Ch.163163. Two Protagonists (4)

The twisted hand of Aryen held a sword. It was a sword of the same shape as the one in my hand, the Holy Sword. The original Aryen. Did he summon the sword he used to wield? Before that thought could continue, Aryen’s sword and the fake Aryen’s sword clashed. There was no time to hesitate. I dove into that opening.

Clang-!

The fake Aryen easily shook off Aryen and swung his sword at me. The trajectory, while aligned with my sword, was subtly twisted. That sword would probably coil around my blade like a snake, climb up to the hilt, and use the rebound to pull the sword from my grip. Responding to a sword’s intent was instinct. I entangled my sword simultaneously. The blade of the fake Aryen’s Holy Sword and my Holy Sword entangled each other, and with a sharp metallic sound—Kang!—they were deflected.

“Kuk-!”

In terms of strength, he had the advantage. I quickly assessed him and corrected my posture. In skill, we were equal, or perhaps he still had the upper hand. Aryen was probably in the same situation. Even though Aryen was strong, the other side had already defeated several calamities. It would be difficult for Aryen to gain the upper hand.

“Can you hold him down?”

Aryen asked with a frown.

“He probably knows that much too, but… I’ll try.”

Whoosh-!

I accelerated. I couldn’t feel any mana. I couldn’t even properly feel my body. All I could feel was the sensation of the sword gripped in my hand. All I could see was the fake Aryen’s movements, the tip of his sword, and the path they drew together. I could hit him. I could keep up. If it was just about restraining him, not killing him—that was enough. It was possible.

Kaang-!!

So, defense. I blocked without advancing. I positioned myself on a diagonal line where the fake’s sword would aim for my neck. I didn’t let him cut me. Little by little, I retreated while walking a tightrope of giving ground yet not giving it. The fake viciously targeted me. He tried to run down the blade, then tried to knock away my sword to make me lose balance. Of course, the fake couldn’t just try to knock me down.

“Good.”

Aryen’s voice. And with a flash in his eyes, he appeared behind the fake. Sensing that killing intent, the fake kicked off my sword’s surface and moved his steps sideways. He deflected it. The fake now glared at Aryen with eyes that showed no whites at all, and ground his teeth.

“You-!”

“I didn’t know my voice sounded so good.”

Aryen slightly frowned. Their gazes crossed for just a moment, and then it was back to the swords. Aryen’s sword and the fake’s sword collided. After the first exchange, Aryen’s expression hardened while the fake maintained his angry look. There was no need for Aryen to call me again. I didn’t miss the opening and moved in.

The swords clashed again. My sword held the fake’s sword in place, preventing it from advancing further, while Aryen forcibly tried to wedge in and create an opening. Within a clear division of roles, our coordination flowed smoothly, and our sword paths didn’t deviate, but—

Kwaang-!!

None of it worked against the fake. I stepped back to catch my breath. Aryen gave a hollow laugh and spat on the ground. Whether he had injured something internally when he took a hit, there was murky blood mixed in his spit. Aryen wiped his chin and glared at the fake’s eyes.

“That bastard is damn strong. I’m not sure if tactics like rushing in to take him down will work.”

“I suppose not.”

That was obvious. The protagonist who had reached the end of the original story. No one could match his sword talent. And now with the power of the evil god added. Could even the gods of the past, who only existed in the setting, capture him?

“I’ll have to change my approach a bit. Let’s not strictly divide our roles.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Just. Move as your body dictates. You should be able to match my movements.”

“You know the one who adapts is the stronger one, right?”

At my question, Aryen narrowed his brow as if to say something more, but turned his head at the fake’s interrupting voice.

“Look at yourselves. Forcibly joining hands with someone you can’t cooperate with.”

The fake’s words were filled with anger. His voice sounded like it had lava, not phlegm, boiling in his throat. His hair was now fluctuating like black mist, repeatedly evaporating and melting. The shadow of that mist was slowly, darkly staining his body as if consuming it.

“Were you always such a childish character? I don’t remember you being that bad.”

He was strong, but his appearance couldn’t be called pleasant even as a white lie. Aryen narrowed his eyes as if finding it peculiar. I wonder how it felt to watch another version of himself going berserk.

“…Quite embarrassing to watch. But what do you mean by ‘that bad’?”

“Take some time for self-reflection.”

The fake Aryen charged again. His speed was different. Aryen and I instantly accelerated our thoughts to respond to the attack. Slashes came from both sides, with almost no time difference. After briefly imagining a future where I’d be cut by that, I made two sword strikes.

“You can’t escape.”

He followed. It seemed that to the fake Aryen, I appeared to be the more troublesome one. Or perhaps he still had some desire to persuade Aryen. I clicked my tongue and received his sword. It was somewhat difficult to keep up with his speed. None of my abilities were activating here.

“I’ll end this quickly.”

“In words, you’ve killed me a thousand times over, you bastard.”

I really didn’t like his empty boasting. So I counterattacked, trusting my instincts. Combat experience? Sword talent? This fight wouldn’t be decided by those things right now. Experience standing on the line between life and death. Experience facing opponents unbelievably stronger than me. I recalled the bear. The spider, the werewolf, the crown’s test, the giant. I recalled all those who could have taken my life, my breath.

Kwaang-!

“What an incredibly arrogant sword.”

The fake was pushed back by my sword strike. The real Aryen rushed toward the retreating fake. As Aryen passed by, I faintly heard his voice.

“It feels strange to hear you evaluate it that way.”

The exchange of attacks flowed as naturally as if one person was wielding two swords. Just as I had changed my tactics, Aryen also changed from pure offense to a different approach. His attacks were being blocked by the fake’s sword more easily than mine had been.

“I am your future. I am you from another world. How could you think that I wouldn’t be able to think of what you can think of?”

The fake sneered as he blocked Aryen’s horizontal slash. His hair, which had become mist, was now writhing and swaying like seaweed buried in the deep sea.

“Deep down, you know it too. Haven’t you realized? That something is wrong.”

I could hear the fake’s whispered words. Worried that Aryen might be swayed by those words, I glanced at his face, but it seemed my concern was unnecessary. I could see Aryen’s lips curling up on one side.

“You should know better than anyone that we’re not the type to listen to others.”

Aryen pointed his sword. And then, he began to recite a line I’d heard a few times in the original story.

“Return kindness twofold, revenge tenfold. Your words are all wrong, and only mine are right.”

If I remember correctly, it was something Kala used to say habitually to Aryen when she was alive. When Aryen said this with the expression of someone recalling a memory, the fake froze.

“Did you forget this saying too, now that your head is filled with other things?”

“You… you dare to say those words…”

The fake’s eyes wavered for a moment, then returned to normal. Aryen’s sword rushed in without giving the fake time to think. Up, thrusting upward, then down again. The fake’s responses were slowing. Aryen dove into that slowing gap. The fake’s sword flashed, and Aryen’s form blurred.

Kang-!

And then, the two identical figures became entangled, exchanging sword blows.

“Haven’t you ever thought that your current actions are somewhat strange?”

“Shut up! After seeing everything, after sharing those memories, how dare you pretend not to know and speak so calmly. Are you really saying this just because you don’t want to listen!”

Puhwak-!

A sword wind rose. Aryen’s hair was wildly flying about.

“Even if the world is ending, even though you could stop him, and even though you could live a life without regrets!”

“To be honest,”

He charged. Chaotically, in the way Aryen himself fought best.

“None of that is my concern.”

Kaang-!

==

Up. Upper right. This time, upper left.

Aryen’s eyes followed the fake’s sword strikes without rest. A familiar trajectory. It was a sword style slightly more advanced than his own, but not one he couldn’t handle.

‘Forward? No, it’s difficult to break through from the front right now.’

White, whiter still. His vision and mind were being dyed. How long had it been since he had thought only of advancing like this? Not looking back, facing only the opponent before him.

Kwaang-!

“Kugh-!”

The strength was different. Aryen grimaced at the pressure that pushed him back. His hands tingled. If he hadn’t made the decision to retreat, he would have been crushed by that sword strike. He opened his eyes wide. He corrected his posture, abandoned his arrogance, and admitted that he was weaker than his opponent.

‘…I suppose I’ve learned a bit from watching you.’

Aryen glanced at Ilroy. During the battle, that so-called hero’s concentration had never wavered. Even Aryen had to acknowledge such dedication.

“Saving the world.”

It was a dream. A vain and grandiose dream. The mercenary who had never experienced salvation thought so. The light he had thought was salvation disappeared in an instant, and he was left with nothing.

“I think I can trust you a little.”

Aryen muttered this and turned his eyes. The form of another self before him. Aryen didn’t know whether to pity or despise him. Sure enough, the fake spewed his anger at Aryen in a scratching voice.

“Don’t. Look at me. With those eyes.”

“Have you ever thought of yourself as pitiful?”

“I will, kill you.”

Tsk.

The fake’s demeanor changed again. It seemed that the more his anger was provoked, the stranger his condition became. You, I. What were we so obsessed with? The fake’s sword now moved so fast that even Aryen’s eyes could barely see it. Aryen twisted the corner of his mouth as he blocked him.

“Are you trading memories for power?”

“Shut up.”

Kwaang-!

He deflected the shock. As much as that monster gained power, the openings for Aryen to exploit also increased. He could advance. For the first time, Aryen’s sword touched the fake whose judgment was becoming increasingly clouded.

Slash.

A wound appeared on the fake’s side. The fake became even more enraged, roaring and swinging his sword, and Aryen skillfully avoided him. In between, he thrust and slashed with his sword. The shallow wounds healed as soon as they were inflicted. Aryen frowned as he watched this.

‘But I can’t do more than create wounds.’

Should I go deeper? Even if it means risking death here?

‘No.’

Aryen sensed the presence of the hero, still focused and tense.

‘Just this once, I’ll trust him.’

Aryen stepped into the storm of slashing blades.

==

Slash-.

With a familiar metallic sound, Aryen’s right arm was severed before my eyes. It wasn’t surprising. I had already seen what would happen next. The only question was why Aryen had made such a choice. But now wasn’t the time to ponder—that would be a luxury.

Seureu-reuk.

With a sound like cutting paper, both of the fake’s arms flowed down. Aryen turned to me and sent a silent signal, and as soon as our eyes met, I launched forward. A single slash. In my mind’s eye, I overlaid the fake with the tens of thousands of dummies I had cut with my sword in the mental world.

“Would you just- stop!”

Chwaaak-!

The slash cleanly, without excess, split the fake in half. I withdrew my sword and breathed heavily. Beside me, Aryen approached and looked at the halved, dead fake.

“…Well, that ended more anticlimactically than expected.”

Aryen, as if still unsatisfied, hacked at the split corpse several more times. I watched this venting with narrowed eyes. Aryen’s left arm wasn’t regenerating even in this mental world. At some point, I had become convinced that this was no ordinary mental world.

“Is your arm, alright?”

“I don’t know. It seems like it’s really been cut off. I won’t have another chance to reattach my right arm.”

Aryen quietly looked at his severed right arm. No blood was flowing out.

“I think it’s a cheap price to pay.”

“…If you receive treatment from Isis, it should be fine.”

“Ilroy.”

Aryen cut off my words. That voice. The subdued voice characteristic of someone who had already abandoned and given up on many things. I bit my lip and tried to ignore Aryen’s words. The fact that this person had properly called my name for the first time didn’t matter right now.

“I can’t return unscathed. You know that too.”

Aryen spoke words that didn’t suit him, too calmly. When I turned to him, Aryen looked at me expressionlessly, as if responding.

“Even if it wasn’t me, my body has already killed hundreds of people. Unlike you, who has never cut down a person, I was already in the business of killing people before joining the hero’s party. The number I’ve killed by then would exceed thousands.”

Aryen was speaking calmly.

“…I’m saying I’m not a human worthy of your salvation.”

“What are you—”

Before I could ask what he meant, Aryen and I froze in place.

“■■■■.”

With an incomprehensible roar, the collapsed corpse of the fake began to gather together.