30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 95

The reputation of Tristan was known by every enemy who ever fought against Pendragon.

Was it because of the fierce Crimson Eagles, composed of one hundred powerful knights? No.

Or was it due to their centuries-old lineage and traditions? Not that either.

It was simply...

— “Damn it! Where did that monstrous archer come from?”

Tristan’s archers, known as marksmen, often called "Divine Archers," or at times "Snipers of Cursed Bullets," had, throughout history, built an overwhelming record on the battlefield, often surpassing even their own knights in martial feats.

The commanders of enemy nations fell unfailingly to Tristan’s arrows, which were impossible to evade.

Even protected by magic, Even accompanied by soldiers with shields, Even fleeing as far as they could...

Tristan’s arrows would mock all such efforts, piercing the heads of enemy commanders with chilling precision.

Thus, people would often say:

“Surely, the heads of Tristan must possess some sort of [mystic power]. No matter how skilled one might be in combat techniques, it’s inconceivable for such divine-like archery to exist without some mystical aid.”

But whenever they heard such remarks, the successive heads of Tristan would simply smirk.

“Mystic power? Hmm... who needs it?”

Tristan would often say that with systematic training from a young age, anyone could hone their senses to the point of hearing a leaf fall from afar. Shooting thousands, even tens of thousands of arrows every day through rigorous effort alone could make anyone a master archer...or so they claimed.

Yes, they would say that with “effort” and “a hint of talent,” anyone could attain such mystical-like skills.

Except...

— “I told them, but no one seems to succeed, so no one believes me.”

They’d shrug, lamenting the fact that, though they spoke the truth, nobody believed them.

And yet...

“How... how is something like that even possible?”

Did those who faced Tristan’s bow always feel this way?

Jenimia blinked, taken aback, as she observed the knight deflect her “bullet” through some uncanny means, and she found herself asking:

“How did you do that?” “With effort.” “...It seems impossible by effort alone.”

He had blocked Jenimia’s attack... with his teeth.

The clenching force—using merely the power of his bite, he had precisely intercepted her projectile, leaving her astonished.

“It’s not impossible because of a lack of skill. It’s only because you haven’t put in enough effort,” he replied.

“...”

...Listening to her own words coming back at her, Jenimia felt a curious mix of emotions.

“Wow, damn, I barely caught that...!”

His gums throbbed with pain. Though he had acted confidently in front of the Marquis, Ihan had never intended to block that projectile with his teeth.

Originally, he’d planned to dodge or parry it with his hand axe, but he’d missed the timing to evade or deflect.

— Silent Bow Shot.

An arrow with no sound, existing only in its fired trajectory.

It was by sheer luck, thanks to his keen danger sense, that he managed to block it. Had he failed, the end would have been grim indeed.

“This... this country’s nobles are all monsters, aren’t they?”

The grand duke he’d met the day before, the dukes and nobles... each one was more terrifying than the knights, and just facing them could lead to a swift demise.

Phew...!

Without a moment to calm his cold sweat, Ihan forced himself to relax.

His muscles couldn’t afford to stay tense, or else—

Paang!

Paaang!

Boom!

There it was again. The Marquis’s projectile fired at him once more.

“This time, you dodged!” “Stop using me as a test subject!”

The Marquis seemed exhilarated. Apparently fascinated by Ihan’s feat of stopping with his teeth, he fired relentlessly, each shot fast enough that even his eyes couldn’t fully keep up.

So that’s what they mean by “hands are faster than eyes,” he thought, finally understanding the saying’s origin.

The Marquis’s firing rate was nearly faster than a gun’s reloading speed.

A bow larger than most women’s average height, handled like a toy... it was clear that his tensile strength rivaled Ihan’s own.

The Marquis’s slender frame somehow producing such power was incomprehensible!

Boom!

“!!?” “Finally, a hit. But tell me, how did you train your body? Normally, bones would break... am I just growing old?”

“...No, you’re in fine shape.”

Barely, Ihan had activated his Diamond Resilience. Had he not reflexively done so, his skin would have been torn, or his bones cracked.

A terrifying opponent.

But a positive thing was...

‘I’m keeping up.’

He was reacting to archery that bordered on godlike, or magic. Slowly, he began to dodge, parry, or deflect with each successive strike.

His reaction speed was catching up.

This meant that now, counterattacking the Marquis was—

Pause.

“Incredible. Your body is battered, yet you respond to my techniques with extraordinary reflexes and uncanny skills. At this age, I thought I’d seen it all... and yet, here I stand, still a novice,” the Marquis chuckled.

“...”

...Instead of countering, Ihan chose to step back, catching his breath.

For some reason, he knew that getting closer would mean his end.

“Wise. Rejoicing over defeating mere tricks wouldn’t suit you.”

“How many of those tricks do you have left?”

“Sadly, that’s all. So, shall we take things seriously now?”

“...”

Swoosh!

The air, or rather the entire surrounding flow, seemed to converge toward the Marquis, forming the eye of a tiny storm.

Kwaak!

Ihan planted his feet firmly into the ground, bracing against the whirlpool generated by the Marquis.

‘Hell! Is he even human?!’

Realizing the absurdity of his thoughts, Ihan couldn’t help but let out a faint groan.

Gravity.

The Marquis was manipulating gravity with his small frame.

It was not a feat a mere human should possess, and the fact that it wasn’t magic or mysticism made it even more terrifying.

Then he realized—

‘This man is a step away from being a superhuman!’

A superhuman, an [Aura User], a disaster in human form.

The Marquis was but one step away, unable to cross due to some unfulfilled condition, yet still standing on the threshold.

Ihan let out a hollow laugh.

With his body torn and stamina nearly drained, facing such an opponent was hopeless.

It felt like suicide just to stand against him—

Bang!

“...”

“Hm. When I use this technique, there are usually two reactions: either they beg for mercy or flee.”

“Wise choices. I want to run away right now myself.”

“Haha! And yet you stand before me?”

“...I’m regretting it already.”