There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 146: The Revenge Seeker, the Opportunist, and the Redhead (3)

Even as the unknown intruder's sword aura flared ominously, the mage displayed no fear.

Instead, he sneered, his eyes filled with scorn as he looked at the young swordsman.

"For someone so young to wield sword aura, you must be talented, but you're still just a child," he said mockingly.

The audacity of barging into a mage's workshop with threats was laughable.

Sure, Earthlings and their guns had diminished the prestige of mages, but to be disrespected like this?

Even in a back-alley drug den, a mage was still a mage. A fledgling knight like this, barely past his coming-of-age ceremony, wouldn’t last a minute—especially here, in the mage's own lair.

Unfolding his legs from the meditative position, the mage rose to his feet.

"You demanded information? Whelp, I have only one response for you."

"..."

"Come at me. I'll teach you some manners."

The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

The moment he beckoned with his hand, the intruder sprang into motion, pushing off the ground with a deft step.

In an instant, the ten-pace gap between them vanished, his speed deserving the title of "lightning-quick."

Caught off guard by the unexpected swiftness, the mage hastily drew on his mana, activating a spell he had prepared in advance.

Block!

At his will, the magic circles embedded in the walls of the hideout unleashed their mana.

Just as the blade, radiating sword aura, was about to graze his neck—

Clang!

A translucent barrier deflected the attack.

The force of the blow was so immense that even the drugged revelers, observing from the sidelines, were knocked to the ground by the shockwave.

What in the world...?

How could someone so young possess such overwhelming mana?

Frowning deeply, the mage immediately began weaving another spell.

This time, he unleashed a combination of wind magic to scatter the drug fumes and a mist spell to obscure visibility.

Within moments, the entire lair was engulfed in thick smoke.

The swordsman's blade swung through empty air, slicing where the mage had been moments earlier.

"W-We’re not involved! We’re just here for the drugs!""Eek! I can’t see anything!""Duncan! Save us!"The drugged-up occupants, now trapped in the swirling mist, erupted into chaos, screaming and flailing.

The mage, Duncan, paid them no mind.

In fact, he directed the smoke toward them, manipulating it to shroud their movements. The more they panicked, the less likely his opponent would find him.

In contrast, Duncan could pinpoint the swordsman's every move.

The mana-infused mist and the array of magic circles covering the room served as his eyes.

From within the smoke, Duncan extended his hand toward the swordsman, casting a telekinetic spell—the most efficient way to deal with a knight.

Fireballs and death beams might reveal his position unnecessarily.

Against an amateur, invisible telekinesis was more than enough.

Crack.

First, he targeted the intruder's neck, exerting enough force to snap an ordinary person's spine instantly.

Yet, the swordsman didn’t even flinch.

As Duncan focused further, he realized there was intense magical resistance at play.

Resistance so strong it matched the output of his mana, bolstered by the array’s support.

This is absurd.

Gritting his teeth, Duncan poured more mana into the spell.

At that moment, the resistance vanished entirely, as if the swordsman had deliberately dropped it.

Mana exhaustion? A lapse in concentration?

Whatever the reason, Duncan didn’t hesitate.

Seizing the opportunity, he spread his telekinetic grip to the intruder's arms, waist, legs, and ankles.

With the swordsman restrained, Duncan clenched his fists and raised his hands.

Thud!

The intruder’s body was slammed into the ceiling with a resounding crash.

The impact left cracks across the ceiling, sending dust and debris raining down.

Before the vibrations subsided, Duncan swung his hands downward.

Crash!

This time, the swordsman was smashed into the ground, the sheer force causing the entire lair to tremble.

The impact should have shattered every bone in his body.

Certain of his victory, Duncan prepared to deliver the finishing blow.

Or he tried to.

As he channeled his mana for another spell, the swordsman turned his head.

Through the thick mist, his golden eyes locked onto Duncan’s.

How...?

The question barely formed in Duncan’s mind before he sensed danger.

Desperately, he began weaving another spell, but the swordsman was faster, extending a hand toward him.

Crack.

An invisible force coiled around Duncan’s neck, tightening with a familiar grip.

"Urgh... w-what...?"

The same telekinetic spell Duncan had used earlier was now being used against him.

He’s a mage?! Then what about the sword aura? A... dual-path walker?!

A flood of questions raced through his mind, but none offered an escape from the relentless grip around his throat.

As oxygen deprivation set in, his heart pounded erratically, and his vision began to blur.

In a panic, Duncan reached into his robes.

His fingers closed around a hidden weapon—his last resort, one he had refrained from using out of a mage’s pride.

A smuggled, soot-black pistol—contraband he had acquired without the West Court Lord’s knowledge.

Duncan aimed the weapon at the swordsman, only for it to be snatched from his hand.

"Oh, a Desert Eagle. And an older, discontinued model at that," came a cheerful voice.

"Wh-what...?"

Turning his head, Duncan saw the short-haired girl who had followed the intruder. She twirled the pistol in her hand, examining it with curiosity.

"Where’d you even find this antique? It’s in decent condition, but... oh, you loaded revolver rounds into it. That’s a rookie mistake. The lead will melt after a few shots, and then it’s straight to the repair shop."

What... nonsense was this crazy girl spouting?

Before Duncan could articulate his thoughts, the telekinetic force constricting his carotid artery tightened further.

As his oxygen supply was completely cut off, Duncan’s body went limp.

He lost consciousness.

***

"Brother-in-law, why did you let him hit you? I saw you deliberately release your magical resistance earlier."

Neti’s curious voice reached Yeomyeong as he dusted himself off and stood.

"..."

He couldn’t bring himself to explain that his unique body allowed him to reverse-engineer spells by experiencing them firsthand or that he’d deliberately let Duncan’s telekinesis hit him to study its structure.

For some reason, Seti’s eager face—so excited to test her spells on him—flashed through his mind.

He deflected her suspicion with a half-hearted excuse.

"It was a mistake. I got careless."

"Careless? No way, that doesn’t sound like you."

"Let’s drop it. We need to get the information from him first—better to finish this quickly."

Avoiding Neti’s probing gaze, Yeomyeong turned his focus to the unconscious Duncan and activated telekinesis.

Crunch.

He only intended to lift Duncan lightly, but his inexperience with the spell caused the man’s ankle to shatter.

It seemed his control over the newly learned magic still needed refining.

Undeterred, Yeomyeong persisted, finally managing to lift Duncan after breaking one or two more of his limbs.

By then, the mist spell had dissipated, revealing the quivering addicts huddled in the corners of the hideout.

Yeomyeong spared them no mercy or attention.

"You have one minute. Get out."

His mana-infused voice echoed through the space, sending the drug addicts scrambling toward the stairs.

"Move, dammit!""Hurry, hurry, let’s get out!"

As their panicked footsteps faded, Yeomyeong dragged Duncan to a corner of the hideout, setting him up for interrogation.

He cleared the room of lingering smoke, dispelled the magic circles, and secured Duncan’s broken limbs to a chair.

By the time he finished his preparations, Neti posed another question.

"Brother-in-law, how can you tell if the information he gives us is real?"

"...Why do you ask?"

"I’m just a little worried. What if he feeds us fake info to mess with us?"

"Simple. We’ll ask someone else. In the underworld, cross-referencing is basic protocol."

"Someone else? You’re not saying... we’re going to hit another gang, are we?"

Neti looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and dread, but Yeomyeong’s answer was resolute.

"Yep."

"..."

"At this pace, we can probably raid one or two more before evening. We need to regroup with Seti before nightfall, so let’s wrap this up."

With that, Yeomyeong moved to awaken Duncan.

As he prepared to inject mana into the unconscious mage, a thought struck him.

"Neti, do you know how to torture someone?"

"T-Torture? Me? No way. Only my sister and our youngest sibling ever trained in that kind of thing...."

"I see. Then this might be unpleasant. Do you want to step out for a bit?"

"N-No, I’m fine! I’ll stay and watch. Let me watch."

Determined, she scurried closer to him.

Yeomyeong studied her resolute face for a moment before silently rousing Duncan.

Despite Neti’s resolve, the interrogation turned out to be anticlimactic.

The moment Duncan regained consciousness, he spilled everything he knew.

The agony of his shattered limbs had broken his will before he even woke.

Neti, unaware of this, simply thought back-alley thugs were surprisingly cowardly.

***

South Drayterial, in front of the Southern Court Lord’s gates.

Dovan, a knight in service of the Southern Court Lord, puffed on a cigarette as he gazed at the estate’s imposing walls.

"...Life’s a damn mess," he muttered.

It had all started with intruders sneaking into the city from the southern wilderness.

At first, they’d seemed like nomads trying to evade the entry tax. Who’d have guessed they were carrying stolen gold coins belonging to the Court Lord?

After enduring the Court Lord’s furious rant, Dovan had scoured the sewers for them, only to find the corpses of ratfolk.

Cleaning up the sewers and searching for clues had yielded little. Any trace of the intruders had already been washed away.

The most he’d gleaned was a vague assumption: there were three intruders, and one of them might be a woman.

"Is that all you’ve got to report?! Get out there and find my gold, you incompetent fool!"

The memory of being struck by a flying porcelain vase still stung.

While his subordinates suggested faking an investigation to avoid further wrath, Dovan couldn’t bring himself to stoop that low.

Was it because he was a dutiful knight? Hardly.

He was just a thug who’d stumbled into mana and lucked into knighthood.

Loyalty and chivalry meant nothing to him.

It was something else...

"Hey, what’re you doing?"

A sultry female voice snapped him from his thoughts.

Startled, Dovan dropped his half-smoked Earth-made cigarette and quickly crushed it underfoot.

Straightening his back, he responded.

"W-Waiting for a friend, ma’am!"

"A friend? While the Court Lord’s this pissed? Must be nice to have such a carefree life."

The woman’s voice was as smooth as her figure was alluring.

Her tied-back black hair, breathtaking beauty, and voluptuous curves made her look like something out of an adult novel.

Yet Dovan didn’t dare ogle her, much less flirt.

"You mocking the Court Lord?"

"N-No, ma’am!"

"Then you mocking me?"

She pulled a massive spear from her back—a weapon so large it resembled a ballista bolt.

His clueless subordinates whispered doubts about her strength, but Dovan had seen her work firsthand.

He’d watched her skewer an infamous rogue mage, painting the alley red with blood.

That memory alone was enough to make him sweat profusely as he replied.

"N-No one could ever mock you, Lady Ekaterina!"

The sight of him shouting with his eyes squeezed shut seemed to amuse her. She tapped his head with the shaft of her spear.

"Good boy. Don’t screw up next time."

"Yes, ma’am! I’ll do my best!"

Ignoring his nervous reply, Ekaterina slung her spear over her back and walked into the estate.

Dovan didn’t dare voice his lingering curiosity about what she’d meant by "next time."

Some questions were better left unasked.

As Ekaterina disappeared into the Court Lord’s domain, a familiar face approached from down the road.

"Dovan! Is that really you?"

It was an orc with broad shoulders and green skin—an old friend from another race.

After ten years apart, the two men embraced warmly.

"Can’t believe you’re a real knight now," the orc remarked, eyeing Dovan’s armor with admiration.

"You thought I’d spend my whole life in the gutters?"

"Of course not. I always knew you’d make it."

The orc’s candid words drew a rare, genuine smile from Dovan.

"Well, damn, you’re the surprise here. I didn’t think I’d see you back in this city."

"Ten years is a long time. Even a nomad returns to his roots eventually."

"Roots, my ass. Cut the crap and tell me what you’ve been up to. Where to? Restaurant? Bar?"

"Bar, obviously. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the past sucks without booze."

Dovan chuckled at his friend’s humor, though his reddened eyes and flushed nose betrayed his emotions.

The orc clapped his shoulder in understanding.

After a brief pause, Dovan finally spoke the words he hadn’t managed earlier.

"Welcome back, Balagu."