Chapter 83 – Opening My Eyes Again (3)

[Para].  

[Grate].  

[Fortes].  

[Betita].

It begins with a ready stance, with the remaining three serving as situational guards, reactive forms, or transitional moves.

When the sword is raised from Para, whether lifted, thrown over the shoulder, behind the head, or across the back, it is defined as Grate.

Conversely, when the sword is pulled downward and the blade points forward, either diagonally or vertically, it is defined as Fortes.

And then, Betita.

Though both hands clutching the sword are raised as if to pierce the sky, the blade itself, whether vertical or diagonal, ultimately points downward, toward the ground.

All movements are performed with the elbow joints bent at a right angle as a given.

Depending on the case, even the knees may follow suit.

Down to the wrist and ankle joints, sometimes.

When handling swords or any weapons, slashing or striking moves are generally focused on the upper and middle zones when divided into top, middle, and bottom.

Of course, targeting the lower body as a feint or irregular strike is valid.

But what if your opponent, leaving their lower body exposed, comes straight for your upper body?

They may walk away with an injury, but you’ll be left with a fatal wound.

Anything above the shoulders is always lethal, without exception.

This is why, especially in swordplay, the focus on downward strikes and countering such is taught, exceptions aside. Because embedded within it are both the essence and danger of offense and defense alike.

Striking the head, landing a hit, becomes a way to seize dominance over upper-body exchanges.

The one who strikes first is always at an advantage. The one who hesitates will be forced to block, evade, or suffer a blow.

Proper defense.

And any follow-up counterattack.

Fundamentally means handing the initiative to the opponent and needing to endure their onslaught before retaliating.

However, with unconventional techniques or overwhelming strength and skill…

There’s a high chance of being simply crushed, helpless.

To begin with.

Unless one possesses a certain level of skill and proficiency, in fights among novices or the inexperienced, the aggressor always holds the upper hand.

Tension and stiffness from battle.

Excitement and calm, fear and dread, hesitation and reckless courage, such conflicting psychological states must be controlled.

Not to mention the opponent’s feints, mind games…

Their displayed presence, killing intent, hostility, intimidation, and both intentional and unintentional openings must be properly assessed and countered.

There have always been countless recruits and promising talents throughout history who soared during training but froze up in real combat, unable to move and dying without resistance.

However, if one accumulates countless experiences, grows beyond that stage, and undergoes enough battles to establish an unshakable mental fortitude, 

Or even without such discipline, if one has always been strong, always overwhelming, suppressing their enemies with sheer force, 

Then the stage changes entirely.

“You think that’s enough?!”

The opponent too brought down their two-handed sword in a dramatic display.

But I, 

Kaang!

Rather than blocking, I deflected, knocking the sword aside and, 

Pressed in.

I didn’t swing down or stab.

I used Betita to intercept and crashed in with my whole body.

“Where do you think …!”

The opponent’s reaction was sharper than expected.

They preemptively leaned in with their shoulder to soften the impact.

Just before that, I had slammed down with both raised hands, as if striking, using the force from my lower body and hips to swing the pommel into his face, 

But he pulled his head back and simultaneously retreated, countering immediately with a downward slash.

Karaaang!

I twisted at once, rotating my torso to intercept again with the same motion as before.

At the same time, his sword slid down mine.

In an instant, the tip of his blade followed along the edge of mine, rising toward the sky.

A sharp blade.

The tip gleamed ominously, slicing in like a hawk’s beak.

Aimed at my neck.

If I responded poorly, even slightly clumsy, I’d be skewered on the spot.

Even if it missed the neck, anywhere below it, clavicle, solar plexus, chest, upper or lower abdomen, or even the pelvis, would be equally fatal if pierced.

I didn’t consciously read that intent.

But my body, my instincts, responded faster than thought.

Switching to Para, I guided the blade aside with the flat of mine.

Then pivoted left and right.

The hands that had swung up to the right now shifted to the left, entering Betita again.

And once more, I drove my body in deep.

“Tch!”

Last time, it was just a single step.

But this time, I took three whole strides.

I moved forward as if to bypass the opponent’s body, and though he anticipated it and began to retreat, 

Unlike before, this time he stepped back one stride further, retreating a total of two steps.

In terms of tactical exchange, it was my win.

“?!”

That made it all the more clear, a clean trajectory had opened for a downward strike.

The distance was perfect.

My hands were already raised sky-high.

My sword had already swept aside his, rising nearly horizontal.

A clean strike would end it all.

But, 

I didn’t swing.

My instincts screamed that it was bait, a trap.

Suppressing my urge, 

I switched to Fortes.

Rather than slashing down, I pulled my sword inward and aimed it.

Because of that, I couldn’t slash his face or upper body.

But I carved a clean sword mark into his clothing.

Yet it was only a mark.

Clearly, what he wore was no ordinary garment, likely as formidable as the robe I wore.

…Was this what he wanted?

“You let that go?!”

Even so, it was undeniably a solid opportunity.

We both knew it.

But whether it would’ve ended things is uncertain.

In truth.

The transition from Betita to Fortes.

Even the act of pulling both hands to the waist and aiming the blade, in close quarters, could easily be converted into a deep slash.

But had I swung there and failed to subdue him, 

The sword he had raised and been forced to release would’ve come crashing down like a judge’s gavel.

Not a case of sacrificing flesh to strike bone, but a disastrous outcome where I’d lose both flesh and bone.

In that sense, my response was the correct one.

Since I didn’t know the durability or state of his protective gear, the fact that I’d confirmed it at all could be considered enough to say I held the upper hand in this tactical exchange.

However.

What if I’d pushed myself a bit and decisively taken him down? What if I’d inflicted serious injury?

That could’ve been a valid option too.

But if I were to get struck down afterward, what would that amount to?

This battle doesn’t mark my end.

This may very well be just the prelude.

A prolonged and grueling war may await me still, a battlefield of relentless, fragmented struggles.

And yet here, I let my emotions swell, get drunk on the thrill, and throw myself in for a fleeting burst of pleasure?

Get real.

Back in that damned dream battlefield the Demon King tossed me into, no matter how powerful the opponent was, even he amounted to no more than a single component in an army, a cog in a military machine.

Even if I fought to the death to kill him, or before I could even finish him off, something else might come bursting out, stabbing, slashing, smashing, or crashing into me.

Then what? Cry foul, say it’s unfair, that it’s a cheap shot?

Like some pitiful loser sniveling at the sky?

You wouldn’t even have the tears left to cry after you’re already dead and bleeding out on the ground.

“Ptui!”

He spat onto the ground.

It was just a brief clash, but from that alone, we’d already gotten a rough measure of each other’s capabilities.

‘…He’s not someone I can match physically.’

Same as before. In that earlier skirmish too, undeniably.

His strength is absurd, completely disproportionate to his build.

And that strength isn’t just the power behind his strikes or blows.

His speed and reflexes are outrageous too.

Muscle typically functions in defined directions, pushing, pulling, lifting, but with him, there’s no such differentiation.

If someone’s pushing power is weak, you exploit that.

If their pulling strength is lacking, or even if their arm muscles are solid, but their grip or finger strength is weak, then that too can be targeted.

But he has no such openings.

There’s no angle to work with.

Normally, closing the distance or dragging the opponent in to entangle them would play into my favor.

That’s our specialty.

He knows it. I know it.

In the past, when mana manipulation was still clumsy, brute-force grappling and grabbing made for effective tactics.

They even say those kinds of matches or games were popular as sport or training.

But ever since mana came to be wielded with depth, such clumsy, entangling methods became outdated.

With a fragile human body, attempting such halfway in real battle would only result in getting shattered, torn, broken, and killed.

Better to focus that time on mana cultivation, upright combat training, and studying how to enhance and wield weapons.

Even now, beastkin or certain barbaric races…

Or those with overwhelmingly superior physical ability…

They still pursue physical training and mana cultivation tailored toward that.

But at least within the Empire, such grappling and clinging were seen as primitive.

Because.

In small-scale melee or skirmishes, who knows.

But in large-scale battles, in wars, those tactics rarely work.

To lock swords and hold still in real combat? In a battlefield? Mid-battle?

Do you have a death wish? Want to be surrounded? Desperate to catch a sniper’s bolt? Think the opponent will just stand there and let you? That grabbing them to stall time is a valid idea?

In formation warfare, in group clashes, that’s suicide.

Meaning, 

If you don’t give them the opportunity to grab or pin you in the first place,

Then filthy, disgraceful grappling becomes impossible.

Even weapons entangling is nullified with overwhelming strength, skill, agility, and responsiveness.

Can a sword get tangled on a motionless tree branch?

Even if it could.

Just shake it off.

Slice through it whole, and it’s done.

Deal with it, and it’s over.

If you can’t?

You’re weak.

Feeble.

…And so.

“You’re looking down on me, aren’t you?”

This bizarre swordsmanship of Grandeus, this strange martial art and technique, 

It dismantles, deflects, and repels the opponent’s mana control and all the enhancements derived from it, rendering them useless.

“……”

The stronger they are, the deeper they fall into the trap.

Unless they were previously taught this method, 

Then at the moment of first contact, 

Unless they have outstanding instinct and reaction speed, 

They’ll be caught.

But to merely nullify mana usage? To mess with the opponent’s rhythm?

If that were all, it wouldn’t be this brutal.

For this style, that isn’t the foundation or premise.

It’s just a step.

A fleeting phase.

Even if mana must be used, even if redirected, 

It suppresses that too.

Which means not just offense, but defense and response get neutralized.

Thus.

Even if one wraps themselves in armor or defensive gear, 

This swordsmanship is designed to account for that as well.

Standard swordplay and armored swordplay.

Why are they categorized separately?

This style is meant to nullify superhumans who use mana, along with the martial techniques and combat abilities they rely on.

And it’s swordsmanship that, 

Even prepares to face heavily armored enemies, 

A specialized technique designed specifically to bring down knights.

When facing giant beasts or ordinary monsters, this much isn’t needed, the counters are different.

…They’re dealt with in their own way.

Wind and water.

Stone and tree, and the growth of plants.

All things hot or cold, such forces of nature have always been the enemies and nemeses of all that has form or shape since the beginning of time.

This is why understanding this principle becomes essential here.

“……”

Venus.

Still visibly furious, though huffing through gritted teeth, his posture and stance had completely changed from before.

He recognized his superior physical ability, he still held the initiative in the attack.

But now that he realized any counterattack wouldn’t be easy, and that giving me time would only expose his own limits, 

In the end, he’ll try to exploit his advantage as much as possible.

My own limits likely remain a mystery to him.

Even so, the fact that he’s able to respond means he’s already mastered our style of combat.

Originally, back then, in that first clash, he should’ve dropped his sword, collapsed, or taken a slash to the chest.

But what prevented that wasn’t a lack of skill, it was his absurd reaction time and adaptive ability.

No, it’s not that his skills are lacking in any way.

If they were, he would’ve already fallen into my rhythm.

That guy has definitely trained with far more desperation than I have.

There’s no comparing the amount of time he’s spent.

He’s probably survived countless real battles.

Me? I’ve only faced hardship in the form of dreams, thanks to the Demon King, but him, he must have clawed his way up through sheer force of will.

…With that wretched personality and disposition, there’s no way he could survive in this world without being truly extraordinary.

“You saw an opening and still held back? Why? Scared you’d get hurt too if you cut me down?”

“……”

He spins his sword once, adjusting his grip.

The distance between us widens slightly, and he rests the sword across his right shoulder.

Grate.

“You really try everything, huh.”

“Our goals are different.”

I have to survive and win, by any means necessary.

Even a single injury could be fatal for me.

To recklessly throw away your life without thought, what a luxuriously naive condition.

How enviable.

As long as you take your enemy down with you, that’s enough?

“Must be nice, coasting through life.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?”

You’d kill your opponent just because you’re angry?

Even if you die or break yourself in the process, it doesn’t matter?

No, that’s only because you can afford to.

…God, I’m so damn jealous.

The fact that he’s still alive and kicking even after living with that temperament, it proves it all.

These damned bastards born with sturdy bodies, who recover quickly when tired, heal quickly when wounded, and bounce right back to perfect health, 

To someone like me, who’s weak, my meticulous and calculated way of fighting must seem annoying, sluggish, even pathetic.

And as if to prove that, 

He bares his teeth.

“Let’s see if you’re still yapping after I smash your arms and legs.”

Spiteful as the words may be, his approach is calm and precise.

A quarter-step.

Smaller than that, even.

But his upper body and eyes shift exaggeratedly, performing large, dramatic motions to mislead.

If I relied solely on sight, or if I were emotionally unstable, 

That alone would’ve made me flinch, tense up, and offer him an opening, trembling under pressure.

Without even realizing I’d handed over my throat, wide open.

“―!!”

He lunges with a force that tears through the air.

He opened his mouth as if to let out a war cry, but what came out instead was a sharp inhale.

Which means, there’s more coming.

Inhaling is the moment when strength is gathered.

Exhaling, 

Is when power is unleashed. When it explodes outward.

Some twist or break that pattern.

…We’ll see.

No matter how sharp one’s reflexes are, 

They’re still relative.

That’s why I used the distance to my advantage, so I could react.

Even if I responded a beat late, I had enough space to adjust.

Kwaang!

An explosive sound erupted as metal clashed, far louder than expected.

At that point, the impact or rebound should’ve caused both swords to spring apart.

Yet, they clung together as if fused.

And then, the pressing force grew heavier.

But, 

I still had one more card left.

“Graaaah―!”

A roar burst out right in front of me.

Along with explosive force, a savage energy erupted in all directions.

Like I was surrounded by dozens of wild beasts, an overwhelming illusion.

‘But even that, I’m used to.’

Not just wild beasts, giant monsters, packs great and small, piled atop one another in layers, crushing, devouring, tearing, trampling, shredding, and grinding down into dust.

If I’d just died like that, 

Then even if I wanted to be shaken, I wouldn’t have the will left to feel it.