Chapter 7: Chapter 4: Albus the Murderer

“You don’t exactly look the most normal yourself.”

“Hey! I’m definitely the most normal here… in terms of personality… at least.”

“I’ll take your word for it, I guess.”

Lake made his way further into the main camp as the skeleton boy followed anxiously behind. The was in complete and utter disarray. There was no sense of order at all, like a prison with no guards. Pieces of rotten food littered the ground, along with wood chips, bird droppings and scrap metal. It was a hellhole. 

“What’s the deal here?” asked Lake.

“This is… where the men hang out, I suppose.”

“Why is there no order?”

“Well, there is some order… in that caravan over there lives Albus the Murderer. He’s been here the longest, or so they say, and he’s extremely violent. His words are the only ones that really carry any weight around here.”

“I see, so he’s in that van.”

Lake started walking toward the old, run-down caravan. Outside were loose pieces of string strung between broken wood pillars, acting as a makeshift clothesline. Hanging on the side of the van were various different weapons, from axes to swords to whips. 

“H-hold on! Where do you think you're going?” the skeleton boy cried out.

“I just want to say hi to the boss, don’t mind me.”

“Stop, stop! You’ll be killed if you enter his van without permission!”

“Is that so? But I’m just going to greet him.”

As Lake walked closer, the skeleton boy eventually hesitated to continue following him. Standing still, watching him from a distance, the skeleton boy didn’t go any closer to the van. Still, without any care in the world, Lake made his way forward. Pushing away some of the wet socks and underwear hanging around the entrance, he abruptly slammed open the door.

The skeleton boy could only watch in pure terror.

Lake was suddenly and violently greeted by a large, hairy man. He had features like that of a bear, with thick muscular arms, long unkempt nails, and dirt gathered between his fingers and toes. He furiously looked up at Lake.

“The fuck do you think yer’ doing?!”

“I thought I’d come to greet you since I’m new here.”

Slowly, Lake nudged the door closed from behind his back. With a loud click, it was firmly shut.

“The others haven’t told you about who I am, have they? No one who knows who I am would dare come in here. Yer’ better leave, boy.”

“You're Albus the Murderer, isn’t that right?”

“So you do know who I am, yet you still decided to come in~? Hahaha, I guess yer’ crazy in a different way to everyone else… you masochist.”

“I’m more of a sadist myself.”

“Well, that ain’t gonna work out here. Two sadists can’t play together. You better get the fuck out or I’m going to show you a piece of hell.”

“I’d like to see it.”

Opening one of the drawers, Albus grabbed a fine, sophisticated throwing knife. Without any hesitation, he lobbed it straight towards Lake’s head.

There was a loud squelch.

A stream of bright red liquid began dripping out of Lake’s palm. He moved his hand away, revealing his face. It was still as listless and uncaring as before.

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“Yer’ not the first fucker to come mess with me. Don’t get cocky after blocking one of ma’ knives. I’ve got plenty more in stock~.”

“I’d prefer if we could settle this peacefully.”

“Settle this peacefully? The fuck is there to settle?! Did you come here for a tea party or something? There is no peace in this camp!”

“I wanted somewhere to live. Your caravan is pretty nice.”

“You came to steal it from me?”

“No. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

Suddenly, another knife began barrelling toward Lake’s face. 

There was a brief spark as metal collided with metal.

The knife was sent flying toward the side of the caravan, sticking itself into the plaster of the wall. Lake was holding a knife in his hand.

“You’ve got a sword, yet yer’ using my own throwing knives against me?”

“I still want to live in here after all. I don’t want to reduce it to shreds.”

“Yer’ pretty confident in yer’ skills. I don’t mind that~. However, I’m not someone who likes to share.”

Albus began pulling himself off of the bed. Slamming his large, grimy feet onto the ground, he grabbed an oversized blade off of his wall. 

“I don’t mind takin’ this outside.”

“Sure.”

The large man began making his way toward the door of the caravan. Lake was walking down the steps. Suddenly there was a loud clang. With his [Fallen Knight’s Rapier] drawn, Lake looked up at Albus.

“Decent attempt.”

“Ha! You think yer’ve got the right to talk down to me?”

“I mean I—“

With the large broadsword, Albus swung straight at Lake, cutting down his own laundry in the crossfire. The swing caused a large pile of smoke to gather at the site as dust and debris were launched up from the ground.

Standing a few metres away, Lake wiped the blood from his face. Albus didn’t give him time to think, charging straight toward him. Kicking away piles of rubbish from the ground, he launched himself, swinging his large blade.

Lake was able to block his attack. Again, Albus swung, trying to destroy him. Their two blades collided, causing more air to begin circulating around the area. Albus’ strength was overpowering as Lake struggled to keep his balance.

Swing after swing, Lake was forced on the defensive. Their swords clashed, sending a ferocious noise throughout the camp. Everyone else had turned their attention to them.

Eventually, Albus was able to get an opening as Lake hit his ankle on a piece of metal. As he tried to regain his balance, Albus used his dense hairy leg to kick him straight in the side. The collision caused Lake to slam into the ground. However, there was no sign of struggle on his face.

Albus rushed in to deliver the final blow.

However, before he could do so, Lake got to his feet. His sword began gleaming with a maleficent aura. 

—

“Fallen Knight’s Style, First Sword.”

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