The legend of the God of Combat, Kurgan, is widely known throughout the Volakia Empire.

In the meritocratic Volakia Empire, as long as you have the ability, your origins are not questioned. Compared to the Lugnica Kingdom, which harbors discriminatory views against subhumans, and the Gusteco Holy Kingdom, which expels foreign humans, Volakia adopts a policy that is closer to the Kararagi City-State, disregarding bloodlines and appearances.

For this reason, Volakia is one of the more livable nations for those who are not pure-blooded humans among the four great nations.

However, this harsh meritocracy also means severe oppression and backlash against those who lack both wisdom and strength. Naturally, evaluations of individuals differ from evaluations of races.

Particularly, the Multi-armed Tribe has historically wandered from place to place, being a nomadic race that does not settle down in one area. The Multi-armed Tribe has been considered inferior as a race due to their peculiar appearance and significantly low aptitude for magic compared to other subhumans.

Although there are not many of their kind, when conflicts arise, they tend to choose relocation over fighting to protect their lands.

Because they were such a tribe, it was inevitable that they ended up in the Volakia Empire, where they were likely to be crushed under the iron-fisted imperialism.

—In this meritocratic world, it was Kurgan himself who raised the voice of “no.”

Unlike the human race, the Multi-armed Tribe is characterized by having two or more arms, but there are individual differences in the number of arms they possess. Among the Multi-armed Tribe, Kurgan was a unique existence with eight arms, while most of them typically have four or five.

When he was still young, Kurgan boldly rejected the lord’s demand for him and his people to vacate the land they had moved to, swinging his eight arms to drive off the messenger. He then defended his trembling kin and single-handedly defeated the lord’s soldiers, eventually leading the charge to the lord’s mansion.

The lord was terrified of the barbarian’s attack, but Kurgan did not aim to resolve matters in haste.

He claimed to demonstrate the strength of himself and his clan, taking up a position at the new lord’s side. Following that, through numerous military campaigns, the name “Kurgan of the Eight Arms” would go on to be told as a long-lasting legend in the Volakia Empire.

“——”

I savor the sensation of the cold water enveloping my whole body while gazing up at the moon shimmering above the surface.

The bone supporting my right eye has shattered, and my eyeball feels like it’s about to drop out from behind my closed eyelid. In a flash, my left hand activates healing magic, providing the minimum necessary repairs.

With my remaining left eye, I watch the red murk carried along by the flow of the water, and I curl up after hitting my back against the bottom of the waterway.

“——”

Even while submerged, I can’t feel the water, which should be cold.

Released from the burden of gravity, in this world where resistance has disappeared, I slowly gather strength into my limbs.

If only I could easily remove the shackles gripping my heart, just like the ones on my body——yet my heart remains cloaked in darkness.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst if I sunk straight down; I can’t say that thought doesn’t cross my mind. But eventually, breathing becomes painful, and I can’t remain blind to the darkness behind my eyelids.

The pink-haired girl, the orange-furred cat-girl, the black-haired boy flash through my mind, igniting a warmth in my dampened heart.

It is possible that this flame may soon extinguish once again. That is evidenced by how quickly the bravado I had earlier crumbled, yet, what can I do?

—That reason does not suffice to justify me staying submerged.

“Phew!”

I stretch my curled-up body, kicking off the bottom for a rapid ascent to the surface. Emerging from the water, Garfiel shakes his head.

My right eye remains obscured, and my battered head throbs painfully. The nausea that feels like blood reversing courses through my body, and discomfort from my broken tooth affects my jaw.

“Damn it……”

I place my hands on the edge of the waterway and hoist myself up. Shaking my wet body like a beast to fling off the water, I gaze at the position where Kurgan had thrown me into the water.

There he stands, unchanged, the God of Combat.

His drawn demonic knife remains in hand, and he shows no signs of relaxing his combat aura, as if he has no doubt that I won’t be climbing back up.

“——”

Faced with the silent God of Combat, I contemplate.

From the start, there is no necessity for me to clash with Kurgan here. What is expected of me is to stop the “Lust,” which is likely to have ambushed the City Hall. Fighting Kurgan here will not save the now mostly unarmed City Hall.

Looking at the overall situation, facing Kurgan here would be a poor strategy in every sense.

“B-but… you’re not gonna let me get away, are you?”

Towering over me like a massive beast, impressive both in stature and muscle. Despite his appearance not suggesting agility, I cannot visualize escaping his blade even while trying to flee.

Once I stand before the God of Combat, I have no choice but to engage.

My current options are limited to two.

—Face him and die, or die without resistance.

“Damn it… Am I really thinking about this?”

I chase away the ominous thought that crossed my mind and grit my teeth. My makeshift sharp teeth hurt, but that pain sharpens my negative thoughts.

I won’t let the premonition of defeat or signs of impending loss take root within me.

I don’t need the monologues for losing.

—Win, win, win, win, win, win!

Win, and prove my worth!!

“O-ohhhhhhh!”

Roaring fiercely, I crush my cowardice underfoot and charge anew. My previous strike had been blocked.

But if weight fails me, then I’ll overpower with velocity.

With claws, with fangs, tearing, rending, biting, and stealing.

“——”

The silent God of Combat meets my charge head-on.

A blow released from his shoulder delivers a demon knife strike.

Its piercing ability is too shallow to be called a cut, too sharp to be a blunt strike. It’s a hybrid of slashing and striking, a technique born solely from Kurgan to defeat his foes.

The swiftly approaching blade grazes the nape of my neck as I duck. The aftershock shaves against my neck, and my brain is flooded with intense thoughts.

I should have had enough space to avoid that strike. My small, nimble frame has a speed that evidently exceeds that of Kurgan, who wields long weapons despite his multi-arms.

I should have had the opportunity to dart in and rake him with my claws. I should have, or so I thought.

“—Ugh!”

Yet, buried deep, Kurgan forcefully rebuffs me back. His arm from under my chest threatens to launch me, as if it could blow my jaw off.

That was unexpected—no, the difference in balance is too much.

Kurgan’s body, born of the Multi-armed Tribe, was nurtured for the optimum growth to wield those eight arms.

The astonishing combat techniques of his body differ fundamentally from those of the human race, who are accustomed to wielding four limbs.

One strike leaves one open, that common sense does not apply.

Blocking one arm provides an opening by circling around it to gain a blind spot, that logic is rendered useless.

Even if I block one lethal arm, I must also defend against seven more arms that can deliver the same blow.

Failing to do so leaves me with no choice but to die.

“Uggggggghhhh!!”

The world trembles at Kurgan’s arm before me.

The grumbling demon knife continues to strike from all directions, aiming to cut my body to pieces.

I deflect one blow with my shield, duck under another, evade by jumping and scattering the shock, counter one blow with a full-force hit, withstand another while suffering a devastating blow to my shoulder, deflect one with my beast-like arm, and lastly, get hit hard, rolling clumsily across the stone pavement.

“Augh! Guah!”

—Eight hands.

All of my desperate attempts to evade and counteract have only barely gotten me through the first onslaught for Kurgan.

Despite the relentless wave of lethal attacks, all Kurgan did was swing his eight arms just once.

If the God of Combat were truly motivated, he could easily finish off Garfiel with a follow-up attack. The only reason I, bloodied and rolling, still breathe is that the God of Combat is standing there, lacking the intent to pursue me.

“——”

Kurgan regards me as I stagger, just as he did when I first surfaced from the water.

My sense of being looked down upon does not provoke any rebellious spirit.

It’s a problem that doesn’t even exist on that level.

We’re not even close to the point where we can clash as equals in skill.

The God of Combat, the legend of “Kurgan of the Eight Arms,” remains strong.

“Hah… Hah…”

I cannot win. There’s no way I can.

The legendary figure of a dead hero, the God of Combat.

In the meritocratic Volakia Empire, while deemed inferior by race, he changed the fate of his people single-handedly.

Yet here stands Garfiel, a mere greenhorn who admires that legend.

“Huh… Hah… Hah…”

And yet, why does my body refuse to stay down?

Even when my heart breaks this deeply, my body still rises.

“Hah… Shut up, shut up, shut up…!”

The pounding of my heart is deafening.

It feels like a drum resounding next to my ear, annoying me as I stomp down hard on the ground. The stones beneath my feet crack, and fissures shoot straight to Kurgan’s feet.

A silent stand-off between Kurgan and the blood-soaked Garfiel.

With wavering resolve, Garfiel again focuses his strength on the tips of his toes to stomp down on the stone pavement. Immediately after, Kurgan moves.

No, he is moved.

“——”

Following the refrain of Garfiel’s footsteps, the “Earth Spirit’s Blessing” manifests its power. The earth beneath Kurgan cracks and bursts upward, asserting pressure against his massive frame.

The giant is lifted up; even with a body honed for battle, he cannot defy the laws of physics.

Without the support of his lower half, he would not unleash the powerful strike.

“Gwaaaaaaaaaah!”

This moment is a crucial turning point.

Garfiel’s arms lash upward, targeting the airborne Kurgan.

Partially transformed, his arms enveloped in big tiger-like fur and muscles strike Kurgan down. Even the God of Combat cannot deliver a singular blow while suspended in the air, unable to find his balance.

The sound of impact echoes, and the demon knife, hit hard, deflects Kurgan.

A follow-up comes—Garfiel’s kick. For the first time, I find an opening to evade, as my claw pierces through Kurgan’s thick abdomen.

The God of Combat, reeling from the impact, finds his multi-armed defenses inadequate, left vulnerable as he adopts a surrendering posture.

“Gotcha!!”

With victory so close at hand, Garfiel shouts in certainty.

His raised beast claw tears into Kurgan’s chest, staining Garfiel’s body with dark crimson blood.

Lapping at the splatter, Garfiel presses further.

Surely, he must be cornered, and as he glances at Kurgan’s unyielding expression—his body jolts.

“——”

Kurgan, watching Garfiel’s furious onslaught, remains unchanged, his focus unwavering, a steadfast mountain.

“——Ah.”

And simultaneously, Garfiel senses it.

Too late—The signs of Kurgan’s retaliatory strike emerge.

The two released demon knives shatter the defensive arms I had hastily raised, hammering me into the ground.

“Kah!”

A groan escapes, and I cannot grasp it.

In an instant, I lose sight of the ground, my limbs almost getting blown away.

I understand what has just happened.

In midair, Kurgan executes a ferocious strike using solely his upper body.

The method is straightforward and plain.

He grips the sides of the demon knife with both arms and amplifies the downward force, drastically increasing its impact.

—In essence, it’s the principle of a flick.

Kurgan creates a hook with two arms, and the attack becomes a deadly blow.

He neutralizes my attempts to lessen his attacking power with techniques he has grown accustomed to.

“Gwaaaah!”

Garfiel, whose options for counterattack vanish, is crushed beneath the heel of the giant hovering above him.

With his full weight colliding down, I buckle, feeling the entire wound rippling through my body, jolting me from the stone pavement.

Dominated by pain and anguish, I instinctively activate healing magic.

I mend my broken arm, elbow, and shoulder, with the wood-like bones rejoining and repairing my ravaged insides. My ribs, hip bones, and left thigh twist as rapid recovery fails to keep up.

The mana vortex heats up, preparing to expend all of my mana for the spell.

I draw the earth’s power from beneath me, sending everything pouring into my healing, restoration, and recovery.

Seconds fly by—maybe even minutes.

I sever my sense of time’s flow and hurry through my body’s repairs.

Finally, I regain just enough movement to sit up, spitting out the blood that choked my throat.

“——”

Kurgan silently gazes down at Garfiel, bloodied and battered.

Seeing that sight, my eyelids flutter. Overwhelmed by surging emotion, I bow my head in anguish.

“What the hell is happening…?”

For quite some time, Kurgan’s posture remains unchanged.

Although he counters my assaults, he makes no move to engage or deliver a finishing blow.

Thrice now, I have been shown mercy by Kurgan.

The molesting sensations of defeat and humiliation lash against the pride and honor I hold as a warrior.

I must win, that’s what I believe.

Yet, with being forced to display my ungraceful self over and over, I think it’d be better to just be slain.

The God of Combat Kurgan, a hero of Volakia.

He has seen the pinnacle of every warrior, so how could he not understand the turmoil I bear?

“If only…”

Would it be better to plead for death?

Admitting my defeat with humility, affirming the undeniable difference in power, would it be better if I requested to die honorably as a warrior?

Removing my shield, extending my arms to him, I proclaim with solemnity.

If I made that wish, would he grant it?

If I were to perish at the hands of the God of Combat, perhaps that would be a worthy end for a warrior.

“If only…”

I could end things here, it would be so simple.

“If only it would end, it would be a relief…”

Reattaching my shield, closing my arms, and baring my fangs.

With the expression of a rage-filled beast, I face Kurgan head-on.

“The thoughts won’t fade…”

I was told to fight without thinking.

That way, I would grow stronger, and discard unnecessary thoughts to give in to my instincts.

—Could it truly be so?

“The voices won’t go away…”

The beating of my heart grows louder.

My bones creak as I keep them together, making hideous sounds.

It’s annoying, so annoying, so annoying, so annoying.

All those extra sounds, all of them, everything is a nuisance.

—The voices should drown out.

“I can hear them… they keep echoing…”

Even trying to remain thoughtless, attempting to reach a void doesn’t stop.

Part of Garfiel’s mind still hears the voices.

Someone’s voice, a familiar one, a voice that warms the chest, that chokes the throat, a voice that fills him with pride, a voice he cannot suppress anger towards.

Various voices bind me in place.

Trying to fight instinctively fails as the waves crashing in continue to crash down, never granting me individuality.

The more I think about it, the weaker I become, and now I am weak.

Unlike when I was alone in the “Sanctuary,” trying to be a rogue—here I have encountered many things, and seen many things.

If a person says that as one’s load increases, they grow weaker, then is it true that people become weaker the more they live?

“…That’s not the reality…”

Clutching the persistent voices, swallowing the feelings of defeat, pulling in the yearning for victory, pouring out my admiration and envy.

—Garfiel challenges the God of Combat.

“—Hah.”

“——”

Garfiel’s eyes shift with determination.

Seeing that change, Kurgan begins to move.

Of the four demon knives, two are sheathed once more.

Yet, this does not mean Kurgan has diminished in fighting spirit. Instead, he channels his focus into those two remaining knives, shifting his combat stance to back it up.

Standing firm, Kurgan leans slightly forward, confronting Garfiel with a predatory stance.

This is combat—an indication that Kurgan acknowledges Garfiel as an enemy.

“So, you treated me like a kid up to now, huh? ‘The Gwan Bird isn’t fit for parenting’—is that right?”

“——”

Wordless, that God of Combat, Garfiel steps forward.

An energetic leap responds to Kurgan’s demon knives.

The feeling of despair creeps closer, akin to a wall closing in, comes flooding while Garfiel darts through the gaps.

In the previous exchange, he failed to estimate the initial strike.

The reason stems from the ominous aura emitted by Kurgan and Garfiel’s heart, overpowered by fear of the hero, creating an illusion.

“Hah! Oooooooooh!”

A punch pierces through Kurgan’s midsection.

The dull thud of flesh striking steel reverberates; however, it strikes not the intended torso but one arm wedged between us.

“Don’t even think about stopping me!”

While Kurgan catches my fist in his palm, Garfiel bellows.

Drawing strength from the earth beneath my feet, the energy flows from Garfiel’s shoes into Kurgan’s palm, exploding in a twist of force.

Kurgan’s fingers twist as they absorb the punch, parrying the blow with a whirlwind maneuver to avoid the strike that is shot with full force. Using the momentum, Garfiel scales up Kurgan’s form, targeting his jaw with a flip kick.

Kurgan recoils, and simultaneously, the demon knife goes on the offensive.

Anticipating the route of the wind and atmosphere’s cries, Garfiel blocks Kurgan’s attack with his shields.

A thunderous boom erupts as Garfiel flies across the ground.

“Rurururur—aah!”

Slamming all four limbs down into the stone pavement to halt my momentum, I raise my head to see Kurgan’s relentless follow-up crashing down.

Kurgan, who until now had not pursued, takes the initiative to crush Garfiel’s form.

The decision occurs in a blink, actions taken in a moment, and results follow almost instantly.

“——”

I lift both arms from the cobblestones, tearing the ground beneath me up over Kurgan. As he charges in, Kurgan smashes through the wall of debris as the demon knife sinks into my form.

A violent sound.

Impact sends Garfiel reeling backward. My heel digs into the ground desperately, and my broken tooth flies out.

But—

“You’ve underestimated me!”

The demon knife plunges; the tip is caught between my teeth.

A canine tooth shatters as a torrent of crimson cascades down the demon knife.

Garfiel does not waver.

“——”

The muscles in my neck and jaw explode, shaking Kurgan’s frame.

As one of the knives pinned to me struggles to pull free, the thrust is immobile.

What’s more, freeing the fangs tighten their grip. Garfiel’s upper body swells as he begins a partial beast transformation.

“Ggggggggaaah!!!”

The transformation of my head significantly dulls my reasoning.

It’s what I had often warned them is a double-edged sword.

Yet at this moment, Garfiel chooses it.

The cursed power of the half-breed is precisely what I require now.

How can I defeat the God of Combat, who demonstrates my roots, while still denying my ancestry as a member of the Multi-armed Tribe?

“Tiger, tiger, tiger, lend me power at this moment—now!!”

“——”

As the golden tiger’s eye opens wide, the demon knife splinters to pieces.

Each blade shatters, the fracture radiates through the handle as Kurgan’s massive body sways greatly.

—Truly, it’s the perfect opportunity.

“Gaaaaaaah!!”

My beastly arm swings down, hammering Kurgan’s head. As he reels from the impact, a strike from my claws targets him.

The claws and impact strike together, scattering a trench of blood as Kurgan is forced back.

“——”

Kurgan’s counterattack occurs as Garfiel aims to strike.

An elbow strikes the face of the giant tiger, collapsing the bridge of his nose just as my jaw is forcefully lifted from beneath.

As his knees buckle, Kurgan’s body teeters perilously; he squares up, launching a straight punch that collides between our faces.

Blood sprays. My vision dims.

My head spins, and my body feels as if it has abandoned all logic.

None of that matters. All that’s precious is present within my heart.

“You can’t think; you shouldn’t.”

Incorporating the teachings appropriately, I am guided by what still remains.

Demonic knives are wielded, two blades of the remaining one unstopped.

The judgment occurs in a second, actions taken in an instant, and results play out right afterward.

“Gwa…”

The blade glides along my stomach while I catch it with the shield.

Even with the impact absorbed, the weight behind that strike brushes against my thick abdomen, threatening to sever my body.

Yet, he is a step too short to bisect me.

Kurgan’s footing is shattered beneath me by my own stride. The “Earth Spirit’s Blessing” summoned it forth.

“Oooooooh!”

Clinging to the blade embedded in my tummy, I grasp Kurgan’s frame tight.

Even as he attempts to pull free with his immense strength, Garfiel does not back down.

My mouth, which bears broken fangs, grasps; I prepare to accept my fading reasoning as instinct kicks in, dragging Kurgan into my grasp.

“——”

With nowhere to run, Garfiel hurls Kurgan back—into the waterway.

As he plummets, Kurgan snatches my collar in the process, dragging me along into the surface.

The ferocious sound of water erupts as our two bodies plunge into the waterway.

The two giants wrestle about in the streaming current, coloring the waterway red with blood.

“——”

Even beneath the water, the struggle between our two forms is relentless.

Ignoring the resistance of the water, within the dark depths of the murky water, Garfiel and Kurgan continue to exchange blows.

The massive fists wrench my insides, gasping for breath as air is expelled from my lungs in a violent flurry. Pain births even greater pain as the ongoing underwater brawl births greater agony.

Within that tumult, Garfiel realizes his disadvantage.

The God of Combat before me, curiously, shows no signs of needing to breathe. I realize he must be an undead creature.

As the deprivation of oxygen causes delays in my actions, Garfiel feels the lethargy creep in.

The current grows stronger, cascading down the incline, plunging down the falls repeatedly.

Amidst that repetition, I finally find myself immobilized.

My consciousness fades, and gradually, I surrender my fighting spirit.

“—Ugh.”

Just a moment short of breath.

That gap brings forth my downfall, and Garfiel’s consciousness fades away. And on the outcome——.

“——”

A heavy sound reverberates in the poorly transmitting watery depths.

My dwindling awareness snaps back, and amidst the dark, murky water, Garfiel watches.

The demon knife gouges the side of the waterway, tearing through the ground as the God of Combat’s strike delivers fatal damage to the flow of water.

There isn’t time to ponder what has occurred nor oxygen left to waste.

The sound of shattering metal echoes within the crashing waters, merging with the impact.

In the next instant, a ferocious surge arises.

The rightful flow of the waterway transforms—a different current deforms as Garfiel’s body is pulled from the waterway, expelled from the flow.

“—Burp! Ugh! Gah!”

Losing the feeling of immersion in the water, I wrestle what water I had swallowed, expelling it in great splashes.

Water flows from my eyes, nose, and mouth, every orifice expelling liquid, shaking my head.

What just happened—and then I heard it.

“——Gorgeous Tiger?”

“`

 

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