The Sword Saint’s Second Life As a Fox Girl

3-1 Aera Glass

It was near dusk, with the sky growing dark in the distance. At such times, taverns began to be filled with merry and noises. Many men came to relieve themselves of their stress after a hard day of work. However, on the contrary, it was a hellish beginning for many women. For the ladies who were forced to take up work during the night just to get by, dusk was the beginning of their dread.

Men had turned rowdy after a long day and most couldn’t even contain the lust that had been building since the morning. Though most of them had a wife to return to, the many years of matrimony had dulled their desires towards their respective partner. And these men turned their lustful gaze to the maidens who had no choice but to work the night.

Ironically and expectedly, the various maidens’ luscious charm had turned bland after the countless repeating visits. Which was why the men instantly set their amorous sights on the unfamiliar lady that had just walked into the tavern of the small lonely town. It went without saying only a girl or woman of an alluring and sensual figure could turn the heads of these many men. Even some of the tavern maids had their gaze robbed by the female stranger due to her face that could be mistaken as a beautiful man if she was wearing gentleman apparel.

The lady didn’t look old enough to be called a woman but neither was she young enough to be called a girl. She was just at the ripe age for her hand to be taken in matrimony. The appearance of this nubile lady stirred the hearts of the tavern’s patrons. Her figure wasn’t a Fae’s equal but it was the envy of most human females who had come of age. Her raven-black hair was grown out until it reached just slightly above her waist. Her eyes were that of a pair of vibrant violet gems. Her skin was as pale as a sickly patient but her firm gait and stout gaze repelled that notion.

In contrast to her bold natural appearance, she was donned in cloth of faith, as white as doves had they not been stained by time and dirt. Although, her headpiece was a circlet with a veil covering her head from all sides. In spite of her humble clothing, it couldn’t begin to conceal the abundance of her charm, drawing envious gaze from the women without a valley.

The entire tavern came to pin-drop silence. The lady of faith’s enticing appearance and her unfamiliar face became the centre of attention but the lady herself paid none of them any heed. She took a seat by the fireplace. A tavern maid quickly stoked the fire as if she was eager to please the lady. Another approached her to take her order. To everyone’s surprise, the lady of faith requested a mug of ale.

“A-a mug of a-ale, sister?” the tavern maid questioned in a stutter.

“Mead will do too, or rum,” the lady of faith replied.

“Sister… wouldn’t the Divine be furious at you?”

“She is generous. She won’t mind,” the lady said in a low voice but since no one was making a sound in the tavern, her words were heard clearly.

Everyone gasped at her response. The lady of faith addressed her own god with a tone that was more casual than one would use towards an acquaintance.

“If you say so, s-sister,” the maid said and bowed before rushing back to her station.

Noises slowly returned to the tavern but it was still even less than half the noises before. Everyone was talking about the lady of faith that had graced the tavern with her presence. They were curious of her story but none dared to ask. Gods were real in this world and should any individual wrong a god’s followers, unimaginable fate would be bestowed unto the doer. This was why no one approached the lady, except for a certain man.

“Hey there, lassie,” the man greeted as he trotted near the lady with wobbly steps. Going by the red that flushed his cheeks, it was evident the man was poisoned severely by his ale. Be that as it may, no one stopped the man. His daring acts were predicted by everyone in the building but no one even attempted to stop the man’s tomfoolery.

The lady of faith noticed this fact. Her brows showed her notice but her lips stayed close. Even her eyes did not stray from the fireplace. To be precise, her eyes showed no intention of giving the approaching man so much as a glance.

The man sat himself down on the empty chair beside the lady of faith. There was no more than a foot between them. “Where ya from, lassie?” the man asked with a lustful grin that betrayed his attempt at being amicable.

“A small nameless village to the north just a day from here.”

“That place, huh,” the man mused, his ale spilling from his attempt at staying upright. “Wasn’t aware there was a sister like yer from there, much less a pretty lassie like yer.”

“I am faith-bound but I am no sister,” the lady said.

The man didn’t understand her words but he didn’t care about that. He was only getting close to the lady with the intention of inviting her to warm his bed for the night. “What’s yer name, lassie,” he asked, taking a swig from his mug of ale.

“Aera Glass,” she answered.

The drunk man gasped. 

At the same time, the tavern maid came bringing the lady’s ale. After settling the mug by a small table beside the lady, the maid quickly took her leave.

“Say… yer father… is he… Rayor?” the man strung out his question.

“I do not of my father’s name,” Aera retorted after taking a large gulp of her ale all the while maintaining a calm demeanour. “He wasn’t much of a father. I didn’t even know I have a father.”

Suspicions began to enter the man’s mind. “What brought ya to these parts?”

Aera finally gave the man a sidelong glance. Her eyes didn’t linger on his face for long before falling her gaze onto the back of the man’s palm. There was a mark of a black skull. “That mark on the back of your hand...”

The man pulled away from Aera slightly at those words.

“My father bore the same mark… and so did the people he brought along to the village.”

The man had stood up, stepping away.

“He and his men blabbed a lot and quite loud too. It was something about us being unable to meet the yield for the month. You know what he did after?”

At this point, the noises had died down once again. A few men had also stood up from their seats, their hands reaching behind their waist. The tavern maid scuttled into the back of the kitchen. The other patrons began looking around, looking towards one another. For the others, there were two kinds of responses. One half was looking for a way out of this tavern and the other half wasn’t in the know of what was about to transpire.

“Mister, I am speaking to you. Would you care to know what the person I called my father and his men did?”

“W-what?”

Aera downed her ale in a single gulp and rose from her seat. “He grabbed all the women in the village, including my mother, his own wife, and shared them among his men. Those that defy him were cut down without hesitation, including my brother, his own blood.”

Before the man’s mind could catch on, many had made their way out of the tavern. Even those who were confused had followed suit.

“And he didn’t even have any qualms in fucking his own daughter!” Aera shouted, stomping her foot on the ground but she immediately reverted to her calm demeanour. “Forgive me about that. That was… unbecoming for me.”

“W-who are you…?” the man asked. The others were slowly circling around the lady, their swords at the ready.

“Marduk, I know he’s the one behind all of my misery and despair. But all of you who voluntarily become his mutts will be equally responsible.”

“Well, l-lassie… since you know that name… you can’t be allowed to live any longer...”

“You’re all weaker than my father,” Aera said.

“What if we are?” one of the men retort.

“Then you stood no chance against me.”

The drunk man in front of her burst out laughing. “Big words for a small lassie.”

“I killed my father with my own two hands, quite easily too.”

“Enough with your yapping. Men, have at this bitch but keep her alive. We can have plenty of fun with her...” the man said, licking his lips.

Aera’s hand coiled into a fist and at a speed that no one here could perceive, it plunged into the man’s face and sent him crashing through the tables and chairs.

“I never knew… taking a human’s life would give so much experience… this is… very exciting… Is this why you lot do what you do?”

“This lassie is strong!” one of them shouted.

“The boss is dead!” cried the one who went and checked on the drunk man.

“From that one punch!?”

“Come on, boys! We have numbers on our side. Attack her together!”

All of them drew their swords and charged at her. Their battle cries bounced between the narrow walls of the small tavern.

“Slow… so slow… all of you,” Aera muttered as she lazily dodged all of the slashes that came for her limbs. Her neck and body were spared as they wanted a warm body to mess with. Aera allowed herself a grin at the disadvantage the revolting men burden themselves with.

She grabbed one of the men’s arms and gave it a squeeze like she was dring a damp cloth. The sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing could be heard clearly by everyone. They flinched at that sound but Aera used the man as a club and began swinging the man into the others. More sounds of bones cracking could be heard.

Aera was strong, inhumanely so. She was fast, faster than any of the men’s eyes could perceive. None of them was her match. Their levels were in the lower tens at best. Aera herself was only level four despite having lived twenty years of her life. When a Divine responded to her despairing pleas, she used her newfound strength and slaughtered all those who wronged her. It would have been impossible for her level to rise that quickly but her opponents underestimated her continuously due to her appearance. Her Divine Gift, Wrathmonger, was a skill that only made her stronger the longer a fight drew out, though there was a limit to how much her power could extend. Still, it allowed her to quickly raise her level to the mid-twenties.

She ploughed through the men like nothing. They were nothing in her eyes. They were weeds to be hacked. If her circumstances were better, she would burn them all. Her desire to burn her enemies asunder borderline obsession and desperation. She felt it was too easy for them to be killed by just a single hit from her fist or foot.

As she destroyed the men down to the last two, she made a slight blunder and received a blade to her neck. It would have sliced her head clean off but Wrathmonger had awakened due to the slaughter she committed and her pent-up rage took over her. She lunged at the one who tried to lop her head off. She pounced on top of the man, brought her fists together, and hammered down on his face seemingly without any intention to stop. She was shouting incoherently as she turned the man’s face into a pulp. The ground shook with each pound and the last man was too shaken to run away.

The man tried to move but he stepped on a splinter, a shard of a broken chair’s leg. This noise drew Aera’s attention. She cocked her head to the last man, her face distorted with anger. 

“D-Demon!” the man shouted. His piss drenched his trousers.

Aera roared and lunged at the last man.

He rolled away on instinct and Aera went through the floorboards. The man recovered his courage and stood up. He ran for the door but a pair of hands burst out from the floor beneath him. It grabbed onto his legs and dragged him down below.

The man was thrown to the ground. Aera stared into the man’s eyes with her own blazing gaze. Flames were burning in those eyes of hers but the flames weren’t crimson nor vermilion. It was black and purplish.

Aera put her foot on the man’s chest. He struggled but her overwhelming strength didn’t even allow him to move an inch. She began to apply more strength to her foot.

“P-please… spare m-me...” the man begged, blood spurting out from his mouth.

“Shut…” Aera said, softly. “Up!” her voice turned into a roar. She stomped on the man’s chest.

“Shut,” she stomped, “the,” and stomped, “fuck,” and stomped, “up!” and stomped. “Hypo—critical— fucks! Every— last— one— of— you!” she stomped and stomped with every word that her rage dragged out of her lips.

The man no longer bore any resemblance to a man. All that could be recognized was that it was something of flesh and blood.

Aera raised her head and stared above her. She roared like a wolf would howl to the moon. Purplish marks glowed, tracing her veins. After all were said and done, calm returned to her appearance. She fixed her garbs and her accessories. She climbed out of the basement. She rummaged through the corpses she created, gathering whatever coins she could. She put them in a pouch and laid the pouch gently on the bar counter. With her own blood, she wrote a few words on the counter, “sorry for the troubles.”

And she left as if everything was an epic tale out of a minstrel’s tongue.