Chapter 59: The Great Sword

Garen held Nami tightly in one arm as she sobbed against his chest, while his other hand raised his massive sword high above his head.

With a single, decisive swing, the blade came crashing down.

Though Garen’s sword was broad and heavy, its edge remained keen; with the sheer weight and force behind his strike, it was unstoppable.

A crisp, almost casual sound rang out, like a watermelon split open. Arlong's face, twisted with fear and terror, was frozen forever in that expression.

In the end, he could not face death as nonchalantly as he had claimed just moments before.

A paper tiger, accustomed to bullying the weak, can never learn such composure in the face of demise.

Nami did not look at Arlong’s corpse. She simply collapsed against Garen’s chest and wept with abandon. At last, she was free from her nightmare—at last, she had found a place where she could cry loudly and vent her pain like any ordinary girl.

Garen let her pour out her grief in his embrace, but his attention was soon drawn to a new change in the system:

Defeating the powerful Arlong granted Garen a flood of experience—far surpassing the gains from all the fishman grunts and officers he’d slain before.

He had reached level six.

Once more, his physical strength took a significant leap forward with the new level. He could sense it: if he were to face Major Hammer now, he probably wouldn’t even need to rely on rhetoric to fight him head-on.

The skill granted at level six was not a random reward, but rather Garen’s signature ability—

Sword dashing like an ox, light piercing the sun, his might shaking mountains and calming rivers, a move so dazzling even the Wind Swordsman would be envious—a single strike to send his foes back to their fountain to count the seconds—

Demacian Justice!

[Demacian Justice]:

“Garen summons the power of Demacia, dealing massive damage to a target.”

“The greater the target’s evil, the greater the damage dealt.”

Though the skill was still quite different from the game, its description was now so concise that even Garen had some trouble understanding it.

“What does it mean, the more evil the target, the greater the damage?” he couldn’t help but ask the ever-silent system in his mind.

For once, the system responded:

“The damage dealt by this skill is increased in proportion to the target’s degree of evil.”

“Determined by how evil they are?!”

Garen probed further, puzzled: “How is this degree of evil measured?”

The system answered again:

“It is based on the host’s own moral compass, considering both the motive and severity of the target’s misdeeds.”

“Motive and severity?” Garen pondered the words, then suddenly his eyes lit up. “So that means…”

“The more heinous the villain’s crimes, the greater the boost to my skill’s damage?”

A petty pirate could only rob and kill, but a great pirate could wipe out entire cities or nations… If evil magnifies damage, then this Demacian Justice is a move that grows stronger as the foe grows more wicked.

This time, however, the system answered coldly:

“There is no need to answer this question. The host should discover the answer through experience.”

And with that, the lifeless system returned to standby mode, leaving Garen to experiment on his own.

Yet Garen’s mind still swirled with unanswered questions:

What was the formula for converting evil into damage? Was there a cap on the damage boost? And how could one quantify a target’s evil?

He pondered for a long time but found no answers…

Eventually, he understood why the system said, “There is no need to answer”—because regardless of the calculation, he would still use this mighty sword to strike down his enemies. As for those other questions, he would learn the answers by wielding his blade a few more times.

With that, Garen finally let the matter drop.

He was just about to pull himself back to reality when a sudden commotion outside interrupted his thoughts.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A series of urgent, muffled blows echoed against his breastplate.

Garen looked down in surprise to find Nami, her face flushed, pounding her tiny fists against his armored chest.

She tilted her head up from his embrace, staring straight into his eyes. Her pale cheeks, still streaked with tears, were flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. She huffed at him, “How long do you plan on holding me?!”

“Ahem…” Garen finally realized his impropriety.

All around them, spectators watched the tightly embracing pair with expressions ranging from blessing, to envy, to curiosity, to outright anger.

The curious gaze belonged to Nami’s sister, Nojiko, who watched their little scene with obvious amusement, a faint smile curling at her lips.

The angry glare, however, came from Police Chief Ajian, who viewed Nami like his own daughter. Seeing the knight holding her so tightly, Ajian’s face had darkened to the color of storm clouds.

“Scoundrel!” Ajian finally could not hold back, shouting, “Let Nami go at once!”

Nami, cheeks burning, wriggled in Garen’s arms, but could not break free from his unyielding embrace.

“Wait…” Garen quietly exited his digitized state, returning to his physical body in a white suit, and solemnly said, “It didn’t feel like anything with the armor on.”

“You!” Nami glared at him in embarrassed frustration, but gave up her token struggle.

When they finally separated, Nami’s cheeks were crimson, and she could no longer muster the calm composure of the “little thief cat.”

“Nami,” Garen said, looking deep into her eyes. “I have a question for you.”

“Eh?” Nami froze, feeling her face grow even hotter, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

After a long, flustered pause, she finally replied in a soft, embarrassed voice, “Y-you can ask.”

But Garen suddenly turned away, pointing to the few surviving fishmen now tightly restrained by the navy.

“Over there—are any of those small fry as deserving of death as Arlong?”

“Uh…”

Nami’s complex, conflicted expression froze on her face.

Garen, oblivious to her turmoil, continued, “Anyone among them a murderous villain, a scourge upon the world, wasting food by their very existence?”

“I could help the navy save on some rations.”

“You…” Nami stared at Garen in disbelief, finally letting out a frustrated huff.

Meanwhile, the remaining fishmen trembled in fear.

These few survivors had resigned themselves to a lifetime of prison rations, never expecting that the executioner’s gaze would fall on them again.

After a moment of fuming, Nami nonetheless turned her critical gaze upon the surviving fishmen, as Garen had requested.

Other than the somber Octopus Hatchan, the fishmen could not even lift their heads under Nami’s scrutiny.

“That one!” Nami pointed at a fishman who had buried his head the deepest, speaking through clenched teeth, “He loves tormenting and slaughtering humans! Over the years, he has killed at least ten villagers from the neighboring towns, just for sport.”

“N-no…!” The fishman weakly waved his hands, his blue face turning ashen with fear. “Arlong made me do it!”

“Heh…” Nami greeted his plea with a cold, disdainful sneer.

She knew full well that Arlong had never forced this guy to kill; in fact, Arlong had scolded him more than once for his excessive bloodlust, since he was killing off “taxpayers” for no reason.

“Very well.” Garen strode toward the fishman, activating his digitized mode once again. “I’ve just mastered a new sword technique—I’ll use you as a test subject.”

“Sword technique?” Tashigi, nearby, perked up, her eyes fixed on Garen.

Garen stepped before the fishman, raising his sword slightly.

“I-I didn’t…” the accused fishman stammered, terror etched across his face, but could not offer any convincing defense. “I didn’t…”

Garen’s voice was utterly devoid of pity. “Face judgment!”

Then he raised his sword high above his head.

“Justice will prevail!”