SOTBW - 117

Although it wasn’t obvious on the outside, Maximón was extremely angry. He felt like tearing out the eyes of everyone who looked at Najane with contempt. He also wanted to kill every thug who had been eyeing Najane from behind.

In the past, Maximón would have wiped them out without caring what Najane thought. But now, he was aware of what Najane meant to him. If she didn’t want it, he truly didn’t want to do it.

Najane likely just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Maximón understood that feeling. However, despite this, his anger couldn’t be controlled, and he gritted his teeth so hard that it almost made a sound. The reason for his anger was the overwhelming sense of guilt that everything had happened because of him.

As the thugs who had been loitering around the auction house gathered around Maximón and Najane, many eyes turned their way. Maximón pulled Najane close to his side and deliberately led her down an alley. Najane followed him silently. When they found a place where there were no people, a mocking voice echoed from above the building.

“Hey, the bitch of the Knights Commander! I thought she was only good with a sword, but I heard she can swing a man’s cock around well too!”

The thugs, excited at the thought of mocking them, laughed loudly. At that moment, Maximón stopped walking. Startled, Najane looked up.

Maximón turned around without saying a word. His dark green eyes, barely visible beneath his hood, glinted ominously. Panicking, Najane gently grasped his hand.

“Captain.”

“Do you intend to tell me to hold back again?”

“This is the black market…”

“I’m not angry for you.”

Maximón’s low voice echoed above her head. Najane stared into his eyes, trying to understand his meaning.

But contrary to his words, Maximón was angrier than ever.

“I’ve never lived with such insults. No one has ever dared do that to me, nor could they.”

“No, they…”

“I know.”

“…….”

“To insult you is to trample on the pride of the Knights Commander.”

In truth, Maximón had never really felt pride before, but for this occasion, he allowed himself to think that way.

Maximón let go of Najane’s hand and turned back, retracing their steps. As he thought more about it, his anger quietly simmered. The feeling that boiled hot inside him couldn’t simply be described as anger.

He felt like breaking their limbs and tossing them to the Serith beasts, training them as food for young soldiers. No, upon further thought, that wouldn’t be enough. First, he would cut off their ankles so they couldn’t escape, then give them to those who delighted in sodomy.

When their worthless bodies became tattered like rags, he would slice their flesh with a blade heated until it glowed red. He would gag them so they couldn’t beg for mercy and place centipedes—poisonous creatures—into the exposed flesh, watching them slowly die. And then, he would hang their butchered corpses like slaughtered pigs in the middle of the black market to serve as a warning to everyone, in a manner that would remind them of a true gentleman’s justice.

Thinking of the blood pooling on the floor of a torture chamber, Maximón’s mood subtly shifted.

Maximón, removing his hood and brushing his hair back, sighed briefly.

“I can’t possibly…”

I can’t go on a date like this.

Swallowing the rest of his sentence, Maximón kicked over a wooden crate discarded in the alley, smashing it. The thugs, thinking he was venting his frustration on the crate because he couldn’t come at them, laughed loudly. But that was an incredibly naïve and foolish thought.

Najane took a step back and looked at the men facing Maximón. Were they people who wouldn’t mind dying today? Or did they truly believe the rumors about Maximón were exaggerated?

Najane sighed quietly and tilted her head back, spotting the drunkards outside the window. They were the same men who had mocked her earlier with crude remarks.

As the words they had shouted in the alley rang in her ears, her ears grew hot again. In shame, Najane hunched her shoulders, but soon, anger bubbled up inside her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had just been unlucky, cursed with misfortune.

Najane tightened her gaze and tilted her head back. She thought it would feel good to let them go, but something within her said otherwise. While she was thinking, she noticed their attention was now on Maximón, and she cautiously picked up a stone that had fallen to the ground.

Meanwhile, Maximón had picked up a sharp splinter of wood from the broken crate. He fiddled with it like a skewer and then threw a glance at the men. The sharp stick Maximón was holding looked pitifully insufficient as a weapon.

“Are you planning to give a lecture with that stick, since you can’t bring yourself to swing a sword at the locals, Commander of the Romsoa Knights?”

“You know who I am, then.”

Maximón said lightly, as if surprised, while holding the piece of wood. The thugs sneered and looked at him.

“Is there really anyone in this fort who doesn’t know who Lord Elgort is?”

“Hmm. You know I’m the Commander of the Knights and that I’m from the Elgort family, yet you’re acting this stupid.”

Maximón smiled as he moved closer to them.

“Well, it’s impressive enough that a beast can speak human words.”

However, the thugs didn’t fully understand the meaning of his words and blinked foolishly, not realizing that the “beast” he referred to was themselves.

At that moment, a hot stream of liquid splashed over their faces. A few of them, startled, wiped their faces and looked up, wondering if someone had urinated from the building. But a sharp, metallic smell like blood stung their noses.

Only then did they look down at their hands, which were now covered in crimson. It was blood.

The thug at the front grabbed his neck and collapsed to the ground. Blood spurted from the side of his neck where he had clutched it. Maximón lightly flicked the blood-stained piece of wood and clicked his tongue.

“Such a large frame, yet whining like a child. If you stop the bleeding, you might survive.”

Maximón said kindly, then grabbed the shoulder of the dazed thug and stabbed him in the side with the piece of wood. The blunt end of the wood dug into the thick flesh, then yanked out with a disgusting sound, sending a streak of blood flying. The thug howled and collapsed.

The others finally realized what was happening. Some of the quicker ones hastily fled, while a few, still confused, drew their daggers from their belts.

Four of the thugs shouted curses and charged at Maximón at once. Maximón tightened his grip on the piece of wood and struck the first one in the jaw, lifting his chin. The sound of cracking bone echoed. The thug, stunned by the impact, bit his tongue and spat blood from his mouth.

Maximón nimbly avoided the dagger aimed at his chest, then stabbed the attacker’s shoulder with the piece of wood. The wood splintered, unable to withstand the pressure, and broke apart. He had meant to just wound him, but in his anger, he had pierced through muscle. With an annoyed expression, Maximón dropped the broken piece of wood and punched the thug in the face.

A Knight Commander’s lesson didn’t end with just one punch. Maximón continued to rain rapid punches on the thug’s face until he collapsed to the ground. His cheekbones shattered like a dried-up ant’s nest. The thug could no longer breathe properly, gasping for air, his hands trembling in agony.

The remaining two thugs hesitated, unsure how to approach. When they saw their fallen comrades, they began to slowly step back. Maximón picked up one of the fallen daggers and checked if it was well-sharpened. It was a cheap weapon that was barely worthy of being called a dagger. It was poorly maintained with a chipped edge, and the blade wasn’t even sharp.

He grabbed the dagger’s blade and bent it downwards. It didn’t take long at all. The thin blade bent easily, as if breaking a thin twig.

Maximón tossed the bent dagger in front of the two thugs. Only then did they realize they had to run. They must have finally accepted the rumors circulating about Maximón were true, experiencing it firsthand. The thugs discarded their daggers and fled in panic.

The fight ended too quickly. If they had any real skill, they might have at least cooled down their heads while fighting. Maximón looked down at the thugs lying motionless on the ground and turned his back.

This is why humans are so difficult to describe—repulsive and pathetic. Why do such creatures exist in this world? When I see these insignificant beings acting like they’re the masters of the world, it’s hard to hold back my anger. Humans grovel before the strong and flaunt arrogance before the weak, resorting to any means to not lose to someone they perceive as their equal.

They love to slander others and find joy in seeing others suffer. No beast in the world takes comfort in the suffering of its own kind. Even as humans achieve great heights in civilization and develop technologies, they don’t use it for altruistic purposes. Instead, they gather their knowledge to dominate and exploit their own kind, sparking wars...

God did not set a destiny for humans. Wherever they go, they create a path for the next generation. By passing on the experience of one generation to the next, children rely on their parents’ memories but also create new methods and challenge new things.

Only humans can do this. Why does the world allow them to challenge their limits? Why is the universe so generous to them? Why, why, why...

Maximón’s face twisted in pain as he saw Najane approaching and quickly composed himself. Seeing things so beneath humanity often brings up disgust, like a reflexive gag. I envy and resent humans, while simultaneously despising and hating them. I’ve thought about why I feel such contradictory emotions, but I’ve never found an answer, so I gave up thinking about it.

Thinking to understand myself is a waste of time. Maximón has always been this way from the beginning. He took a breath, wiped the blood off his gloves, and looked down at Najane.

Najane glanced up before walking towards him. Only then did Maximón check above. The ones who had made the crude remarks about her were somewhere around there.

Maximón, narrowing his eyes, stared at the broken window, then flinched slightly as he felt a sensation brushing his cheek and raised an eyebrow. Najane quietly wiped away the bloodstains that had splashed onto Maximón’s eye with her glove.

“Do you think we can visit all the slave shops before lunch?”

“Hmm.”

“It seems we’ve caused quite a stir.”

“Let’s go somewhere a bit farther from here. If they’re clever, they’ll pretend not to know us.”

Maximón took Najane’s hand and led the way. As they walked, Najane glanced up at the windowless frame again. Beyond the window, two men lay unconscious, having been struck squarely in the temple with rocks. If they didn’t wake up, they would freeze to death, but it was still a hundred times better than having to face Maximón in a fight.

Najane adjusted her hood and lowered her gaze. In truth, when she had hit someone’s head with a stone, she hadn’t felt anything odd at all. It was a person’s head she had struck, and the impact had been so forceful that it had made a distinct sound...

Najane, fiddling with her empty hands, glanced at Maximón. She somehow felt like she was starting to resemble him. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She didn’t want to think about it too deeply, but the brief thrill she had felt when the person hit by the stone fell backward was approaching her with terrifying clarity.

No, they were bad people. They called me a bitch without even knowing the situation. Throwing the stone was a justified act, and they deserved to be punished. I haven’t done anything wrong. I shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s just... it’s just because this is the first time something like this has happened. Maybe I’ll encounter it more often, so it’s better to forget about it. Yes, forget it. Forget it, Emaydis.

Najane, as if to comfort herself, tightly grasped Maximón’s hand.