Chapter 348: Thousand Steps [II]

The creatures surged as one.Deformed, frog-like bodies hurled themselves forward in ugly, powerful arcs, mouths stretching wider as they closed the distance. Acidic saliva spilled from their throats, splattering against stone in sickly green streaks, the stench thick and swamp-born. They moved without coordination or caution, driven by instinct alone.

One reached him first.

It launched itself upward, jaws yawning open to swallow him whole.

Trafalgar met it head-on.

He twisted his hips and brought Maledicta up in a clean, rising cut, the blade carving through soft resistance with unsettling ease. The creature split from belly to crown, its viscous body peeling apart as if it had never been meant to hold shape. Glistening organs spilled outward, splattering across the platform and spraying against Trafalgar’s clothes. The acid hissed faintly where it landed—but the fabric held.

He did not slow.

Another charged immediately, dragging its bloated mass forward with its forelimbs. Acid coated Maledicta’s edge now, eating faintly at the air, and an old habit surfaced without conscious thought.

Fire.

Trafalgar lifted his left hand and summoned [Blazewick Torch], the flame blooming into existence with familiar warmth.

"Want light?" he muttered. "Have fire."

He brushed the torch along his blade.

Flames crawled across the steel, hissing where they met the acid, burning hot and clean. The next monster barely had time to react before Trafalgar released [Arc Slash].

A horizontal wave of dark-blue mana tore forward, slicing through both forelimbs at once. The creature collapsed—but did not stop. Deprived of support, it dragged itself onward like a massive slug, tongue lashing, mouth still opening and closing in mindless persistence.

Trafalgar ended it with a second [Arc Slash], the wave splitting its head apart mid-lunge.

More came.

Two at once. Then three. From the sides. From behind.

Trafalgar stopped thinking entirely.

He moved.

Blade rising, falling, turning. Fire flaring. Mana cutting through clustered bodies. Large or small, alone or grouped, it made no difference. He struck whatever entered reach, cutting, burning, erasing them before they could surround him.

There was no strategy. No awareness beyond distance and timing.

’Just move.’

That was all.

The platform filled with scorched stone and dissolving remains, acid steaming where fire touched it. Trafalgar pressed forward through it all, emptying himself strike by strike, until the noise of the world had nothing left to cling to.

Bartholomew stood a few steps back, bow held loosely in his hands, eyes fixed on the storm of motion unfolding ahead of them.

"Amazing..." he murmured, the word slipping out before he realized he had spoken aloud.

He watched Trafalgar cut through the monsters with a calm brutality that felt effortless, each movement precise without looking practiced, as if his body understood something his mind had stepped away from. Fire flared, mana carved, and creatures that had moments ago been charging dissolved into broken shapes across the stone. There was something distant about it, something far removed from the frantic scrambles Barth associated with battle.

Memories surfaced without invitation.

The train. The first time they met, when everything had gone wrong and Trafalgar had stepped in without asking for anything in return. The days with empty pockets, when pride had been swallowed and help had been offered anyway. The orphanage. Cynthia’s relief. Cynthia’s smile. Moments stacked on top of one another until Barth lost track of where gratitude had ended and trust had begun.

’He’s always been like this,’ Barth thought. ’Doing things quietly. Carrying more than he lets on.’

He knew Trafalgar had secrets. Many of them. Anyone who moved through the world the way he did had to. Important people always did. Barth understood that difference in scale instinctively, the gap between someone surviving and someone shaping outcomes simply by existing.

And yet, none of that changed how he felt.

Respect came first. Affection followed close behind.

’If it came to it,’ Barth admitted to himself, watching another monster fall, ’I’d give my life for him.’

The realization felt steady rather than dramatic.

Being near Trafalgar had changed him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly. He spoke with more confidence now. He hesitated less. He relied on Cynthia without hiding behind her anymore, standing on his own even when fear lingered. Somewhere along the way, he had started believing that becoming better was possible.

His fingers tightened slightly around the bowstring.

"I want to be like him," Barth muttered. ’Even if I never reach that height.’

Behind him, Rhosyn watched in silence, saying nothing, yet hearing everything that mattered.

She did not respond right away. Her gaze remained on Trafalgar, on the way he moved through the monsters as if the world had narrowed to distance and timing alone. There was something grounding in watching him like that, something that eased a tension she had not realized she was holding.

’He has a good friend,’ she thought.

The realization brought with it a quiet warmth. Trafalgar had friends. People who saw him not as a bloodline, not as a title, not as a role waiting to be filled, but as someone worth following. Worth admiring. Worth protecting.

After a moment, Rhosyn turned her attention to Bartholomew.

"Why aren’t you joining him?" she asked gently. "Are you afraid?"

Barth blinked, pulled out of his thoughts. He hesitated, fingers tightening briefly around the bow before loosening again.

"Y-yeah," he admitted. "In part." His eyes flicked back to Trafalgar, then away. "I don’t really like fighting." A pause followed, longer this time. "And... he felt strange this morning. Different."

He swallowed.

"Like he had too much on his mind," Barth continued. "Not just this. Everything." His voice dropped slightly. "The war. The things happening in the world. Whatever he lives recently... it’s all piling up."

He shifted his stance, clearly uncomfortable with how much he was revealing. "I think he needs this," Barth said. "To stop thinking for a bit. To just move." Another pause. "He’s been carrying a lot. More than he should have to."

His shoulders tensed. "S-sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that."

Rhosyn did not change her expression.

"There’s no need to apologize," she said calmly. "I know who Trafalgar is." Her eyes followed another burst of mana as a monster fell. "And the world is beginning to understand it as well."

She looked back at Barth.

"He carries a position," Rhosyn said instead. "A name."

Her eyes remained on Trafalgar. "Being part of one of the Eight Great Families means he will never move unnoticed."

A brief pause.

"Whatever he does, people will talk. Whether he wants them to or not. Whether he succeeds or fails."

She glanced back at Barth.

"That kind of attention becomes a weight on its own."

Her voice softened slightly.

"But it does not mean he carries it alone."

Her gaze softened slightly.

"You are a good friend," she said.

Barth froze.

He turned toward her slowly, color rising to his cheeks. "Y-you really think so?"

Rhosyn met his gaze without hesitation.

"Yes," she said. "I truly think so."

Silence settled between them after that, broken only by the distant sounds of combat as Trafalgar continued to carve space for himself ahead.

Bartholomew realized what he was doing only after it was already done.

The bow rested naturally in his hands. The familiar weight had settled there without conscious intent, fingers moving through motions practiced too many times to count. By the time the thought surfaced, the arrow was already nocked, breath aligned, posture steady.

The shot left the string in silence.

[Piercing Shade Arrow]

The projectile cut through the air in a dark, focused line, passing cleanly through the first creature’s bloated torso before continuing onward. A heartbeat later, it struck the second, the force carrying through both bodies in a single, decisive path. Two of the frog-like monsters collapsed almost simultaneously, acidic saliva hissing uselessly against the stone as they went still.

A clean collateral.

Barth exhaled, surprised by how natural it felt. His grip loosened slightly, pulse steady rather than racing. There was fear still, lingering at the edges, but it no longer dictated his movement.

Ahead of him, Trafalgar noticed.

He turned just enough to glance back, blade still humming faintly with residual mana. A corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile, but close enough.

"So," Trafalgar said, voice carrying easily across the platform, "you felt like moving your muscles after all?"

Barth froze for half a second—then swallowed and nodded, a little embarrassed, a little proud.

"Y-yeah," he admitted.