I Accidentally Created a Villainous Organization

Chapter 94: The Boss’ Manual

Balzac frowned as he stared at the man before him.

Snow-white hair.

Piercing blue eyes blazing with golden flames.

And the sword in his hand.

A radiant glow emanated from it, blindingly brilliant.

All these facts pointed to only one conclusion. Balzac’s face contorted in shock.

‘…This is beyond belief.’

The Holy Sword had been broken in half.

Not only that, but it had fallen into corruption, rendering it unusable to anyone.

And it wasn’t just the Holy Sword that had been ruined.

The body of the previous hero, who had been blessed and protected by the gods in life, now served as a shackle. Through intricate rituals and mechanisms, it was used to control the God of Light.

The God of Light could no longer bless a hero.

At least, that was supposed to be the case.

Yet, the missing Holy Sword had partially restored its form and had even been purified.

The God of Light, who could no longer bestow blessings, was no longer capable of such acts.

But standing before him was a man radiating immense divine power.

The figure before him was unmistakably a hero.

A being that should never have reappeared now stood before his eyes.

The light of that sword.

The golden flames in his eyes.

They were vivid in Balzac’s memories, unaltered by time or any manipulation.

But one thing eluded him.

“……Who are you?”

The identity of this man.

That face was one he had never seen before.

He thought he might be connected to the previous generation, but there was no trace of any relation.

Thus, Balzac exuded a murderous intent as he asked, but no answer came.

The man continued to walk toward him, as if he didn’t even feel the hostility.

In his eyes, there was a clear emotion of anger.

Given the circumstances, it wasn’t hard to guess what had enraged this man.

‘Could he be her ally?’

Her act of self-sacrifice, refusing to take any risk, hinted at something important she was hiding.

Balzac had suspected as much.

But he hadn’t expected her to be connected to a hero.

“…It seems you have no intention of speaking with me.”

The fact that he had attacked her must have deeply offended him. His murderous glare made it clear.

Seeing this, Balzac doubted any negotiation would be possible.

“Well, it doesn’t matter.”

He hadn’t expected to win him over with words anyway.

That wasn’t his strength to begin with.

What stood before him was a clear enemy.

And what should be exchanged was not meaningless words, but swords.

“Come.”

There was no reason to hesitate any longer.

***

The man before him adjusted his stance and steadied his breathing. Even that simple action seemed to shake the entire surroundings.

A being far beyond human limits.

An entity so unified with his blade and the world around him that the boundary between them seemed nonexistent.

…Balzac had known this would be no easy fight.

The mana in the air.

Even the mana within his own body was being controlled by this man.

This was why battling a Swordmaster in close combat was a death wish.

Unless one had reached the level of an Archmage, mana would always side with the Swordmaster.

And yet…

Even so, Balzac pushed off the ground and charged toward the man.

For a brief moment, he caught a flicker of surprise on the man’s face.

It made sense, after all.

To exhibit such strength without using mana was something that should have been impossible.

But Balzac was different.

‘I’ve never needed mana to begin with.’

Without forming any circles, without learning advanced techniques to enhance his body with mana, his strength was not diminished by the lack of it.

Instead, his abnormal body allowed him to display extraordinary power without a hint of mana.

Even though he wasn’t yet fully accustomed to controlling his wings, complex maneuvers weren’t necessary.

All he had to do was move forward.

And faster than anything else, focus on reaching the man.

In less than 0.1 seconds, the distance between them vanished.

Without hesitation, Balzac swung his sword.

But even in that fleeting moment, the monstrous man counterattacked flawlessly.

A deafening roar erupted.

Their swords clashed.

A Swordmaster’s blade, imbued with aura, wielded at full force.

And Balzac’s sword, swung haphazardly with less than six months of swordsmanship training.

The result of this clash should have been obvious. A Swordmaster’s aura could easily cut through even the most mystical artifacts.

And yet, despite it all…

His sword remained unscathed.

The man gritted his teeth, glaring at him.

He looked as though he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

But this result was only natural.

This sword was made for the hero.

The centerpiece of this world.

A blade crafted for such a being.

Even if it had been broken once, the power contained within it remained unchanged.

No matter how strong or fierce his sword aura might be, it could never have any effect against the Holy Sword.

It was bound by his vow.

As long as his resolve remained unbroken, the Holy Sword would never shatter.

It would never lose to any other blade.

“Who… are you?”

Ignoring his question, Balzac pushed forward, squeezing out every ounce of strength he had to keep pressing him back.

He desperately tried to distance himself from him, his face contorting with humiliation.

Even he had realized it.

That in a direct contest of strength, he could never win.

From a distance, he unleashed a flurry of sword auras in his direction.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of slashes came rushing toward him.

The kind of attack that would surely tear anyone apart upon contact. But even that was utterly meaningless.

‘This might be his first time facing me…’

But for him, it wasn’t.

Ian knew him all too well.

The hidden boss with maddening difficulty. The one whose attack patterns had taken him forever to dismantle.

He not only understood his moves—he had memorized them all.

And now, with the added mobility granted by his wings, Balzac’s attacks didn’t stand a chance.

Dodging all thousands of slashes without taking a single hit, Ian could see the frustration etched on his face as he clenched his teeth.

“What kind of cowardly trick are you using?”

Balzac snarled with a face marred by rage.

He asked how Ian could know his sword’s movements, how he could possibly be here when everyone who had seen his techniques was supposed to be dead. It didn’t make sense to him.

“…Does a so-called hero have no sense of honor?”

He resorted to invoking honor the moment he found himself at a disadvantage.

There wasn’t a shred of chivalry in his demeanor. But then, Ian supposed that was to be expected.

A person who truly valued honor and upheld the principles of chivalry would never have sided with the Empire.

No matter how much he tried to disguise it, in the end, Balzac was nothing more than a thug.

A despicable man who cut down opponents he disliked under the guise of honorable duels.

As Ian pondered this, he realized something.

He could sense what he was about to do.

“In that case, I won’t hold back either.”

With those words, he unleashed a powerful sword aura.

But it wasn’t directed at him.

It was aimed at Miss Rubia was as bound nearby.

Gritting his teeth, Ian stepped in front of her to block the attack.

A strike infused with his full power.

He neutralized it with all his strength.

But, of course, that process took time.

And that damned bastard didn’t waste a second of it.

Once again, thousands of slashes came hurtling toward Ian.

***

The mansion was in ruins.

The dust in the air began to settle, and Balzac’s eyes fell upon the accursed man once again.

Just how persistent was this man?

Despite taking the brunt of the attack head-on, he remained standing, using his sword to prop himself up.

Even after enduring such a barrage, he had managed to protect the woman.

But… his struggle ended here.

Using some bizarre power and inexplicable means to read his sword techniques—those tricks wouldn’t work anymore.

Balzac swiftly drove his blade into the boy’s heart.

In the end, the fight was his to win.

Though, shamefully.

To claim victory, he had resorted to less-than-honorable methods, sullying his name in the process.

But it had been necessary.

The only way to counter despicable tactics was with despicable tactics.

With that thought, Balzac pulled his sword from the boy’s heart.

There was much to report.

He gathered the unconscious woman and prepared to leave the mansion.

…Or so he thought.

A laugh rang out.

A laugh that grated on his nerves.

“……Why are you laughing?”

The battle was over.

Whatever that man said now, it was nothing more than the ramblings of a defeated man.

There was no reason to listen to the dying words of someone about to perish.

Even knowing this, for some reason, that laugh grated on Balzac’s nerves.

“Do you realize? You just made the worst possible choice.”

As expected.

The words coming out of the man’s mouth were incomprehensible nonsense.

They had to be nonsense.

It was impossible otherwise.

“Well, don’t feel too bitter about it. You were the one who cheated first, weren’t you?”

No blood flowed.

Despite the blade having pierced his heart, no blood spilled from the wound.

His heart, his muscles, his skin.

All of it regenerated, as if the injury had been a lie.

“If you’re going to fight dirty, you should at least be prepared to fall to dirty tactics too.”

The sound of something burning filled the air.

The black talisman that had been hanging around Balzac’s neck.

It was now burning with an ominous glow.

A massive shadow loomed over the man.

From beyond it came a dreadful, suffocating energy.

Something…

Something horrifying was making its way to this place.

“What… what have you done?”

Balzac asked, cold sweat dripping down his face.

The man smirked at him, his voice mocking.

“You still don’t get it?”

The man once again raised the Holy Sword.

Gone was the exhaustion of their earlier battle. His body was unscathed, showing not even a scratch.

And worse… three allies now stood beside him.

“Phase Two begins, you motherf—er.”

The man’s grin widened as the oppressive energy around him surged, heralding the start of the true fight.

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