Show Me Your Stats!-Chapter 168

Bloom stopped in his tracks and raised his head to gauge the size of the cave. The cave, which Ayra had personally excavated, was shaped like a corridor but was quite wide and tall—wide enough for two carriages to run side by side with ease. He cast a calm gaze into the darkness beyond. As a knight with sharpened senses, he could already hear the distant sound of galloping hooves.

How long can I hold out?

Though he’d been tortured, his body was resilient enough that none of his limbs had broken. The dull ache throughout him was familiar and didn’t faze him. What troubled him was only that he had displeased his master through his own failure. More than anything, he was grateful—endlessly so—to be allowed to die as a knight commander, not a sinner.

The enemy numbers five thousand. The terrain favors one-against-many, but in my current state... maybe a few hundred, at best.

He calculated calmly as he unsheathed his sword, Sreung, and recalled the day he first met Ayra.

After the former lord and lady of the house, along with their eldest son, died in an accident, Bloom had tasted bottomless despair. It felt as if he’d lost his purpose in life. What brought him back to his feet was the sole surviving younger son.

At the moment he encountered Ayra—who had arrived with an exhausted face to attend the funeral—Bloom felt a new reason to live. His young lord’s face resembled the former lord and lady so closely.

Even if the new master had been incompetent, Bloom would have served him with his life. But Ayra had saved Solar from crisis not once, but several times—Solar, the land Bloom cherished with all his being. Loyalty to her was only natural. Bloom had wished to live out the rest of his life for Solar and believed he would.

At least, until the day his past was suddenly exposed to the world.

The herald from Sobletz had shaken Bloom to his core just when he had begun to forget those old wounds. The fact that his sin, his existence, posed a threat to Solar—and might ruin the territory Ayra had worked so hard to revive—tormented him like burning hellfire. So foolishly, stupidly, he had gone to Sobletz on his own and thrown himself into a cell.

When Ayra came herself to rescue him, Bloom had felt indescribable joy—and, just as deeply, indescribable regret for having burdened her yet again with his actions.

That was why being allowed to die in battle like this, with honor, was more precious to Bloom than words could express. That someone as lowborn as he, a former slave, had come to know honor and glory through knighthood in Solar—he could only be grateful.

Clutching his sword with gratitude, Bloom’s eyes were red with bloodshot. Ever since the herald’s visit, he hadn’t slept properly. Just like those long-ago days when he was hunted across Sobletz by knights, the voices of the dead had haunted him day and night.

Now, as the sounds of marching troops echoed from the other end of the cave—step, step, step—the corners of Bloom’s mouth, normally sealed tight and never smiling, lifted ever so slightly. A strange smile.

Even now, the whispers of the dead hissed in his ears. The voices of those he had let die or killed himself back in Aksion. Whispers wishing he would die and suffer the same agony.

They’re coming.

Bloom muttered under his breath and lowered his blade’s tip. His heart pounded hard as blood surged through his body in preparation for battle.

The first to charge in were iron-armored cavalry. Likely the enemy commander’s plan to break through the initial guard with overwhelming force.

But before their hooves could even touch down, Bloom’s sweeping strike brought the horse crashing down. The steel plate around its legs buckled, snapping bone, and the animal let out a terrible cry before crumpling. Its rider was thrown violently to the ground.

But as if expecting this, the fallen rider rolled once, sprang up, and slashed at Bloom immediately. These were no ordinary soldiers—only knights could move like this.

When the gifted push their bodies to the limit, they eventually surpass the invisible wall and attain superhuman strength. It was this very talent that allowed Bloom, despite his origins as a slave, to become a soldier. Unlike ordinary humans, he had the physical resilience to survive such falls. These knights were the vanguard—a strike force meant to secure the battlefield.

Having once been relentlessly pursued by Sobletz knights, Bloom was thoroughly accustomed to fighting against multiple foes. He could see through the swordsmanship they employed like reading a book. With little difficulty, he deflected the blades aimed at him and cut them down in return. It took only a few seconds.

While he was dispatching the knights, waves of soldiers began pouring from the cave. At first they were confused to see only a single knight blocking the entrance, but soon enough they roared and charged.

Bloom did not take their lives. Instead, he targeted their arms and legs.

Years spent fighting alongside Solar’s soldiers had taught him something. Knights and soldiers who shared life-and-death situations came to treat each other like brothers. They would risk their own lives to save a comrade. That’s why Bloom chose not to kill—leaving them wounded but alive was better.

He resolved that not another life would be taken by his hand. His sword trembled briefly.

As expected, seeing comrades scream and roll on the ground in pain, the charging soldiers hesitated and faltered. Bloom took that moment to retreat slightly, letting others drag the wounded back into the cave, and caught his breath. Once the injured were secured, he resumed clashing with the next wave of knights and soldiers.

Whenever his sword struck another, sparks flew. The heavy shock jolted his joints, and the wailing clash of metal rang in his fingertips. The soldiers were easier to deal with—he cut them down swiftly. Occasionally, mages joined the fray. Flames scorched his armor and blasted heavy blows. Bloom endured it all, and once close enough, knocked them out cold with his shield.

Each time he swung his sword, his body grew heavier, and his armor and white cloak soaked deeper into blood.

As he fought against the Sobletz ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) army, Bloom naturally found his thoughts drawn to the past. The familiar sword styles, the armor—they all brought him back to those days when he’d been chased, wounded and broken.

Fighting like a blood-soaked specter, Bloom suddenly realized something: he hated the people of Sobletz. Truly, deeply hated them.

From his days in Aksion until now, all Sobletz had given him was pain and despair. Only Solar had ever offered him rest and salvation. And now, even that sanctuary was under threat.

His weary eyes sharpened. His clenched teeth ground audibly.

At this point, it was no longer just his master’s order. He could not—would not—retreat from this place. This war was his sin, his responsibility, and his duty. Ignoring the mounting wounds, he stood his ground and swung his sword.

Blood sprayed. Screams rang out. A crimson stream ran at his feet.

But still, not a single death.

“Kill him! Kill him, I said! He’s just one man!”

The commander screamed in fury at the soldiers’ failure to push past a single knight. His face twisted in frustration—he looked as if he’d rather take the field himself.

Curses and hatred poured down upon Bloom. Faces contorted with rage. But even though their eyes were locked on Bloom, the true direction of their hatred was elsewhere—their own lord. They hated the one who gave the order, knowing their comrades would fall.

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Bloom suddenly felt pity for them. To serve a master with complete faith and devotion—how fortunate that must be. To die and be able to atone, to protect Solar—how overwhelming a blessing.

Soaked in blood, Bloom swung his sword in a state of trance. Somewhere in his heart, pity for his enemies mingled with an emotion verging on ecstasy. From the cries of the wounded and the arcs of flying blood, he found a strange sense of joy—as if their blood could cleanse his sins.

“Ah...”

His eyes went red—whether from burst capillaries or blood dripping into them, he wasn’t sure. Then he let out a low breath.

Despite facing an endless onslaught, Bloom showed no sign of fatigue. The enemy, once confident, began to look at him with fear. Their sword tips wavered. Their steps retreated.

“O God,”

Bloom murmured, his voice strangely elated. The madness born from a lifetime of meaningless sacrifice, bloodshed, and struggle glinted in his eyes beneath the helmet.