Chapter 211
Chapter 211
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 211
Chapter Title: These Are the Gifts Prepared for You
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"A long journey...?"
"Yes, a long journey! What could be more effective at breaking the enemy's forces than killing the Spirit Sword's owner?"
"......"
"If you keep avoiding a duel with me like this, I have no choice. I'll chase down that fleeing elf and kill them all."
Choose. Fight me, or keep running and let your soldiers die. You'll surely choose to fight.
And as the opponent's eyes fixed on him, he charged forward, effortlessly lifting a greatsword as tall as himself with one hand and swinging it down. Seeing this, Ort burst into delighted laughter.
Kaang!
Not only did a transparent blade rise from the greatsword's edge, but a sinister red aura flared up as well. In the opponent's eyes burned a killing intent unlike anything before. Ort was overjoyed by this. With every clash of their swords, the pent-up desires he'd accumulated finally began to unravel.
"Hahaha! Yes! This is it! This! Why try to avoid fighting when you can battle like this?"
The force was far heavier than before, drawing out Ort's full seriousness. Each time their swords rang out with a clear tone, light shockwaves shook their bodies. Clearly younger and less experienced than him, yet this young man was holding his own against Ort perfectly. He wasn't pushed back in strength and fought with great skill.
"Impressive!"
There was just one thing that irked him—no words?
But that was no issue at all. The thrill and chill of this speechless duel made it easy to overlook. Ort deflected the incoming greatsword and dodged the thrusting dagger.
Yet, a strange sensation from the dagger drew his gaze, and from it shot a red line. Sensing danger instinctively, he dropped low to evade the extending line—and it was the right call. Everything it touched was sliced clean through.
"...!"
It felt less like the young man's ability and more like the power of the weapon itself. Ort fought on with greater caution, but his movements didn't slow or shrink back. He truly enjoyed duels.
"Fun! You're getting harder to understand by the minute. Why stick with the elves when you have this kind of skill?"
"Is there a reason I can't side with the elves?"
Oh, he finally spoke.
His voice sounded far younger than his appearance. Ort sidestepped the slashing strike and swung his sword diagonally upward. It cut only air, unfortunately. Seizing the brief breather, he continued.
"No reason you can't, but I'm curious, aren't I?"
"Curious?"
"Yes! Why would a human like you help the elves, and why would they—who hate and resent humans—accept help from you? Disciple of Sword Saint Via?"
Kaang!
"Or... oh ho! Maybe you're the romantic protagonist of a tale about a human falling in love with an elf?"
It sounded plausible. He'd said it without thinking, but now it seemed possible. Ort kept pressing with words.
"You know? Even if you kill me! The elves can't win this war! A single Spirit Sword owner can only affect the outcome in small- or medium-scale battles!"
"In massive battles like this with over a hundred thousand troops, it's hard to tip the scales!"
"Even if you kill me here and slaughter all these soldiers! While you do, the gates will be breached by other Spirit Sword owners, and the walls will crumble! See behind me? While you fight me, the captured elves are being moved!"
"In the end, nothing changes no matter what you do here!"
But this aloof young man—who hadn't even given his name and came off as arrogant—showed no reaction, no reply. He focused solely on targeting vitals to kill him or setting traps to induce mistakes.
"It won't change even if you die and come back to life!"
The moment he swung his sword upward, the opponent before him vanished. Sensing the presence immediately behind, Ort dropped low and spun around. He saw a dagger thrusting from below upward.
"Slow!"
It was fast enough. The problem was Ort had predicted the move. From the dagger that pierced empty air, a red line burst forth. But Ort's slash was quicker.
Seogeok!
His left arm soared into the air amid a spray of blood. As he followed up to behead him while drenched in the gushing blood, it turned out to be a fake made of mana. Beyond the melting black currents, a face twisted in pain came into view.
"Tough, huh? Arm sliced off, and not even a groan!"
Losing a limb brought pain and shock on a whole different level from mere wounds. It was a tremendous mental strain to lose a limb you'd lived with your whole life and expected to keep. In urgent combat like this, reflexive habits could lead to mistakes. Yet Judah only grimaced and gritted his teeth, no groan escaping.
"How about it? Can you keep going? Even if you say you can't, I won't go easy."
"...It's fortunate this is a battlefield."
"What?"
The voice was calmer than expected. He could sense the pain being endured, but those weren't words for someone with a severed arm. Then, blood that had been dripping steadily from the wound's cross-section suddenly stopped. A red energy slithered like a snake from somewhere, absorbing into the wound.
Following the red energy back, he saw the severed arm glowing red, the energy flowing from it. In an instant, the arm turned to red energy and vanished. Not just that—the blood from nearby dead knights and soldiers, cold and congealed, reacted the same way.
"A monster...?"
Even Spirit Sword owners with superhuman physiques could be called monsters, but this was no human ability. He tried thinking of him as one of the ability users like those in the Radiant Order, but it didn't fit easily. It was like something out of a fairy tale—a vampire, extinct nowadays.
Before the arm could fully regenerate, Ort kicked off the ground and charged. Facing the oncoming Ort, Judah whipped his left arm. The red energy, still absorbing like a tail, twisted into a braid and lashed out like a whip.
"—!"
As he crouched to dodge, bubbles formed on the blood-whip's surface, exploding outward with thorns in all directions.
Pabat!
He'd retreated just in time, or his body would've been skewered. The whip retracted, and regeneration sped up—soon a perfect arm reformed. He even seemed more energized. Ort was dumbfounded and wanted to protest, but Judah charged, forcing him to raise his sword hastily.
Kwakakakak!
Slashes that tore up the ground clashed, black blades erupted from the shadow-covered floor, chains spewed forth. A black knight appeared out of nowhere, nearly inflicting a major wound. He dodged with skill and luck, counterattacked, and blocked, but this was nearing his limit.
'Ah—damn.'
Ort wiped the sweat trickling down his forehead over his eyebrows with the back of his hand as he fell back. His breath came heavy. His body felt leaden. To make matters worse, his mana was running dry.
He'd managed his mana well so far, but blocking unexpected red lines from that dagger at odd timings, reacting to foes vanishing and reappearing behind him—it was natural his mana spiked to boost reaction speed.
"Oh dear, getting tired?"
With a mocking remark, a dagger flew at him moments after he retreated, aiming for heart, shoulder, thigh. He batted them away one by one with his sword—only for another to target his groin.
"Hup!"
Reflexively exhaling, he smacked it away with the sword's pommel base, or it might've grazed or pierced somewhere vital.
'No, this bastard?'
For all his good-natured fighting, that last attack had been chillingly threatening.
Huu—
Planting his feet, he lowered his stance, looked up at Judah, and caught his breath. Clearly, the opponent had moved... no, attacked even more. And he'd had his arm severed mid-fight, yet he seemed fresher, not fatigued.
'Was I wrong to think I had the advantage?'
Last time too, and now—at the start of their exchanges, he'd thought he had the edge in power. Objectively, any third party would agree Ort held superiority in strength and swordsmanship.
But Judah compensated with Black Claw's secret arts—the Shadow Swordsmanship and Heresy Arts—and his fragments. The longer the fight dragged, the more it favored him. As if knowing Ort was tiring, he kicked off and swung.
Kaang!
"Kuh!"
Even his own sword felt heavier, and the power behind the opponent's strikes kept growing. Standing firm to receive the downward swing was grueling. As the situation worsened, Ort's chatter dwindled.