Bandits Are Basically Walking Bonus Stages

I figured about ten years had passed by then.

Magic power was a trip. It let me pull off moves that laughed in the face of human limits. I could hoist boulders without breaking a sweat, outrun a horse by double, and clear a house in a single bound.

But I still couldn't take a nuke. Sure, reinforcing myself with magic bumped up my defense, but the raw yield of Earth's weaponry was no joke. I’d considered just letting it slide since nukes didn't exist in this world, but really—what kind of EMINENCE IN SHADOW would I be if I started making compromises?

None at all. Absolute zero.

So, my goal stayed the same: acquire power that eclipsed a nuclear blast.

I’d spent every day obsessively researching and training. Eventually, I’d sniffed out one potential lead, and lately, my life had become a series of non-stop experiments.

Oh, right. Apparently, I’d been born into a noble family. We were a lineage of Spellswords—knights who fought by jacking up their physical stats with magic. I was currently being raised as the promising heir... no, scratch that. I was playing the role of a perfectly mediocre Apprentice Spellsword.

An EMINENCE IN SHADOW is picky about where and when they show their hand. I was biding my time, waiting for that one perfect moment...

Even though I was sandbagging, the Apprentice Spellsword training was actually pretty helpful. It taught me the fundamentals of magic-based combat in this world, and it gave me a chance to overhaul my own fighting style.

Frankly, the combat techniques from my past life were leagues ahead of the stuff here. They were more refined, more rational. You only have to look at modern martial arts to see it. All the fluff and useless showmanship gets weeded out, leaving only the most effective moves from every discipline to merge into a single, ultimate form of combat. Sure, that form was optimized for tournament rules, but the process of boiling down a mess of techniques into a proven science was something that could be applied to anything.

This world’s tech, on the other hand, was stagnant. Styles didn't cross borders or even different schools. Everyone hoarded their "secret arts," and even if someone wanted to share, there was no media to spread the word. No fusion, no weeding out, and no polishing. In a word? Unrefined.

Still, there was one glaring difference between combat in this world and my old one. Magic power.

Thanks to magic, basic physical capabilities were on a whole different level. Take raw strength, for example. You could hoist a guy with one hand. That immediately threw the entire logic of grappling out the window. If I tried to take the mount, the guy could literally fly into the air using nothing but his abs. One kick from a guard position could send an opponent into orbit. Yeah, ground-and-pound just wasn't a thing here.

Humans fight like humans; gorillas fight like gorillas. Simple as that.

The lunging speed was different. The step-in distance was different. Consequently, the effective range was different. Actually, that last bit was the most important of all. Martial arts are just one big game of distance. Reach, angle, and positioning—it’s the basic foundation and the ultimate end-goal.

It took me forever to nail down the spacing in this world. Everyone here stood way too far apart—we’re talking like five meters. I get it, honestly. With the long lunges and high speeds, I was initially impressed. So this is how they do it in another world! I thought. But no. It turned out their defensive techniques were just garbage.

It’s a classic martial arts trope: the worse someone is at defense, the more they want to stay away. They’re terrified of getting hit. They think they're safe if they're out of reach. So the fights become these crude, messy exchanges where they lunge in, swing wildly, and then scramble back. "Hit and run?" Please. Don't call a repetitive, mindless back-and-forth "hit and run."

To me, a five-meter gap was just as useless as a hundred-meter gap. Neither distance let you land a decent hit. Six meters, seven meters, ten meters—it didn’t matter. It was all a waste of energy. Better to just walk in and close the distance properly.

But once you hit a certain threshold, every single millimeter starts to carry massive weight. That’s the line where my attacks connect, the line where I can react to them, and the line where a half-step shift in angle decides who lives and who dies. Spacing is about micro-adjusting on that razor-thin edge. It’s not about sprinting five meters in and then jumping six meters back.

I’ll admit, the whole "another world" preconception and the mystery of magic power really threw me for a loop. But I’ve finally locked in my own sense of distance, so I’ll call that a win.

Anyway, that was the vibe during my daily training sessions. It was me, my sister, and my old man. He’d give us pointers, and then my sister and I would go at it. My sister was two years older and apparently a natural prodigy. If things kept going like this, she was slated to inherit the house. Since magic leveled the playing field, women becoming heads of households was actually pretty common here.

Naturally, I spent every session getting my ass handed to me. I couldn't afford to win, after all. To be a true EMINENCE IN SHADOW, I had to commit a hundred percent to the role of the boring side-character, MOB A.

So, every day, I’d take my beatdown while whined, "Feeeh! Big Sis, you’re too strong!"

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My days were packed with noble studies and the social obligations required to maintain my status as a background extra, so I didn't have much free time. My real training happened late at night once everyone else had passed out. I was definitely sacrificing sleep, but I’d developed a specialized technique that combined magic-fueled super-recovery with meditation. It turned me into a high-functioning short-sleeper. I felt great.

Tonight was no different. I did some light warm-ups in my usual forest before moving on to the special menu.

I'd heard some ruffians had taken up residence in a nearby abandoned village. My scouting confirmed it was a bandit gang of a decent size. Perfect, I thought. Just right for some test-cutting.

I'd hunt down lone brigands whenever I found them, but a whole bandit group? That was a once-a-year festival. I was stoked. I was perpetually short on sparring partners, so I welcomed scum like this with open arms. Man, I really hoped the local security would just keep deteriorating.

Lynchings were pretty standard in the boonies of this world. Judges and executioners only existed in the big cities, so I figured I’d step in and do the judging myself.

Tonight also marked the glorious field test of my newest weapon: the SLIME BODYSUIT.

Allow me to explain. People in this world fought by using magic power to buff their bodies and weapons. But there was always a massive loss in transmission. If you pumped a hundred units of magic into a standard iron sword, you’d only get about ten units of actual output. Ninety percent of it just vanished into the ether. Even a high-end Mithril sword was considered a masterpiece if it managed to transmit fifty percent. The inefficiency was staggering.

That’s why I’d turned my attention to slimes. They were clearly magical organisms; they used magic power to move and shift their shapes. My research showed that slime Magic Power Conductivity was a mind-blowing ninety-nine percent. Plus, being liquid, they could change form at will. I’d hunted down countless slimes, crushed their SLIME COREs, and experimented on the leftover Slime Jelly. I’d popped over a thousand cores—I actually caused a local slime extinction and had to go on expeditions to find more.

Eventually, I'd perfected a Slime Jelly blend that was easy to control and reinforce, and I’d crafted it into a bodysuit. Unlike clunky armor, it was light, silent, and comfy as hell. It actually assisted my movements. And the defensive stats? Off the charts.

My current version used black pigment. No flashy decorations, just a sleek fit that traced the lines of my body, leaving only gaps for my eyes and breathing. I looked exactly like the shadowy culprit from a certain detective manga. I figured once I officially debuted as an EMINENCE IN SHADOW, I’d come up with a more theatrical design.

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I reached the abandoned village. Even though it was the dead of night, the lights were blazing. It looked like they’d successfully raided a caravan and were throwing a victory party. Lucky me. Bandits are famously bad at planning; they spend whatever they steal the moment they get it. Right after a raid is the only time they actually have anything worth taking.

Whatever belongs to bandits belongs to me. It was all just funding for my future career as an EMINENCE IN SHADOW.

I was buzzing as I charged into the middle of the banquet. I didn't bother with a surprise attack. No point—I needed the practice.

"Hyah-ha!! Listen up, you losers! Hand over everything that sparkles!"

I screamed that right in the center of the camp.

"Wha—? Who the hell is this shrimp?!"

I was ten, so "shrimp" was a fair assessment.

"Hey, I said hand over the cash!"

I kicked the guy who called me a shrimp across the clearing. That finally got the rest of them to draw their steel.

"Listen, kid, you're pushin' your luck. Just 'cause you're a brat don't mean we won't show mer—"

"Take this!"

I sliced the head off the guy mid-monologue. My weapon was also made of slime—a nifty little thing I could manifest only when I needed it. And the SLIME SWORD had even more tricks up its sleeve.

Hidden Feature Number One: Extension.

"Ora ora ora ora oraaa!"

I let the Slime Sword stretch, mowing down the mob-tier bandits in a single sweep. It moved with the flexibility of a whip but kept the lethal edge of a blade. It was my first time using it in a real fight, so I’d been a bit nervous, but this was more than viable.

"Ora ora ora ora... Oh?"

I’d gotten a bit carried away. The place had gone dead quiet. Only one guy was left standing.

"Wh-who the hell are you...?"

"Well, I guess I'll test Feature Number Two on you."

"What are you blathering about?!"

"You look tougher than the rest. You're the boss, right? Look, you have zero chance of winning, but if you can provide some decent practice, I might let you live for another two minutes. Good luck."

"Don't toy with me, you brat! Back in the Royal Capital, I was—!"

"Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more dying. Come on."

"I'll kill you!"

BOSS A charged me, his face twisted in a mask of pure rage. I watched his sluggish swing coming and... I didn't move. I took the hit.

His blade swept across my chest, and the impact sent me tumbling back.

"Haha! That's what you get for being cocky! I’m a master of the Royal Capital’s Bushin Style—Wait, what?!"

"Didn't even scratch me... Psyche!"

I stood up like I’d just tripped over a pebble. Man, I was loving the defensive capabilities. The Slime Bodysuit could completely nullify an attack of BOSS A's caliber.

"The Bushin Style, huh? Heard it’s been trending in the capital lately. Show me what you’ve got."

"Damn you! I'll show you plenty!"

He attacked again. Honestly? Total cakewalk. He was swinging with everything he had, but I didn't even need to draw my sword. I just styled on him with basic footwork and body positioning.

Still, that Bushin Style... I kind of liked it. It was rare to see a style in this world that wasn't bogged down by "spirit" or ancient, crusty forms. Even from BOSS A's sloppy swings, I could see an attempt to solve combat through logic. A split-second faster, a half-step deeper—the dedication to optimizing every move was something I could get behind.

Too bad the guy using it was a total disappointment.

I stepped back the moment his flurry broke.

"M-my sword... why can't I hit you?!"

"You're weaker than my old man. Hell, you might be stronger than my sister right now, but she'll probably lap you within the year."

"You little shit!"

I parried his desperate swing and delivered a sharp kick to his shin. I snapped it out quickly, focusing the movement entirely below the knee.

"Guh... aggh... how...?"

BOSS A collapsed, clutching his shin. Blood started pooling in the dirt.

The trick was simple: a needle-sharp spike had extended from the tip of my boot. Slime Sword Feature Number Two: manifest a blade whenever and wherever I want.

Out of all the possibilities, I really liked the idea of kicking the opponent's lead leg with a hidden toe-blade. Foot attacks are a nightmare to defend against. You block the sword up high while I take your leg down low. It’s a dirty, effective way to win.

"Guess there's no point in continuing this."

"W-wait...!"

"You didn't even last the two minutes."

I drove the toe-blade through BOSS A's jaw. Skewered. One quick twitch and he was done.

I stepped over his convulsing body and started digging through the spoils.

"I can't fence art... food's a no-go... come to papa, cash and jewels!"

There were several carriages' worth of loot, plus the corpses of the original merchants.

"I've avenged you guys, and I'll make sure your cargo doesn't go to waste, so rest in peace."

I offered a quick prayer for the five million or so Zeny I’d just scored. One Zeny was roughly equal to a Yen. Every bit of this was going straight into my activity fund.

Man, I really wished the world would get more dangerous. Bandits everywhere. I wanted encounter rates like a video game.

"Try harder in your next life. Become a global plague or something."

I gave the late BOSS A a thumbs-up. As I turned, something caught my eye.

"A cage? Huh."

It looked big and reinforced.

"Slaves? I can't flip those for cash, so pass..."

Still, curiosity got the better of me. There might be something valuable inside. I ripped the cover off.

"Well... that's a first."

Inside was... how do I put this? A heap of rotting meat. It was vaguely humanoid, but I couldn't tell how old it was or if it had been a guy or a girl.

But it was alive. It might even have been conscious, because the mass twitched when I peered in.

I’d heard rumors about "The Possession"—unfortunates the Church labeled as demons and executed. They were born normal, but one day, their bodies just started to rot. Left alone, they’d die, but the Church would buy them up to "purify" them. It was basically just a religious excuse to massacre the sick, but the crowds loved it. They’d cheer for the Church for keeping the peace. It was so deliciously medieval; I loved the aesthetic.

If I sold this thing to the Church, it’d probably be worth more than the rest of the loot combined. Too bad I had no way to make that deal.

"Guess I'll put you out of your misery."

I leveled my Slime Sword through the bars... and then I felt it.

This meat-pile was packing a ridiculous amount of magic power. It was monstrous—way more than even I had, and I’d been training since I was a fetus. And then it clicked.

"This wavelength... is this a Magic Power Rampage?"

Was the rot caused by a total internal magical meltdown? I’d had a close call with a rampage once myself. If I hadn't managed to stabilize, would I have ended up like this?

I remembered what I’d felt that day. The potential. During a rampage, the body becomes incredibly receptive to magic as it tries to adapt. I’d theorized that you could use a controlled rampage to mutate into a more efficient magical vessel, but it was way too risky to try on myself.

But if this thing was the result of a rampage... and I could use it for experiments... I could find a risk-free path to the power I needed.

"This meat... I can use this."

I reached out and began pouring my magic power into the mass.