Re:Zero: No Job, No Magic, Just a Stupid Romance System

The sword flashed in the firelight. Over thirty thieves surged toward Allen. He squatted down, his pupils darting to capture every detail—roars, curses, the hiss of blades slicing through air, and the rustle of leaves in the north wind filled his ears.

The shadows of the mob distorted the light. Amid the chaos, Allen detected killing intent and fragmented incantations buried in the noise.

His eyes locked onto the Leopard across the crowd. The man was watching him too. In the distance, heavy fire rose into the night, stirring the darkness.

"So that's it. A textbook Qiba Sect maneuver... He noticed something wrong with my rock secret, tested it himself, then roused his companions with words to attack together."

"Then he treated them all like cannon fodder, using their corpses as obstacles. Based on the assumption that I don't know Sword God Style, he built a trap to buy time for the real killer move. That magical fluctuation... is it a high-level magician? Or a saint?"

"Clever. But too bad."

"Healing magic pattern, activate. Duration: ten seconds."

The dragon-shaped Dou Qi mark on Allen's body burst with brilliant green light! Dou Qi and magic power surged through his limbs and bones—

Then the wave of bodies crashed over him like a flood.

Allen's faint smile reflected in the night. His whisper was softer than the wind, vanishing beneath the clang of countless blades.

"Water God Style and North God Style clash. Rock secret combined with Twenty Cuts. Self-created secret, advanced."

"Rock hits water."

His eyes flared open.

The blade's shadow vanished into the darkness—then cut through the crowd like lightning.

His evolved secret technique deflected more than ten blades in succession. With each motion, his fighting spirit pushed his stamina to the limit—Twenty Cuts cleaved through air, igniting light within the crowd.

At the front, more than ten attackers halted, frozen.

Then, they collapsed before Allen like felled wheat—

Broken arms.

Broken legs.

Torsos.

Organs.

Bones.

Heads.

Corpses rained down, limbs flying. The field became a slaughterhouse.

Allen's vision cleared. Amid the falling blood, he grinned at the roaring fire nearby.

Under the flickering blaze stood Gray Eagle, wand raised, chanting reaching its climax.

"Hellfire Bomb! Die, monster!"

Their eyes met.

But Gray Eagle didn't show victory—only terror.

"In the blink of an eye… half of them are dead. At least the chanting finished. The Leopard was right... Sacrifice aside, we survive."

Before he could finish the thought, searing night wind struck his bald head.

A bloodline traced from scalp to pupil.

In his stunned eyes, Allen's smoke-wreathed form had already appeared—so close.

He barely registered the warped air around Allen's blade before his face melted like butter in hot oil—

Just like the two Hellfire Bombs that zipped past Allen and exploded in the crowd behind him.

Screams echoed.

The inferno surged. Pressure blasted backward. Blood baked onto Allen's clothes in an instant.

He discarded the overheated blade he'd used to deflect the magic. His own sword had already been ruined in the first clash.

His scorched skin rapidly regenerated in the heat. He casually patted off his drying blood scabs and bent to pick up a disguised blade from his waist.

"So the most dangerous one in the camp was also the least eye-catching…"

"Too bad the chanting was too slow, and the killing intent was too easy to read. Next—"

His eyes locked on the Leopard sprinting away into the woods.

Allen smiled, and lifted his leg.

"I saw you."

The next moment—

The Leopard's head fell.

Blood erupted skyward. His body dropped to its knees. The two unused smoke bombs rolled aside, while his severed head tumbled through the air.

The Leopard's eyes were dazed.

From the moment Allen deflected the Hellfire Bomb, his heart had been in chaos. The instant death of Gray Eagle shattered all his calculations.

Tactical replanning?

What a joke.

No one left to command.

No one left to fight.

1v1? Sword God vs. Water God?

Water God wins at the same level.

But Allen—he had perfected parry techniques, had the Silent Sword, and…

Was a monster.

He needed to flee. Make long-term plans.

Fear consumed him. He reached for the Qiba Sect's escape smoke bomb.

And died.

He didn't even have time to use the Silent Sword.

The Sword God Style's killing… was simple.

The divine light in his eyes extinguished.

His body and head fell before Allen.

Allen's blade sliced the air, landing between the Leopard's neck and head, leaving a shallow trench separating the corpse.

Among the crackling fire and falling dust, Allen's young, quiet voice spoke.

"I cut it off."

[Northern God Style and self-created Water God Style techniques combined and advanced. Northern God Style level up. Water God Style level up.]

[Northern God Style – Advanced]

[Water God Style – Saint Level]

The haze of smoke danced and shimmered.

[Evaluation: The dragon's rage burned in the flames, and the maned wolf didn't even have time to whimper.]

Year 412 of the Ankylosaur Calendar.

Midsummer night.

Allen became a Water Saint.

"Why do I remember Lokishi saying 'not even bones left of the maned wolf'?"

[But there are bones everywhere.]

Allen looked at the Leopard's corpse, touched his chin, and sighed.

"These thieves were way stronger than expected… James went to this much effort just to kill me?"

"Something's off. I wanted to leave someone alive to interrogate about my bounty. But he pulled out the smoke bomb, and I had to use the Silent Sword first. If he escaped, that would be a joke."

[Reasonable.]

Allen pinched his nose at the smell of burning flesh.

"It is what it is. Even if there's more to this, once I reach the King level, James won't stand a chance."

"Besides, I never used Sword God Style in public before. They wouldn't guess it was me. At most, they'd think I was a Water God swordsman. And there's no way I could've killed all of them alone, right?"

Smoke drifted by as if amused.

[Oh? What if?]

Allen turned to the two massive craters left by the Hellfire Bombs.

The area where he originally stood was intact, blood and limbs everywhere. But the bombed areas were scorched, only a few corpses remaining—some burning, others beyond recognition.

Gray Eagle and the Leopard's tactics were surprisingly refined. Stronger fighters led the charge, weaker ones fell behind. If Allen was weaker than expected, he'd have died in that first wave.

If he was stronger, the chaos and pile of corpses would slow him just enough for Gray Eagle to cast his spell.

It was almost perfect.

But they hadn't expected Twenty Cuts.

That technique came from North God II—Alex Kalman Rebeck—who visited the Water God General Dojo three years ago.

At the time, he tried to abduct Allen.

Allen was so scared he hid out as a bathhouse scrubber in the capital for half a month.

Allen shrugged, checking his system panel.

"Even if James noticed, he couldn't pinpoint where I was going. I never told anyone about Buena Village. He might wait in Roya City for me, but two years without news might dull his guard."

[Haha, exactly.]

Allen smiled and strolled toward the pits.

"Both styles leveled up. Water God to Saint—just as expected."

"But honestly, Sword God Style is easier to use. It's all about talent and insight. Hard at first, but once you get the feel, you improve fast. I can see why Qino's such a cheat."

"North God Style hitting 'Advanced' is surprising."

"Is it because of the practical school's healing pattern boost? But that's supposed to be temporary. Unless…"

He blinked, tossed his sword, and suddenly collapsed.

At the moment before hitting the ground, he pushed off with both hands—fighting spirit spiraled through his muscles.

In a flash, he flipped sideways and landed safely, retrieving the blade mid-air.

His solid foundation in North God's practical form let him mimic the Leopard's four-legged stance after just one look.

"That four-legged move... surprisingly effective. I rarely saw it used. Everyone in the capital stuck to Water God Style."

"Maybe now I can refine my version. Could I reach the upper level with it too?"

[Correct. The average skill level among Qiba Sect swordsmen is highly uneven. Some rise through underhanded means. You currently sit just 10% below their average.]

Allen blinked.

"If you know their average, how many upper-level North God swordsmen are there worldwide?"

After a pause, the system responded:

[3,340. The North God Style is popular among adventurers and thieves. Most are in conflict zones.]

"Makes sense, there's a dojo nearby. What about Sword God?"

[827. Most concentrated in the Sword Holy Land.]

"Fits what I know. Few roam outside. And Water God?"

[4,732. Water God Style is favored by nobles and elites as bodyguards.]

"Expected. And North God again?"

[Host should focus on the present, not get ahead of yourself.]

"...Oh."

Allen stepped into the blackened craters. His boots, once dried by fire, soaked up blood again.

He crouched, using his blade to dig through organ chunks on the ground.

After a while, he scratched his head.

"Too many sword fragments and meat pieces. I can't even find my handle. Shouldn't have chopped them so fine."

He looked toward the still-burning craters, silent.

"Forget it. Better run. This magic blast was too loud. If anyone shows up, it'll be trouble."

But just as he turned, Allen paused.

His eyes slowly widened.

A figure stepped from the forest, boots hesitant, cautious.

His gaze traveled upward—from familiar knee-high boots, to black stockings, the hem of a mage's robe, light-blue braided hair, a heaving chest—

And eyes—deep, dark blue—locked onto his.

Luo Qixi.

She panted, covering her mouth, eyes locked on Allen, motionless.

The night wind blew between them, unable to carry away the heavy scent of blood and scorched flesh.