The well-Balanced Yamamoto-san Gets Caught up in a Death Game

Chapter 87

Bandits…

Bandits, huh…

I watched as they emerged from the forest in droves, encircling us.

At a glance, they looked like adventurers—well-equipped, moving with unsettling coordination. Their disciplined formation as they closed in felt less like bandits and more like…

*”Are these really bandits?”*

*”My gut said they were disguised adventurers, so I assumed bandits. But soldiers? Didn’t see that coming.”*

*”Right? These are soldiers. Straight-up soldiers.”*

Shields raised, swords gleaming as they advanced—this was military precision.

Kingdom knights?

Or some noble’s private army?

No way to tell. I don’t know the differences.

But damn, there are *a lot* of them.

Fifty, maybe? Surrounding us in layers?

Overkill much?

Then again, with **[Area Attack]** now in my arsenal, numbers don’t mean much.

What *does* bother me is the sheer bloodlust radiating off them. No surrender demands, no negotiations—just silent, murderous intent.

We’re trapped in a *”no survivors”* zone.

*”Tsuna-san, clean up the stragglers. I’ll handle the main crowd.”*

*”Got it.”*

Not that it matters—**[Area Attack]** auto-targets everyone anyway.

The moment I spoke, the “bandits” tensed, shields locked, inching forward.

Hesitant to charge? Probably waiting to close the distance.

If they tank a magic volley, they’ll rush us. And getting boxed in is the *last* thing I want.

Time to stack the odds.

*”**[Seemingly Archmage]**—activate.”*

Spell cooldowns halved.

Next—

*”**[Fire Strike]**—set.”*

Normally, spells fire the instant you name them. But mastering **[Mana Control]** lets me delay the trigger.

And now…

The flaming spear hovering before me compresses—thinner, shorter, condensing into a needle of pure fire.

Then—

*”Go.”*

A single needle shot out, splitting midair into a ring of duplicates that lanced toward every bandit encircling us.

Shields raised? Useless.

The needles punched through like paper, skewering the wielders, then *kept going*, slamming into the shields of those behind them before fizzling out.

The bandits’ faces paled.

My magic attack stat’s nearly 400.

Even halved by **[Area Attack]**, that’s still around 200—A-rank adventurer territory.

Enough to pierce shields, bodies, and *then* some.

A-rank adventurers? Yeah, they’re no joke.

And these weren’t just **[Fire Strikes]**. Compressed, they traded AoE for armor-piercing lethality.

Charging head-on? Congrats, you’re now Swiss cheese.

*”Don’t falter! Magic of this caliber can’t be spammed! Push forward—now!”*

*”**[Fire Strike] [Fire Strike] [Fire Strike] [Fire Strike] [Fire Strike]**.”*

*”Pew-pew-pew-pew-pew!”*

*”Wh—what kind of nonsense—!? Gah!?”*

Uh, yeah. I *can* rapid-fire.

Each **[Fire Strike]** is only Tier 3 fire magic—hardly a mana drain. The spectacle’s just **[Area Attack]** doing overtime.

*”Acts befitting the Demon King… plus one Four Heavenly Kings Point…”*

Why’s the benchmark always the *Demon King*?

But I get it.

Compressed **[Fire Strikes]** trade raw power for precision—needle-thin, cauterizing wounds. No blood, minimal pain.

Just… holes.

Lots of holes.

By the time they realized, their bodies were perforated, yet they felt no fatal pain. Just confusion—then collapse.

Silent annihilation.

Yeah, “Demon King” fits.

Fifty bandits? All down.

All *alive*, though.

I’d call this *restraint*.

*”Nicely restrained, huh?”*

*”Restrained…?”*

*”The sheer depravity of your ‘mercy’ chills me… plus one Four Heavenly Kings Point…”*

What? No one died! That *is* restraint!

Anyway—

The carriage situation’s dire.

Guards formed a shield wall around the ornate transport, but they’re outnumbered and outgunned. Only the butler’s holding the line, his movements sharper than the rest.

*”What’s the play? Save them?”*

*”If we wait, they’ll come for us next. Might as well team up and end this fast.”*

*”Wait.”*

Envy-chan stopped us.

Concerned?

Her eyes burned with resolve.

*”My unique skill, **[ ]**, foresees contact with high-ranking humans. Intervening risks entanglement in their political strife—or worse, accusations of interference. Yamato-sama, please reconsider—”*

Whoa. That’s one *blank* skill name.

And **[Mimic Beast]** didn’t trigger.

Guess skills without physical actions can’t be copied?

But I *did* learn Aile’s **[Judgment Eye]**… though that involves “seeing.”

Hmm. The Yamato Style’s still full of mysteries.

But the real question: save the noble or not?

*”Sorry, Envy. Not an option.”*

Surprisingly, Tsuna-san shut it down first.

Thought she’d ignore it—food’s her only interest.

*”Why not?”*

*”Say we let them die. What dies with them?”*

*”The guards, the noble, some attackers—”*

*”Wrong. *We* die. Our conscience.”*

Damn. *Deep.*

But—

*”Yeah. Letting people die when we could’ve helped? That’d sour every meal, haunt every night. We’re not *that* twisted. So—let’s go, Tsuna-san.”*

*”Tch. God’s hogging all the fun. I need the exercise anyway.”*

As we moved, an attacker cut down a guard and reached for the carriage door—

—only for the door to *blast* outward, *taking him with it*.

Hinges? Obliterated.

Guess the noble’s *feisty*.

Out stepped a gray-haired, average-built pretty boy.

His attire? High-end, blue-accented, military-adjacent—but not quite a uniform.

Probably because *he* made it look elegant.

Cool and composed, he drew his sword—a weirdly shaped one, likely a demon blade—and *declared*:

*”Hear me, worms! I am Sail Farland, third prince of Farland! If you seek my head, come with your lives forfeit!”*

*”Young master!?”*

Oh *boy*.

Third prince? That’s *way* above our pay grade.

He immediately lunged at the nearest attacker.

Spunky, but the butler’s face just lost all color.

And these aren’t pushovers.

They blocked the prince’s strike—*and countered*.

*”Tch! These are no mere brigands!”*

*”Young master, fall back! These are trained soldiers!”*

*”Then all the more reason to crush them! Treacherous dogs, plotting against the crown! I’ll drag your schemes into the light!”*

*”Your Highness, please! Let us handle this!”*

*”Your safety comes first!”*

*”I refuse!”*

Yikes.

Not *weak*, but *way* out of his depth.

The guards are panicking.

Prince Sail’s got talent, sure—but he’s young.

And his opponents? Veterans.

A sheltered prince versus battle-hardened soldiers?

Disaster’s inevitable.

*”Tsuna-san, hurry.”*

*”Right.”*

*”Then I’ll announce our allegiance.”*

Allegiance?

*”In chaos like this, ambiguity gets you stabbed in the back. So—”*

Envy-chan’s voice rang out:

*”We cannot overlook this lawless assault! By your leave, Prince, we shall lend our blades!”*

*”Granted! Fight as you will!”*

Permission secured.

Time to save a prince.