Chapter 73

The Martial God Bruce Lee once said:

“Jeet Kune Do uses the formless to counter the formed, and the infinite to counter the finite.”

And I say:

“If you’re gonna hit, hit the vital spot. And if you’re gonna hit the vital spot, hit it *really* damn hard.”

*Wham!*

My hand struck the servant who was aiming for my life, hitting him right in the philtrum.

“Wow, you’re still standing? How many teeth did you lose? You might have to live on porridge from now on, you know that? Still cool with that?”

“Uh… Fei… Huh… Eurao…”

“Fei? Like Fei Hong? That Chinese chef? Is this punk calling me Chinese? One of the common racist remarks Asians get overseas is ‘Are you Chinese?’ I thought this guy was just a simple communist, but now he’s being racist too. This goes against democracy and even embraces white supremacy. As a defender of justice, I must punish him.”

Jean-Jacques Rousseau, watch me!!! Witness the moment I punish this communist and uphold democracy!

My fist broke the servant’s ribs. He was now in so much pain that tears were streaming down his face. Does it hurt? I feel tears too—tears for the tragedy of communism that brainwashed you.

“Does it hurt? It hurts me too.”

As the successor of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, my heart aches knowing that I couldn’t spread democracy far enough to prevent victims like you.

“Fei… Ingah…”

Fei again? I’m not a Chinese chef, dammit.

Martin Luther King, watch me!!! Witness the moment I punish this racist and achieve racial unity!

I raised both fists. Then, I slightly lifted my middle knuckle and struck the punk’s temple, spinning him around.

This could be called the ultimate technique of the spinning fist, used to discipline naughty kids. I learned it from a woman with a mischievous 5-year-old son.

Blood gushed out like a fountain, and the punk died screaming.

“May you be reborn in a world without discrimination of race or ideology.”

I clasped my hands and prayed for his proper reincarnation. Even though you were a damn communist and a racist, it’s not entirely your fault. The environment made you this way.

But wait, if these punks came after me, doesn’t that mean they might have gone after others too?

I picked up the dinner knife on the table. It wasn’t as dull as a butter knife. Handling this type of knife isn’t my specialty, but now’s not the time to be picky. First, I need to check on Airi.

As I stepped out of the room, another dagger flew at me from the side. Man, these guys are terrible at throwing knives. If I had thrown knives like that as a kid, I wouldn’t have gotten dinner that night.

Luckily, I caught the blade mid-air, spun it around, and grabbed the handle. Damn, daggers are definitely dual-wield weapons.

“Ah~ You’re giving me a weapon because I was short one? How thoughtful.”

Typical of a communist to share equally. It’s a shame I have to exploit your weakness, but I’m fighting for my life here.

“…Aren’t you gonna use magic?”

“Do you think you’re worth it?”

Lately, my body’s been too stiff, so I needed a full-power workout. No matter how strong someone is, without consistent training, they’ll weaken. Even the sharpest blade will rust without maintenance.

These punks were just the right level to shake off my rust.

“You’ll regret this.”

This punk said he’d make me regret it and charged at me. Is he obsessed with me?

“Sorry, but I’m not into regret-obsession stories. Harem, pure love, yuri, martial arts, sci-fi…”

“What the hell are you mumbling about?!”

This damn punk is ignoring my taste in novels. I thought he’d show the merits of communism, but instead, he’s showing its flaws without filter. Ignoring personal tastes and preferences—these are the kind of guys who dig up Confucius’ grave and destroy cultural relics like the Red Guards. In the name of UNESCO’s first director, Julian Huxley…

I stabbed the punk in the gut.

“Guh!”

“Does it hurt?”

But my attack, carrying the will of UNESCO, didn’t end there.

Galileo Galilei once said:

“And yet it moves.”

And I, Werner, say:

“My blade spins too.”

Stabbing someone in the gut isn’t the end. A proper stab requires spinning the blade, like kneading dough. That’s why it’s called a “stab.”

But true to his communist worship, he seemed to have gone berserk. Even with his intestines scrambled, he pushed me away and created distance. He’s either going to die or end up paralyzed.

“This bastard is treating this fight like a joke…”

“Should I stop joking then? It’ll get really boring.”

“…What?”

“Fine, I’ll stop joking. You must be the type who doesn’t like jokes.”

I approached and uppercutted his chin.

“Guh!”

His mouth opened wide, and I grabbed his upper and lower teeth. Like sliding open a door, I tore his mouth into a red mask. No, a *super* red mask, since it tore all the way to his neck. The red mask is originally a ghost-like entity, so I formed a cross with my hands to exorcise it.

Seeing the divine symbol of the cross, the super red mask collapsed to the ground, bleeding.

“See? Boring, right?”

I wish they’d let me enjoy the fight a little. If they all die so pathetically, what’s the point of training? Maybe this is their plan to let my skills rust.

The Black Round Table guys are vicious. They took away my great magic, and now they’re trying to take my combat and weapon skills too. I swear I’ll bring divine punishment upon them.

Then, a scream came from a room at the end of the hallway.

“Kyaaaaaaah!”

This voice wasn’t Airi’s, Glacia’s, or Camellia’s. It was Flora, Ricardo’s wife.

Well, other women wouldn’t fall to these pathetic communists. So, saving a woman in distress is the duty of a British gentleman. I ran straight there.

I kicked open the door where the scream came from.

Inside, I saw a communist punk holding a long sword without a guard, and Flora, holding a baby, bleeding.

“Lo-Lord Werner? Help us! The assassins are after us…! At least save the baby…”

“Save the baby? What are you talking about…?”

“Huh?”

“If I kill that punk now, I can save everyone.”

The communist punk seemed to prioritize me, as his sword shifted direction.

“Hey, put that away.”

The punk remained silent, just adjusting his stance.

“I’m saying this for your own good.”

I’m holding a crappy knife, while he’s got a proper sword. If I use magic, Flora and the baby might get caught in the crossfire.

The punk ignored my advice and charged.

I sidestepped, and his sword got stuck in the door. Using such a long weapon indoors? What an idiot.

I struck his chin.

Even after taking the hit, he only staggered for a moment before regaining his stance. I thought about throwing the knife, but if he dodged, Flora or the baby might get hit.

I hate keeping my distance like this…

Luckily, he charged again, seemingly aiming for my eyes. Why the hell is he targeting my eyes? I’m not an Uchiha.

And when your attack is so obvious, it’s easy to counter, right?

I grabbed his right arm.

“You really need to go back to basics.”

I twisted his arm and broke it with a knee strike.

“Gyaaaaah!”

“Why are you screaming when the baby’s being quiet?”

Just like there are no-kids zones because of noisy kids, we need no-assassin zones for noisy assassins like this.

Daring to target a defenseless woman and child—the blood of a British gentleman in me couldn’t stop my right hand.

“Guh…”

And just like that, I turned him into a super red mask too.