Chapter 84 – There Is No Next Time (1)   

The alarm bells ringing through my senses were, for the most part, confusion, deception, closer to illusion than truth.

This, too, meant that I still couldn’t fully control my own body.

Thunk!

“?!”

I struck his sword aside and spoke.

“Cut the cheap tricks. It’s pathetic.”

From Grate into a downward Fortes strike.

And right as we clashed again, he tried another one of his cheap tricks.

I answered by casting it aside with a chained Betita–Grate–Fortes combination.

“So. Despite appearances, you’ve seen your fair share of battle, huh?”

“……”

Instead of answering, I rolled my eyes, twisting my neck in exaggerated arrogance.

His amber-colored eyes twitched violently.

“I like that attitude.”

He looked like he could butcher a dozen people with his glare alone, yet his words sounded oddly pleasant.

“But how long do you plan on staying on the defensive? Or were you hoping I’d open myself up for you?”

“…If you ask me, here’s a word of advice: try any half-baked tricks or cheap tactics, and you’ll only hurt yourself.”

He’s pulling out every trick to shake me, to open a gap.

Even if it doesn’t seem that way, it’s all there if you observe calmly.

More importantly, 

“As you watch me, I’m watching and studying you. You’re starting to get the feeling, aren’t you? About who’s going to run out of cards first?”

“Hah. Yeah. You’re right.”

He accepted it without complaint.

Which means, 

The time has come for both of us to show our hands.

Or rather, for him to show his first.

Strictly speaking, I don’t have many cards to play.

“Don’t blame me when you die.”

Spouting nonsense like he’d been holding back all this time, 

But it didn’t feel like an empty boast.

His movements, his presence, shifted entirely.

―!

Even before the metallic clang echoed, I felt my body pushed back as if I’d been struck.

More precisely, I was dragged along, unwilling to let go of my sword after the impact.

The blade bent violently, but somehow returned to form through sheer elasticity.

Even that was only possible because I had partially redirected the force.

“……”

It all happened in an instant.

A single, heavy blow strong enough to disrupt my center of gravity for a moment.

Though, is it even right to call this a single blow?

“Even now.”

He’s still getting stronger?

And he’s not even enhancing himself with mana?

He’s getting stronger… as naturally as breathing?

‘No way.’

There must be conditions.

There has to be a limit.

So there’s no reason to let that shake me.

I don’t even need to force calm.

Why get agitated over the obvious?

Calculate, judge, and if I can’t judge, then estimate, deduce.

Keep possible variables in mind, 

But don’t freeze. Don’t hesitate.

Gather the fragments, the pieces of information and clues he drops during combat.

Piece them together into an answer, then respond accordingly.

And, 

“……”

His movements, ever so slightly, had started to change dramatically.

Clues.

Right before he moved, his preparations and windups became slightly more noticeable.

Another fragment.

I almost failed to react, even though I saw it, 

…But if it’s possible to react, the rest is just a matter of adapting.

The clues have been given.

Did I withstand a cavalry charge because I had the reflexes for it?

Was I able to adapt to a storm of arrows because it was somehow manageable?

Besides, 

If it really were that overwhelming, he would’ve followed up the moment he struck and finished me off.

“Your arms and legs trembling yet?”

“Watch yourself.”

“What?”

“I warned you.”

He lunges forward instantly.

Hotheaded as ever.

Even though the distance was twice as far as before, he closed it in a blink.

And this time, it wasn’t a slash, but a thrust.

With such a small and narrow angle of attack, if I let it connect, it would be fatal.

“……”

I dodged.

Not by a hair’s breadth, either.

I threw myself into a roll.

That was a blow I absolutely could not afford to take.

Even if I blocked it, my response might not have been fast enough, and it would’ve run me through, like being struck by a charging warhorse or runaway carriage.

Had that blade pierced or slashed anywhere on my torso, 

That would’ve been the end.

“……”

Being human means you have limits, stamina included.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his breath under control.

…But even his tightly sealed lips offered me a clue.

He’s forcing power into his body unnecessarily.

As someone who shuts down emotion and discards all wasteful mental exertion, 

That kind of gap stands out glaringly.

“……”

No words needed.

Back to Para.

Then Grate.

This time, centered.

I brought my sword up over my head like I was about to pass it behind me.

“You crazy bastard?”

I’m in stance and yet completely open, my sword lifted behind my head?

Trying to die before even swinging?

That’s exactly what his eyes are saying.

But he doesn’t say it aloud.

He’s not a fool.

He knows this could be another trick, and he’s laser-focused, trying to decipher my intent.

Even so, his boiling emotions misread that doubt as arrogance and mockery.

He can’t resist, or rather, he doesn’t even try to.

He stomps off the ground and charges.

He’s on me in a flash.

I, 

My right foot, which had been extended forward, 

I pulled it back, not backward or forward, but deep to the right.

At the same time, Betita.

My hands and sword, which had passed behind my head, came swinging down across my forehead.

But the extended blade didn’t point forward, it flattened, angling left instead.

Then, lowering my hips and twisting my lower body, 

My stance widened further, legs spread to each side.

My left heel naturally lifted as my knee and ankle snapped into a right angle.

Back to Para.

But with this stance, I couldn’t raise the sword upright, nor could I grip it in a traditional vertical guard.

All I could do was hold it nearly horizontal.

From there, Grate–Fortes–Betita, in succession.

All of it executed in the span of a single breath.

Naturally, his sword came crashing down, and I struck back, sending it flying.

He came again, hacking downward, then slashing diagonally, then thrusting again.

I deflected, diverted, and shook it all off with a chained sequence.

“You son of a, !”

By then, my widely spread legs and feet had already drawn back in together.

But this wasn’t merely a matter of widening or narrowing my stance.

Even that was both a ready stance and a chained motion.

And it was also a linked system for building and circulating force.

With my weight perfectly centered, I absorbed the impact into my body, storing the shock and rebound entirely within, 

“――”

Pabiam.

I slashed.

I brought the sword down.

Yes.

It doesn’t matter how.

That’s the point.

Pabiam.  

Punita.  

Nekata.

Strike downward. Strike upward. Thrust.

These are different.

If Para, Grate, Fortes, and Betita are preparatory and defensive forms, 

Then it is only at this point that, 

The arms are finally allowed to extend.

Sometimes just partially, sometimes fully, until the joints stretch to their limit.

And this marks a deliberate shift.

From the ironclad chained defense of the previous four forms, to one that intentionally creates an opening.

Because once the elbows extend, unlike before, the transitions and movements slow.

This is a natural limitation of the human body, and must be accepted.

Most people would say, what’s the big deal?

How is that a weakness or an opening?

To those who don’t understand, it seems like an overreaction.

…But we accept it as fact.

And once you try it yourself, you understand. You feel it, again and again.

…Even a fraction of a second can open up a massive gap.

Like slamming open a locked castle gate.

In war, that decision may mean a bold counterattack.

But if it’s the wrong judgment, it’s no different from admitting defeat.

And so, 

Sshk!

“?!”

He flinched back, as if jolted.

Which meant, 

He understood that I’d made the decision to go on the offensive, fully aware of the risk.

…And naturally, that meant I was going to deliver a strike worthy of the choice.

The arc of the cleanly drawn slash, 

Sliced through cloth.

The sensation of tearing flesh, 

Traveled clearly through the steel and into my hands, into my entire body.

“……”

It was obviously reinforced equipment, yet the garment he wore was cleanly split along the path of the blade, crimson blood streaming out in thick lines.

‘…Too shallow?’

No, it wasn’t shallow.

It was a lethal strike.

I’d absorbed the full brunt of the force, circulated it through my body, and returned it all in a single slashing blow.

Even if he had blocked it with his sword, the momentum was enough to cleave his upper body in two, sword and all.

He must have sensed it, and twisted his upper body as far as he could, spreading his arms wide in a movement that bordered on acrobatic. Something far beyond normal reflex.

Even so, it was still a critical wound.

“You son of a… bastard…! You… you! Aaaaaaaagh!!”

His scream of pain, 

Wasn’t just an attempt to push back fear.

No, it was the opposite.

He was enraged.

Burning with fury he could no longer contain.

He had to accept being the first to be wounded, 

That humiliating, damnable disgrace!

How?! Why?! With what price must he pay?!

To make up for it! To cleanse it!

To be rid of it!

“Heh.”

He was like a wounded beast howling in fury.

Really, that rage, at least that, deserved acknowledgment.

Look at that monstrous posture, baring his teeth as if to charge at me right now, his rage fueling his fighting spirit.

Even though he looked utterly deranged, 

Even while blazing with killing intent and fervor, 

He still studied me with a burning intensity, frantically searching for an effective method, analyzing my form, 

What the hell is this guy?

…This wasn’t the fighting spirit of a knight.

It was the madness of a berserker, utterly unrestrained.

A vicious and aggressive blood frenzy.

Those eyes, so bloodshot they looked ready to burst, 

Blazed with a fire that would consume even himself, demanding it be quenched with blood.

That tyrannical will seethed, relentless and insatiable.

And that murderous aura spared no friend or foe.

“What… what the hell’s going on?!”

“L-Look at Venus… that bastard’s gone completely insane!”

“He… he got hit, right?”

Just being on the receiving end of that hostility would make most people’s knees buckle and spines freeze over.

And indeed, many of those watching trembled, collapsed, or dropped to their knees from the sheer intensity of it.

Some didn’t just stumble backward, they turned and fled, scrambling away with desperate urgency.

…Their minds understood, but their bodies and instincts couldn’t handle it.

But me? I was laughing.

“That’s the thing about scared little mutts, always the loudest bark.”

“What?! What did you just say?! Did you just compare me to a dog, you son of a…?! You’re dead, you hear me?!”

He hurled curses and charged in.

Certainly, 

Now that he’d cast aside reason, his aggression was even fiercer.

“……”

But even then, he hid a blade within his rage.

And I didn’t miss it.

I deflected each swing with chained movements, but clearly, he wasn’t just flailing, he struck and retreated, aiming to wear me down.

To an outsider, it might not seem like much, but the distance remained fixed.

And he didn’t let it close.

Nor did he open up.

He had greater height and reach than me.

Naturally, he was doing everything he could to exploit that advantage.

What had once been a short exchange of just a few moves had now stretched to dozens of rounds.

He battered my blade repeatedly, trying to wear down the sword’s durability, and the grip in my hands, my wrists, my arms.

Waiting for a single slip-up so he could dive in, strike, break through.

‘It’s meaningless.’

He knows that too.

So why keep pushing?

Was he targeting my sword?

But I deflected and guided the blows with such precision that the blade took little damage.

More importantly, 

Why is this sword still holding up so well?

That doubt lingered only for a moment.

I parried in sequence and this time, closed the distance myself.

‘Of course.’

Every time I managed to injure him, it was during a counter.

So now, he plans to reverse that strategy?

Attack with the expectation that I’ll counter, and then turn that against me?

It’s not a bad plan. The approach is logical.

But the premise is flawed from the start.

I never had any intent to counter in the first place.

Even without that, 

…I can unleash enough threat on my own.

As I pressed in with even fiercer chained techniques, his hands and movements quickly began to falter.

What use is instinct when you throw out reason?

No matter how sharp your animal senses may be…

…Did you think that alone would let you win?

When it comes to brute strength, humans fall short even of wild beasts.

Even in this civilized age, beasts have hunted humans whenever the chance arises.

But humans began to hunt them in turn, once they took up tools, studied their patterns, and learned how to fight back properly.

If I had faced those fangs, those claws, and that weight barehanded and unprotected, 

I wouldn’t have been the exception either.

I’ll give you this much:

…You’ve hunted many things that way.

But even hunters become prey.

In this world, that’s the truth.

Even in the laws of strength and weakness, 

If the weaker one seizes the right moment, they can still defeat the strong or catch them off guard.

…That’s just reality.

Srrk!

“Kh!”

And yet, he still manages to dodge.

But with his leg slashed, his mobility must have dropped.

More than an arm injury, an exposed leg is far more crippling.

Even if he manages to endure the pain, he won’t be able to perform at full capacity.

Worse, the longer this drags on, the worse it’ll get.

“……”

If it were someone like me, a normal person, I’d be finished by now.

But that crazed berserker…

Does even this wound only fuel his morale and drive?

“……”

His will to fight, his resolve, still completely intact.

Is it belief in himself?

Or just a stubborn expression of his refusal to lose?

If not that, 

Then maybe it’s arrogance, overconfidence, 

Built up through countless victories, thinking he’ll overcome this one too.

Maybe it’s pride.

A great tree is the first to be cut down.

But if it’s still standing, 

Then it must be extraordinary.

But how long can something like that truly remain rooted?

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never lived that way.

I can’t understand how one can throw around such blind conviction.

“You’re not about to say something like, ‘As long as I don’t give up, I can win,’ are you?”

“Shut up.”

“Know when spirit works and when it doesn’t.”

“I said shut your mouth.”

“…You’re not special just because your will is strong.”

Do you know who I’ve named my enemy?

Do you understand the state of mind I must be in, just to face them and continue to live?

“……”

Admiration and hatred.

Longing and reverence, those who chase after victory and idols like children.

…And me, the one prepared to cut down and trample even that.

You, 

Can you even call yourself a trial on the path I walk?

“Haa…”

I let out a sigh and turned my back on him, deliberately.

“Hey. Where are you going?! Hey! I said stop right there!”

“If you’re gonna attack, then attack. What’re you barking for?”

Without even glancing back, 

I called out plainly.

Then walked straight toward that diagonally embedded sword. That damned sword.

If you think showing my back means I’ve dropped my guard, you’re dead wrong.

…Too bad. He knows that too well to make a careless move.

I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.

I simply, 

Like breathing.

Like blinking.

Remain alert and ready every moment.

I’m not a branch that only sways when the wind blows.

I’m not a blade of grass or a wildflower that only bends when the storm comes.

Cruelty.

Harshness.

They bear down on us like breathing.

Which is why, 

There’s never a moment to let my guard down.

When will peace come? When will the end arrive?

“……”

I stood before the sword that had been driven into the ground.

“You’ve watched enough by now, haven’t you?”

Even without eyes, 

There are senses that see, hear, and feel more than the blind with sight ever could.

Are they really just senses?

…Who cares.

Even now, I felt that burning gaze, that presence behind me.

If I let my guard down or hesitate, he’ll strike me in the back.

And that’s fine.

When hasn’t that been the case?

If I get struck, then it’s my fault.

Entirely my mistake.

The world has always been unjust, unfair.

At this point, even the time to feel resentment seems like a waste.

…And yet.

If I’m still standing, still winning despite all this, 

Then maybe that’s why I feel this smugness.

So I scoff.

I laugh.

“Who gives a damn.”

I lowered my knees slightly.

Then reached out toward the sword.

‘This is the last time.’

There is no next time.

Not for you.

Not for me.