Chapter 534 - He Walked a Road Without Walls

Jamal judged that time was on his side. There was no need to put his full strength into his sword. Plunder would steadily steal his opponent's strength.

Everyone who faced it for the first time went pale. They would not notice at first. Plunder was like a rat nibbling away at cheese. Then, at some point, their legs would suddenly give out. That was when the color drained from their faces.

Jamal took no pleasure in that expression itself. But it could hardly feel bad. After all, it signaled victory. Of course he felt relief and a little joy. And when an opponent was strong enough to chill his blood and keep him on edge, yet the fight was destined to end in his victory, how could he not enjoy it?

'Now, this is where it begins, isn't it?'

As he explained his imprinted weapon, Plunder, Jamal braced himself. Why wouldn't he? Once his opponent understood that his strength would gradually drain away, he would have only one choice: kill Jamal before that happened.

And Jamal was not alone. There were soldiers armed with crossbows and a Frog comparable to a proto knight around him. Killing him would not end it. All of that would weigh on his opponent.

Jamal adopted a defensive stance in preparation. He curled his fingers around his sword and readied himself to throw the shortsword at his waist if an opening appeared. The idea was simple: withstand his opponent's fierce attacks without giving him a moment to breathe.

It was a tactic that would drive his opponent further into a corner. The more urgently he moved, the sooner he would reach the limits of his Will—far sooner than the limit he knew. Fiercer attacks required more Will. It was only natural.

In short, even his explanation of Plunder had been part of his tactics. Jamal had introduced the poison of impatience into his opponent's heart.

He planted his feet firmly, lowered his center of gravity, and held his sword upright. He even activated a scroll hidden against his chest. The palm-sized scroll contained a protective spell that would block a single attack about to strike his armor.

Caution never hurt. Use everything available. Jamal did what surviving all these years had taught him.

At the same time, he imagined shackling his opponent's feet. Those shackles would grow heavier and heavier, until simply lifting a foot from the ground felt difficult.

With every preparation complete, he moved—only to find the situation very different from what he had expected. Encrid did not launch a fierce assault.

His sword was not particularly fast compared to before. The blade came straight down in an honest stroke. In place of speed, a pressuring presence rose around it, clinging to Jamal and constricting his body. The Crushing Sword.

'What is he relying on?'

What in the world was he thinking, taking his sweet time like this?

Jamal activated his Will to shake off the crushing force, then caught the descending blade on his own sword and guided it aside.

TRI-I-ING!

The deflection was so smooth that not even a spark flew. His Flowing Sword Technique was that accomplished.

This was Jamal's final weapon: endlessly deflecting an agitated opponent's sword. Plunder would take its toll with each exchange until the opponent collapsed, poisoned by impatience. It was his final weapon and his finest tactic.

Wasn't this precisely why Varnas called him a troublesome opponent?

["Beating you means settling things quickly. Tch."]

Unless the fight was decided quickly, his opponent's strength would drain away. Yet Jamal's Flowing Sword Technique was outstanding even among knights, and he reinforced his defenses through all manner of means. The scroll was merely one of them.

When necessary, he threw daggers and the like. He could also circle his target endlessly to buy time. He was quick on his feet and knew how to employ an assassin's tactics. All of it exploited his opponent's impatience.

But what was this?

'What the hell is this bastard?'

Though he did not show it, Jamal was bewildered.

Even in this situation, this Encrid fellow showed no impatience. He was neither panting nor flustered. He had simply been swinging his sword with an expressionless face all this time. The only thing that had changed was...

'His expression?'

He was not smiling. But to Jamal, he looked absorbed in something and enjoying it. A closer look confirmed it.

'What are you so excited about?'

He seemed like a boy holding a real sword for the first time in his life. His face had the concentration of someone utterly engrossed in play.

Watching that face made Jamal's own exhilaration feel base. Even with the outcome already decided, his opponent was simply enjoying the present, this moment. Jamal, by contrast, seemed to have been savoring a false tension with his victory assured. Feeling so base, he could not help growing angry.

"Are you insane?!"

Jamal roared and swung his sword. Encrid's Valeri steel sword met Plunder once more.

CLANG!

The clash was markedly quieter than before. The atmosphere did not shudder, nor did the air seem to tear. Instead, Encrid's pale-blue-glowing blade moved as though it had become a snake coiling swiftly around Plunder, then stabbed Jamal in the shoulder.

THUNK.

The instant he realized he had been stabbed, Jamal darted backward again. It was not deep. The point had pierced part of his pauldron and only broken the skin. Even so, he felt dismayed.

'Damn it.'

He had fallen prey to psychological warfare. That was what Jamal thought. Now that the bastard had seized a momentary advantage, he would attack without pausing for breath. Jamal had exposed an opening that large. The wound was shallow, but he had been completely outplayed in that exchange. Now he would be forced onto the defensive from a disadvantaged position.

He braced himself, but his prediction was wrong again. Encrid did not charge. Instead, he gave his sword a few test swings through the air, sheathed it at his waist with a click, and drew another sword, pointed like an awl.

First the gladius, then the Valeri steel sword. The third was the Fairy-made sword called Spark.

Encrid raised the drawn sword before his face and thrust immediately. It moved faster than sound. Jamal summoned superhuman concentration. Base pleasures or not, he was still a knight. He twisted Plunder upward to block.

At the same time, a sense of foreboding made him draw a magical weapon from behind his back. It was a broad-bladed defensive shortsword called a guard sword, though far wider than an ordinary one. It almost looked as though he were holding a frying pan shaped like a blade.

It might look ridiculous, but anyone who treated it that way would be a fool. In effect, a knight now held a shield imbued with a protective spell. Jamal intended to commit fully to blocking and holding out.

He had judged correctly. After striking Plunder, Spark rained down, tracing point after point and line after line. It was a little faster than the Swift Sword he himself had shown earlier. Jamal's hands grew busy.

CLANG! CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

To whittle away his opponent's Will with Plunder while making it look as though he were absorbing it, Jamal needed to expend his own Will very slowly. Only then would his opponent believe his Will was being stolen. That, too, had been part of the plan. But there was no time to conserve his Will and pretend to be unaffected.

The slightest mistake would leave a hole in his body. When was he supposed to put on an act? Blocking alone took everything he had.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

Their duel had been a close exchange with sparks flying constantly, but now the sparks erupting in a single instant were greater than before, like a raging storm. From the center of their clash, the air tore apart, forming strange currents that forced it outward. The ground around them was gouged open, trees burst apart, and rocks split.

"Fall back!"

The Frog general made a wise decision. If they stayed, they would die pointless deaths merely watching the two fight. They had to retreat to survive now.

The thought of intervening with a crossbow shot never even occurred to the general. How could anyone shoot without seeing a target? Fire blindly and trust to luck? What if it struck their ally in the back? Honestly, it did not seem likely to hit either of them.

Even as the soldiers withdrew at the Frog's command, the two men's weapons kept flying and clashing, seeking each other's flesh.

Amid the rapid clanging came a deafening crash, then an explosive boom. With the boom, something flew over the soldiers' heads: a piece of armor. No matter how the Frog looked at it, it did not seem to belong to the enemy.

* * *

Encrid had demonstrated the Crushing Sword with his gladius, tested rapid stabs and Concentrate on a Single Point with Spark, and tried all manner of techniques employing intimidation and pressure with his Valeri steel sword.

That was not all. He gripped the blade and swung the sword to use its hilt as a bludgeon, then added the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. He compounded his opponent's confusion with Mix Your Breaths at Will and showed him the feigned breath.

When he pretended to pant, Jamal's eyes briefly lit up. Seeing that, Encrid resumed his normal breathing. Jamal's eyes shook wildly. Realizing he had been fooled, they seemed to say:

'You son of a bitch!'

His hands and feet were too busy for him to open his mouth.

Then Encrid demonstrated the Three-Sword Style of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. After threatening Jamal with Spark, he suddenly released the sword and threw a whistle dagger. Startled, Jamal twisted like a worm underfoot. Encrid threw a second whistle dagger at his waist. The Throwing Sword Technique he had learned from Jaxon struck at close range.

PEEP!

With that brief, strange sound, the dagger was about to bury itself in Jamal's waist when light flashed near his belt and knocked it away. The protective spell scroll had done its job.

Encrid did not know that. He did not need to. He was simply enjoying the moment.

He also used Shadow Stab and the double draw.

CLANG! CRASH!

Having blocked the double draw, Jamal found that Encrid now held a sword in each hand. It was the Duet of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. The two swords moved with different breaths and rhythms.

The Valeri steel sword in his right hand bore down with the Heavy Sword Technique, while Spark in his left embodied speed as it darted in for a stab. Holding his breath, Jamal blocked again and again with the sword he had drawn to serve as a shield.

'I'm being pushed back.'

Jamal realized it. And Encrid was still enjoying himself. Why wouldn't he?

'It's working just as I imagined.'

His outstretched hand, the techniques he had honed, the insight his sensory arts provided—everything worked. His opponent could barely keep up with blocking, and even those reactions fell within Encrid's expectations. There was no reason for his hands or feet to slow. Everything went as he intended.

He had never experienced this before. In Encrid's world of swordsmanship, stumbling, falling, and struggling desperately had been the norm. Lying battered on the ground, yet stubbornly crawling forward if that was what it took—that was the swordsmanship he had learned and practiced. That was how he had walked his path all this time. Force his way forward, however he could.

But now it was different. Everything he had learned and practiced flowed out effortlessly. Everything moved exactly as he had first intended.

For the first time in his life, Encrid walked a road without walls barring his way.

He walked a road without thorn thickets.

He walked a road without a scorching sun to torment him.

He walked a road without a biting north wind.

How could he not enjoy it?

For a knight, Jamal did not possess exceptionally refined arts. His knowledge was broad rather than deep. He was the perfect training partner.

Unleash what he had learned. Bring what he had practiced to life. Encrid lost himself in the exhilaration of the moment. Starting with what he had learned in the world of consciousness Aker created, he worked backward through everything he had honed, each technique leaving a scratch on Jamal's body.

Sword strokes Jamal failed to block shattered and burst apart his armor. The pressure the two created at the heart of the storm sent the fragments flying outward. The tip of the blade he used as a shield broke, and Plunder began to crack. It was proof that the convictions of the knight called Jamal had wavered.

"You fucking monster. Why won't it run dry?"

Jamal had never experienced anything like this in his life. His voice brimmed with a sense of injustice.

'Will that never runs dry?'

Wasn't that something found only in legends? Yet the opponent before him was demonstrating that legend in the flesh.

He squandered Will. Plunder stole it away. Yet it never ran dry. He was the same as at the beginning. No—he looked even more excited.

Jamal sensed the end. Encrid saw the same thing. Their Insight showed them the same future, leaving no possibility of change.

Encrid had already ended the Duet. After drawing both swords back, he now held only Spark. Jamal discarded his broken guard sword and gripped Plunder with both hands.

Encrid stepped forward with his left foot, boldly driving himself into the reach of his opponent's strike. His staggered feet crossed, shooting his body forward like an arrow. It was the Arrow Step, a modification of the basic swordsmanship lunge.

Just before Plunder cut through the space where Encrid's head had been with a strike to the crown, Encrid's sword pierced Jamal's throat first.

THUNK!

Spark cut through flesh and bone, its point shearing through part of a cervical vertebra and emerging from the back of his neck. Now a red rod, it returned as swiftly as it had thrust.

WHOOSH.

Jamal's sword dropped feebly from above. Encrid had already finished his stab and turned aside, evading Jamal's blade completely.

Before him, the corpse of the man who had been Sir Jamal tipped forward and fell. As the body slowly pitched toward the ground, no one watching could speak—not even when it landed with a thud.

An overwhelming difference in strength? It would be more accurate to call it an unfavorable matchup. But who among the spectators could know that? All they felt was the intimidating presence of the man called Encrid, bearing down on the clearing.