"This prince is really helpless," Alhaitham sighed dramatically, his expression tinged with boredom. "I've crafted so many exquisite weapons, each one a masterpiece... and yet, I haven't encountered a single opponent worthy enough to make me draw any of them."
There was no need to even consider using his GEASS, or rely on brute strength anymore. In the past, he might have been forced to step in personally or manipulate fate with GEASS to make an enemy take their own life. But those days were long gone.
Now that the [Dark Night Courtyard] had grown powerful, Alhaitham rarely needed to lift a finger. When someone dared disrespect him, he didn't even need to retaliate himself. The girls in his courtyard would act immediately—ruthlessly silencing anyone who raised a hand or voice against him. Their fury tore through foes, cutting through arrogance and resistance with calculated brutality.
"There's no one left in this world who can give me a satisfying battle," he muttered, rubbing his temple in mild annoyance. "Tch... Fine. I'll just deal with you lot like this. It'll be over in a second, so I'll endure it."
Alhaitham's emerald eyes scanned the group of bandits in front of him. With just a glance, he'd already assessed their strength—or lack thereof.
Utterly unimpressive. Weak. Inferior in every sense.
Letting out a breath, he lazily bent down and picked up a small branch from the ground.
"Rejoice, petty thieves. I shall personally serve as your opponent. Consider this branch your ticket to the afterlife. Take it as a memento when you get there."
The declaration rolled from his lips with overwhelming arrogance as he channeled his magic into the branch, transmuting it into a sword-shaped focus.
"You arrogant little—!"
"Bastard! You don't even give us an ounce of respect!"
"He's just a pampered brat!"
"You better fight alone like you said! Don't you dare let those women interfere!"
The bandits, bristling with outrage, all drew their weapons and closed in. Their eyes burned with envy, jealousy, and fury. From Alhaitham's refined attire, confident posture, and unshakable demeanor, it was obvious—he came from a different world than theirs.
A higher world. A nobler world.
And that infuriated them.
What pushed them over the edge was the women—especially Beta and Epsilon. Both were radiant beauties, each exuding strength and elegance. Their presence was already enough to make any man's heart race. But to see them defer so humbly to this man—this arrogant youth—was unbearable.
To them, Alhaitham didn't just represent nobility. He represented everything they couldn't have.
[Damn it, I'm so jealous! No! No matter what, I'll bring this brat down!]
[Even if he's strong, we've got the numbers! That gives us the edge!]
[Heh... I just need to humiliate him a little in front of those women. That'll knock him off his high horse.]
But Alhaitham merely chuckled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Some things never changed, no matter the world. Men would always clash over women, driven by pride, desire, and delusion.
It was exhausting. So very tiring.
"If that's how it is, I suppose I'll have to collect all the beautiful women in this world," he said, brushing his silver hair aside. "That way, you fools won't have to fight over them. I alone shall carry that burden."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he raised the enchanted branch.
"Come, fools."
"RAAAAAHHH!"
The bandits roared, charging forward with all their strength.
Alhaitham stood unmoved.
"One weak sword, but decent momentum," he commented as he moved with elegant precision.
What followed was a display of swordsmanship so graceful, so pure, it could have brought a seasoned warrior to tears.
With nothing but a branch in hand, Alhaitham danced among the bandits like a breeze in spring, slicing through their weapons and knocking them unconscious one by one. Their steel swords, shattered in a single stroke. Their wills, broken even faster.
It was like watching the moonlight itself taking form in a human body.
Not a single move was wasted.
Not a single flaw in his technique.
Everything flowed with divine rhythm.
"H-How…? That was just a stick—!"
"What's so impossible about it?" Alhaitham replied coldly. "Frogs at the bottom of a well like you know nothing of true power. A real master doesn't need a blade. Even a single leaf can become a deadly weapon. A blade of grass can slice the heavens. A grain of sand can drown the world."
The branch pulsed faintly with magical energy. In Alhaitham's hand, it wasn't merely wood—it had become an extension of his will, a conduit of his might.
"Damn... I completely lost…" one thief groaned, collapsed on the ground. His eyes, wide with disbelief, locked onto Alhaitham's silhouette as if trying to memorize every detail before his death.
Moonlight shimmered across Alhaitham's shoulders, outlining his form in a soft, ethereal glow. His expression was cold, detached, and absolute. The kind of face only the truly powerful wore. In that moment, he looked less like a man and more like a god walking among mortals.
"Lord Alhaitham!!" cried a voice from behind.
Beta and Epsilon, watching from a distance, were flushed with admiration and near-swooning infatuation. Their eyes sparkled like stardust.
Beta, without missing a beat, reached into the cleavage of her uniform and pulled out a notebook—one that seemed to defy the laws of space with how much it held. In a flurry of motion, her pen danced across the pages, recording every quote, every pose, and every swing Alhaitham made.
The speed at which she captured it all was inhuman. In less than five seconds, she had a full sketch, complete with captions and a poetic quote.
To her, it was nothing new.
Beta's room was already plastered from floor to ceiling with portraits of Alhaitham and collections of his sayings. Each day, she added a new entry chronicling his adventures. Sometimes she'd even write alternate scenarios where he saved her from dragons or declared his love for her during a battle under the stars.
Alhaitham knew Beta had a knack for literature, but he had never expected her talents to be... channeled like this.
"Let's clean up the remaining thieves in the northern region of the kingdom tonight," he ordered, shaking his head slightly. "I'll handle seventy percent of them. You two take care of the rest."
From beneath his cloak, he retrieved a black mask and fitted it over his face. Twin amethysts shimmered where the eyes should be.
This wasn't just any mask. It was an enchanted artifact—a standard issue for [Dark Night Courtyard] members. It offered night vision, thermal detection, and minor magical amplification.
"As you command, my lord," Beta and Epsilon replied in unison, albeit with visible reluctance. They wanted to witness more of their lord's swordplay, but duty called.
With swift motions, they disappeared into the shadows with their squads.
Alhaitham turned in another direction. His mood had been foul lately, and tonight's little skirmish had sparked a rare excitement in him.
Alhaitham (internal monologue):Tch. Boring. Really boring. I want to see rivers of blood again. Isn't there a single fight worth my time anymore?
But just as he cut down the next gang of thieves, he noticed something unusual. Among their supplies, bound and gagged, was a small figure.
"Hm? A kidnapped girl?"
He approached and quickly sliced through the ropes with a flick of his enchanted branch. The girl looked up at him with teary, yet defiant eyes.
Blonde hair curled into twin drills framed her delicate face. Her dress, though dirtied, was unmistakably luxurious.
A noble.
"What's your name, little one?"
The girl, still sniffling, raised her chin proudly.
"My name is Rose Oriana."
Alhaitham blinked.
"…That name sounds familiar. Wait, are you... a princess? From some distant kingdom, perhaps?"
And just like that, the night took an interesting turn.
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