Round 17: Deception

Roy swung his thrusting sword, constantly insulting Milia with words while also having to be careful in his defense. Though the Doubt Bomb had severely damaged her perception, an enraged Holy Warrior wasn’t easy to mess with either.
Josen could only rely on his skilled techniques to take a defensive stance—everything he saw was blurred, with multiple afterimages. Several times he tried to rush to Milia’s side to join her, but was blocked. The bandits surrounding him were no longer ordinary foes; they were skilled and well-coordinated, making it difficult for Josen to gain the upper hand even under normal circumstances.
Kastor had already been tied up tightly—his agility and deadly archery skills seemed to have vanished. The damage inflicted by the Doubt Bomb on him was far worse than that suffered by the two knights, almost paralyzing him. This seemed to explain why the elves in the guild’s stronghold had little ability to fight back.
Forty-Seven carried Alexander and soared over the low houses. When he arrived at the scene, he saw exactly the kind of spectacle that thrilled him—battle was always exhilarating for him.
There seemed to be a few familiar figures.
“Tsk, tsk, a girl using such a thick sword! Do you really like thick ones? Then you’ll soon find out just how thick I am—” Roy dodged Milia’s slashes. His slender sword always targeted her sensitive areas, as if he didn’t know how to fight without using vulgar tactics. Suddenly, he spotted Forty-Seven falling from the roof—the sound of the metal man landing was impossible to ignore.
“Go see what fell down,” Roy ordered his subordinates, delivering two thrusting punches at Milia with his left hand at the same time.
The punches hit the blade’s edge, producing a clanging sound. The slender sword trembled as it continued to thrust, accompanied by Roy’s manic laughter.
Forty-Seven crouched on the ground—the impact of landing was still strong. He was used to the decelerating effect of his wings and regretted not having unfolded them before jumping.
The corpses at his feet probably wanted the answer even more.
Stepping away from that mess of flesh, Forty-Seven looked around. Everyone around him was some kind of grotesque creature, especially the one with a rooster comb in the third row, who looked like a twin brother of the Blood Demon. The others weren’t much better.
Drawing his serrated sword, he swung it forcefully. Before those around him could react, they were already split in two. Forty-Seven felt as if he were back on the land in front of the Steel Fortress.
“Wow~~~!” The crowd finally reacted—half retreated, while the other half rushed forward.
The result was the same. Forty-Seven swung his serrated sword casually.
Roy jumped out of the fighting circle and stared at the suddenly appearing metal man. His poisoned slender sword trembled slightly, emitting a faint green glow.
“Who are you?” The cloaked figure made Roy feel uneasy for some reason, as if a bully accustomed to harassing others had encountered a true merciless killer.
Roy couldn’t remember how many people he had killed, but he was certainly among the most ruthless in the Desolate Wasteland. Yet now, he couldn’t help but feel nervous, even his voice trembling slightly.

“That’s not the main issue.” Forty-Seven fought his way through the bandits and crouched down in front of Milia. Milia was clutching her glowing great sword, panting heavily. Roy was a very troublesome and cunning guy.
“It really is you.” Forty-Seven saw the pale face beneath her messy hair.
“You—” When Milia vaguely realized the person on the roof was Forty-Seven, she inexplicably felt relieved. But then Forty-Seven’s approach reignited her fury: “What are you looking at?! Stay away from me!”
“You still seem quite energetic, huh… Go on, you two. I just wanted to get up close and confirm if this messy, filthy girl is the Holy Knight I know. I wasn’t planning to save them.” The word “her” was emphasized heavily.
“You despicable half-Purgatory creature!” Forty-Seven stood up with his hands spread out, shrugged, and put the sawed-off sword back behind him. Now that he had found the place, he didn’t worry about not finding someone who could tell him what he wanted to know. There were plenty of people who knew, while only a few of Milia’s group could be killed.
“This is the Whitebeard Thieves’ Guild’s business. If you’re just passing by—” Roy trembled slightly with his thin sword, producing a ringing sound as it cut through the air. “Please leave! We can forget about what just happened!”
“No, you don’t understand.” Forty-Seven stretched out a finger and shook it gently. “I’m not passing by. I came here specifically for another reason… It’s not urgent, and I’d like to wait a while.”
Taking advantage of this opportunity, Jason also moved closer, giving them a chance to form a defense: “I’m glad you’re willing to help. Let’s fight our way out together!”
“Don’t you understand me either?” Forty-Seven looked surprised.
Alexander crouched on the roof, seemingly afraid that the thieves below would see him and bring trouble upon himself.
“What exactly do you want here?” Roy estimated the distance to his opponent and secretly made a gesture with his left hand, which was hidden behind his back. A few of his loyal subordinates quietly prepared doubt bombs—Damn, one of them cost 500 gold coins! It was simply throwing money away…
Forty-Seven noticed the ashes in the area—residuals left after the doubt bombs exploded.
“This.” He took out the ceramic sphere, shook it, and put it back in his pocket. “Hand it over. And tell me who sold these things to you. Take me to him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help with that. I’ll discuss it with the leader.” Roy didn’t dare offend Boss Hoffman, nor did he want to underestimate this guy wielding a giant sword bigger than his own.
“I can find him myself… Or this— whoever kills her, I’ll spare their life and have them take me to the seller.” Milia’s curses never stopped, as if only Forty-Seven was her enemy here.
“What?” Roy was confused by Forty-Seven’s strange behavior.
“Weren’t you planning to kill them anyway? Go ahead then. I don’t have the patience of a Holy Knight.” Iron Fist made a creaking sound as it had just been pulled out of one of the thug’s heads, covered in blood.

The scene remained eerily silent, but there were no thieves within reach of 47 anymore. Forced to act, he chose a random direction and attacked. The battlefield of the River of Darkness reappeared here, with screams mixed with the clash of swords; blood spread like mist. The difference was that those fighting here had at least one reason to do so. Roy did not join the frenzied chaos. He stared at 47, wondering what went through that demonic steel shell. “Stop!” A powerful roar startled everyone. Neither Roy nor his men reacted immediately, for it wasn’t Roy who had shouted— Everyone stopped at that sound. “Kill that metal man! If you all want to stay alive!” Even 47’s steel armor vibrated from the force of the roar. After another brief pause, time seemed to resume, and the crowd finally descended into complete chaos, turning into a senseless struggle of killing and being killed. A figure quietly slipped behind 47. Alexander no longer swayed his head—he pulled his hands back and flipped them, revealing two crutches in his palms, their sharp tips gleaming with a cold light. Like a venomous snake, he leaped up and silently thrust the crutches into 47’s back. A circle of dark red miasma burst violently from 47’s position—a dark energy filled with despair and destruction.