"Krai said this! A true warrior doesn't pick and choose weapons! The only reason you're weak, old man, is because you're swinging around that oversized axe. But well, it's too late for that now. The axe alone won't make for a good warm-up, so grab that sword on the ground too. That way your attack power doubles, right? Ah, me? I'm fine going bare-handed, but there just happens to be a fallen branch here, so if you don't mind, I'll use this."
"Krai took the sword from me and left. He said that if Luke himself becomes the sword, there's no need to carry one—that needing a sword is proof of immaturity. Pretty cool, right?"
"Krai said this: Pointing a sword at the weak is not what a true swordsman does. That's why I'm pointing a stick at you. Besides, deliberately using a weak weapon means even fighting someone below your level becomes proper training."
His swordsmanship was an utter mess. It resembled none of the countless styles Geffroy had seen or fought against, and yet it resembled all of them.
The reasoning that poured from his mouth was utter nonsense. It sounded like a child's drivel.
And yet, despite everything being utter nonsense, that young man was dead serious—and terrifyingly strong.
Whether Geffroy swung his axe or brought his sword crashing down, not a single blade so much as grazed him. The roughly thirty-centimeter wooden stick in his opponent's hand slipped through Geffroy's ferocious assault and battered his body relentlessly from every angle.
Every attack was read. His breathing was anticipated. He even deflected a crushing blow with a branch that looked like it could snap at any moment.
Neither strength nor speed meant a thing. There before Geffroy was the most refined "technique" he had ever encountered in all his years of fighting.
The strike from that fragile branch couldn't have scratched Geffroy's conditioned body or armor. What it wounded was his spirit. With every blow that landed, his mind was ground away like sandpaper. Cold sweat ran down his cheeks, and his arms grew sluggish from a fatigue that had nothing to do with the physical.
Each artistic strike launched from that child's toy of a weapon—denied everything Geffroy Barrel had built, from a simple thug with a bit of muscle to the leader of a major bandit syndicate.
If a real sword had been used, Geffroy would have been cut down in a single stroke. The gap in their abilities was that vast.
When the one who appeared revealed himself as the "Thousand Transformations," the "Thousand Swords" grumbled bitterly.
"Damn it, time's up? You're a tough old man. Being unable to cut you down means I'm disqualified as the strongest swordsman. I still have a ways to go… Beating the boss of the eighth-floor treasure hall apparently isn't nearly enough. I'm gonna get stronger—stronger than anyone! I'll never lose again!"
He'd heard the rumors that the "Thousand Swords" had put multiple swordsmen out of commission permanently. An ordinary swordsman would never keep their composure facing that monstrous technique.
Chains and heavy shackles were fastened to his arms and legs. His body was bound, and he was roughly stuffed into an escort wagon.
Geffroy had no will to resist. Even if he'd managed to outwit them for so long, these were the fearsome knights of Gladis. One-on-one might be one thing, but unarmed against a crowd? That was impossible.
The knights in matching armor conferred with troubled expressions.
"…What do we do about these frog-people?"
"Officially, we were told to verify identity, but… I never expected we'd capture all of them. I guess we just have to transport them as frogs…"
"The numbers don't add up, so the captain thinks some civilians or unaffiliated hunters might be mixed in—"
"Verification of any we might have missed—"
"I've never seen or heard of magic like this… It's like something out of a fairy tale."
Their confusion was plain to see.
He couldn't win. As long as the "Wailing Phantom" remained in this city, even if he somehow slipped his restraints, he'd be recaptured in no time.
It was simply—overwhelming. The Thousand Swords' swordsmanship, of course, but the magic that swallowed the whole city was even more monstrous. If the other members were anywhere near that caliber, there was no chance whatsoever.
He shouldn't have engaged. The moment he heard the rumors, he should have run with his tail between his legs like always. He shouldn't have been greedy. It was too late for regrets.
There was no path to counterattack. Every subordinate had been turned into a frog. The Barrel Gang was finished.
A gray-haired man was brought to Geffroy, held by both arms.
This was the man his subordinates had captured, mistaking him for the "Thousand Transformations." He'd been a gray frog just moments ago but seemed to have been restored to human form.
The man, who had a cunning look about him, shook his head and spoke in a feeble voice.
"I'm not… I'm not one of them."
"Is what this man says the truth?"
A knight spoke in a sharp voice, looking down at Geffroy.
His harsh features looked far more savage than the subordinates who had been disguised as ordinary civilians.
He was probably an accomplice of the "Thousand Transformations." Geffroy sensed the same aura as the two men who had first triggered this entire assault on the city.
They had been targets from the start. Outsmarting even a noble's knight order to advance a scheme like this—it was unheard of, and terrifyingly skillful.
Geffroy felt a flicker of his suppressed emotions return. He let a deep smile spread across his face and addressed the gray-haired man.
He'd at least drag him down as a partner in misery.
"Oh, come on, Gray, what are you saying? You're one of us—one of the Barrel Gang. You're trying to cut and run, abandoning the rest? That's not happening. You'll keep us company in prison."
§ § § "Huh? What did you just say, Leader? I was already exhausted from the treasure hall, and when I finally get back to the capital, you tell me you went to a hot spring? Then it turns out I have to deal with bandits? And on top of all that? If I'm not mistaken—well, I hope I am."
Lucia's eyelids twitched as she looked up at me with a sharpness no sister should ever direct at her brother.
She'd slept through the night and finally recovered somewhat—her complexion was considerably better than yesterday's. That was a relief.
She stepped right up close to me, and I retreated a step with an awkward smile plastered on my face. My back was slick with cold sweat.
I hadn't meant anything by it. The words had just slipped out before I could think, but apparently I'd crossed one of Lucia's lines.
"Y-Yeah. No, I mean, I think you did great? Yeah, as expected of my little sister."
I tried praise, but Lucia's expression didn't change at all. We'd known each other for years—she saw right through me.
Luke and Ritz weren't helping either. They were watching me like this was the most entertaining thing they'd seen all day.
Tino was cowering behind Ritz, averting her gaze. Not a single ally to be found.
Lucia gracefully interlocked her fingertips and offered a little smile.
"Say that again, please, Leader. There's a chance my ears are acting up, after all."
"…"
"……Big brother?"
I took a deep, deliberate breath and steeled myself.
"…You changed them into the wrong kind of frog."
"…!"
"What you turned them into was a tree frog. You were supposed to use toads—"
"I have no idea what you're talking about! Here—look at this book! The one you made, Leader—look! Look! Look!"
Lucia let out something between a shriek and a scream, shoving the old handwritten magic book I'd made ages ago into my face.
The worn, crumpled pages had a single line written on them: "Spell to turn people into frogs." The rest was buried under Lucia's own notes.
"Nowhere—nowhere in here does it say toads! Go on, tell me! You—this—this—this!"
"W-Well, but it's a witch's secret art, so naturally it's toads. Tree frogs aren't very witch-like."
The magic book I'd made was nothing but results—a child's fantasy notebook. I hadn't even considered whether it would be useful. All it held were my old dreams.
But that was precisely why certain details mattered.
"I-It'll be fine! If you can manage tree frogs, you can do toads too!"
"Impossible! This isn't some convenient, do-anything magic! Tell me these things before I make the spell! Do you have any idea how much work went into the current design? You could at least be a little more impressed! Are you seriously telling me to… redo it?"
My sister's lips trembled as she closed in on me with alarming intensity. That was the face she made when she was in a bad mood.
To an outsider, the difference between tree frogs and toads probably seemed trivial, but apparently the gap between the two was enormous. Of course, I had no intention of asking her to redo anything.
I held up both palms and spoke to her in a measured, admonishing tone.
"N-No, of course not! Even tree frogs are amazing! I mean, they're not very witch-like, but I'm not asking you to redo anything! Oh, by the way… could you conjure a hot spring? One big enough for Ansem."
"There's no spell like that."
"Make one? …You can do it, Lucia. I believe in you."
"……!?"
Tears welled up in Lucia's eyes as she glared at me. Then, with startling composure, she snapped her fingers.
Something large and heavy thudded down in front of us. Tino's eyes went wide.
It was a stuffed doll. Clearly modeled after me, and life-sized.
Lucia wordlessly seized the doll by the neck with her left hand and drove her right fist into its solar plexus again and again and again.
The force behind each blow sent heavy vibrations rippling through the floor. There was a serious amount of resentment behind it. Total rebellion phase.
"Lucia-chan's going feral. It's always so peaceful when Krai's not around."
"Hey, it's fine, Lucia. If you need a hot spring, I'll dig one. Just hand me a shovel."
"I'd like a master doll too, pleeease…"
Ritz, Luke, and Tino each offered their own commentary.
I said nothing and quietly looked away.
Just then, Sitri returned from handling the negotiations.
She'd changed from her yukata back into her usual robe and was carrying a large mop with a handle about a meter and a half long.
Sitri blinked at the sight of Lucia pummeling the doll, but the moment she spotted me, she spoke in her usual tone.
"Unfortunately, there's no hot spring big enough for big brother. I did get permission to dig one, though… What should we do?"
Well, obviously—dig one.