I Obtained Sword God Level Talent

13 – 013. Awakening (2)

The hotel room I arrived at was already clean. All of Lancelot’s belongings had vanished without a trace, and only a single book was placed on my room’s table.

[ The Knight’s Song ]

* * *

Thud. Thud.

I picked up my book and trudged back to the slum. From the shack with its door gaping wide, the face I’d seen earlier popped out and said,

“Cough! So, you didn’t find the kid after all.”

“Looks that way. Might I impose on you for a bit?”

“What? What are you on about?”

Not even waiting for a reply, I pushed my way inside.

The interior of the shack was frigid.

There was obviously no heating, so the cold from the floor radiated upwards, and the bed, damp to the touch, was covered with a soiled blanket.

“When is someone coming from Almanse?”

I’d somewhat braced myself, but the living conditions were even worse than I’d imagined. You could catch a disease just by being in this kind of environment. A prime example: Madam Armand had been coughing non-stop since I got back.

The sight of that made something claw at my insides. It was too unsettling to just dismiss as someone else’s problem. It’d be accurate to describe it as a hot rage, one that was hard to justify or calculate.

“Cough! Cough! Probably, this afternoon, if nothing unusual happens. So, you should get going too.”

“Get going?”

“Yes. I know that you’re Lancelot’s friend already.”

…They know I’m his friend?

Lancelot, that son of a b*tch, left Roben without even listening to me. What friend are they talking about?

“He’s been aloof with people around him since he was little. I’m sorry… but sometimes, you might have to understand him.”

“……”

I wordlessly stared at Madam Armand. It was odd, the more I looked, the more she resembled her son. Her lips with that bitter smile, the firmness in her eyes… they were exactly like his.

“Who is taking money from the Almanse family?”

“…It seems it’s the eldest son of the Count of Almanse, Archduke Martis.”

Her face was filled with worry as she spoke. She must think they’d harm me.

“Archduke? What’s that b*stard doing in Roben? Is the Almanse Count’s family here?”

“Cough! Cough! No… that’s not… Cough!”

Madam Armand shook her hand, then coughed harshly. Her trembling hands proved that her physical condition was critical. Silently watching her, I opened my mouth in a low voice.

“I am the owner of ‘Blessing’. Did you know that?”

“……I see. Lancelot, he’s also an owner of Blessing. Thanks to that, he could become part of the noble family instead of being a b*stard.”

Her reply, breathless, held no strength. Even I, with no medical knowledge, could see she needed to be rushed to a temple immediately.

“I’m a little different from him. I have the power to see the future.”

“Fu, future…?”

Of course, it’s a lie.

But Madame Armand, her face pale, widened her eyes, not knowing that fact. At that sight, I burst into a sudden, hearty laugh and continued speaking calmly.

“If you care for Lancelot, you must grant my request.”

It was a threat disguised as a request. If Lancelot had seen this, he would have thrown a massive fit, but I didn’t care.

“A request? What kind of request are you talking about?”

“I will give you money.”

*Clink.*

Muttering that, I took out a money pouch from my pocket and held it out. It was the money I had borrowed—no, kept—from Madame Armand earlier when I came with Lancelot.

“Take this and go to the city church. And get a healing spell from the priest. Stop by the bathhouse, take a bath, and buy some clean clothes.”

“…I can’t use that money. You know that better than anyone.”

“As I said before, Lancelot has never taken some miracle elixir. As far as I know, he’s never even been so badly injured that he needed holy water.”

I stated the truth calmly. She, Lancelot’s mother, had been scammed. A nasty scam, using her son as a hostage.

Why, wasn’t there something like this on Earth? A famous professor in academia transferring tens of millions after receiving a call that his 40-year-old son had been kidnapped.

That’s just how the world is. A parent’s heart inherently contains a magic that paralyzes reason.

Anyway.

I finally succeeded in persuading Madame Armand. She left the slum after saying that she trusted me because I was Lancelot’s friend.

…Geez, I’m not his friend.

* * *

“Donson, what the hell is so difficult for that moron? Is getting money really that hard?”

“He complained that his dreams were unsettling. I suspect he had a nightmare.”

The brown-haired man clicked his tongue.

What? His dreams were bad? There’s a limit to how pathetic someone can be. Is that some kind of excuse for a proxy?

“Let’s drink. Just drink.”

“Young master, you have already used all of this month’s allowance from the family. It would be best if you returned home today…”

“I said I’ll buy the drinks! You idiots!”

“No, sir. We are on guard duty, so we will not drink.”

“Shit! What knight order do you belong to? Huh? Tell me your affiliation!”

“We, we are the Ruten Knights of the great Count Almans!”

“Okay. Then, if I buy you drinks, you just shut up and drink. Is that so difficult?”

The faces of the five guards darkened.

Their master, Martis de Almangs, was notorious for being a reckless, unruly brute. But even then, the knights on escort duty never imagined he’d be so degenerate as to force them to drink.

Besides.

‘He’s trying to swindle money from Madam Armand again, isn’t he!’

The knights saw right through Martis’s scheme. He was going to lie about needing expensive elixirs and holy water for Lancelot, using his name as a pretense to get the funds.

With his knights in tow, Martis strode through the slums. He held his nose with his fingers against the putrid stench that clawed at his lungs, but soon, a curious scene unfolded before him.

“…Huh? Who the hell are you?”

He’d been about to extort money from Lancelot’s birth mother, using his usual intimidation tactics. But what was this? A stranger, a face he’d never seen before, was leaning against her door.

“Are you Prince Almangs?”

“Who the hell are *you*?”

Martis didn’t bother to hide his bewilderment.

Who was he? Martis, the eldest son of the Almangs family, a count family of the Empire, renowned for their swordsmanship.

Sure, he’d been exiled from the family for his notorious bratty nature since childhood, and was now living in the faraway province of Loven… but would a noble’s inherent grace ever abandon him?

“I’m not someone you can dare to cross. I’ll be generous and tell you to get lost.”

Martis spat out the words coldly. Lancelot’s mother lived in that dilapidated excuse for a house. He didn’t want to make a scene in front of it, for no good reason.

“I have a request.”

“A request?”

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped extorting Madam Armand’s money.”

“Ha!”

Martis’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“You crazy b*stard! Hey, everyone, draw your swords!”

*Shing!*

No matter how much of a degenerate Martis was, his orders were absolute to the knights. The knights at his side instantly drew their blades.

“It’s only a matter of not taking Lancelot’s mother’s money.”

“Heh, so that’s what kind of guy he is?”

Even with five knights having formed a perfect perimeter around him, the other party, Frey, didn’t flinch. Seeing this, Martis burst into laughter.

“Puhahaha! Lancelot, that bug’s friend, are you? So? So, what can you do? What the hell can a nobody like you possibly do to me?”

Martis was about to die laughing at the situation.

Sure, that guy did look like some nobleman’s kid. That was why he was acting all high and mighty.

But at best, he was probably some minor baron from some backwater town. Those born noble would pinch their noses and recoil from the stench of b*stards like him.

“Get rid of that pathetic pride of yours, you bug. Now get the hell out of here.”

Only then did he seem to grasp the situation. Martis flicked his fingers dismissively at the silent Frey. If he just disappeared now, it would be fine. He couldn’t be bothered to hold him accountable for anything.

“…Stepping back from this is kind of hard.”

Frey knew. If he returned now, those thugs would torment Madame Armand again, and that torment would end with her remains buried on the cliffside.

“Is this guy looking for a death wish or what?”

Seeing Frey’s rigid neck, Martis yelled, his face twisted.

“Lancelot, do you owe this guy a debt or something! What do you want?”

“Debt? Yeah, I do. A life’s worth, and he’s the guy who helped me get this chance.”

“Ha! What are you talking about? You, are you part of the Golden Lion Knights?”

“No, not that. Just some kind of connection, a friend-like something.”

Martis couldn’t understand the sudden intrusion at all.

If this went south into a bloodbath, that guy wouldn’t gain a single thing from it. So what the hell did he believe in to act like this?

And besides…

‘That guy doesn’t even know how to use mana.’

What infuriated Martis was that guy’s stiff neck. Anyone who couldn’t use mana couldn’t beat someone who could. That was common sense.

And…

They had five knights. Of course, all of them were active knights who could use mana.

“Kill him!”

Martis shouted, having made his decision.