Jealousy!
You're just plain jealous!
Sure, you wiped out the Seven-Legged Serpent, but now they're scared of me, your guild master—so you're green with envy!
Weston planted his hands on his hips and roared with laughter.
Can't be helped—after all, I'm a big shot!
Precht: "..."
No, I'm not jealous in the least.
Forget it—let the guy gloat. Everyone in the guild was long used to Weston's habit of being steady when it counted and randomly nuts when it didn't.
Just then, the voices of nearby Extras drifted over.
"The Fairy Commander?!"
"It's actually that guy?!"
"The legend—five meters tall, Titan-shaped, green hair and tusks, a face like a demon, kills without blinking, a cold-blooded fiend who'll send women and children to the front lines just to win a war!!!"
"He's disguised himself as a human and come to the City of Lawlessness—does he plan to wipe us all out?!"
"Waaaah… what did we ever do wrong?!"
"Damn it! How far does that monster have to push us before he's satisfied?!"
At the sound of Weston's name, everyone in the street looked ready to pop their eyes out; jaws hit the floor as they wailed and beat their chests.
"Haha… you really are a famous big shot!"
The grin slid off Weston's face and onto Precht's.
What the hell have these guys been saying about me?!!
Weston felt his anger spike; he whipped his head around and glared at the ones who'd just spoken.
"Crap!!"
"He's spotted us!!"
"Run for it!!"
In the next instant, some scattered while others dropped to their knees, hands high in surrender, shaking like SpongeBob.
"Tch, boring!"
"Let's move!"
Only after Weston and Precht's figures faded in the distance did the onlookers dare stand again.
"They… gone?"
"Wait!"
"The direction they just headed—could it be… the Dark Night Poison Scorpions' HQ?!!"
Right!
Even if that demon Weston wants to raze the City of Lawlessness, the first ones he'd have to take out are the Dark Night Poison Scorpions—not small fry like us!
We've still got a chance to live!
"Run… run… get out of the City of Lawlessness while we can!!"
…A dozen minutes later, Weston and Precht arrived at the northern tavern—HQ of the Dark Night Poison Scorpions.
A black flag hung above the tavern, purple patterns forming the vague shape of a scorpion lashing its tail.
"What's your plan?"
Since they'd agreed Weston would handle it alone, Precht didn't intend to act—though he couldn't resist reminding: "If you try to set up a Spell Formula trap, they'll probably notice."
"Spell Formula trap?"
"No need!"
"They're no saints—no need to reduce casualties with formulas; we barge right in!"
With that, Weston stepped forward, left arm out for balance, right fist chambered at his hip.
A torrent of magic surged out of him, condensing into a black runic circle at his knuckles; the instant it formed, a single word flew forth.
Clearly—
"Word Magic: Break!"
BOOM—!!!
With a thunderous roar, a five-meter hole was blasted in the tavern's main door!
One simple punch sent the tall wooden gate flying off its frame, the surrounding wall shattered to splinters by the overwhelming force.
Timber shot into the tavern like cannon shells, crashing onto tables, floor—even onto Mages' heads.
The clamor inside died in an instant.
The sudden blast and flying debris shattered the atmosphere.
The Dark Night Poison Scorpions' Mages had been drinking, feasting, toying with girls, planning where to party tonight—until this calamity from the sky ruined their fun.
Every hand froze, every voice cut off; all eyes snapped to the doorway, stunned, furious, bewildered.
Someone dares challenge the Dark Night Poison Scorpions in the City of Lawlessness?
Even the Seven-Legged Serpent or those soldiers never dared be this brazen!
Who's come?
Got a death wish or what?
A draft of cold air and light swept in through the gaping hole, thinning the tavern's thick booze stench.
The light and chill grazed eyes, skin, nerves, waking their minds a little.
Smack!!
One Mage—face full of food when a plank slammed his table—slammed the table back, stood, and stormed toward the door, cursing.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Daring to pick a fight with the Dark Night Poison Scorpions—tired of liv—"
His voice died in his throat.
It was as if he'd seen something terrifying; all drunkenness vanished, his face paled, legs gave way, and he crumpled to the floor.
The other Mages burst into laughter.
"Hey, what's wrong with you? Too drunk to walk?"
"Haha… he's banged so many girls his body's drained dry!"
"Makes sense—why don't you losers hurry up and finish 'that thing' so you can power up? You're embarrassing us Dark Night Poison Scorpions!"
After the jokes, someone quickly sensed something off.
Several others had lost their usual 'liveliness'; instead of laughing along, they stood pale and trembling.
"Huh? What's with you guys—why aren't you laughing?"
"H-he… it's him…"
"The Fairy… Commander!!"
The ashen man raised a shaking finger toward Weston at the door, voice stammering.
The Dark Night Poison Scorpions differed fundamentally from the Seven-Legged Serpent.
The latter were routed stragglers who gathered in the City of Lawlessness; members like Blake and the Fighting Brothers had mostly been lone wolves—little knowledge—so they hadn't recognized Weston at once.
But the former arrived with an intact structure, and on the old battlefield they'd clashed repeatedly with Magic Guilds and Mages.
Their intel network was far better.
Naturally, they all knew something of the Fairy Commander—the man who had steered the entire war.