CHAPTER 1023: CHAPTER 156 - CENTAURS’ ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT (2)

"Sorry for the rough introduction," one of them said, his voice low but carrying that quiet command that made people instinctively straighten. He looked every bit the part. I mean he’s taller, broader-shouldered, with a presence that made the temperature of the clearing feel a degree colder.

He wore his authority like armor. "I am the Prince of the Centaur Kingdom, and the leader of the warriors within our realm," he announced, each word measured and polite, but threaded with steel. The way he stood, the set of his jaw, the slow sweep of his gaze—everything screamed royalty. No wonder I’d felt that strange, formal pressure the second he stepped forward. It clicked that moment that this wasn’t just some random tough—this was a crowned muscle with a throne behind him.

"We’ve heard rumors that a human’s been pushing for the unification of the Great Forest," he continued, voice carrying over the assembled warriors. "We came to see this man for ourselves. We have concerns about your presence here, and we felt it was only right to meet you—frankly, with force if necessary. I suppose you have an idea why we crossed so far and greeted you with... blunt manners."

"Yeah, I get it," I said, shrugging like it was a mundane morning quarrel. "Guess I’ve been a bit of a nuisance."

He didn’t smile. "Glad you understand. I hope there are no hard feelings—we do what we feel is necessary for our people." His eyes pinned me with something like curiosity and something like accusation. "Why would a man like you meddle in our affairs? What right do you have to involve yourself in what happens here?"

I let a small smirk slip. "Well, I figured that’s exactly why the Prince of the Centaur Kingdom showed up himself. This isn’t a casual visit, is it?"

He folded his arms, the leather of his vambrace creaking faintly. "You seem to catch on quickly. Good. Then you understand the situation you’re in."

"I don’t know—what situation am I actually in?" I asked, tilting my head. "Am I supposed to feel trapped? Because, honestly, I don’t."

Whatever patience he’d been holding vanished in the blink of an eye. With a motion that was half ritual, half threat, he drew a sword that looked like it had been carved from a mountain. The blade was massive—long enough that, when he swung it, the air itself seemed to flinch. Centaurs were built for power. The heft of that weapon made it obvious they weren’t joking about strength. The sight tightened the knot in my gut for just a second.

"You’ll be cut down here," he roared. "I will stop the rot you try to spread through the Great Forest!" Then he charged.

He moved fast—shockingly so for something that size. There was a raw, untamed quality to his technique. Like Tilde, it was not refined lessoned form, but instinct honed by years of real fights or training. If he ever learned formal swordwork, he’d become a nightmare. His blade arced in wide, thunderous swings that chewed through the morning air.

I dashed back, just out of the cut’s reach. The steel whistled by, leaving a ghost of wind that brushed my hair. Then the rest of them rushed. Hooves hammered the dirt in waves. The ground hummed under my boots. Their armor caught the sun, spears and swords glittering like angry teeth. The thump of centaur hooves made my chest vibrate—battle didn’t just sound concerned here, it announced itself.

They swung hard, brutal strokes meant to end things quickly. But I slipped between them, light and bored, threading through gaps like I was moving through smoke. It looked effortless because I made it look effortless. Really, it was just timing and a steady beat of adrenaline.

One of them spat, voice sharp as gravel. "Stop scurrying like the cockroach you are, you elf fucker!"

"Why am I only being called the elf fucker?" I shot back, laughter soft and cutting. "I fucked beast girls too, you know?!" Before he could reply, I drove my heel into his face—hard. He folded like a broken puppet, nose splitting crimson, teeth clacking. He hit the ground with a grunt and a heap of dirt.

Another attacker came in from behind. I met him blade-for-blade—Ayuru’s slender edge flashing to catch his heavy iron strike. She didn’t tremble a moment, even though his sword could have cleaved a tree. Ayuru drank my mana like a thirsty thing. The glow in her steel was a steady, hungry light.

I shot upward on a gust of wind—Wind Magic. The world blurred at the edges as I levitated, then settled into a controlled descent. The prince barked from below, irritated. "All tricks and evasions—come down!"

"Give me a sec," I replied, then dove. He swung at me midair, a desperate upward slash that begged to connect. I dropped faster, hit the dirt, and rolled behind his flanks before he could correct his balance.

In a heartbeat I was on his back. I’d grabbed the reins of the fight—literally and figuratively—and there was no elegant yank, just the cold bite of Ayuru’s blade tipping the soft curve of his neck. The metal pressed just right. The prince froze, every muscle in his massive form locking.

"Ugh... W-What are you doing? Why are you riding me?" he stammered, breath hot and shocked close to my ear.

"You centaurs are just horses with human torsos," I said, casual, like we were discussing the weather. "So yeah—I can do this." I tightened my grip, feeling his pulse beat under my thigh.

He spluttered. "D-Don’t you know it’s forbidden to ride a centaur’s back? You could be killed for that!"

"Not in my book," I said, pressing the blade a fraction harder. "You came here to kill me. I’m doing what I need to survive. And right now, you should be more worried about your head than the taboos of your culture—my blade is exactly where it needs to be."

He made a strangled noise. "Ugh..."

Then I looked out over the field, meeting eyes with every centaur who’d circled us. "If you want your prince to live," I said, voice sharp enough to cut, "drop your weapons. Now."