Episode 33: Got Hit, So I’ll Hit Back
“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m just a background character here to farm some EXP from trash mobs, you bastards.”
The moment he said it, regret came crashing down. Wow. Seriously. Why the hell did he say that?
The ones hearing it weren’t any more amused—especially the supremacists who caught those words head-on.
“What the hell is this bastard talking about?!”
“Kill him! If he knew our location, he must be a damn spy working for those filthy traitors!”
At one man’s shout, the remaining enemies all charged at Abel at once.
They were either injured, left behind in enemy territory, or simply bottom-tier trash. Honestly, they seemed like the rejects even among the supremacists.
If they had any potential worth nurturing, the deserters would’ve done anything to bring them along.
That being the case, Abel figured he didn’t need to worry too much about their threat level.
Maybe they’d even been left behind on purpose—to buy time for the others. That possibility wasn’t off the table, but from Abel’s perspective, it didn’t matter either way.
Whether they were weak or strong, it was a win. If weak, they’d be useful for testing and honing his skills. If strong, he could use them to raise his level.
“Where do you think you’re looking!”
“Oh?”
He intentionally left an opening, baiting them. If they decided to run, that would’ve been annoying—so best to lure them in.
Sure enough, they took the bait right away. Clearly second-rate. Or even worse.
After quickly gauging their strength, Abel deliberately took a few large steps back—
CRASH!
—bursting through the warehouse doors as he pretended to be blown away.
As planned, five supremacists chased him out in a mob.
They must’ve thought they had the upper hand, seeing him retreat. That was their biggest mistake.
FWOOSH!
Butterflies engulfed in flames suddenly swarmed them, trapping them in a fiery circle. It was hot enough to cause serious burns—not impossible to break through, but risky.
Seria had set up a fiery barrier to keep them from getting close to the villagers. The area was wide enough to trap six people easily.
“Damn it. He hid the human shields.”
Human shields.
Abel immediately understood what they meant by that disgusting phrase.
He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He struck back with a heavy blow of facts.
“So, you talk about powers being divine gifts and non-powered people being worthless garbage—and now you wanna use them as shields?”
“Exactly! That’s why they’re shields, you fool!”
“So you’re saying you worthless pieces of shit can’t do anything without those ‘trash’ you claim are obsolete?”
The logic didn’t add up. If they were so beneath you, don’t use them at all.
Using someone means they have value.
And when supremacists spew this garbage, it just proves their entire ideology is a contradiction. They’re basically admitting they’re useless.
Yep. These guys were nothing more than minor mobs—barely worth the XP.
The Academy raid, or that guy Julien—those had been actual growth opportunities. This? This wasn’t even in the same league.
Abel drew his sword and rushed the nearest enemy. He closed the distance in an instant, startling his opponent, who clenched his fist and took a combat stance.
Body enhancement. Maybe even body mutation—similar to what Rel used.
Otherwise, there’s no way anyone would try to go toe-to-toe with a blade.
“Lady Seria!”
No need to clash directly. Not when you have allies. This was why you fought in teams.
And this was also a great chance for Seria to gain experience—she’d come here for this, after all.
FWOOSH!
The butterflies that had been quietly simmering at Abel’s side suddenly flared up and surged forward, spitting fire at the supremacist who had just begun swinging his fist.
“GRAAAAH!”
There are different types of body mutations.
Some, like Rel’s, are steel-hard. Others may be more like thickened skin or hide.
Even if they can block blades, that doesn’t mean they’re resistant to heat.
The guy who came charging in all cocky started screaming as his skin melted in the flames. He immediately lost the will to fight, scrambling to rip off the burning pieces.
Not a pretty sight. Burns and fire deaths are some of the most gruesome ways to go.
Abel was silently thankful that Seria’s abilities were ranged.
She disliked hurting others, but here, her butterflies did all the attacking for her.
For someone as kind as her, it made all the difference to not have to strike directly.
Slice.
‘Of course, I’m not like that.’
Abel spun his sword in a circle. A moment later, an enemy who had been preparing an electric-type technique coughed up blood as his chest split open.
“Gah!”
It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
Taking lives was never enjoyable. Abel wasn’t twisted enough to take pleasure in killing.
But these were enemies.
If he didn’t strike them down, they would strike down his comrades. Or family. Or himself.
Mercy came after the battle was won.
Even in a “romance fantasy,” death was still death.
Abel didn’t forget that, and one by one, he brought down his enemies.
“We can’t keep this up! Take care of those butterflies first!”
“Someone nearby must be controlling them! Find them!”
Unable to break through head-on, the enemies tried flanking instead. They had the numbers, so it wasn’t a bad call.
Abel picked up speed. Swinging his sword with one hand, he grabbed an escaping enemy by the collar with the other, slammed him into the ground, and then kicked him in the face.
But the enemies weren’t completely clueless. The successful raid on the Academy hadn’t just been luck.
Eventually, one of them broke through Abel’s defense and passed the wall of flame created by the butterflies, making a direct run for Seria.
They seemed fully convinced that if they could just take her out, they’d be able to escape.
Abel clicked his tongue at the sight. He genuinely pitied them for making such a poor decision.
‘Pathetic idiots. Digging their own graves.’
If they had known what kind of world this was—what genre it belonged to—they would never have made that choice.
Targeting the heroine of a romance fantasy? That’s practically the same as declaring yourself an enemy of the male lead.
CRUNCH!!
With a sickening crack of bone, one of the enemies aiming for Seria was sent flying and crashed to the ground.
His face was crushed in. Barely breathing—he was as good as dead.
“How dare you! How dare you lay a hand on her!”
Rel roared, his fists turned to steel, swinging them wildly like hammers.
Originally, he was supposed to be assisting Abel in surrounding the building and taking out enemies. But when he didn’t show up, Abel already had a pretty good idea what he was doing.
The classic “protect the heroine” move.
A male lead in a romance fantasy would throw away his life just to take that role—and Rel had done exactly that.
‘So he figures the enemies will try to escape outward, and since I’ve got things handled, he doesn’t need to worry. Typical male lead logic. What’s he gonna do if the plan falls apart?’
If Rel’s move had come from complete trust in Abel, it might have been flattering.
But it was obvious he wasn’t totally confident. He kept glancing back nervously.
That wasn’t faith in Abel—it was clearly fear that Abel might fall short.
“You traitor!”
“I can’t take this anymore!”
“Lady Seria! Are you alright?!”
From the other side, three more men came charging in, forming a protective ring around Seria.
Then, competing with one another, they began unleashing flashy skills at the supremacists who had been trying to attack her. More power, more sparkle—it was obvious they were showing off.
Abel, mid-fight, even lowered his sword for a second to watch the ridiculous scene.
Even the supremacist who had been fighting Abel paused, visibly confused at the sudden shift.
‘…Wait. Was Rel not worried about me failing—but about them pulling this nonsense instead?’
Incredible. Wow. Male leads in romance fantasy, everybody! Abel sarcastically applauded in his head and returned his focus to battle.
But then, something unexpected happened—something even Abel hadn’t anticipated.
“Damn it! This won’t work! Nie! Go! At least one of us has to escape!”
“B-but—!”
“Go now! We can’t hold on much longer!”
At his comrades’ desperate cries, the supremacist named Nie turned and ran.
That much was expected—an enemy giving up and fleeing.
The problem came right after.
“Huh?!”
Nie’s body suddenly floated, then shot up into the sky.
Abel, who had just finished off another enemy, bit his lip and cursed.
A flight-capable ability user. How could he have forgotten?
He should’ve accounted for that possibility—but lately, all the battles had been ground-based. He’d completely overlooked the existence of aerial threats.
But for a powered individual, even the sky could be a battlefield.
‘And the worst part—ugh! Those idiots!’
Originally, Rel was the only one supposed to be at the front lines. Flam, Portus, and Caligo were supposed to be in reserve.
If they had stayed in place, they could’ve responded to this unexpected flight and launched a surprise counterattack.
But thanks to Rel’s whole “gallant knight protecting the lady” act, all of them had been lured in.
So now, there were no reserves, no backup—no one in place to deal with an enemy flying away.
And to make things worse, they had all blown most of their energy on flashy moves, just to look good in front of Seria. Meaning they were now in a temporary cooldown state.
With no other options, Abel decided to handle it himself.
He grabbed the scabbard hanging at his hip.
He didn’t know if he could hit the target, but he had to try.
If he was lucky, he might be able to bring the enemy down with one strike—
BOOM!
“Gahhh!”
A massive chunk of ice came flying from somewhere and smashed directly into the fleeing enemy.
As the now-unconscious foe crashed hard into the ground, Abel looked off toward the forest and gave a thumbs-up to the twin sisters who had been waiting in reserve.