Civil Servant in Romance Fantasy

I laughed hollowly at the madman’s crazy statement, then quickly composed my expression. The plan to take down Dorgon had fallen apart from the start, and now I was back in this cursed land where my comrades had died. Strangely, I felt more relief than displeasure.


I couldn’t let my personal emotions interfere with my duty to the empire. That was what I told myself, but the truth was, I didn’t want that. I, alone among the seven of us who didn’t die, wanted to end this nightmare by myself. I wanted to kill Kagan’s remnant with my own hands.
I was just trying to suppress the memories of repeatedly letting Dorgon slip away for two years, the humiliation of not catching him for three years, and the shame of war breaking out again due to his new uprising.


But I didn’t have to anymore. A one-on-one situation had been created, not because of my stubbornness, but because of Dorgon’s strategy. Whether I liked it or not, I had to face him alone.
“As expected.”
Watching me, Dorgon nodded as if satisfied.
“I knew you’d like this.”
His words made me laugh. I didn’t even know why, but I couldn’t stop laughing.
Then, I spoke quietly.
“Whatever the outcome, it’ll make for a good memento.”
“Whether the loser or winner, we’ll remain forever in each other’s memories and the continent’s history. Isn’t that splendid?”
As Dorgon made another abnormal reply, he dismounted, so I got off my horse too.
If we were going to fight one-on-one, the first thing we’d do was kill each other’s horses. If that was the case, we’d better keep the horses alive to make it easier for the winner to return. We oddly agreed on this point.
“I am Ga’ar Udesur Dorgon, master of the Udesur clan and Khan of the Ga’ar Khanate.”
Dorgon stepped forward one step at a time, a faint smirk on his lips.
It was an abrupt introduction. After all, there was no reason or need for such a peaceful introduction between us.
“I am Carl Krasius of Wiridia, heir to the Krasius family and Count of the Kefellofen Empire.”
However, I played along. Why? I had no idea.
“You’re a count? That’s too low for a warrior facing a Khan.”
“The only Khan under heaven is His Majesty the Emperor. You’re just a mere tribal chief.”
“Khu, a Khan who’s never set foot in the North. How amusing.”
Dorgon, who had been chuckling continuously, slowly stopped laughing. He brought his sword forward and took a stance, looking like he might charge at any moment.
“Five years of bad blood should be enough.”
“It would have ended in two if you hadn’t run away.”
And then, we both launched forward at the same time.


As our swords clashed, something exploded, and the ground split.
From here onwards, the only sound left would be either of our bones breaking.
***The original owner of this body had been trained in the swordsmanship of the Krasius family. And when I became him, I inherited those memories—his techniques, his habits. I continued training in it even after the possession, allowing me, the possessor, to use Krasius swordsmanship reasonably well.
However, this swordsmanship wasn’t something I built up from scratch, but inherited from someone else’s memories. It wasn’t something I had built my foundation in from the ground up. No matter how much muscle memory remained, I could never fully master them.
It felt unfair. Other people who found themselves in my situation gained new abilities. Meanwhile, I had been robbed of skills I should have had.
Still, that half-baked swordsmanship was all I had when I was thrown onto the blood-soaked battlefield five years ago, where the empire’s fate hung in the balance. To survive in that hell, I had no choice but to develop a swordsmanship that suited my body, Krasius swordsmanship or whatever be damned.


This half-baked warrior, after much struggle, learned practical combat-focused swordsmanship—to be honest, just a mishmash without any real foundation. I abandoned proper form and stance long ago. I just learned how to swing faster, stronger, and more often than the enemy.
I even learned about spears, bows, and daggers, not just swords, making it a terrible hybrid. That was why I could never say that I had mastered swordsmanship, even when people called me a swordsman. That was my last shred of conscience.
Oddly enough, I wasn’t alone in this mishmash. The bastard who survived the survival-of-the-fittest North and practically became the second-in-command of Kagan’s 100,000 nomad army also showcased a mongrel martial art without any discernible roots.
Of course—that bastard was Dorgon.


My body curled up as Dorgon’s sword pierced my gut, but I immediately jammed my sword hilt into his chin. The wound wasn’t deep enough to disable me, but it was lodged just enough to delay him from pulling it free. I couldn’t land a proper slash in that time, but at least I could bash him.
Dorgon, who took a hit in exchange for wounding me, quickly retreated and spat out the blood pooling in his mouth.


He was more intact than I expected. I couldn’t put my full strength into it, but I thought I’d at least knock out a few teeth.
“You’re quite the junkie.”
“Look who’s talking.”
I instinctively retorted to Dorgon’s words as he spat blood and smirked.
Of course, I was one. Between enhancement magic, holy magic enhancements, and the sheer number of potions I had chugged, I probably wasn’t much better than a walking apothecary. However, I didn’t want to hear that from a fellow junkie.
I had already clashed with Dorgon dozens and even hundreds of times. During that, I stabbed him in the stomach, dislocated his shoulder, and shattered his knee.
And yet, he still moved like none of it had ever happened. Unless that bastard was also doping himself with all sorts of enhancement spells and potions, that’d be impossible.


This was exactly why I hated fighting him. As the owner of a standardless mishmash martial art, I never knew where his attacks would come from, and being the type to prioritize life over pride, he shamelessly came doped up. It was like fighting myself, and it wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Moreover, I’d fought this bastard too often. We’d clashed frequently and retreated after grasping each other’s characteristics and tendencies.
The longer this dragged on, the lower my chances became. Just as I knew him, he knew me. There were no surprises left. It was too obvious where the attacks would come from and how we’d react.


I racked my brain while forcibly relocating my left arm, which was flopping around as if the bone had come out. Full doping was a reckless act that didn’t consider the aftermath, so sustaining a long battle was impossible. If I push too hard, my body will break down, and the enhancements might wear off altogether.
In this situation, the opponent was also a doping junkie. No matter how much I cut him, he stayed standing. No matter how many bones I broke, they healed. This wasn’t a fight I could end quickly. Even Tala had called him a monster.


I remembered my past nightmares while I deflected Dorgon’s sword as he came at me again. Every time we fought, I swore that I would kill him in our next battle. And every time, I threw everything I had at him.
Yet, until the very end, there was no conclusion with this bastard. I felt afraid that this hellish situation might continue even now. It’d be too cruel to fight like this was the final battle and then part ways, saying ‘See you next time’ because we couldn’t settle it.
As if Dorgon had the same thought, his sword strikes became even more vicious. It’d be something else to prepare for a final battle with your archenemy at the place where your father died, only for the both of you to return unscathed.


I took a sword strike with my body that I was trying to avoid by leaning back. My chest was slashed and blood spurted, but I also came that much closer to Dorgon.


I steeled myself for severe injuries. Abandoning defense and dodging, I went on an all-out offensive. Dorgon’s durability was similar to mine, but going on the offensive was the only way to slightly increase the chances of killing him.
If he dodged, his stance would break. If he took the hit, the damage would accumulate. Either way, it wasn’t a loss for me.
—As I thought this and thrust my sword, Dorgon blocked it with his mouth.
More precisely, he bit the blade with his teeth to stop it.
“You crazy son of a—”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
This bastard wasn’t even human.
***My waist was half-sliced, but it quickly stopped bleeding. I shattered Dorgon’s knee, but it healed back. My ear was torn, but it grew back instantly. I cut Dorgon’s mouth, but it mended right away.
We were hurting each other; there was no doubt about that. But no matter how much damage we inflicted, neither of us could overwhelm the other. This fight would never end unless I cut off at least one of his limbs.


A martial artist reinforced with mana could harden their body to absurd levels. On top of that, we were covered in all sorts of enhancements. Ordinary attacks might damage skin or muscle, but they couldn’t sever an entire limb.
Of course, using the Sky Cleaver would pierce through all enhancements and doping, but Dorgon wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t just stand there while I prepared a finishing move. He’d obviously rush in and try to stab my heart or something. Even with all these enhancements, I’d die if my heart got stabbed outright—


At that moment, Tala’s face flashed through my mind.


If interfering was the problem, then the answer was simple: create a battlefield where no one could interfere. It was a simple and clear solution, but one that ordinary people wouldn’t dare to imagine.
“Dorgon!”
Dorgon didn’t reply. Not because he didn’t hear me, but because, to him, swinging his sword one more time was more important than opening his mouth.
And that was normal. The real anomaly was all the insults we had been throwing at each other before this; staying silent against an enemy was normal.
But even Dorgon couldn’t help but flinch at my next words.
“You and I are evenly matched! Rather than repeating what happened three years ago, let’s end this by unleashing our strongest strikes at each other!”
“...What?”
Dorgon knew what the strongest strike meant. Ever since Kagan showed his Sky Cleaver technique, the North had only referred to that one thing as the strongest strike.
After all, what else could be called the strongest if not a technique that split the sky and shook the earth?
***This is absurd. I couldn’t understand what this guy was saying right now.
“If we keep fighting like this, neither of us will die. We’ll just walk away again. We came here ready to throw our lives away, yet in the end, we’d both survive.”
But for some reason, my heart was burning.
“The strongest, huh.”
I spoke while trying to suppress that heat.
“You wouldn’t say those words lightly.”
If this was a trick, then the battle would end in a meaningless way.
But it was strange. My head was clearly doubting and hesitating.
Logically, it was absurd. In a fight where victory and defeat were decided by fractions of a second, suggesting something like this made no sense.
“Remember Tala.”
At those words, I couldn’t help but laugh.