-Clang! Chiiiit!
The cylinders spun furiously, white steam billowing from the steam suit’s back.
The steam-armored pilot sneered inwardly at the fleeing mercenaries and fixers.
To those who could only shoot pea-sized bullets, the steam suit was the equivalent of an armored vehicle.
Of course they wouldn't dream of fighting.
‘Now all I have to do is keep my position appropriately.’
As the pilot thought this, he saw someone coming towards him.
It wasn't sneaking up on him, either, but striding toward him as if he were out for a walk.
When he looked up, he saw a young man with dark hair, neatly dressed, a noble-looking man who looked like he was about to die. In addition, he was carrying a kitchen knife in his right hand.
‘A kitchen knife? Is he crazy?’The pilot thought about shooing him away, but then thought better of it.
Let's not let our guard down.
Especially now, with the union backing them and calling for a strike, they needed to be extra sure of their work.
In that regard, the steam suit pilots were professional and committed to doing their job.
-Tsk.
Steam suit’s fists, both arms disproportionately large for his size, opened and pointed at Osian.
Just as it was about to clench and turn him into a mashed mass of meat, Osian's hand moved.
-Shrik.
A flash of light flashed in the air, and the kitchen knife danced soundlessly.
At the same time, the steam suit's outstretched hand shattered into pieces.
"No, what the......."
Harris' eyes widened as he watched the spectacle from start to finish.
So did the steam suit’s pilot, who watched the whole thing through a gap in his shattered chest armor.
The arm, made of a specially reinforced alloy, had been sliced off like a radish.
Even worse, what Osian was wielding right now was a kitchen knife, the kind you'd use to slice and dice ingredients.
A kitchen knife that looks like a kitchen knife, but is actually the sword of the century?
Aside from panicking, the pilot moved his other arm.
-clang!
A hatch in the thick forearm of the steam suit opened, and a giant stake popped out.
It was a pile bunker, capable of puncturing even the armor of a sturdy quadrupedal tank.
Originally, it was intended to use close-range weapons to target pilots of the same steam suit.
"Die!"
It was absolutely not an object to be used on humans, but the pilot, who felt an instinctive sense of danger, did not have the time to think about such things.
The pile bunker's massive pile shot out in a blast of evaporating ether water but instead of shrinking back, Osian leapt into the steam suit's arms.
His hands moved again in an afterimage, swinging with invisible speed.
A fine solid line covered the entirety of the steam suit’s other arm, including the pile bunker.
The arm of the steam suit was cut off in sharp sections and the massive steel pile was no exception.
"Man, they didn't tell me there was a monster like this."
While the pilot panicked, Osian swung his kitchen knife at the giant body.
-Boom!
The knife couldn't pierce the steam suit’s armor.
The arms could be sliced through the joints, but the body was different. It had thicker armor to protect the occupant.
Even so, the pilot felt a chill run down his spine as he saw the knife marks etched into it but that was okay since the attacks couldn't reach him.
"Huh?"
The pilot's eyes widened in disbelief at Osian's behavior.
Osian didn't step back when his attack was blocked.
Instead, he tightened his grip on the handle of the kitchen knife with both hands.
The moment the forearm muscles in his forearms flexed, the blade dropped vertically from the sky toward the ground.
In that instant, the steam suit pilot saw a burst of pure white light from the tip of a kitchen knife.
The knife penetrated the armor smoothly, without jamming.
-Koooow!
The steam suit split in half and fell to the side, with the pilot inside.
A cloud of dust rose, and the mercenaries and fixers who watched wondered if they were dreaming.
A man had sliced the steam suit in half with a kitchen knife.
Had he said it as a joke at a bar, they would have laughed at him for not being funny but now it had happened.
Harris stared at the man who had performed this miracle, his mouth agape.
It was the same for the fleeing mercenaries.
However, Osian eyed his kitchen knife with disgust.
He had just used the Starlight Sword, and the blade had completely deteriorated.
It was barely retaining its shape.
Furthermore, his wrist was a little sore from the force of the swing.
"Hmm. It must be the weapon."
It didn't make sense that a kitchen knife would slice through a steam suit and end up with a slightly chapped wrist but Osian seriously thought he wasn't good enough.
It was the weapon, to be sure.
'It's certainly sharper than the first longsword I was given, but it's not the best.'
As much as he didn't want to admit it, the kitchen knives of the current era were far superior to the sword he had used before.
However, due to its smaller size and different sword standards, the blade had been completely destroyed by a single Starlight strike.
Not bad for a consumable weapon.
Still, it was a bit much to have to carry a kitchen knife to every fight.
Shaking off the distraction, Osian turned to the several pairs of eyes glaring at him.
"I've taken care of the troublesome ones. Now you can take care of the rest."
Harris nodded, his face a mask of disbelief as he snapped back to reality.
Osian watched as the site was quickly cleared.
The striking workers were being subdued and dragged away in shovelfuls.
In a way, it was a pity, but in reality, it wasn't.
These guys are the ones who took over a well-run factory by inciting other co-workers for their own benefit.
The situation was different from the workers that Osian first encountered.
They didn’t burst out because they couldn't truly endure hardships, it was because they were greedy even though they had enough and they had a union behind them.
The city of Tirna was full of unions of all kinds. The most common of these were the unions that represented the workers, and they were quite a large organization in Tirna.
But unions don't represent the workers.
They are paid by someone to call strikes or organize protests.
In the end, all organizations and groups are driven by money and interests.
In the end, this was the type of organization that was operating properly in the city during the Industrial Revolution.
That's why Osian had no guilt or hesitation about killing the pilot of the steam suit.
He was paid to kill people, and this was no different.
Deciding that the matter was settled, Osian left the scene.
The job was done, and Ronan would pay for it anyway.
Staying there would only attract more troublemakers.
'I think I've had enough of that already.'
Osian was aware of several bodies following him surreptitiously.
No hostile feelings, but rather a desire to analyze and confirm his abilities.
It's probably the organization's way of making sure that the rumored knight is indeed the real deal.
‘How big is this city?’
I knew that one district was roughly the size of a small to medium-sized city, but that's just an estimate.
And what about all the organizations in the city?
I couldn't even begin to count them. The gangs and such that Osian had dealt with before wouldn't even make it to the claws.
How big would the criminal organizations be, how powerful would the conglomerates be, and what about the city council?
Even the Blood Brotherhood wouldn't dare to operate openly in this city.
He felt ashamed of himself for walking around in such a place, trusting only his sword.
‘So I must be stronger.’
Meeting Grace Seeker made him realize that he’s not good enough.
Even if he didn't have a sword at the time, realizing defeat was not a good feeling.
‘I need to become stronger.’
It was not only for the primal purpose of survival, but also to prepare for whatever he might do in the future.
Osian knew he could become stronger by unlocking the remaining talents.
The answer was there.
But what does it take to unlock a Talent?
‘Fight. I need to get stronger by fighting more powerful people.’
At that thought, Osian's heart sank.
How could he, who was just a common citizen not long ago, seek to fight?
He wondered if this was the effect of the wandering knight's body, but it was ridiculous.
Perhaps this was who he was meant to be.
The real him, cowering in his egg, blocked by the walls of reality, had begun to raise his head through the body of a knight.
‘So, this is not enough.’
The steam suit was a novelty, a breakthrough, but it was easily sliced by a kitchen knife.
It wasn't bad to earn money by taking down easy enemies, but Osian didn't like it.
Something deep inside him kept grumbling in discontent.
He needed a stronger stimulus.
With that thought in mind, Osian opened the door to the Violet Fox Tavern.
The tinkling bell drew Ronan's gaze from his seat and papers.
His eyes, whether open or closed, widened slightly at the sight of Osian.
"Welcome home. Did your mission go well?"
"It was uneventful."
"Is that so? Anything to report briefly about the mission?"
"There was a steam suit. I'd never seen one before, but the fleeing mercenaries shouted it, so it must be true."
"A steam suit…No ordinary strikers would do that, so they must have had backup."
“So I cut it.”
A flat tone, as if to say, "I saw a stone on the road, so I cleared it.”
Ronan gave a small laugh at that.
It was a wry smile, full of suspicion as always.
"You don't seem to be bothered."
"......did it look that way?"
"It can't be your weapon, can it?"
It would have felt too arrogant to say that the request was too easy, so Osian remained silent.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fell on the papers Ronan was looking at.
"What are those?"
"Oh, it's a summary of recent news. Aside from the movements of the Blood Brotherhood, there have been several other incidents in the city."
"Hmph."
Osian flipped through the papers, intrigued by their contents.
Suddenly, he saw a familiar word and picked up the paper.
"This is......."
"Ah. Does that pique your interest?"
[Regarding the witch’s request for asylum]
That's what it said on the front of the paper Osian picked up.