The tunnels were too narrow.
That was his first thought as he moved with slight stiffness on his frame. His shoulders barely scraping against the jagged stone walls. And his sword obviously set on his back, undrawn.
An inconvenience, he decided.
His gauntlet slammed forward with bone shattering strength, creating a wet crack as a man was driven backward into the stone wall. The thug's scream cut short when Momonga's fist followed through, crushing organs into fine mist that left no room for survival.
The body slumped, yet Momonga didn't slow.
The cave stank of sweat, blood, oil, and darkness. Darkness layered so thick it clung to his armor like humidity and feel it crawl into his skin. Like a child asking for it's father's attention as soon as he got back home. Surpsingly warm, and... eager.
Shaking the thoughts away, he instead focused on the fight. But for each thug that came at him and died by his own armored hands, his disappointment grew. He had expected resistance. Instead he encountered panic.
Another came shouting from the front, and Momonga's combat instinct kicks in again, slowing down the action to comical proportions.
Momonga took note of the longsword, the narrow tunnel, and flex of the man's muscle. Seeing this, Momonga easily concluded a full, unhindered, downward swing. Subconsciously clenching his toes, causing his boots to dig slightly into the dirt.
And the man didn't disappoint. He swung his steel sword downward, only to ring uselessly against the air as Momonga leaned sideways. Spinning on his toes without breaking stride, his fist already moved forward.
The punch was so explosive, it caused the man's chest to cave as he sailed trough the air with blood spilling from his mouth, nose and eyes.
But before he could even be surprised, he was already looking up at the rocky ceiling and laid dying on his back.
Momonga kept moving at a steady pace. Silently disappointed at what he was seeing.
He had finally found a destination, but with no path to take. He thought to gather talents and skill on his side. It was the most reasonable choice. In the absence of Nazarick, strengthening his standing was necessary and man-power was an absolute must for a strong foundation.
He thought he would find it through such tunnels.
But for every fool he faced, all he was introduced to was incompetence.
In these tunnels, swords were clumsy things. Spears were worse. There was no room to swing, no space to retreat.
The place screamed Poor planning, but he wasn't expecting the denizens to be worst.
A spearman rushed from one of the rooms. Momonga stepped into another man's reach and drove his knee upward.
The crunch echoed, the man fell with a shattered jaw, teeth, and a headache that will remain for the rest of his life.
He advanced through the passage like a moving wall, fists hammering, elbows crushing throats, gauntlets denting skulls.
Every blow carried the weight of his armor, the leverage of his mass, and the absolute certainty that none of these men mattered.
Overtime, Momonga accepted that these weren't warriors.
They were livestock that had learned how to hold knives.
A fat man lunged from one of the rooms, screaming something incoherent. Momon caught him by the skull and slammed him face-first into the cave wall once.
Twice and pieces of his face stayed with the jagged wall.
And the third impact crushed what was left.
He released the corpse and continued forward, boots stepping forward before the blood even reached his soles. And then he paused for a second as he saw what lied within the room.
It was girl, naked and tied on a bed. Looking at him with wide and puffy eyes. Breathing heavily as her eyes devoured his presence.
'This is what festers beneath human civilization.' he thought.
Without a second thought, he sent a [•Message•] to Albedo.
"[Albedo, how goes the search?]" Momonga asked.
"[Disappointing, Momonga-sama.]" she answers, a snarl leaving her lips. "[I believe we over estimated this so called 'Eight Fingers'. They have no more than a few thousand gold coins here at best. Each was even crudely minted and not a single promising soul. Is it truly necessary to let them live, my Lord?]"
"[Tell me Albedo, how would their deaths serve my ambition?]" Momonga asked with a slightly probing voice.
But Albedo caught on no less. "[Forgive my foolish question my lord. I shall see to your wishes immediately.]"
Momonga was slightly stunned. He thought Albedo would provide an alternative. A more suitable and more efficient path towards his dream. Instead, she actually seceded.
But while Momonga was stumped, Albedo was relieved and slightly elevated.
She sighed in joy knowing that she was on the right path. "...he listened to me." she whispered dreamily. "..good, good. I'm on the right track it seems Yamaiko-sama."
The woman shook away the distractions while revelling at the warmth in her chest. She looked around the room. Taking note of the lifeless dull eyes of the woman on the bed and the corpse of a naked man slumped at the corner.
Without a second thought, she held out her hand and casted, "[•Heal•]". Cut off the ropes binding her limbs, grabbed the coins on the dresser and then moved on to the next.
"Still, this wouldn't be enough." she thought à she bit down her lips. "The noblemen will bury this. Make them vanish or even just outright deny it... we need something solid aside from the dubious testament of foreign powers and the questionable ethics of the Adventurer's Guild... I need that Princess to live... or better yet, I need her to die."
—.—.—.—.—
As he passed through the underground tunnels, more and more began turning the other direction. Some even got stepped on by their own.
But he remained resolute.
Another narrow turn. More bodies greeted his vision. More screaming reached his ears and then–
Brain Unglaus had fought monsters.
He had faced death, felt it breathe against his neck, wheezed passed his throat and tasted it in his mouth but this... this was different.
The man in black armor moved through the corridor like a siege weapon given legs. He was not swinging wildly nor was he charging recklessly.
Just advancing.
Brain watched as a thug raised a sword overhead—too slow. The armored warrior stepped inside the swing and drove a fist into the man's abdomen.
Brain's face winced at the image, the sound and the vibrations through he skin.
The thug folded around the blow, vomited blood while choking on his own organs, and collapsed into a twitching heap on the ground.
Fists, Brain realized.
His sword poking over one shoulder and no shield. Just armored hands breaking men apart.
A thrill ran down his spine.
'...this man... could he be just like him?'
Brain laughed as the Black Knight parried a blade with a backhand, disarmed its owner, and broke the man's arm in the same motion.
His eyes couldn't leave the armored figure carving through Eight Fingers' men like they were training dummies.
Brain grinned wildly.
The tunnel shook as another body was crushed with a kick. The Knight's force denting even the wall passed it.
And when their eyes met... and he frowned as he felt nothing.
No threat. No sense of dread. No chill up and down his spine. Let alone a familiar thrill that should have glossed over his skin.
It was like... Nothing.
And that made it worst.
Brain glared into focus. Uncertainty now dancing on his fingers. He squeezed the grip of his sword and felt the familiar stretch of leather ground him.
He drew his blade slowly, and held the longsword with both hands poised forward to attack.
But the Black Knight simply stared at him.
And then, he surged forward.
His combat sense heightened, the stretch of his muscles after the first step emboldened him.
He poised for a diagonal cut. His eyes remained focused. He entered striking distance seeing not a flinch. And with certainty, he used Martial Arts, [Slash].
*zwing~ he missed–
Something hard hit him.
Brain's vision exploded into white as he was lifted off his feet and slammed into the tunnel wall. The stone cracked as air left his lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp.
He tried to put his feet beneath him, but his body protest with a sharp stinging pain poking dangerously against his lung, making him freeze and slide down.
Spots filled his eyes, while ragged breaths left his heaving lips.
His vision slowly cleared, and saw himself on the ground, sitting against the wall. His hand moved in reflex, holding his side in pain. And then black sabatons, stopped just in front of him.
He tried to move but blood rushed up his throat and puked out. Looking up, he froze at the looming shadow in front of him.
The Black Knight, looking down at him in complete silence.
His mind swirled, wondering what was happening. 'Why? Why does it feel wrong to look at him? As if he wasn't even there?'
Questions popped up one after the other. 'Was my instincts dull!? Was it magic!? A curse!? A magic item!? Was I poisoned?'
To Brain, he failed to understand his predicament. Him, sitting helpless and powerless and yet... there was nothing.
No fear.
No aggression.
Not even doubt.
As if his mind was failing to understand–
"Disappointing."
Brain let out a choked breath. His eyes wide at the man's word. And his body, slowly shook as he looked down at the blood on his hands.
"ha...haha- Hahahaha!"
He couldn't help but laugh. As if something so obvious finally clicked in his mind.
That was why... because to the man in front of him, he wasn't a threat.
Just a disappointment.
It left him curious... And he looked up once more, smiling this time and wondered. "I wondered... how big the gap is between us... haha~."
"Amazing…" Brain wheezed, laughing despite the pressure. "So this is… the lesson then… a gap I never even knew..."
He had been humbled by a commoner in front of the King and Kingdom. Brought low in life and name, that he sold his own sword arm for coin. And now, reality teaches him another lesson.
That the strength he sought... was not all there is.
As if his lesson was taught, The Black Knight ignored him, and continued on walking.
Brain sat there, looking at the figure of he Black Knight and wondered why left him alive. And with a humorless chuckle, he whispered his hard earned words...
"...there are pacts between Lions and Men."
The victor decides... always... what he takes and what he spares.
—.—.—.—.—
Davernoch felt it before he heard it.
The Orb of Death pulsed violently, shadows writhing within its surface like something choking.
Too much, too fast.
He rose from his seat slowly, thin fingers curling around it but none dared touch it, he didn't dare disturb it.
"This is.." he murmured. "...a feast–"
The door exploded inward.
Stone shattered as bodies were hurled through the entrance like refuse. One hit the wall and slid down, boneless and dead. Then the armored figure stepped through.
Silence fell.
Davernoch stared just as Edström's grin vanished.
And as they eyed the Knight up and down, they were left to think in wonder as to who he is.
Edström licked her lips, eyes tracing the black armor, the golden edgings, the blood slicked across his gauntlets and knuckles. And his tabbard that barely contained the muscles within.
"You didn't say he was this big~" Edström purred.
Davernoch's gaze flicked to the ruined corridor behind him along with the dead now loitering the ground.
"Impressive," he whispered. "He breached the inner tunnels alone?"
Momon cracked his knuckles. The sound echoed like a death knell that actually sent a chill down their spine.
Excited, Edström stepped forward first. Her blades floating to her sides with her usual confidence now vibrating in eagerness as she took in his impressive figure that she found alluring.
Davernoch's jaw tightened.
A dark sense tickling at the back of his ears. This his was no mercenary. This was a problem. A massive, armored problem standing in the heart of their den, surrounded by bodies that had been their men moments ago.
Edström smiled again—slow, and dangerous .
"Oh…" she purred. "This just got interesting."
Momon raised his hand. And clenched them so hard the air between his palm and fingers exploded.
And with an explosive snap of his arm, he punched the very air in front of him and the cave braced itself against the tremor.
(AN: Happy New Year Everyone!!! 🎊)