Chapter 84: There Is No Next Time

The alarm bells of the senses are mostly confusion and lies; they are close to a deception.

This, too.

It likely means I still cannot properly control my own body.

Clang!

“?!”

I spoke as I parried the sword.

“Stop playing tricks. It’s pathetic.”

A Fortes, striking straight down from a Grate.

The moment we clashed, that thing tried to play a trick.

I threw it back, parrying it with a Chain sequence of Betita-Grate-Fortes.

“I see. So you’re more experienced than you look?”

“…….”

Instead of answering, I glared at him and cracked my neck with a smug air.

At that, the fellow’s hazel eyes twisted in rage.

“I really love that attitude.”

His eyes looked as if they wanted to chop a person into dozens of pieces, yet his words were nothing but friendly.

“But how long are you going to keep playing defense? Or do you think I’ll actually give you an opening?”

“…Let me give you one piece of advice: trying to use your head or playing schemes will only end in your loss.”

That thing is trying every means possible to shake me and create a gap.

Even if it doesn’t seem like it, everything is visible if one observes coldly.

Above all.

“Just as you observe me, realize that I am watching and observing you. You’re starting to get a feel for who will hit rock bottom first, aren’t you?”

“Ha. Yeah. You’re right.”

He conceded readily.

Therefore.

It is time for both of us to show our hand.

To be precise, him first.

Because, strictly speaking, I don’t really have a ‘hand’ to show.

“Don’t resent me when you die.”

He spoke as if he had been holding back until now.

And as if those words were true, his movements and momentum shifted to a different dimension.

—!

Before the sound of metal could even ring, my body was pushed back as if struck by something.

To be precise, my body was dragged along in order not to lose the sword that had been hit.

The blade bent significantly, but it managed to snap back into place thanks to its elasticity.

This development was only possible because I had diverted some of the force.

“…….”

It happened in an instant.

A heavy blow, so powerful that my center of gravity collapsed for a fleeting moment in its aftermath.

No, is it even right to call this a single blow?

“Still.”

Can he get even stronger?

He isn’t even using Mana to enhance his physical abilities.

He just gets stronger as if he’s breathing?

‘Impossible.’

There must be a condition.

There must be a limit.

Therefore, such a thing is not a reason to be shaken.

There is no need to even be calm.

Why fuss over something that is obvious?

Calculate and judge; if judgment is impossible, speculate and estimate.

I keep even the most unlikely variables in mind.

But that doesn’t mean I shrink or hesitate.

While facing him, I gather the fragments, information, and clues he spills and scatters.

I simply distill the answer and respond accordingly.

And.

“…….”

His movements have become extremely abrupt, even if only slightly, compared to before.

Fragments.

Just before moving, the preparation and preliminary motions began to appear slightly more obvious.

This, too, is a fragment.

I almost failed to respond despite knowing, but…

…If a response is possible, the rest depends on adaptation.

The clue has been given.

Did I adapt and face the charge of the Warhorses just because I could respond to them?

Did I adapt to the Arrow Barrage because it was at a humanly adaptable level?

Moreover.

If it were truly absurd, he should have pursued and finished me off the moment he struck me.

“Your limbs are shaking, aren’t they?”

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I warned you.”

He lunges immediately.

How impatient.

Even though the distance was twice as far as before, he closed it in an instant.

Furthermore, he doesn’t slash; he thrusts.

Because the area to respond to is extremely small and narrow, allowing it would lead to a fatal result.

“…….”

I evade.

Of course, it wasn’t by a hair’s breadth.

I boldly rolled my body.

That was a strike that absolutely could not be allowed.

Even if I had blocked it, the lack of response would have left me pierced through, thrown back as if hit by a galloping carriage or a Warhorse.

If any part of my torso had been pierced or slashed there.

That moment would have been the end.

“…….”

As long as one is human, there is such a thing as stamina.

I keep my mouth shut and struggle to maintain my breathing.

…Even those tightly pressed lips provide me with a clue.

He is pouring in unnecessary strength.

For me, who excludes and cuts off even emotions to avoid wasting Mental Power.

That wide-open gap is captured very clearly.

“…….”

No words are needed.

Para again.

Followed by Grate.

This time, the center.

I hold the sword above my head as if passing it over.

“This crazy bastard?”

In a situation where responding is difficult even when the sword is aimed, he passes the sword behind his head?

Does he want to die before he even swings?

That is exactly what his eyes seem to say.

However, he doesn’t bother to speak.

He isn’t an idiot either.

Therefore, remembering that this is also my trick, he sharpens his nerves to penetrate my intention.

Nevertheless, his boiling emotions judge that doubt and questioning are merely bluffing and mockery.

Unable to endure—no, choosing not to endure—the moment he kicks off the ground.

He rushes right in front of me in an instant.

I take that.

My right foot, which was extended forward.

I pull it deep to the right, neither forward nor backward.

And simultaneously, Partita.

The two hands and the hilt that had passed behind my head return exactly in front of my forehead.

However, the extended blade does not aim for the front, but lies flat as if aiming for the left.

From there, I lower my waist and rotate my lower body.

My lower body, spread left and right, opens even wider.

As the left heel naturally lifts and the knee and ankle form a right angle.

Para again.

However, because of the posture, I cannot hold the sword upright, nor is there room to hold it vertically by the side.

The best I can do is hold the sword as if laying it horizontally.

From there, another Chain of Grate-Fortes-Partita.

I unfold all of this in succession before even taking a single breath.

Naturally, the moment I parry his descending sword and bounce it away, I strike down again, and as if that weren’t enough, I slash down and thrust again, and that attempt to cut through.

I diverted, grazed, and shook it off with the Chain.

“You damn—!”

By then, the two legs and feet that were spread wide had gathered.

But it wasn’t just a matter of spreading, widening, and narrowing the posture.

This, too, was an Opening Form and a Chain Style at the same time.

And a Link Style to accumulate and circulate power.

With the center of gravity perfectly maintained, I absorb the impact with my body, and then accumulate the impact and recoil of parrying it within my body.

“――”

Fabiam.

A slash.

I strike down.

I cut down.

Yes.

It doesn’t matter.

That is the point.

Fabiam.

Punita.

Nekata.

Strike down. Strike up. Thrust.

The difference between these and the previous Para, Grate, Fortes, and Betita.

Is that only at this point.

It means the arm joints are unfolded.

They may be partially unfolded, or fully extended to the end.

And this is, compared to the iron-wall defense through the Chain of the previous four motions, a voluntary act of creating a gap.

Because the arm joints are extended, the recovery and transition of motions are slower than before.

Since this is a natural process due to physical structure, it is an area that must be accepted.

Generally, one might ask why that is so extreme.

Or what kind of gap and weakness that provides.

Those who don’t know might naturally question it.

…But we accept it as natural.

And once you do it yourself, you realize. You experience it repeatedly.

…How large of a gap can open, even in a mere instant.

For example, it is like forcefully opening and closing a locked castle gate.

In war-time, that judgment means a bold counterattack.

But if the judgment is wrong, it leads directly to admitting defeat.

Therefore.

Swoosh!

“?!”

He pulled his body away as if having a seizure.

Therefore.

The fact that I shifted my stance from Defense to Offense, prepared for all of that.

…Naturally means I deliver a corresponding blow, a slash.

The trajectory of a line that cut down without obstruction.

The sensation of it slicing through clothing.

And tearing through skin.

Was vividly transmitted through the metal to my hand and entire body.

“…….”

The clothes he wore, though clearly high-quality, were split clearly starting from the exposed trajectory, spurting red blood in streams.

‘…Was it too shallow?’

No, it wasn’t shallow.

It is sufficiently a fatal wound.

As if diverting all the received power, I actually accumulated it in my entire body and returned it in a single slash.

Because this was an attack struck with the intention of cutting down the upper body, with the momentum to split even the sword if the other side had blocked it.

The only thing was that his movement—the near-acrobatic feat of spreading both arms and twisting his upper body as much as possible—was a movement that defied common sense.

Even so, it remains a fatal wound.

“You… damn… bastard! You, you! Aaaaagh!!”

The scream of agony.

Even the shout let out to drive away fear. No.

Rather, the opposite.

He is angry.

He cannot control his rage.

He cannot concede a single thing.

Yet he allowed it first.

This damn humiliation!

How! How! At what price!

Must I pay! Wash away!

And resolve this!

“Hah.”

It is as if a wounded beast is screaming in fury.

Truly, I might have to acknowledge that momentum alone.

Look at that ferocious stance, grinding his teeth as if he would lunge at any moment, further fueling his will to fight.

Even though he looks as if his reason has been paralyzed.

Even though he is burning with both murderous intent and passion.

What is this tenacity, desperately observing and retracing my movements to find an effective method?

…It is not so much the fighting spirit a knight shows, but rather the kind of vicious and reckless Madness a berserker would show, running wild without regard for anything.

In a pair of eyes swollen and bloodshot as if they might burst.

A domineering will was writhing, determined to wash away that flame and heat—which was consuming even himself—with blood.

And that momentum made no distinction between ally and enemy.

“Wha-what is happening?”

“Th-that, Venus, that bastard seems to have completely lost it?”

“He got hit, right?”

Just by drawing hostility, most would tremble and feel their spines freeze.

In fact, most of those watching trembled or collapsed from the aftermath alone.

Some were not only stepping backward but were turning their backs and desperately fleeing.

…Does it mean that while their heads understood, their bodies and instincts could not handle it?

But… I find it hilarious.

“A frightened dog barks the loudest.”

“What?! What did you just say?! Did you just compare me to a dog—?! You piece of shit!”

He lunges, spitting out curses.

Certainly.

Since he is attacking while excluding reason, the threat has become even more fierce.

“…….”

But the fact that he is secretly hiding a dagger within that.

I did not miss it.

I parry each swing with a link, but he certainly has a plan, attacking and retreating in a hit-and-run style.

From the side, the difference might not be apparent, but the distance is clearly maintained.

And that sense of distance does not narrow.

Nor does it widen.

His height and build are superior to mine.

Therefore, this is a tactic to make the most of that advantage.

Thus, the clash that hadn’t progressed for several exchanges is now extended to dozens.

Is his intention to accumulate damage to the sword’s durability, as well as to my hand, wrist, and arm, by striking the blade?

And then, if I show a gap, he digs in? Parries?

‘Meaningless.’

The opponent likely knows that too.

Then why does he push so persistently?

Is he targeting the sword?

However, thanks to my exquisite diverting and parrying, the sword rarely takes damage.

More than that.

Why is this sword in such good condition?

The moment I harbored that doubt.

I immediately divert with a link and this time, I approach.

‘I thought so.’

I pretend to attack, but in the end, the wound I left on him was, strictly speaking, a counterattack.

So.

This time, do you intend to use that against me?

The idea and attempt were good, but the fundamental premise was wrong.

I have no intention of taking an offensive that would allow for a counterattack in the first place.

Even without doing so.

…I can exert sufficient threat.

As I cling more fiercely and unfold the Chain Style, the other’s hands and movements quickly become confused.

What do you expect when you exclude reason?

No matter how great the wild instinct is.

…Did you think you could overcome this with something like that?

In a contest of raw strength, humans cannot even match a single beast.

Even in this civilized age, beasts have continued to hunt humans whenever they seize the opportunity.

However, by wielding tools, penetrating their habits, and learning how to properly face them.

Humans began to hunt the beasts.

If it were a matter of being mercilessly crushed by a beast’s teeth, claws, and bulk while defenseless and bare-bodied.

Even I would have been no exception.

I admit what must be admitted.

…You must have hunted many things in that manner.

However.

It is the truth of the world that the hunter can become the prey at any time.

Even in the relative law where the strong become the weak.

The fact that the weak can defeat or prank the strong whenever they seize the right timing.

…Is a stark reality.

Swoosh!

“Kh!”

Still, he manages to evade well.

However, now that his leg is cut, his mobility will be slowed.

Having a leg become defenseless is more painful than having an arm cut.

Even if he endures the pain, he cannot exert his full skill since his condition is not intact.

Furthermore, as time passes, his condition will only worsen.

“…….”

Well, if it were a normal person like me, I would have become useless by this point.

But for that insane Berserker, does this instead become a source of fueling his will and boosting his morale?

“…….”

Even now, his fighting spirit and will remain the same.

Is it faith in himself?

Or is it an expression of the will to absolutely achieve his goal?

If not even that.

Among many, many experiences of victory.

The optimism or arrogance that he can surely overcome this time as well.

Or perhaps pride.

The finest tree is the first to be cut.

Yet if it still lives.

Then it must be an extraordinary tree.

But I wonder how long it can keep its place.

I cannot live like that, so I simply do not know.

How one can indiscriminately put forward such groundless confidence.

“If you don’t give up, you can win. You’re not trying to say something like that, are you?”

“Shut up.”

“Distinguish between when mental fortitude works and when it doesn’t.”

“I told you to shut up.”

“…Your will being exceptionally strong doesn’t make you special.”

Who is the one I have set as my enemy and adversary.

With what mindset I am approaching life to face them.

“…….”

Longing and hatred.

One who chases victory and idols like a child with admiration and awe.

…Against one who possesses the resolve to cut down and crush even that.

You.

Can you even become such a trial for me?

“Haa.”

With a sigh, I turned my back as if to show off.

“Hey! Where are you going?! Hey! Stop right there!”

“If things go south, I can just attack. Why the barking?”

Without even turning my head.

I shout while boldly showing my back.

I walk in a straight line toward that sword—that damn sword—which had been plunged diagonally.

It is a mistake to think I am defenseless just because I showed my back.

…Unfortunately, he knows that well, which is why he cannot rashly make a move.

I do not have eyes in the back of my head.

I simply.

As if breathing.

As if opening and closing my eyes.

I am merely alert and prepared at every moment.

I am not a tree branch that sways only when the wind and rain blow.

Nor am I a wild grass, a weed, or a wild flower that is shaken only when a storm rages.

Harshness.

Cruelty.

They target us as if they are breathing.

Therefore.

There is not a moment to delay.

When does rest come? When does the curtain fall?

“…….”

I stood before the plunged sword.

“You’ve watched enough, haven’t you?”

In this.

Even if there are no eyes, there is a sense that sees, hears, and feels more than blind people with eyes.

Is it really a ‘sense’?

…What does it matter.

Behind my back, a burning gaze and his presence were still vividly transmitted.

The moment I let my guard down or hesitate, he will target my back.

It’s fine.

Hasn’t it always been so?

If you get hit, it’s the responsibility of the one who got hit.

It is entirely that person’s fault.

The world was irrational and unfair from the start.

Now, even the time to resent it is a waste.

…But.

Is it because I have endured and achieved victory so well that I am now triumphant?

I sneer.

I mock.

“What does it matter.”

Immediately after slightly lowering my knees.

I reached out my hand toward the sword.

‘This is the last time.’

There is no next time.

For you.

And for me.