[What do you think Carnwennan’s fighting style would be?]

That was the first question that Balam had asked Peter when the boy called out his dagger for the first time.

The answer was simple. A dagger was small in size, but lacking in strength. Therefore, its strength would lie in its ability to be hidden from privy eyes, meaning that its best use would undoubtedly be in stealth missions and assassination attempts. And it was Peter’s answer as well:

“Relying on surprise attacks?”

[Correct, but not quite enough. The dagger is best for such missions, that line of thinking is correct. However, Carnwennan isn’t some lowly dagger bought in a flea market, and you’re certainly not an assassin trained all his life in the art of killing. Do you understand where I’m going with this?]

“You’re saying… I shouldn’t try fighting like that? But why?”

[Think about it. You’ve been relying on your instinct to fight ever since you first got a hold of my power. That’s good and all, but in a real fight, you’d be doing nothing more than flailing around your knife like an idiot, full of openings and ripe for the kill.]

“Then what would you suggest I do?”

[What do you think my moniker is?]

The answer couldn’t be any simpler.

Balam, the Demon that governs the earth.

For the past few days, Peter had been drilled in the art of magic. His control had gotten much better compared to three days prior. He was still rough around the edges, but he was proficient enough to heal his body through his own mana reserve. And now, with the perfect medium to connect himself to his demonic partner’s vast power, his path to combat mastery was clear.

This was the reason why he could stand in front of the hordes of knights surrounding him right now with a confident grin on his face.

[Remember, Peter.] While the boy was eyeing his surroundings, the demon issued him another reminder. [The essence of magic is just ‘imagination’. Picture the scenario you wish to happen, and my power will flow through the dagger in your hand.]

Peter silently nodded, still observing the situation. In front of him, five knights stood in a phalanx. All of them held a large shield on their left and an equally broad spear on their right, pointing towards their target with the intent to kill. The heavy armor they were wearing meant that they wouldn’t be easily injured from anything, much less a simple stab wound from a supposed flimsy dagger. However, all of them shared a single weakness – a small gap between the helmet and the breastplates they wear. In other words, their necks.

The boy shuddered at the thought. Unlike the night when he had infinite regeneration from his partner, he was no longer high on pain. His head was perfectly clear and rational, which would only prove to be detrimental for him. For one, it meant that Peter would still be bound by the guilt of murder if he wished to go down that part, and it was for this reason that he hesitated in his action.

Because of that split hesitation, however, the knights could make their first move.

“Charge!” The one in the center of the formation shouted, and following the cue, every one of them rushed forward, trying to crush the boy on the spot.

There was a scream of terror somewhere, but it was soon drowned by the sound of clanging steel and the voices of the army going at the lone boy.

However, the army had severely underestimated their opponent.

Clutching the dagger in my hand, Peter shouted:

“Rise!”

A rummaging sound could be heard from beneath the floor. The knights, realizing the danger that might entail, hurriedly moved forward, plunging their spears towards the boy in an attempt to physically crush him before anything horrible could happen.

[You’re slow.] The Demon scoffed.

“Shut up, I know!”

Even if Balam’s plant-based magic was powerful, it didn’t come without its weaknesses. First of all, no matter how much natural talent he possessed, Peter was still only exposed to magic for a few days at most. He could heal, but it was him spending an incredible amount of time focusing on himself and direct control of his mana’s flow, which was wholly ineffective in actual combat. With Carnwennan as a medium, the problem was alleviated somewhat, but the casting speed was still only about the same as an average mage.

And more importantly, since his magic was plant-based and ran on his imagination, Peter had no choice but to make it grow from the ground. And they just traveled above ground, meaning that the spell was even further delayed, while the barrage of spears was just inches away from his body.

The boy barely dodged an incoming spear aimed at his abdomen. At the same time, his arm swung his dagger forward, blocking another jab coming from the opposite direction. With the significant difference in body size and armor, Peter couldn’t hold a candle against a trained knight in terms of strength, so the boy’s counter acted more as a smooth deflector, using the stab’s momentum against it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

[Perhaps I was wrong after all.] As sparks flew in the air, Balam exclaimed. [You really are talented. That’s not a knife technique you’d just pick up any day.]

“People can do weird things facing certain doom,” Peter let out a sarcastic laugh while dodging yet another spear. The boy knew better than anyone that his strike was nothing more than a fluke, caused by his high adrenaline on the tight space of a battlefield. Given another chance with more room to move around, the knight wouldn’t miss.

However, the reality was still that it was this small room that they were in. And the room would only get smaller from now on.

Finally, the spell that the boy had cast had, quite literally, taken its roots in the battlefield. Two giant roots pierced the floor, sending debris flying everywhere in sight. They coiled and stretched like vicious vipers before flinging themselves straight at the round of knights, sending all of them flying spectacularly. The army, unable to withstand the hit, crashed into the opposite side of the room, creating a large crack that ran from one wall to another.

In just one move, a single boy had crushed Britain’s mightiest soldiers. The tides were undoubtedly in Peter’s favor, and he was well aware of this fact.

Glaring daggers at the unflinching symbol of royalty, the boy declared. “Withdraw your troops, Your Majesty, and let me leave in peace.”

Even when her soldiers were completely outclassed, the woman didn’t show any sign of worry as she spoke in her still ice-cold tone:

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll regret ever making me your enemy.”

Naturally, it was a bluff. A keen eye observing the battle would soon realize that none of the knights perished in that assault. His attack was flashy, but it was indeed just for show – the roots themselves were pointed at their ends similar to a living spear. If Peter was truly serious about crushing his opponents, he would have used them as such and drilled the roots straight through the cracks in their defenses. Or if he wanted, coiled the roots around the knights and crushed their bones or ripped off their limbs.

As a result, his partner in crime was the first to pick up this oddity.

[Are you still showing compassion?].

Peter pondered for a moment. Was it really compassion that he was showing, or was it just a human’s natural fear of seeing a dead body?

“No. There is a difference between not killing because you are too kind, and not killing because you find death unbearable.”

[If you’re still making that distinction, then you’re not suited for the battlefield.]

“I guess not.”

The boy directed Carnwennan towards the Queen. He knew that no one would expect him to stab with his roots at this point, and it was just the fake out he needed to really drill fear into his opposition. He had calculated the trajectory perfectly too – they would be just a few inches off her head, so at most, the Queen would only lose a couple of strands of hair. But that was enough for him to get the edge that he needed.

However, he had miscalculated one detail. A small detail, but an immensely important one.

Standing before him wasn’t just the Queen.

“Teine!”[1]

A chant howled. Next to her mother, Bea raised her hand forward, her eyes filled with tears mixed with a slew of anger, disappointment, and hate.

Immediately, the two roots caught fire, writhing on the ground like a pair of live snakes. When the boy came to, there was only a pile of ash remaining on the marble floor.

“I… I trusted you, Peter,” the girl weakly sobbed, her raised hand reddened thanks to the spell she cast.

As the words were uttered, Peter felt as if he himself was stabbed. Bea rarely called him “Peter”, only doing so very recently, when she was forced to reveal her true identity to him. The boy never liked the nickname she gave him – even the name “Bea” he called her was a sort of childish payback he made. Only at this moment did Peter realize he had already grown too accustomed to it, and only now did he realize how much it meant to him.

“I didn’t try to kill your mother,” The boy weakly answered.

“How should I believe that, after what you’ve just shown me?”

Peter silently clenched his fists. He could answer her, reassuring her that he still had his good nature within him. That he never meant to kill anyone in the first place. However, this bluff was all that he had. If the Queen realized she wasn’t in any danger, he could never leave this place in one piece.

The boy struggled to find a good explanation. Just at this moment, a voice whispered into his ears:

[It’s time to decide, partner. Would you get rid of your pent-up feelings for your survival, or would you choose to sacrifice your body for the chance at love?]

It’s not love, the boy tried to argue.

There was a faint chuckle echoing back.

[Call it whatever you want. But the situation doesn’t change. And by the way, you can still beat her at her own game.]

Is that so?

[Of course. Did you forget what I said about the “regular” way to do magic?]

You mean… through chants?

[Correct. There are two ways for humans to gain magic – those with rich enough ‘imagination’ can just tap into their inner power and do it, while those without learn from a ‘formula’ of ‘chants’. And you remember what happens when someone has a fast enough imagination, right?]

But I’m not fast yet, even after my training.

[Of course not, because your scales are ultimately different. The smaller the scale, the faster the chant, and the faster the imagination as well.]

Peter realized the implications behind the demon’s words. Scale down your spells, and you’ll have the upper edge.

However, the boy still hesitated.

... Is there really no way of getting out of this without a fight to the death?

As if answering his question, a ray of sunlight shined into the room through the glass windows, hitting his eyes for just a second.

Along with it, an idea flashed in his mind.

“You said that I would always beat her in speed, right?”

[It is true.]

A short, yet precise answer. And that was all that he needed.

Peter pointed Carnwennan towards Bea, his eyes filled with sorrow. It was another bluff that he was pulling, but it was enough for the girl to take the bait.

With a heavy heart, she replied in kind, raising her hand with tears in her eyes.

But before she could speak a word, the knife hand flicked to the side, towards the unsuspecting glass window. It was sturdy, so Peter didn’t know if he could break it with just his body. That was why he needed some kind of impact – a small, but precise shot, just enough to puncture a hole through.

A small flower bloomed on the ruined floor. From it, a single seed was fired, but at a speed comparable to an arrow. As soon as the window shattered, the boy rushed towards it, making his leap of faith outside the castle walls.

As his body basked in sunlight, Peter could hear his partner raising his voice for the first time:

[You idiot! We haven’t tried this yet!]

“Then you better pray this works, you damn Demon!

“Armed!”

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[1] Fire