金瓶梅第2部

"You... can't be serious? Am I talking to a brick wall?"

"I'm done talking," Tycon replied. 

He planted his feet and swung his sword. 

Neerin sheathed her forearm with mana, blocking the attack with an infuriating level of ease. 

"You're being really f*cking childish right now."

Tycon drew back, then made a careful forward-step, aiming Mercy at her throat. Neerin stepped to the side, countering with a punch.

The mana-strike had an extended range of effect, so Tycon received a blow to the chest and was forced backward. 

"If you're trying to persuade me of something," he growled, "attacking my character is a largely ineffective tactic."

"Tycon! The fate of the Realm is at stake!"

As Neerin attempted her superfluous plea, she opened her arms wide. 

It was a mocking, open stance that invited attack. 

Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning his Nemayan pistol in hand. 

"I'll deal with the children in my own way," he said, pointing his weapon at the lizard woman's center of mass. "But whether or not I allow them to fight has nothing to do with you."

Neerin put her hands together as if she were begging.

But Tycon sensed no sincerity in the spurious motion. 

"Please, Tycon. The Court and I have been on your side since the beginning."

Tycon scoffed at that, "I *beg* to differ. The Wyrmslayer Alliance was formed because of the impotence of you and the other useless gods."

"The True Court[1] has been doing everything we can!" Neerin insisted. 

"Would you at least proffer lies that have a *semblance* of authenticity," Tycon rolled his eyes. "And if whatever you've done is on the level of sending me Jerim Jya, then I'm blaming you lot as the reason this Realm is doomed."

"Our side has been removing loyalist cells across the Realm as well as participating in various key battles in secret-- and we've been doing so for *years*," Neerin cried. "AND who do you think sent the Heroes to the Sleeping Country in the first place?"

"The Holy Country," Tycon frowned.

"Wrong!" Neerin shouted, "Jerim Jya made the prediction! And I was the one who flew out to corroborate with Queen Arendelle."

The troublesome strumpet arrogantly flipped her short hair back, "The Laws may prevent our direct involvement, but we can at least do that much."

"Your services are no longer needed," Tycon replied.

"Tycondrius, I can help you," Neerin offered. 

"Indeed," Tycon smirked. "You can start by lowering your magic defenses so I can kill you quickly. But, honestly, I'd prefer if you resisted with all your might." 

The lizard woman's eyes began to glow a subtle blue, sparking with the vestiges of lightning mana, "I'll take a third choice, asshole."

Tycon clicked the safety off his pistol, "It seems like you've chosen the second."

"You've reached the bottleneck in your Metal-Rank, haven't you?"

"Nonsense," Tycon said, waving with his opposite hand, "I can break through any time I wish."

"But you haven't," Neerin said, wearing a frustrating smirk.

So Tycon shot her.

She staggered backward from two shots in the chest, so he sent several more shots toward her face, aiming at her eyes. 

He was certain his shots were accurate...

He emptied his magazine... watched and heard the bullets he fired fall ineffectually to the floor. 

However, no blood was drawn. 

After Neerin put her arms down, she seemed merely inconvenienced, casually rubbing at her reddened eyes. 

A daughter of the Tyrant God was disgustingly difficult to kill. 

"Are you ready to talk now?" she asked.

Tycon did not respond. Instead, he ejected his pistol magazine and summoned a box of bullets. 

It was something he immediately regretted for as soon as he began to reload, the woman saw it as permission to speak. 

"Warlord is only a Second-Tier Class," she said.

*Only,* she said. 

According to contemporary knowledge, Warlord was considered a 'High-Tier Class.' A tier above Warlord would be the likes of 'Hero' and 'Saintess'... but those were so rare, they didn't have their own categorization for them. 

"It will be enough," Tycon shrugged. 

"I can offer you a new one."

Eh?

That offer... made him hesitate. 

Attaining a new Class was an exceedingly rare opportunity. In the past, Tycon had guided his companion Lone to a new Class... but from the low-potential, First-Tier Class of Ruffian to a specialized Second-Tier Class, a Ranger. 

It took a great deal of time... and a great deal of effort. And the results were admittedly mediocre. 

For as long as Tycon could remember, he'd been a Second-Tier Class. And for that, he could thank his excellent luck and overwhelming level of talent. 

...But he accepted Second-Tier as his limit. 

If he were to gain a Third-Tier Class, he'd gain a much-welcome boost in strength and ability. 

But... no. 

Tycon shook his head.

What Class could the spawn of the Tyrant God possibly offer him? 

Neerin lifted her chin, "Prince Tycondrius of Charm, heed my call... a call shared by the fates, the seven heavens, and the eleven hells... and accept the mantle we deem you most worthy." 

Her gaze sharpened, sparking with mana, "I will give you the power to protect this world."

Tycon felt a surge of that power, an anxious swelling in his chest... a burning need to go to war and reap the lives of the tens of thousands that dared to stand in his way. 

And a familiar voice in his head spoke to him...

⟬ User is being offered a Class Change. ⟭ 

⟬ Accept Class Change to Dragon Chosen? Y/N? ⟭ 

What... The... F*ck?

Tycon threw his pistol at Neerin's face. 

The troublesome woman caught it in hand, though she still appeared to be hurt. 

"Isn't this sort of thing expensive?" she said, before gingerly setting it down on a desk counter. 

"I REFUSE, you. ignorant. B*TCH!!!" Tycon screamed through clenched teeth, "How. f*cking. DARE you!!"

⟬ Class Change Rejected. ⟭ 

Neerin held out her hands, "Tycon, that was the most powerful Class I--"

"I don't care!!" Tycon roared, " That you'd even offer *that* is an INSULT to the highest degree!!" 

"Calm down, Ty, I have--"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!!" 

"Right, I'm sorry. Look, here's another one..."

⟬ User is being offered a Class Change. ⟭ 

Tycon once again sensed the voice of his System.

It calmed him down... but only slightly. 

His System was blameless. His frustrations stemmed from the woman in his presence. 

⟬ Accept Class Change to Drake-Scaled Ravenblade? Y/N? ⟭ 

"I tire of this farce," Tycon said, shaking his head. "Draw your sword, you. Let's fight."

He gestured toward the sword stowed in a sash tied to Neerin's waist. As Tycon was trained in the blade by Garock of the Screaming Silence sect, he was looking forward to seeing how his skills matched up against another skilled opponent. 

"And just WHAT is wrong with Drake-Scaled Ravenblade?" the lizard-woman growled. 

"I have no wish to wear *your* scales," Tycon groaned. 

"What the hell does that even mean?? You're literally a snake. You have scales too!!"

"And Ravenblade?" Tycon scoffed, "Why would I take the mantle of my natural predator?"

"Your name of sword style, in which *sword* is another word for *blade*,  is the. White. Raven. What is your f*cking problem, dude?"

"I don't care for your *logic,* lizard. I refuse!"

⟬ Class Change Rejected. ⟭ 

"You... you..." 

Neerin raised her fist. It looked like she was about to attack, so Tycon readied himself. 

Unfortunately, Neerin allowed her hand to drop to the side... and she lowered her head. 

...Perhaps she believed she couldn't win.

--which was fair. 

"You really get on my nerves, sometimes," she whispered. 

⟬ User is being offered a Class Change. ⟭ 

What? 

⟬ Accept Class Change to Draconian Commander? Y/N? ⟭ 

Tycon narrowed his eyes. 

That was...

...actually not bad. 

Draconian.

That... wasn't inherently lizardish. 

That was just a... descriptive adjective. 

--it had nothing to do with lizards! 

"So?" Neerin prompted, "How is it?"

"Shut up. Hearing your ugly voice reminds me of your hideous appearance."

Seeing Neerin's wounded expression gave Tycon no small amount of vindictive contentment. 

Ah. 

But what would hurt more...

After a moment, he met Neerin's gaze... and for a brief moment, hope glimmered in her eyes.

"I refuse," Tycon said with a sincere smile.

⟬ Class Change Rejected. ⟭ 

She was as fast as a lightning bolt. 

And the strong stench of it accompanied her strike. 

Neerin had drawn her sword, crossing the inn room floor in a single stride... but the attack... felt empty. 

As he was actively goading her, he had opened his senses, analyzing the minutiae in the mana and emotions in the tavern hall. 

And though Neerin swung her sword, it only had the appearance of an attack. 

It lacked the intent to kill. 

--it even lacked any intent of causing *injury.*

Tycon didn't feel the need to draw his own sword-- he intercepted the false swipe with two outstretched fingers.

--and doing even that annoyed him further. 

"Your single-edge sword has... a reverse edge?" he asked, "What are you, stupid?"

[1] True Court: Neerin Neelia's faction refers to themselves as the True Court, referring to the Dragon God's faction as the Imperial Court.