as her vision was suddenly filled with... The sky.

She hadn’t realized why—until Leon called her name.

“H-Hati?”

She looked down. She was lying on her back. In front of a male.

For humans, it meant little. But for canids, it was everything: baring the belly was a primal gesture of trust and affection.

“Ah... ahhh!”

Her skin, pale in contrast to her fur, flushed crimson, and even tears welled in her eyes. She leaped up and seized Leon by the collar with both hands.

“Forget it! Forget everything! Forget it all!”

“Woaaaaah!”

“If you don’t, I’ll duel you! Duel you and tear you to pieces!”

Leon was hoisted like laundry, flailing helplessly as Hati, mortified beyond words, shook him in rage.

Only El-Cid cackled at the scene.

—Kahahah! Three hundred years, and the trigger still works? Guess they’ve been passing it down exactly as I thought!

Leon, furious, screamed inwardly, Just wait, you damn cursed sword! One day, I’ll throw you into a hell-forge myself!

—Tried that already. Didn’t work.

Kaaaaaaaah!

As always, disciple and master bickered on.