Chapter 124: Momoka Kibershade

"Haaahah... aaahha."

Breathing heavily, with sweat running down her body, she stared with her vertical pupils at the practice dummy in front of her.

Even though she’d been hitting it since early this morning, the dummy had only a few small cracks and some scratches.

It wasn’t as if she’d only been practicing with it since today; in fact, she’d spent several months using that very same practice dummy.

It was made of an especially durable material, and, in fact, it was considered a major achievement to significantly damage it before graduating from the academy.

Even so, lately that dummy had ceased to represent merely an achievement or the honor of one day managing to destroy it.

It had become a way for her to let off steam.

Momoka had been at the upper limit of her rank for several months, unable to break through that barrier. Day after day of failed attempts had built up an enormous amount of frustration and anger within her.

She knew that most likely, that very frustration was what was holding her back.

After all, what kind of profession did she have?

It was the same profession as her father, the Beast King.

The Beastblade Monarch

It was a profession held only by her and a few of her siblings, and that was precisely why Momoka was considered one of the strongest contenders for the throne.

Yes, she was born to be a monarch.

And a ruler must uphold her pride and dignity above all else.

One who possessed immense strength must also know how to rule with dignity; both must be kept in balance.

Even if she felt anger, frustration, or any other emotion, she had to know how to control herself and not let those emotions make decisions for her.

After all, a ruler must set an example for everyone.

That had been her conclusion, and, in fact, it was precisely what had helped her move forward during the early stages of her profession.

So suppressing her emotions and not allowing them to interfere with her was already a firmly established mindset for her.

But in recent months of stagnation, instead of being able to control them, she felt they were increasingly beyond her control.

The more she failed to break through that wall, the more frustrated and overwhelmed by various emotions she felt.

And lately, that had reached a boiling point.

And the reason was...

[’Pfff, so you really aren’t all that.’]

[’You were all talk and no substance.’]

’[Just as I thought, intelligence isn’t your strong suit—you’re muscle-brained.’]

[’Little Momo, that’s why you never believed...(￣??),’ ]

That annoying, sharp-tongued massage therapist.

Yes, many of the things that man had said probably hadn’t been exactly like that, but that’s how Momoka remembered them.

And every time she recalled his words, she felt a fire reignite in her chest.

She wanted to let out all that frustration, all that rage, but nothing seemed to work.

Even after she’d beaten that practice dummy until she was exhausted and covered in sweat, that feeling was still there.

Everything she felt was overwhelming.

That massage therapist...

That damn massage therapist...

She didn’t know how many times she’d imagined twisting his neck or cutting him in half with her katana.

Momoka had always been aggressive and highly confrontational.

However, deep down in her heart, this was the first time she’d felt such a real urge to kill someone.

Not even her half-siblings, her stepmothers, or the nobles she so despised had managed to push her to that point.

Why?

Why was he different?

The answer, unfortunately, was quite simple.

Unlike everyone else—whom Momoka was sure she could put in their place sooner or later—she didn’t have that same confidence when it came to that massage therapist.

For the first time, she couldn’t trust that she’d eventually be able to get the better of him.

Yes, most of the people she knew were just that: scum who thought they were more important than they really were.

There were very few she considered truly worthy of being her equals or even, temporarily, her superiors—and even so, Momoka was convinced that eventually she’d end up getting the better of them, too.

But that massage therapist... he was different.

At first, his technique had really been that of a novice.

Although she’d said at the time that he was just pretending to be a novice, Momoka knew perfectly well that that sort of thing wasn’t easy to imitate, much less in front of someone as experienced as her.

However, as they continued playing, that man’s peculiarities became increasingly apparent.

In the very area where Momoka had absolute confidence, that man began to gain the upper hand little by little.

His clumsy, amateurish play became increasingly refined; each move was a little more aggressive and a little more precise.

At some point, Momoka had sensed that the gap between them was beginning to narrow, and before she knew it, she had started to lose.

Luck?

Yes, luck was also a factor in that game. A single match could be lost because of it.

But in a high-level match, something like that shouldn’t happen over and over again.

And whenever she tried to change her technique, he adapted and kept winning.

Once.

And again.

And yet again.

She didn’t want to accept it, but it was true. He had gone from being a mere novice to being able to face her—and, ultimately, to surpass and humiliate her.

She felt it with every fiber of her being; catching up to him would be pointless because he could easily leave her behind again.

That sense of insignificance and resignation was something not even her father had ever made her feel.

And as if all that weren’t bad enough, what happened next was even worse than simply losing.

She had become exactly what she despised most.

A person of empty words.

A scumbag who talked more than she could back up.

And not only that; lost in her anger, she had acted in such a pitiful way that she had even ignored the agreements they’d both made, behaving like a terrible loser right to the very end.

When she returned to the academy and finally managed to calm down a little, she realized how pathetic she’d been.

That massage therapist had made a fool of her, humiliated her, and brought out the worst in her.

If she could go back in time and watch herself, she’d probably slap herself for acting like a scumbag.

She was angry at him, and the urge to put him in his place still burned inside her.

But she was also angry at herself.

She knew perfectly well that this only made her continue to see herself as the very scum she despised so much, since that man had already proven his point and she was the one spouting empty words.

The problem was that knowing this didn’t make those feelings go away.

She didn’t know how to get all of that out of her—the rage, the frustration, the humiliation...

It was too much.

She couldn’t control all those emotions.

And she didn’t know what would happen the next time she ran into that massage therapist.

Would she lose control again? Would she behave in a pitiful and pathetic way if he tried to provoke her? Would she fall for his taunts and be humiliated once more?

She didn’t know.

That’s why she needed to get everything out of her system before seeing him again, even if that meant delaying the treatment her younger sister Akane needed a little.

Somehow she had to release all that frustration, because swinging her sword at that practice dummy for hours wasn’t enough.

Momoka knew she could no longer afford to go on like this; not only would she sink deeper into her stagnation, but she herself would become the very thing she hated most.

She looked at the dummy again.

In her mind, the figure in front of her began to change. It was no longer just a practice dummy.

It was that damn masseur.

It was also that version of herself who had lost control and behaved like a pathetic sore loser.

And, at the same time, it was her current self, unable to control the overwhelming rage she carried inside.

"Huuuhhh~..."

Yes, standing right in front of her was the very thing that annoyed her the most, but she didn’t attack right away.

Instead, she exhaled deeply.

She wasn’t trying to calm herself down like she usually did. No, this time was different.

Somehow, instead of trying to hold back that anger, she was trying to focus it—to gather all that fury into a single point so that her next attack would be truly charged with her entire being.

All that anger and those emotions—all her sorrows, frustrations, and burdens—she was concentrating them in one place to expel them with the next swing of her sword.

Bandum!

But then something curious happened.

As she did so, for some reason she began to feel more connected to her profession.

She didn’t understand why, all this time, no matter what she did, she only seemed to be drifting further and further away.

Yes, she didn’t understand why it was happening now, but it was what she had been searching for all this time, and she didn’t let that feeling slip away.

She let her thoughts be guided by that feeling.

What was she?

A Beastblade Monarch

Yes, she was just that... and nothing more.

What did she want to do with that Profession right now?

She wanted to cut everything away.

That masseur, her own humiliation, that version of herself she despised so much, her lecherous father, all those months of stagnation, and that wall that had stood before her for so long.

All of that stood before her, condensed into a single figure.

It was truly something she wanted to tear to shreds from the bottom of her heart, because it had attacked her pride, her dignity, and the image she had of herself.

Momoka gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.

She didn’t try to contain or vent her anger.

Why should she do something like that? What kind of monarch would allow something that is part of her to be beyond her control?

Yes, those emotions were hers, so they had to be used by her.

They weren’t obstacles. They were fuel.

One last time, she thought about everything she truly wanted to cut away.

That masseur.

Her wounded pride.

Her frustration.

Her fear of admitting defeat.

Her obsession with proving she was above everyone else.

And then...

SLASH!.

Her sword came down.

Without any technique.

Without any skill.

It was a simple cut.

But it cut through absolutely everything in front of her.