Chapter 6: Brawl, Human Bomb, and Loli

“Young master, not many people can wield a Drow scimitar skillfully; most can only keep it as an ornament…”

After leaving the stall, Walter softly reminded him. The boy noticed a hint of displeasure in the old man’s voice. Of course, dozens of gold coins were nothing in this old man’s eyes. However, wasting money on useless things was clearly a bad habit in his view.

“This blade isn’t long, just a bit more flexible than a foil. It can be used for self-defense… and it’s easier to exert force with than a foil,” the boy casually gave a few reasons, while deftly twirling the small dagger in circles in his hand. He certainly wouldn’t mention his real goal was that inconspicuous talisman. The son of a Duke resorting to theft—if such a thing got out, not to mention spreading gossip, just letting the old steward know would be enough for him to receive two or three cane lashes. The old man’s discipline toward him was not always this lenient.

According to the original plan, the next stop was supposed to be a hearty and simple lunch: lamb roasted with cream and lentils, pies stuffed with green onions and beef filling, and fish pies fried to a bright golden color. Though far from the home-cooked delicacies Constantine remembered, it was considered good food in this world.

But as the saying goes in the East, plans often get disrupted by unexpected changes due to their speed…

So just as they followed the crowd toward the marketplace exit, something unexpected happened—panicked shouts came from across the street. Constantine immediately noticed an old, crude carriage being pulled wildly forward by two horses. Suddenly, the horses let out a shrill cry and collapsed to one side. However, a carriage at full speed was not easy to stop. Due to inertia, the carriage continued sliding forward with the two horses. Sparks flew as the front of the carriage scraped against the ground, and the horses’ legs were torn to bloody shreds against the stones. The poor horses left two long trails of blood on the cobblestone road!

The rumbling collision threw the crowd into chaos. Everyone scrambled aside to avoid being hit by the clearly panicked animals. The combined weight of the two horses and the carriage, along with their terrifying speed, made the impact no less powerful than a charging elephant. A luxurious carriage parked by the roadside was forced to swerve and rush to one side—if it hadn’t, it would have become a casualty alongside the two other vehicles.

The abrupt turn naturally brought the carriage to a shuddering stop. At that moment, a dozen or so burly men emerged from the crowd, as if on cue. They pulled out crude machetes and wooden clubs from hiding spots and surrounded the carriage.

Leading them was a bald man wearing a leather vest. He shouted something loudly, seemingly threatening the people inside the carriage. However, the occupants of the luxurious private carriage were no pushovers. As the carriage stopped, several bodyguard-like figures stepped down and secured the surroundings. Though outnumbered, they all wore chainmail and wielded sharp longswords. Their stances made it clear they were trained fighters.

“Not an accident… looks like a brawl? … Are they deciding who’s the boss of Hayton?” The boy glanced over, feeling a sudden surge of excitement in his heart…

Street fights were a rare sight in the Plane he was familiar with—in a harmonious society, the ruffians he remembered mostly used small weapons like knives or chains. It was only in movies that large-scale fights with swords and maces occasionally appeared. But it had been so long since he left that time, he hadn’t seen anything like the street brawls led by Brother Ho Nam with his hundreds of followers.

“Something’s not right… Young master, let’s go back,” the old steward, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up.

By then, the two sides had finished their fierce exchange of insults and had begun fighting. The four bodyguards were clearly professionally trained, while the larger group consisted of ragtag thugs. Yet, each of these thugs fought fearlessly, and for a moment, it was a close match. Some pedestrians on the street, along with shop guards and servants, gradually got pulled into the chaos. Garbage, bricks, and blood splattered everywhere, making the scene incredibly noisy.

Constantine paused, then realized something was indeed off—typically, street fights had specific purposes, like revenge or causing trouble in enemy territory. They might cause temporary chaos but usually not on such a large scale. Moreover, considering how to avoid law enforcement afterwards, gang fights usually had their own unspoken rules and were not supposed to involve bystanders. But what was happening now clearly violated this unwritten agreement.

Since arriving in this world, Constantine knew the city’s public safety was nothing compared to what he was used to. But for a large-scale brawl to erupt in the capital, right before his eyes, just after he was allowed to go out—it was all too coincidental.

“The art of distraction, or…” The boy, who was once a shut-in in his past life, recalled a term from a group of people who claimed to live in the shadows. The strategy involved deliberately inciting a fight around the target, then attacking when they were distracted. It also helped conceal one’s killing intent within a seemingly random event. There was an even simpler way to describe it—one of the thirty-six stratagems, called “fishing in troubled waters.”

Whether or not this scene was targeting him, the Governor’s son, it was no longer a good time to continue sightseeing.

“They’ve blocked the street exit, probably planning to take advantage of the chaos to attack… Then let’s head to that inn; it should have a back door!” Constantine scanned the surroundings and made a decision. He was the first to start moving toward the side of the street. The boy’s quick and correct reaction earned a hint of approval in the old steward’s eyes—right now, leaving via the street was unwise. The crowd posed too much risk, and with just a few archers placed at higher points on this open street, any objective could be achieved. Instead, leaving through a building was the safest option.

Unfortunately, this attack was clearly meticulously planned and not so simple.

Boom!

Just as their destination was within reach, the boy’s vision was suddenly illuminated by a bright red light. Before he could react, a thunderous explosion erupted before his eyes! A blast of scorching heat surged toward him like a storm. He felt his body go light as he was flung to one side as if riding clouds! Only two or three seconds later did the noise and the surrounding scene return to his senses.

He was now sprawled over a passerby. Perhaps thanks to that, he didn’t suffer major impact injuries, though his back ached from the scorching heatwaves, and the thunderous blast had left his chest numb. Struggling to his feet, he noticed a huge gap had opened in the crowd. Thick smoke with a heavy smell of sulfur spread in all directions. The ground there had turned into scorched earth, covered in burn marks. Dark scorch spots were stained with specks of blood, splattered far and wide. No one was left in the center—only smoldering remains, charred black and unrecognizable as heads or bodies.

“Terrorist attack? Human bomb?”

The boy’s mind was briefly in disarray, with unrelated words spinning chaotically. It took him a few seconds to realize that it must have been the effect of a spell—though he didn’t see open flames, the effect was similar to something the court mage had once used, called the Fireball Spell. But this realization also startled Constantine. Someone who could use such a spell was likely a genuine Mage. How could such a person be involved in a street brawl among commoners?

But the next moment, he blinked in disbelief—it wasn’t an illusion; he had caught sight of a Mage’s figure at the street corner.

That was no imposter… While Mage robes might not be hard to sew, the glow from the staff was difficult to fake and served no purpose. Moreover, the effect of the spell just now clearly showed this Mage was someone wealthy families would pay a high price to recruit.

“Walter!” Constantine looked around. In their current situation, he could only rely on the old steward’s strength.

But just as he spotted the old man running toward him through the confused crowd, several terrified screams erupted. Everyone seemed to wake from a dream and began scattering in all directions.

“Damn it!”

Constantine cursed. Even if his Soul was close to that of an adult, his current body was only thirteen years old. His muscles, even after training, couldn’t do much against a crowd of dozens or hundreds. In this chaos, his height of less than four feet was a distinct disadvantage—only managing a cry of surprise, the boy was swallowed by the tide of people.

Walter was at a loss. The old steward’s skills were formidable, but against a crowd like this, he alone couldn’t form an effective defense. If this were a battlefield, he was confident he could turn everyone within his reach into corpses, but doing so now would have severe consequences and wouldn’t help the situation at all.

“Get out of the way! Move!”

Struggling to keep his balance amid the shoving crowd, the boy forced himself to stay calm. In such a situation, he had to go with the flow, or being trampled to death was no joke… So he followed behind someone who looked strong and gradually moved toward a less crowded area. After running a few hundred feet, the crowd finally slowed down slightly.

That was because four people ahead had formed a small human wall, slowly moving toward the side of the street. Each of them held a sword pointed outward. The gleaming blades in the sunlight naturally parted the crowd on either side. Within their human wall, a small figure was barely visible. Seizing the moment the crowd slowed, the boy nimbly slipped through gaps between people and reached this small, temporary clearing.

The chance that people protecting someone were assassins was much lower, but acting as semi-free bodyguards was a good choice.

The four burly men in gray robes looked familiar. No—Constantine immediately recognized them as the ones he’d seen at the auction. And behind them, as expected, was the little girl in Gothic-style dress. Without hesitation, Constantine found an opening and squeezed into the small space cleared by the swords.

“Who are you?”

The boy’s approach drew a sharp question, but there was no immediate attack—clearly, a child posed little threat in their eyes. Moreover, the boy’s clothing didn’t resemble that of a commoner, and the overly decorated weapon at his side further hinted at his status.

“I… I am Kafan Degna, the legitimate son of Baron Earl Digna. May I ask who you are?”

This was a pre-prepared fake identity, but it held up without flaws. The Baron did exist and served as a clerk under the Western Frontier Governor. His son was around Constantine’s age, and the two children had even met a few times. Unless someone was intimately familiar with all the Western Frontier nobles, there shouldn’t be any major issues.

But clearly, no one was in the mood to question a child’s story. Even while asking, the four men didn’t halt their movement. By now, they were near a building at the side of the street. Only the pair of watery blue eyes within the human wall stared directly at Constantine, making him feel a bit uneasy—as if his little act hadn’t been convincing.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on this. Constantine steadied himself and stepped ahead, circling to one side of the group and leaning against the corner of the wall—he had noticed some unusual activity in the crowd.

“Move aside! Get out of the way! Over there!” “Die, you dogs of Karl!” “Bastards, who are you… We don’t know any Karl!”

Chaotic shouts scattered the crowd. Six or seven figures armed with simple spiked clubs and crude machetes rushed over. Based on whatever judgment they used, as soon as they saw people with swords, they charged forward amidst incoherent yelling, ignoring any protests. The air immediately filled with the clanging of weapons.

“Idiots! What’s the point of arguing now? Can’t you see they’re just looking for trouble?” Constantine muttered under his breath, cursing the Knights’ foolishness—or perhaps what they called chivalry.

He slightly rolled up his sleeve lace, preparing both to flee and fight if necessary.

Though the numbers were six against four, the numerical difference wasn’t huge. But in Constantine’s eyes, these Household Knights had little chance of winning. Their combat skills weren’t particularly impressive. Their attacks were purely linear slashes and chops, relying solely on the fighter’s strength without much variation. To Constantine, their martial skills weren’t much different from a farmer chopping wood. Only their coordinated formation was somewhat noteworthy.

However, the opponents’ numerical advantage and the chaotic situation nullified that strength. The thugs might look rough, but they were quite cunning. They randomly grabbed weaker unlucky bystanders and shoved them toward the swords, then attacked from behind the human shield. The four men’s formation occasionally faltered. Perhaps their ill-suited equipment prevented them from showing their full fighting strength, or was it that pesky sense of justice? Whatever the case, their originally balanced formation now only offered defensive advantages.

But even this advantage didn’t last long. With a signal, six or seven crossbow bolts suddenly flew from another direction, whistling sharply through the air toward the four men.

This assistance was deadly. Though a few bolts were deflected by swords, three deeply pierced two of the men, who groaned and fell backward. Their once-tight defense immediately crumbled.

Constantine’s face paled. He noticed the newer ruffians each held a crossbow—a weapon capable of firing two bolts consecutively, strictly regulated by various nations in this era. Though crudely made, at this distance and with such numbers, even the strongest fighter might not survive the arrow shower.

“Miss, get out of here!”

The whirring of bolts grew louder, accompanied by groans and the unpleasant grating of metal. The loyal Household Knights roared, using their bodies as a solid wall to block the second wave of arrows. But the cost was even more tragic—at least three of the four were pierced through the chest or even the throat, while the remaining one, though not dead instantly, was spurting blood like a fountain and clearly wouldn’t last long.

Pushed out of the circle, the little girl ran forward a few steps. Clearly, her subordinates’ agonized cries made it hard for her to simply leave. But the moment she hesitated and looked back, a thug in rough clothes seized the opportunity. He emerged from an angle everyone had overlooked and successfully grabbed his target.

“Boss, I got her…”

The hoarse shout carried triumph, but it was cut off after just a few words… As he tried to pull the girl into his embrace and put a dagger to her throat, an icy sensation suddenly shot up from his chin, then turned into sharp, stabbing pain! Blood gushed wildly from his open mouth, silencing his next words.

The poor man gurgled in his throat, only now realizing the hostage he’d just captured had somehow slipped away. He stumbled back a few steps, hands desperately trying to stem the gushing blood, but it was futile. Soon, the crimson liquid mixed with something white. He could only collapse weakly, his bulging, dead-fish eyes staring in shock at the hostage he’d held just moments ago. The seemingly delicate girl now looked at him with a cold, haughty gaze as if he were trash. In her hand was a rapier over two feet long. The slender blade reflected sunlight without a trace of blood, yet it was undoubtedly the weapon that had caused that horrific wound. Her black-and-white dress wasn’t even stained with a drop of blood.

“Kill her! The order didn’t say she had to be alive!”

The shocking scene made everyone hold their breath, but the leader quickly snapped out of it. With his shout, another wave of three crossbow bolts finally pierced through the already collapsing human wall, flying straight at the girl.

Swish, swish!

The bolts tore through the high-quality fabric, leaving several hideous gashes in the dress, but no blood flew as expected—just before they hit, a hand reached from the side and pulled the girl out of the way, narrowly avoiding the cold, gleaming weapons.

“This way!” a slightly hoarse boy’s voice whispered in her ear. The girl felt her body go light as she was scooped up sideways. Angry shouts mixed with the whistling of crossbow bolts, followed by the painful creaking and crashing of wood… The door of a shop was kicked open, and the two barged inside, cutting off the attack behind the walls.

It was an ordinary grocery store. The scrawny shopkeeper screamed as the door was kicked in. He was clearly used to such scenes but hadn’t managed to barricade the door in time. Without caring who the intruders were, he wailed and ducked behind the counter.

Constantine quickly scanned the place, then went straight behind the counter and kicked open the unlatched back door, entering a narrow alley filled with dirty garbage.

As expected, it was a remote alley sandwiched between chaotic buildings—a place even murderers wouldn’t bother using as a crime scene, because it was too filthy to even find a foothold. Right in front of them, a pile of leftover bones had been thrown from some upstairs window.

But for fugitives, this was an excellent environment. The boy deftly turned a few corners and passed through two abandoned cottages. The shouts and fighting behind them were now faint and barely audible.

Honestly, Constantine felt a bitter amusement. From the current situation, it seemed these thugs’ target was the young lady beside him. In such a case, the best course was to escape. Yet, he’d instinctively acted with gentlemanly manners… Or perhaps, after all these years, he’d unconsciously picked up some noble habits?

But he remembered there was a name for this sort of thing: asking for trouble!

After running a few dozen more steps, Constantine stopped… The cluttered alley wasn’t obstructed, but someone clearly didn’t want the current situation to continue.

“Sir. Exactly when do you plan to stop holding me?”

Her light body carried an indescribable fragility; her voice was crisp and pleasant. And her face, so close, could only be described as exquisite. Long eyelashes fluttered slightly, flawless fair skin tinged with a faint pink, and thin lips as tender as cherry petals. Coupled with her lightly pursed expression, she looked pure and captivating.

… Constantine once again confirmed that, given time, this would be a face capable of causing kingdoms to fall and nations to crumble…