Ch.8428. There Is No Next.

The alarm of the senses is mostly confusion, falsehood, and close to fraud.

This too.

It must mean that I still don’t have proper control over my physical body.

Clang!

“?!”

I deflected the sword and said,

“Stop with the cheap tricks. It’s pathetic.”

From grate straight down to fortes.

After briefly clashing, that thing used a cheap trick.

I countered by throwing it off with a vetita-grate-fortes combination move.

“I see. So despite appearances, you’re quite experienced?”

“……”

Instead of answering, I glared and tilted my head arrogantly.

His amber eyes twisted in rage.

“I really like that attitude.”

His eyes look like they could cut someone into dozens of pieces.

Yet his words are strangely endearing.

“But how long will you keep defending? Or do you think I’ll give you an opening?”

“…Let me give you one piece of advice: trying to outsmart me or using tricks will only hurt you.”

It’s using every means to unsettle me and create openings.

Even if it doesn’t seem so, when I observe calmly, everything becomes visible.

Above all.

“Just as you’re watching me, recognize that I’m observing you too. Can you sense who will reveal their bottom first?”

“Ha. True enough.”

He agreed readily.

So.

It’s time for us all to show our cards.

More precisely, him first.

After all, I don’t really have any cards to show.

“Don’t blame me when you die.”

He spoke as if he’d been holding back until now.

And that seemed to be true.

His movements and intensity shifted to an entirely different dimension.

—!

Before the metallic sound could even ring out, my body was pushed back as if struck.

More precisely, my body followed the sword I was gripping to avoid losing it.

The blade bent significantly but remarkably returned to its original position with the elasticity.

This was only possible because I partially redirected the force.

“……”

It happened in an instant.

The impact was so heavy that my center of gravity collapsed for a moment.

No, is “single strike” even the right term for this?

“Still.”

Can he become even stronger?

And it’s not even that he’s using mana to enhance his physical abilities.

He just gets stronger as naturally as breathing?

‘That’s impossible.’

There must be conditions.

There must be limits.

Therefore, such things are no reason to waver.

I don’t even need to stay calm.

Why debate what’s obvious?

I measure and judge, and when judgment fails, I guess and estimate.

I keep even potential variables in mind.

But I don’t shrink back or hesitate.

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

I just need to extract the answer and respond accordingly.

And.

“……”

His movements have changed drastically, if subtly, from before.

A fragment.

Just before moving, his preparation and preliminary motions have become slightly more obvious.

Another fragment.

Even knowing this, I almost failed to respond.

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

The clue has been given.

Did I adapt to cavalry charges because I could respond to them, face them, and knock them all down?

Were arrow showers at a humanly adaptable level, so I adapted?

Besides.

If it were truly impossible, he should have pursued and finished me after striking me down.

“Are your limbs trembling?”

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I warned you.”

He charges right at me.

So impatient.

Though the distance was twice as far as before, he closes it instantly.

And he thrusts rather than slashing.

The area to counter is extremely small and narrow, which would be fatal if allowed.

“……”

I dodge it.

Not by a hair’s breadth, of course.

I rolled my body boldly.

That was absolutely a strike I couldn’t allow to hit.

Even if I had blocked it, insufficient response would have sent me flying as if hit by a charging carriage or warhorse.

If any part of my torso had been pierced or slashed by the sword then.

That would have been the end.

“……”

As a human, there’s a limit to one’s stamina.

I keep breathing with tightly closed lips.

…Even those tightly closed lips provide me with clues.

He’s putting in unnecessary force.

For me, who cuts away and excludes even emotions to avoid wasting mental energy.

His wide-open gaps are clearly visible.

“……”

No words needed.

Para again.

Then grate.

This time, center.

I raise the sword over my head as if passing it back.

“Are you insane?”

With a sword pointed at you and barely able to respond, you put your sword behind your head?

Do you want to die before you can even swing?

That’s what his eyes seem to say.

But he doesn’t bother to speak either.

He’s no fool either.

So, remembering this is also my trick, he strains to decipher my intentions.

Yet his boiling emotions interpret that suspicion and doubt as arrogance and mockery.

Unable to hold back, or rather choosing not to, he kicks off the ground.

He rushes to my face in an instant.

I.

My right foot extended forward.

I pulled it deeply to the right, neither forward nor back.

Simultaneously, patita.

My hands and sword hilt that went behind my head return right in front of my forehead.

But the extended blade doesn’t point forward, rather it’s tilted as if aiming left.

From there, I lower my waist and lower my lower body as I turn.

My legs, spread left and right, spread even wider.

As my left heel naturally rises and my knee and ankle form a right angle.

Para again.

But due to my posture, I can’t hold the sword upright or even hold it sideways.

I can only grasp it as if laying it horizontally.

From there, another grate-fortes-patita combination.

I execute all of this before taking a single breath.

Naturally, his downward sword strike, I block it downward to deflect it, then strike down again, and even that’s not enough so I slash down again then thrust and slash.

I deflected, diverted, and shook off his attacks with combinations.

“You damn—!”

By then, my widely spread legs and feet had already come together.

But it didn’t stop at simply widening and narrowing my stance.

This too is both a stance and a combination.

And a linking technique that accumulates and circulates power.

With my center of gravity firmly in place, I receive the impact with my body, and even the shock and recoil from deflecting is accumulated in my body.

“——”

Paviam.

The slash.

I bring it down.

I cut downward.

Yes.

It doesn’t matter.

That’s the point.

Paviam.

Punita.

Necata.

Strike down. Strike up. Thrust.

The difference between these and the previous.

Para, grate, fortes, vetita.

At this point, finally.

It means the arm joints are extended.

They can be partially extended, or fully extended to the end.

And this, from the ironclad response through the combination of the existing four movements, is like voluntarily giving an opening.

Because the arm joints are extended, the movement count and transitions are slower than before.

This is a natural process due to body structure, an area that must be accepted.

Generally, one might ask what’s so extreme about that.

Or what gap and weakness is being given.

Those who don’t know might naturally question.

…We accept it as natural.

And when you try it yourself, you understand. You repeatedly feel it.

…How even a mere moment can create such a large gap.

It’s like forcefully opening and closing a locked castle gate.

In wartime, that judgment means a bold counterattack.

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

Therefore.

Swoosh!

“?!”

He pulled his body back as if convulsing.

That’s why.

It means I made the resolve to switch from defense to offense with all that in mind.

…Naturally, it means delivering a corresponding strike, a slash.

The trajectory of the downward slash that struck without obstruction.

The sensation of it cutting through clothes.

Tearing through skin.

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

“……”

Though clearly a human, his clothes were clearly split where the trajectory exposed, spilling red blood.

‘…Was it shallow?’

No, it’s not shallow.

It’s a sufficiently fatal wound.

I redirected all the received force as if letting it flow, but in reality accumulated it in my entire body and returned it all at once with a slash.

Even if he had blocked it with his sword, this was an attack intended to split his upper body with enough force to split the sword itself.

That near-miraculous body movement, twisting his upper body as much as possible with arms spread, was a movement beyond common sense.

Yet it’s still a fatal wound all the same.

“You… damn… bastard! This, this! Aaaaargh!!”

The scream of pain.

The shout made to drive away fear. No, it’s not that.

Rather, the opposite.

He’s angry.

His rage cannot be contained.

Though he can’t yield even one thing.

He allowed it first.

This cursed humiliation!

How! In what way! At what cost!

Must he pay! Wash it away!

And resolve it!

“Huh.”

It’s like a wounded beast roaring in rage.

Truly, I might have to acknowledge that intensity alone.

Rather, it further fuels his fighting spirit, as he grinds his teeth, ready to charge at any moment with that ferocious stance.

Like that, though he seems to have lost his reason.

Though he’s burning with both killing intent and enthusiasm.

What is that persistence, desperately examining and retracing me to find an effective method?

…Literally, rather than the fighting spirit of a knight, it’s more like.

The vicious and reckless madness (狂症) that only berserk warriors would show.

In that pair of eyes, bloodshot and swollen as if about to burst.

A lawless will to wash away that fire and heat that burns even himself with blood.

That was writhing.

And that intensity made no distinction between friend and foe.

“What, what’s happening?”

“That, that, Venus looks completely pissed off!”

“He got hit, right?”

Most would have weak knees and frozen spines just from earning such hostility.

In fact, most of the spectators were trembling or sitting down from just the aftermath.

Some even turned their backs and were desperately running away.

…Even if the mind knows, the body and instincts couldn’t handle it.

But… I find it hilarious.

“A frightened dog just barks loudly.”

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

He charges at me, spewing curses.

Certainly.

Excluding reason and charging forward, his threat has become more fierce.

“……”

But I didn’t miss.

That he’s secretly hiding a dagger within.

I deflect each of his swings with combinations, but he clearly has a plan, striking and retreating.

Those watching might not notice the difference, but we’ve clearly established distance.

And that distance doesn’t close.

Nor does it widen.

He has the advantage in height and build over me.

So this is a tactic to maximize that advantage.

The engagement that hadn’t progressed beyond a few exchanges now extends to dozens.

Is his plan to damage the durability of my sword and accumulate damage to my hands, wrists, and arms by striking down the sword?

Then to penetrate when I show an opening? To strike down?

‘It’s meaningless.’

The opponent must know that too.

Yet why does he persistently push forward?

Is he targeting the sword?

But thanks to subtly deflecting and striking away, the sword doesn’t get damaged much.

More than that.

Why is this sword in such good condition?

That suspicion didn’t last long.

I immediately deflect with combinations and this time I approach.

‘That’s right.’

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

So.

Are you planning to use that against me this time?

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

I never had the intention to counterattack in the first place.

Even without doing so.

…I can pose a sufficient threat.

As I cling more fiercely and unfold my combination technique, his hands and movements quickly become disordered.

What good is excluding reason?

No matter how excellent the wild instinct.

…Did you think you could overcome with such things?

In terms of raw strength, humans don’t even match a single fierce beast.

Even in this civilized age, beasts have hunted humans whenever the opportunity arose.

But by wielding tools, understanding their habits, and learning how to properly confront them.

They began to hunt the beasts.

If it were about being crushed mercilessly by the beast’s teeth, claws, and bulk with a bare, defenseless body.

Even I would have been no exception.

I’ll acknowledge what should be acknowledged.

…You must have hunted many things in that way.

However.

The truth of the world is that hunters can always become prey.

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

The fact that the weak can defeat or trouble the strong if they seize the right moment.

…Is an undeniable reality.

Slash!

“Ugh!”

Yet he dodges well, impressively.

But with a leg cut, his mobility will slow.

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

Even if you endure the pain, you can’t perform at your best when you’re not in perfect condition.

Moreover, the condition worsens as time passes.

“……”

Well, a normal person like me would have been in trouble at that point.

But does that mentally deranged berserker see this level as a source to boost his fighting spirit and morale?

“……”

Even now, his fighting spirit and will remain unchanged.

Is it faith in himself?

Or the expression of a will to achieve no matter what?

If not even that.

Among his many experiences of victory.

Is it optimism and arrogance… or pride that he believes he can overcome this time too?

The finest trees are cut down first.

Yet if it still lives.

It must surely be an extraordinary tree.

But how long can it truly hold its place?

I can’t live like that, so I really don’t understand.

Why they can assert such groundless confidence indiscriminately.

“You’re not going to say something like ‘if you don’t give up, you can win,’ are you?”

“Shut up.”

“Learn to distinguish when mentality works and when it doesn’t.”

“I said shut up.”

“…Your will alone isn’t particularly strong or special.”

Who I’ve set as my enemy and opponent.

With what mindset I’m approaching life to face them.

“……”

Admiration and hatred.

Can someone who childishly chases victory and idols with envy and awe.

…Face someone determined to cut down and trample even that?

You.

Can you truly be such a trial for me?

“Haa.”

With a sigh, I turned my back demonstratively.

“Hey. Where are you going?! Hey! Aren’t you going to stop?!”

“If you’re so inclined, just pounce. Why keep barking?”

Without even turning my head.

With my back plainly exposed, I call out.

I walk straight toward that sword. That damn sword stuck at an angle.

If you think I’m defenseless because I showed my back, you’re mistaken.

…Unfortunately, he knows that too well to carelessly make a move.

I don’t have eyes on my back.

I simply.

Like breathing.

Like blinking.

I’m just being vigilant and prepared at every moment.

I’m not a branch that only sways when the wind and rain blow.

Not a wild grass or weed or wildflower that’s only tossed about during a storm.

Harshness.

Cruelty.

They target us as naturally as breathing.

So.

There’s not a moment to waste.

When will rest, will the final curtain come?

“……”

I stood before the embedded sword.

“You’ve been watching long enough, haven’t you?”

This.

Even without eyes, it has a sense that sees, hears, and feels more than the blind with eyes.

Is that sense correct?

…Who knows.

From behind me, that burning gaze, his presence, was still fully transmitted.

He’ll target my back whenever I let my guard down or hesitate.

That’s fine.

When was it ever different?

If you get hit, it’s the victim’s responsibility.

Entirely their fault.

The world has always been unreasonable and unfair.

At this point, even time spent resenting is wasted.

…But.

Is it because I’ve endured well and achieved victory.

That I’m so triumphant?

I sneer.

I mock.

“Who knows.”

After slightly lowering my knee.

I immediately reached out my hand toward the sword.

‘This is the last time.’

There is no next.

For you.

For me.