Episode 103: The Old Man from the Countryside Becomes a Fist Saint

In a room within the Kreving Count’s estate, Fine and Celestina’s bedroom.

Sitting face-to-face on a double bed are two women dressed in pajamas. One, a silver-haired beauty exuding a captivating allure, and the other, a refined blonde lady with a serene presence.

In other words, the occupants of this room—Fine and Celestina.

“Evan-san… faced the attackers all by himself?”

At Celestina’s report, Fine’s eyes widened in shock.

“Why would it come to that…?! Why didn’t you, Celestina-san, go to help him?!”

“Why? Well… because it sounded like a hassle.”

Celestina said it so casually.

“I’d much rather spend my time flirting with an adorable girl like you than brawling with some sweaty men.”

With that, Celestina leaned in for a hug.

But Fine swiftly pulled back and stood up from the bed.

“I… I’m going to help Evan-san…!”

As she made to leave the room, Celestina quickly grabbed her arm.

“Oh, come on, wait a second. Do you really think you rushing out there will make a difference?”

“But…!”

“Can’t you trust your comrades? You know how hard that man has worked, don’t you?”

Celestina offered a gentle smile as she added softly.

“So, stay here—and believe in Sebastian.”

“…It’s Evan-san.”

 

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On the grassy plain separating the Kreving estate from the forest, Evan Easton stood quietly.

His eyes, fixed on the enemies before him, gleamed with deep resolve.

(I stand little chance of defeating these foes. But… even so, I have no choice but to fight.)

With Siegfried absent, the strongest force in the Kreving household was Celestina, one of the ‘Seven Great Calamities.’

However, she had declared:

“I’m sitting this one out. Well, if you get taken down… then I’ll step in and deal with the enemy.”

That was her stance.

With that proclamation, Evan had no choice but to face the attackers alone.

That said, Evan was neither a knight nor a soldier—he was a butler.

While he excelled in managing staff and handling administrative tasks, combat was not his forte.

Of course, since becoming a vampire, he had trained relentlessly, his efforts steeped in blood and sweat.

But—

(I couldn’t even lay a finger on Lord Siegfried.)

Evan had sparred with Siegfried several times before his departure.

The result? Ten matches, ten losses. Not once had he even grazed Siegfried with an attack.

Evan couldn’t help but feel keenly that he lacked any talent for battle.

Yet, even without natural gifts, even knowing he couldn’t win, that was no reason to avoid the fight.

“…Oi, who the hell are you?”

One of the attackers eyed him warily and demanded an answer.

“Evan Easton, butler in service to the Kreving Count’s household. And you are?”

Evan responded with impeccable courtesy, showing not a trace of fear.

He believed this was the proper conduct for one who served Siegfried.

“We’re the ‘Fanged Bear Syndicate.’ Not that a mere servant of some backwater noble would know us.”

“‘Fanged Bear Syndicate’—I am familiar. An organization operating in the underworld, correct?”

“Hoh… you know of us? Looks like our name’s reached even the countryside. We’ve come a long way.”

The men exchanged glances, smirking faintly.

“If you know who we are… you get what kind of people we are, don’t you?”

One of the attackers—a broad-shouldered, burly man—drew his sword, pointing its tip at Evan as if to intimidate.

But Evan didn’t flinch in the slightest.

The man, expecting fear, clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“…Suicidal old geezer, huh? Fine, let’s kill him quick and head to the manor.”

The man closed the distance carelessly, raising his sword.

And in the instant he swung it down—

—Thud.

A dull impact tore through the night air, and the man’s body was sent flying.

“Guh…!”

His comrades could only stare in stunned silence as he arced through the air.

What had happened? None of them could process it.

Not a single one had seen the moment Evan’s fist shot out, sending the man flying.

Even if they had, they likely couldn’t have accepted it as reality.

After all, the man who was blown away weighed easily twice as much as Evan.

And yet—a single punch had sent him soaring.

—Mana Impact Strike.

Condensing and releasing mana forged within the body at the precise moment of impact—

It was a technique of ultimate precision, designed to unleash maximum destructive force with minimal movement, capable of felling giants.

“Gah… hah…!”

The man, blown away, lay writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth.

The sight finally snapped his comrades back to their senses.

“Wha… this old man! What did you do?!”

“A mage?!”

“No, there wasn’t a hint of magic…!”

“…Surround him! Take him down all at once!”

The men encircled the old butler, drawing their blades in unison.

“Hraaah!”

“Die, you bastard!”

With a chorus of angry shouts, they attacked in coordinated slashes.

—Thud, thud, thud.

A series of heavy sounds, like thunderclaps, echoed across the plain.

They came from Evan’s fists, feet, and elbows—striking the men’s bodies with devastating force.

In the next moment, the attackers were sent flying, tumbling through the air.

“Gah…!”

“Guh…!”

Their pained cries pierced the dark night.

“Outta the way! I’ll handle this!”

A man clad in a thick cuirass covering his chest and torso stepped forward.

Evan reacted instantly, thrusting a fist toward the man’s abdomen.

“Heh… that won’t do a thing.”

The steel armor was sturdy enough to deflect swords. A mere fist was nothing to fear—

Or so he thought. But the anomaly came immediately after.

“Ugh…!”

A pained groan escaped the man’s throat.

“Gah! Urgh… Gaaaaah!”

Clutching his abdomen through the armor, he collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.

—Mana Penetration Strike.

A devastating blow that sent mana coursing through the target’s body, destroying it from within.

The old butler’s attack had pierced through the armor, striking the man’s organs directly.

“Damn it…!”

“Crush him! Kill him!”

Their coordination shattered, the men charged forward, driven by raw bloodlust.

Evan slipped through their midst like a breeze, fluid and untouchable.

As he passed, he lightly tapped their shoulders and backs with a gentle tap.

His touch was almost tender, as if caressing them.

But—

“Wh-what… is this…!”

“Guh… my body… won’t move…!”

The men collapsed to their knees.

Their bodies went numb, as if poisoned, rendering them immobile.

By striking the mana pathways within the body with pinpoint precision, Evan disrupted their flow, rendering them uncontrollable.

The result was a temporary shutdown of their physical functions.

This technique was called the Mana Meridian Strike.

The Mana Impact Strike, Mana Penetration Strike, and Mana Meridian Strike.

All were fusion techniques of magic and martial arts, devised solely by Siegfried.

Collectively, he called them the Mana Fist Arts.

Evan had been personally taught every one of these techniques by his master and could wield them freely.

These techniques relied not on brute strength but on delicate mana manipulation to achieve their full potential.

For Evan, who excelled in finesse, they were the ideal combat style.

Gazing quietly at the men sprawled on the ground, the old butler spoke.

“Well, then… it seems the real fight begins now.”

“Wh-what…?”

“You haven’t used your full strength yet, have you? Otherwise, struggling against a frail old man like me… would be unthinkable.”

Evan’s words carried no trace of sarcasm. He genuinely believed them.

After all, since becoming a vampire, the only opponents Evan had sparred with were Siegfried and Celestina.

The fact that he was a vampire was known only to a select few, so his training partners were naturally limited to those two.

Celestina, one of the ‘Seven Great Calamities.’ And Siegfried, who could overpower even her.

Those titans of the world had become Evan’s standard.

In other words, Evan still didn’t realize—

The abnormality of his strength, wielding the same Mana Fist Arts as Siegfried, even if limited to those techniques.

For now, only Siegfried and Celestina truly understood his power.

That was why Evan faced the attackers with unwavering sincerity, absolute focus, and no hint of complacency.

“Very well—I believe it’s time for me to stop holding back and get serious.”

“Wh-what?!”

—Could it be? He hadn’t been fighting at full strength until now?

As the men realized this and opened their mouths to surrender, the old butler’s body darted through the darkness like a gust of wind.

What followed was a storm of strikes—fists, palm heels, knife hands, elbows, knees, and kicks, every part of his body unleashed in a relentless barrage.

With each blow, screams bloomed in the night.

A man who had mastered the Mana Fist Arts.

The legendary elder who would later be known as the Fist Saint, Evan Easton.

This day marked his very first true battle.