Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 143

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Before anyone had a chance to react, Karen’s shadow surged out and swallowed the area whole, staining a thirty-meter radius of ground in pitch-black darkness.

The Bastet hidden within the shadows were no exception. Their own darkness, devoured by hers, convulsed and spat them back out pale-faced, as if they’d just lived through a nightmare.

“Ee...eeek!”

“A... a monster...!”

The one who looked like their leader seemed to be keeping his composure better than the rest, but the shock was still evident in his face, his gray ears and tail bristling stiff as his eyes widened in disbelief.

What the hell...!?

The Shadow Arts were the Bastet’s signature technique. From birth, they could slip in and out of their own shadows, moving freely within them. Unless faced with high-tier magic or an expert-level warrior, their presence couldn’t even be sensed, and even if sensed, their shadow-state made them practically untouchable.

While they couldn’t attack from within, neither could they be attacked. That alone had made the Bastet first-rate in scouting, infiltration, and assassination. And yet here, that absolute advantage had been crushed utterly.

“So boring,” Karen muttered, her expression completely devoid of the slightest interest. “What good is treating shadows like an extension of your body, if all you can do is cower inside them? You’re not warriors. No understanding, no study, no thought. You’re nothing more than some brats swinging around power dropped in your laps.”

“What did you say...!”

“Even a dog has the advantage in its own house. Sieges always favor the defenders, and yet you couldn’t last a few seconds before I took full control. That’s not just a gap in strength—it means you never had the basics to begin with.”

It was like a fortress falling to a single cavalry charge. Had they only shut the gates or stationed figurative archers, they could have held out at least a while. However, the Bastet had their control over shadows ripped away in mere moments, flung out into the open dirt. It wasn’t even a fight.

Karen said to their leader, “You, at least, should understand. If I’d meant to kill you, not half of you would have crawled back out.”

“Are you trying to shame us?” he snarked.

“You’re supposed to be assassins, yet you’re worried about pride? That only proves you’ve never even grasped the fundamentals. Not that I imagine you ever learned them properly,” Karen said with a long sigh.

For assassins, pride was a luxury. Outside of combat, it had its place, but when life or death hung on a knife’s edge, it had no business existing. If one’s skill was lacking, then they hid for days in a latrine pit, smeared their blades with poison, or took hostages—that was assassination.

These ones, however, were nothing more than second-rate at best as assassins, made threatening only by a single special gift.

Her voice was flat, even disappointed. She let her shoulders slump, her empty eyes looking down on them.

“Sigh. Forget it. My fault for expecting anything. I thought I might find something worth learning, since we share the same power. Still, I do like cats, so I’ll play with you a bit more. Come.”

“Don’t you dare mock us!”

The wounded pride triggered them to overcome the fear. The Bastet, led by their leader, roared as one.

Even though they were against an unbeatable foe, they had to uphold their dignity as beastkin. To retreat in disgrace was unbearable for their species, not just as warriors.

They crouched low, backs arched high like drawn bows ready to snap. And then—

“Kyaaaaaaah!”

A chorus of shrieks came, more like screams than battle cries, and they rushed in from every direction. Scimitars, jamadhars, knuckles, chain-sickles, daggers—their weapons varied, their forms untrained, but their speed and feral violence made the storm of blades no less threatening.

“Heh.”

Karen counted them with a derisive snort. Twenty-three.

Even thrice that number wouldn’t have troubled her. Sure, it would be enough for them to take Hati hostage, but if they counted her party as well, ten times their number still wouldn’t be enough.

She reached for her daggers, ready to put the arrogant kittens in their place, when Leon shouted urgently, “Karen! Don’t kill them!”

“Tch.”

With a wry smile, she released the daggers and instead untied the cord wound at her thigh. A rope of drake sinew, tougher and stronger than mithril of the same thickness. About three meters long.

Gripping one end in her left hand, Karen swung it toward the oncoming beastkin. The whip smacked the earth with a sharp crack, and the leading Bastet flinched instinctively.

Whip-cracks didn’t just show their threat—they carried the fear of pain. Anyone struck even once learned to recoil at the sound alone. Their leader knew it, but his men did not.

“Graaaagh!”

One of them took a lash to the thigh and collapsed, writhing. Their bodies were tough enough not to die from a single strike, but the sheer searing pain could bleach the mind and snuff out even burning will to fight.

And that wasn’t all. There was still its range, its speed, and its unpredictable paths.

The rope, twisting like a serpent, coiled around another Bastet’s wrist just as he swung at her to split her in two. His blade wrenched off-course, his balance lost, and Karen’s palm pierced that gap and slammed his chin upward. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the dirt.

“That’s two.”

Stripped of their tricks, the Bastet had only feline agility and scraps of combat skill that they had accumulated over small battles left. Against most opponents, that might have sufficed. With their superior bodies and night vision, they could overwhelm the average fighter by sheer numbers.

Of course, that wasn’t the case here.

She smashed one’s jaw with a bare palm and kicked another in the gut. Every direction they came from, she struck them down. One by one, two by two, they toppled until more than ten were sprawled on the ground.

The difference was absolute. Her physique, her reflexes, her skill, her experience, her eyes that pierced the dark—every measure put her leagues above. Had she drawn on her shadow powers in earnest, the fight would have ended before it began. Even at half strength, the battle was a one-sided slaughter.

“Ah, I see. So this is how it feels,” she muttered.

She was even using them to practice, testing gaps in the Shadow Waltz she hadn’t fully mastered. To the Bastet, it was a humiliation unlike any they had ever known.

This human wasn’t treating them seriously at all, using them as training dummies—and yet they couldn’t leave a scratch on her. Even their anger was stolen away, leaving only despair.

After all of his underlings fell, only the leader remained on his feet. Lunging in for one last desperate charge, he shouted.

“Look at me!”

He didn’t care if he died. If he could erase this disgrace, if he could leave even a single cut on her arrogant face, it would be worth his life. The mission was already out the window.

“You’re more a soldier than an assassin, huh? That’s better, at least.”

Unfortunately, he still couldn’t touch her. Resolve or no, it meant nothing before such an overwhelming gap. Just as a cornered mouse can’t bring down a cat, his every swing was nothing but flailing. Not his speed, not his shifting footwork, not even the afterimages of his blade—none of it mattered to Karen.

The desperate slash was split in two and snapped away. And then, a single counter palm strike blurred his vision. It was over.

His instincts told him so, but the Bastet leader could not accept it. How could his kind, who should reign supreme over the savanna nights, be brought so low by a mere human?

In this fight to the death, he hadn’t just lost—he’d been toyed with, utterly.

It was simply unacceptable. Even in defeat, he had to land one blow. However shameful, he’d swallow his pride—just as the teachings said. If skill couldn’t win it, he would achieve his purpose with cowardice.

“Ku... aaah, aaaah!” 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

He raised his head from the dirt and charged once again. He couldn’t win against this monstrous woman. Very well. He’d simply strike someone else. Take a hostage. If they valued their comrade’s life, he could buy hours, even days.

Not Lady Hati—she’d be too much for me in this state. And that human male looks formidable too...

By process of elimination, only one target remained. He turned his half-broken blade toward Elahan, wrapped in her black habit, standing demurely.

And then, with a light clink, two of her fingers caught the tip of his blade. No Aura, no energy. Just raw grip strength, halting the weapon cold.

In that instant, the Bastet leader felt true terror.

“Heh,” Elahan smiled, gentle and clear. “Did I really look that frail to you?”

“Wh-what—”

“Then let me cool your head a bit for you.”

Before he could answer, the world flipped upside down. No—Elahan had twisted his blade and slammed him headfirst into the ground. Dazed for less than a second, he witnessed death plummeting down upon him.

Her fist smashed beside his skull, and birds scattered far across the horizon. The ground caved into a crater tens of meters wide, the shockwave burrowing deep and sending innocent bystander insects trembling in terror. All from one punch.

To her, it was just a petty venting of irritation for daring to belittle her before the Hero. The sight, however, was terrifying beyond words.

“Grk... gruuugh...”

Struck point-blank by the shockwave, the Bastet leader foamed at the mouth and collapsed unconscious. Elahan withdrew her fist from the earth.

“Feel better now? You seem to have dozed off already.”

Leon’s knees nearly buckled at her words—until he realized the shaking legs weren’t his. It was from the one clinging to his side. Of course—Hati.

“S-so scary. Big sis Karen and Elahan are too scary. I want to see Father...”

Her fluffy tail tucked between her legs was almost endearing, but Leon noticed something else.

“Huh? Hati, are you actually younger than Elahan?”

“On the plains, the strong are elders. Age doesn’t matter much.”

“I see.”

At that moment, Elahan interjected, “It does matter.”

She had stepped up beside them, her tone grave as she added, “Ms. Hati, actual age is important. Do you understand?”

“Ah—alright, I get it. So please don’t be angry.”

“My, I’m not angry at all.”

“...”

“But if you call me ‘big sis’ again, I might be.”

“Hiccup.”

Somehow, the pecking order had been set. While Hati cowered behind Leon’s back, trembling, Karen approached, retying her drake-sinew cord around her thigh. She glanced at the Bastet leader, still foaming, and smirked.

“He’d have been better off going down to me. Body and pride both.”

After that kind of beating from Elahan, he might well develop a phobia of fists. He perhaps even hallucinated his skull bursting. His body was intact, but his spirit would be scarred.

“Well, whatever,” Karen said and gestured behind her. “I tied up the rest. What do we do? If we leave them crippled, they’ll just get eaten by monsters.”

“No need to go that far,” Leon shook his head. “They’re no real threat if they come after us again. Taking the leader is enough as witness to this ambush. After what happened here, they won’t dare follow anyway.”

The reason they hadn’t slaughtered them was simple. They’d come to prevent war. Spilling beastkin blood before even meeting the chiefs would have been self-defeating. Better to leave room for factions to side with them—beastkin, even on the opposite side, would still favor their own over humans.

“We’ll bind them until we leave, then release them. As long as we arrive before they report failure, it’ll be fine.”

Most of all, Leon had gleaned one thing from this attack: Hati’s twin brother Skoll’s position was uncertain. He must have thought that if she succeeded in her mission, it could shake his claim as the next chief. Otherwise, why would he risk deploying the Bastet elite to hinder her?

He had gambled dangerously—and lost in a rather lackluster manner. And he would pay dearly for this failure.