Chapter 52 – It Wasn’t Just Some Meaningless Swordsmanship (3)

Shield: weapon or armor? It depended.

He launched himself onto the charging shield, spinning, using the rebound to climb. Straight lines into circles, points into lines, voids filled. Instinct, not understanding. He wasn’t a scholar. Use it. Execute it. That’s enough.

“Huh?”

The warrior, thrown back despite his charge. He’d felt the impact, yet… The boy, nimble, using his arm as a foothold.

“Cheap tricks!”

A misconception. He never underestimated his opponents. But assumptions… were weaknesses. He feigned a head strike, then pivoted, sliding between the warrior’s legs, driving the hand axe into his groin.

“GAAAAAH!”

Even tempered flesh had vulnerabilities. And the warrior’s struggle… fueled Cariel. Disrupting mana, dulling senses… easy. He’d held back, concealing his full ability. They feared his touch. A single strong impression… created bias, rigidity. Instinct, a double-edged sword. It protected, but also… betrayed. It hindered courage, amplified fear, fostered doubt.

“Argh! Gaaah!”

Self-mastery meant conquering instinct. The Demon King’s words… surprisingly insightful.

“Not bad! Damn good!”

“……”

Cariel shifted his stance, one sword at his side, angled forward. Fortes, even one-handed. Left arm drawn in, elbow pointed like an arrowhead.

“What’s that stance?”

The spearman asked.

“……”

Try it.

“RRAAAH!”

He lunged, spear thrusting.

“–!!”

Cariel dropped low, parrying with his right hand, his left grabbing the spear shaft. He was pulled forward. A risky gamble. A moment later, and his hand… He climbed the shaft, like a snake.

“What?!”

The warrior’s surprise. Cariel watched, reading his movements, anticipating his instincts, sensing the mana flow. He struck, throwing his sword.

“Mu–!”

The sword flew towards the warrior’s face. Cariel climbed higher, drawing his hand axe.

Crack!

“Gah!”

He slammed the axe between the warrior’s fingers. A pinpoint strike. Not a killing blow, though.

“Tricks–!”

He twisted, throwing the warrior, breaking his fingers.

Crunch!

“You– Aaargh!”

Broken fingers wouldn’t stop a giant. But the angle… forced a reaction. A wrist lock wouldn’t have worked. Size, both advantage and disadvantage.

Crash!

He rolled, Cariel with him. He wasn’t stronger, even on top. A child on a giant…

“You little…!”

The fallen sword. Cariel grabbed it, leaped, pinning the warrior’s head between his knees. He held the sword to his eye.

“Wh–?”

Before he could react, Cariel struck, then retreated.

“GAAAAH!”

A moment’s hesitation, and he’d have been caught.

Cariel retrieved his sword, Saint Cariel’s blade. The warrior, Elhermina’s sword still embedded in his eye, struggling to stand. Pitiful, yet… terrifying.

“You crazy brat! So fearless! Reckless!”

He stood, pain evident. Too shallow? He’d felt it, but… No regrets. Not his best, but not a failure. Not his last chance.

“Khrrrgh!”

A wounded beast… more dangerous.

But… is a healthy one… harmless?

Perspective. Fear was a disadvantage. But fear… also created opportunities.

“Ha! Hahaha! Fine! I admit it! You’re not Cariel! But… you have the guts! The courage! You’re worthy… of the name!”

“……”

“Good! You’re ready! Let’s reenact it! That battle! Not a defeat… but a glorious fight!”

Ready?

“?!”

His mind clouded, his body weakening, throat parched, breath ragged.

“He faced us… like this! Weakened! Yet… we were helpless!”

The warrior’s cry… despairing.

“……”

His vision blurred, sounds faded. His senses… shutting down.

Yes…

He’d returned, exhausted, hungry, yet comforted the villagers. Then, he’d faced them, the approaching horde… without hesitation. Just… prayers, and resolve.

“……”

But… how to fight… like this?

Holding the sword… a burden. Standing… agony.

“……”

But… no excuses. When had the world been fair? Everyone wanted an advantageous battlefield. To desire a disadvantage… arrogance. The delusion of… tactical genius, heroic destiny. A fatal addiction.

“Begin! Get up!”

“……”

He couldn’t speak. His throat was raw, his mouth dry. But he stood.

“Show us… your limits! If you are worthy… of the name!”

Defeat us!

“Prove the legend lives! Our struggle… wasn’t in vain!”

The ground trembled. They charged, a relentless tide, their footsteps pounding the earth. A meaningless march, yet… terrifying.

“…Let’s do this.”

A whisper, barely audible. He straightened, holding his stance. His body, weak. His will… fading. Only instinct remained. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Simple.

“……”

They came, dozens, more. He couldn’t count, couldn’t think, couldn’t see clearly. He swayed, nearly falling asleep. His mind was sharp, but his body…

No way out.

He wasn’t like Saint Cariel, the disciplined warrior.

No.

No excuses. Wasteful thoughts.

He suppressed his emotions. Emotionless. Dead. Broken.

…Arrogance?

He lowered his stance. What to do?

I don’t know.

Defend? Attack? Dodge?

I don’t know.

Then… he saw it. The phantom. He stared, mesmerized. Small, compared to the giants before him. But… the phantom’s eyes, his lips… moved.

…Follow me.

They charged, a crushing wave, like the phantom cavalry in his dreams.

He stepped forward, one thought:

Follow.