Behind the Koccus Ironworks, beside the low warehouse, a spear-carrying guard rounded the corner and swept his gaze across the area. Thud… thud… thud. The lonely echo of his leather boots on the flagstones drifted through the night.
He reached a door and stopped, fishing a pipe from his pocket. He was just about to strike a light when a large hand snaked around from behind his neck and clamped over his mouth.
The pipe clattered to the ground, scattering loose tobacco. The guard fumbled for the short sword at his belt, but a dagger whipped across his throat. Blood jetted into the ink-thick darkness.
Barrett lowered the corpse gently. The only sound in the entire kill was the soft clack of the pipe hitting stone. He slipped onward like a black cat, then glanced up and spotted a crossbowman silhouetted on the roof.
Barrett reached into his spatial ring and drew a throwing axe. The crescent-moon texture on the grip told him it was a Baharuth-made "Nightsaber." The blade was coated in matte black lacquer; its enchantments would never betray a glow.
He weighed the axe once, then hurled it. The black weapon melted into the black night, and the black figure on the roof toppled silently to the ground.
Barrett slid forward in a gliding leap, catching the falling body in his arms with the grace of a ballet dancer cradling their partner, and set it down without a whisper.
The quiet of the night shattered. Shouts, steel ringing, and spell-chanting exploded from the front gate. From the direction of the noise, it was clear that a one-on-many fight was happening at the front gate of the ironworks. Barrett knew at once that EeDechi had launched the main assault exactly as planned.
All around him, mercenary boots pounded in confusion. A commander bellowed curses, ordering the men to sheath their weapons and reinforce the gate at once. The rear of the ironworks emptied in seconds. Barrett smiled. He had zero worry about the captain carving through that rabble.
He slipped past the alarm wards, threaded a narrow alley, and stepped into a wide, empty hall. Braziers blazed along the walls, casting orange light over mountains of scrap iron and scattered blades and arrowheads.
Sacks of coarse rye bread and scattered beer bottles lay everywhere. Bricks had been stacked into a crude firepit; a soup pot still bubbled over the dying embers, thick stew rolling and steaming. The mercenaries had clearly turned the hall into their temporary supply base.
Taking a quiet breath, Barrett's sharp nose caught the scent right away: the soup pot was simmering with air-dried beef. It was a staple adventurers loved—rich in nutrients, kept forever, though it could be tough on the teeth if kept for too long.
A flicker of distraction passed through Barrett. He realized how long it had been since he'd been out on the road. Staying in Re-Estize's capital had turned him soft; this peaceful life was starting to rust his bones.
A speck of dust settled on the tip of his nose. Barrett brushed it away, then slammed into a low roll across the floor!
Right above where he had stood, the roof exploded inward. A heavy sword plunged down through the hole, dragging bricks and plaster with it, smashing into the exact spot he had just vacated.
Barrett sprang up, sword already in hand. As the dust cloud thinned, he saw the man who had crashed through the ceiling—Slam Daguerre.
Slam was enormous, troll-tall. Even Barrett, broad as he was, had to tilt his head back to meet the man's eyes. Standing there with his sword planted like a stake, Slam looked like a living wall of muscle and steel.
"Pity I didn't cleave you in half a moment ago," Slam rasped, voice raw and hoarse, a bandage still wrapped around his forehead. "Next time you won't be so lucky."
"Hah." Barrett gave a mocking laugh. "Weren't you the one EeDechi sent flying across the arena with a single swing? How are you still bouncing around like that? Guess the lesson didn't stick."
"That girl is finished," Slam growled, face darkening. "Odys has found her weakness. Soon your little adventurer squad will be reuniting underground."
"Oh?" The moment Barrett heard EeDechi was marked for death, a laugh burst out of him. "Believe me, Odys is going to meet you in hell real soon."
"I hear you adventurers are all so sentimental." Slam reached into his leather armor and pulled out an orichalcum badge, dangling it between three fingers.
"Look at this. Guildmaster Tony Ulea's metal badge from the Adventurer's Guild. His name's even engraved on it—To...ny U...le...a. Do you know why it's in my hand?"
Slam flashed a savage grin. "Because I killed Tony and chopped his head clean off!"
The smile vanished from Barrett's face. His teeth ground together so hard they creaked, molten rage boiling in his eyes.
He slowly raised his right arm, rolled up the sleeve, and revealed the silver bracer on his wrist. Red light flickered across its surface—his trophy from when he had been attacked by the "Lord of Despair," Clovis.
Barrett flicked the bracer with a finger of his left hand and said, "Look at this. Your brother Clovis Daguerre's bracer. The face he made when he begged for mercy right before he died… truly unforgettable."
Slam's grin disappeared. His face twisted like kneaded dough, growing even more brutal and hideous. He gripped his heavy sword, raised it high over his shoulder into an ox guard stance, knuckles popping, and sneered, "So we're even now?"
"Yeah, we're even. How about we call it quits right here?" Barrett drew the two-handed greatsword he was most skilled with from his spatial ring, exhaled slowly to steady the fury roaring in his chest. He gripped the hilt with both hands, eyes locked on Slam's footwork, sword tip pointing loosely at the ground in a fool's guard.
"DIE!" Slam charged like a maddened bull, eyes bloodshot. Two strides and he was on him, massive arms swinging the sword down in a crushing overhead chop.
Barrett angled his body to meet the blow, dragging his blade across Slam's arm. Slam twisted his sword to parry; the two blades crashed together, spraying icy-blue sparks.
Both men pulled their arms back at the same time, circling their swords. The edges slid and spun along each other, thrusting straight for the opponent's chest.
Barrett and Slam each stepped back. Slam quickly withdrew and, using his height advantage, slashed diagonally at Barrett's neck. Barrett ducked low and swung his sword in a flat cut toward Slam's thigh.
Blades clashed, collided, and sliced through the air. Sometimes the edges wound around each other like a lover's arms, sometimes they opened wide to strike fatal vitals. The cold, sharp sword light wove a deadly dance.
Barrett drew a deep breath and sprang back a step to reset. Slam's skill was genuinely superb—his swordwork matched Barrett's, and his body seemed strengthened by some foul magic. The man's strength was unnatural. If they kept trading blows like this, Barrett would be the one to break first.
Yet in the last few exchanges he had noticed something: Slam kept hammering at his right arm. Cutting off a hand was one thing, but Slam's strikes were obsessed, single-minded, as though some personal vendetta burned behind every swing.
Barrett guessed the reason at once. The silver bracer on his right wrist—Clovis's bracer. Slam wanted that hand gone. If that was his fixation, then his sword paths had just become easy to read.
They crashed together again. Blades snapped at throats, hearts, and groins. Barrett deliberately left his right side open. Slam took the bait, whipping his sword straight at the wrist.
Barrett flipped his greatsword to guard his arm, then lunged inside and drove the heavy pommel straight into Slam's face. The crunch of shattering nose bone rang clear.
Slam howled and staggered back. Barrett rode the momentum, slicing a flat diagonal cut that tore through leather and opened a long, wet gash across the big man's belly.
Blood poured from the ruined nose in two thick streams. Slam smeared it across his face with the back of his hand and roared, the pain only feeding his fury. He looked like a berserk giant now, determined to hack the world itself to pieces.
Barrett stayed ice-cold, eyes locked on every twitch of Slam's shoulders, feet shifting in careful, precise steps.
"I'M GOING TO CUT YOU INTO FUCKING PIECES!" Slam snarled through clenched teeth. His eyes were shot with red. Beside him sat the mercenaries' soup pot. He hooked the rim with his sword and hurled the whole thing at Barrett.
One clean stroke split the copper pot in half. Broth, meat strips, and cabbage leaves exploded across the air. Right behind the flying pot came Slam's lightning slash. Barrett spun aside, took two quick steps to the wall, and copied the move—snatching a brazier and flinging it straight at Slam.
A shower of burning coals rained down. Slam charged straight through the fire, boots crushing embers, fearless. But one stray spark drifted into his right eye. He screamed, clapping a hand over it in agony.
In that instant, when he opened his eyes again, Barrett had vanished from his sight. He looked up—only to see the bright sword blade rushing straight at him, filling his pupils.
Barrett planted his foot on the brazier stand against the wall, raised his greatsword high, and launched himself at Slam in a powerful leap. His eyes burned like molten gold as he roared for the first time:
"THIS STRIKE IS FOR TONY ULEA!"
The cold edge swept out in a merciless arc. Slam Daguerre's head flew from his neck. The huge skull rocketed upward, blood exploding like a fountain and spraying all the way to the ceiling, turning the air scarlet.
Slam's head hit the floor and rolled with a wet clatter until it stopped at Barrett's boots. The bloodshot eyes bulged wide in fury, refusing to close even in death.
Barrett let out a long breath. He stood gripping the hilt in silence for a moment, then stepped through the spreading pool of blood. He walked to Slam's headless corpse, reached into the leather armor, and after a quick search pulled out Old Tony's orichalcum badge.
He pressed the metal plate gently to his chest, offered a brief moment of silence, then slipped it into his spatial ring.
...
Barrett kept moving through the rear of the ironworks. It could no longer be called sneaking—he was now walking openly, advancing deeper into the complex.
Enemies were scarce. He ran into only a handful of panicked mercenaries. They looked like they'd seen ghosts, all fight gone from them. The two who charged him were cut down in three strokes; the rest turned and ran.
He pulled out the ironworks map, checked it against the surrounding buildings, and realized he had reached the central area. Ahead stood a spacious factory hall built of bricks. He crept to the back door, pressed his ear to the wood, and caught a faint elderly voice inside: "…be released soon."
Barrett tightened his grip on his sword, gently pushed the door open, and slipped inside with light steps. The moment he crossed the threshold, a savage wave of magical power roared through the hall, swirling into a violent vortex at the center.
But that wasn't what shocked him. Less than five meters away, molten iron churned and bubbled—and his missing teammates, Sean and Stella, were falling straight into it.
In that instant the veteran adventurer reacted. He whipped out a throwing axe and hurled it at the overhead pulley wheel. The axe head jammed deep into the gears, locking the mechanism solid. The chains snapped taut and yanked Sean and Stella to a halt. They now hung less than twenty centimeters above the molten iron.
But the danger wasn't over—one crisis had barely passed before the next erupted. The young cleric's loose chestnut hair brushed the searing surface, and flames roared up in a sudden blaze!
Barrett exploded forward, flinging an ice-blue scroll. The sealed magic tore open with a sharp hiss. Freezing mist billowed outward, barely snuffing the fire on Stella's head, but half her hair was already scorched black.
Ahead stood an old man who looked like a vulture, flanked by a dozen mages and swordsmen. All of them froze in shock, clearly unable to figure out where Barrett had come from.
Barrett sensed something was wrong. He looked past the crowd and finally saw the far end of the hall. A vast, blazing magic circle had spread across the floor, and at its center was EeDechi—her entire body wrapped in thousands of black chains.
He saw EeDechi.
EeDechi saw him.
At the same moment she also saw Sean and Stella dangling above the molten iron.
"IGNORANT VERMIN!" EeDechi roared, a thunderous bellow. Her back snapped straight like a spear. She forced herself upright, tearing at the magical chains. One by one the supposedly unbreakable black links shattered and burst apart.
"QUICK! KILL HER NOW!"
"PROTECT LORD!"
The swordsmen and mages panicked. They surged toward the struggling captain, blades and spells crashing down on her from every side.
EeDechi slammed her foot into the ground. Cracks exploded outward in a spiderweb of fractures. Then the entire floor ripped apart like wet paper, the surface collapsing completely.
A power far greater than the magic circle tore through the earth. The spell energy evaporated like water under a blazing sun, vanishing in an instant. The black chains binding her dissolved into smoke. EeDechi was free.
A tiger bursting from its cage to savage a flock of sheep!
Inside the shuddering, half-collapsed hall, dust and smoke whirled. EeDechi vanished from where she stood, and suddenly the air filled with countless afterimages—shadows left by her blinding speed.
The melody of death reached its crescendo!
The undead puppet Clovis's head burst apart like a ripe watermelon. Two heavily armored swordsmen never finished their downward swings—their chests exploded with clean, gaping holes straight through. A mage's spine snapped in half along with his staff…
In less than two seconds, more than a dozen living souls were wiped out. Only five people remained breathing inside the factory hall: Sean, Stella, Barrett, EeDechi, and the solitary Odys Malcon Waverly.
Odys's legs trembled. He watched EeDechi walk toward him step by step, blood dripping from her hands, and it was like staring straight at the god of death coming to claim him. He fought to keep his final scrap of courage, refusing to fall to his knees. He still had one last card to play.
Odys sucked in a deep breath and slid a beautifully ornate shortsword from his sleeve. This was a divine artifact bestowed by the Sorcerer Kingdom—unbreakable, able to slice iron like soft clay and cleave stone like paper!
He drew the blade. Cold light flashed, impossibly sharp. He thrust it straight at EeDechi. With the sword given to him by Supreme Overlord Ainz, he would kill the reaper standing before him!
EeDechi caught the razor edge in one bare hand and snapped it in half like a cracker. She tossed the broken pieces aside, seized Odys by the throat, and lifted the old vulture clean off the ground as easily as a baby chick.
"No… this is impossible…" Odys's feet kicked uselessly in the air, eyes bulging so wide they looked ready to pop. He stared blankly at the shattered sword in his hand, then let it clatter to the floor.
His gaze went glassy. In his pupils swirled endless confusion, bewilderment, and hesitation… then sudden understanding, and finally nothing but despair and bitter sorrow.
"So…" He clutched the arm choking his throat, words slurring. "So… you're the same as Ainz Ooal Gown!!"
Blood-red fury rolled through EeDechi's eyes, but she neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Cough… cough…" Odys could barely breathe. "No wonder… I planned for everything… The only thing I got wrong was your real strength!"
His pupils suddenly dilated. He stared fixedly at EeDechi, and a twisted smile crept across his lips—the last mad grin of a dying man savoring one final moment of insanity.
Odys gasped brokenly, "Look at you… how pathetic… how ridiculous… You possess the power of a god, yet you run with a pack of stray cats. And because of them, I held you frozen, unable to move… Hah… ha ha ha. Did you really think those stray cats would ever be grateful to you?"
His voice turned into a raw rasp as he used the last of his strength to scream, "I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOU! I... CURSE YOU! YOU WILL SUFFER... BECAUSE OF THOSE STRAY CATS! I CURSE—"
He suddenly fell silent.
A bright sword tip had punched straight through his chest from behind.
Barrett stood behind him. He had picked up a longsword, driven it into Odys's back, and twisted the blade a full three hundred and sixty degrees, shredding the man's heart into pulp.
Blood sprayed from the horrific wound in his chest. A single droplet landed on EeDechi's chin, bright red like fallen plum blossoms.
Blood bubbled from Odys's mouth. His body convulsed once, then went completely limp. He was dead.
EeDechi dropped the corpse and watched the pool of blood slowly spreading beneath the schemer.
She wiped the blood from her chin and muttered under her breath:
"How unlucky."