Chapter 328
Chapter 328
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 328
Chapter Title: Side Story 12. Sword Saint (2)
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"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much."
Zaifa said. His pupils had narrowed into thin vertical slits as he let out a chilling laugh. A murderous intent that seemed to squeeze the air from one's lungs spread throughout the entire arena.
"How..."
Schlieffen spat blood and sighed. He couldn't believe it even after seeing it with his own eyes. Zaifa's wounds were far beyond what sheer willpower could overcome.
Dark red blood dripped steadily from his ragged body. The tail that had been pierced by Pale Road lay severed on the ground. The clean cut suggested he'd sliced it off himself amid the whirlwind.
"This is dangerous."
Naviroje bit her lip. She unconsciously touched the scar on her collarbone. It was a memento from her defeat to Zaifa in the previous Sword Saint tournament. And she had lost to him in that condition.
"Huuu..."
Schlieffen steadied his breathing. The spine-crushing pain had dulled somewhat with time.
He had to stay calm. With a solid hit already landed, victory was all but assured as long as he didn't rush. The tense standoff continued.
"We can play a bit more, right?"
With those words, Zaifa suddenly lowered his stance. His hands pressed to the ground in a pose reminiscent of a beast poised to pounce on its prey. In that instant, Schlieffen hesitated, about to convert his sword to wind.
Dangerous.
His instincts—the very ones that had brought him this far—were screaming a warning. He couldn't make that choice right now. The moment Schlieffen dismissed his aura and instinctively raised his sword, a thunderous boom assaulted his eardrums. Kwaaaang! Zaifa, now right in front of him, let out an admiring grunt.
"Impressive. You read that?"
"What... the speed...!"
Schlieffen gritted his teeth. Five hook-like claws interlocked with Pale Road. His hand gripping the hilt vibrated as if it might shatter at any moment.
The distance—over fifty paces—had lost all meaning. Where Zaifa had stood, spiderweb cracks radiated across the stone tiles. Traces of an immense leg thrust propelling him forward. With only two hands, Zaifa's next attack came immediately. Chwaak! A diagonal slash from below on the left raked across Schlieffen's chest.
"Kuhk!"
Blood sprayed. It wasn't deep, but it hurt plenty. Schlieffen barely saved his life and swung his sword to shake him off. Kaang! Zaifa deflected the strike effortlessly and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Enough fancy tricks! Come at me properly!"
Kwang! Sword and claws met again, thunder crashing down once more. Schlieffen twisted his lips amid the barrage. He could hardly believe this was the same foe who'd discarded his weapon. Zaifa's attacks were even more perilous and sharp than when he'd wielded his glaive.
There was no opening to transform his blade into wind. Giving up on it, Schlieffen corrected his stance and counterattacked. Zaifa with his claws was fast, but Schlieffen held his own in speed.
Sparks flew each time claw met blade. Amid exchanges too quick for ordinary eyes to follow...
Puhwak! A fountain of blood erupted above Zaifa's shoulder. His lips curled into a grotesque grin.
"Khaha! Not bad!"
"You...!"
Schlieffen's eyes widened. He'd expected that strike to be blocked for sure. After a few more clashes, he spoke.
"...Sword Saint. Concede."
"Are my ears playing tricks? What did you just say, kid?"
"I urged you to concede. Do you want to die?"
"Your instincts are annoyingly sharp."
Zaifa chuckled. Schlieffen's face hardened. As expected, his condition was far from normal.
Thinking about it, there was no way he was fine. Zaifa had taken the full brunt of the whirlwind that had shredded six high-ranking Nebula Klazie members. Those blade-wind gashes were devouring his life force in real time.
Continuing the match like this could end badly. This was the stage to decide the Empire's Greatest Swordsman, not an illegal blood arena. But Zaifa seemed intent otherwise.
"None of your concern."
"But...!"
"Shut it! If you're going to whine like that, I'll make sure you can't think of anything else!"
"Kuhk!"
Zaifa kicked Schlieffen away. As he tumbled and landed with a swallow's twist, Kwang! Zaifa crouched and launched skyward. The physical gap between human and were-tiger was like heaven and earth—far beyond Schlieffen's leap. The crowd gasped in awe.
"Th-that high...!"
"Incredible. Truly incredible."
"Damn it, how high is he going?"
Ronan frowned, craning his neck to follow the trajectory. It was nearly as high as when he'd slain wyverns alongside him. As Zaifa shrank to a dot, Swaaaa... the air around him warped as if gale winds howled.
"N-no way!"
Asel's face paled. His sensitive senses detected unusual mana flows. Black energy gathered around the pinpoint Zaifa.
Predicting what came next was easy. With a pallid face, he shouted.
"W-we need a barrier now! Hurry!"
"Mage Asel? Q-quick, deploy the barriers!"
The standby mages panicked at his scream and chanted in unison. Dozens of translucent fields layered between arena and stands. Sgak! Five black lines slashed across the arena.
"This is...!"
Zaifa's aura: spatial rifts. Five cracks identical to his claw marks stretched end-to-end across the arena. As Schlieffen barely escaped the range and assumed a defensive stance, Kwaaaang! The black lines vanished, shattered tiles exploding outward.
"Uwaaaak!"
"H-help!"
Screams erupted from the stands. Barriers shattered one after another from large and small debris. Layered as they were, none reached the crowd, but the sight was terrifying.
"Sword Saint...!"
Schlieffen gasped in horror. Monstrous power. He swung his sword, winds dispersing the dust. Ronan cursed at the devastation.
"Fuck."
The arena resembled a plow-torn field. Barely repaired after Nebula Klazie's destruction, now it was worse than before.
The emperor clutched his neck and staggered, but that hardly mattered. Kwaaang! Zaifa plummeted like a black meteor, landing behind Schlieffen.
"This is..."
"Too late!"
Schlieffen spun quickly, but a step slow. Zaifa's right hand grazed his side. Puhwak! Five gashes opened, blood spurting.
"Heok."
Schlieffen's composed face twisted in agony. Laughter leaked between Zaifa's fangs. But Schlieffen wasn't done. Reeling as if collapsing, he righted himself and swept his sword upward. Chwaaak! Winds surged along the blade's path, engulfing Zaifa's upper body.
"Kheuk!"
Pain threatening unconsciousness struck. Precisely the spot Naviroje had once slashed. The two retreated momentarily, staggering, then clashed anew. Kagak! Each blade-claw collision left new bloodstains at their feet.
"W-we have to stop them."
Iril rose, unable to watch. Either could drop dead any second. Tears welling, she moved to find an official. Ronan, seated beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Sis. No."
"B-but if this continues, both of them...!"
"I get what you're thinking, but no. Sit back down."
Iril teared up, but Ronan firmly held her back. Seeing his sister grieve hurt deeply, but he had no choice this time. Seating her again, he continued.
"Wh-what the hell... Aren't they afraid of dying?"
"If they were, they couldn't wield a sword. Hard to understand, I know—just watch... And don't worry too much."
"...Huh?"
"That idiot Schlieffen has a reason he must win."
Iril tilted her head, but Ronan just smiled silently. He remembered Schlieffen's vow to him.
The fool had declared he had no right to protect Iril for life until he became the strongest swordsman. To Schlieffen, marriage meant that. The battle intensified. Arms crossed, Ronan fixed his gaze and muttered.
"Win this. Schlieffen."
He never thought he'd cheer for the guy trying to take his sister. But no helping it. No better man would appear on the continent for the next century.
Now rags themselves, Schlieffen and Zaifa lunged with sword and claws. For a split second, Zaifa's vision blurred white.
"Kuh..."
Aftereffect of blood loss. In that fleeting moment—too brief for "instant"—as he threw a punch, his stance faltered. Schlieffen seized it. Gripping the hilt two-handed, he roared.
"Haaap!"
A sharp thrust aimed at Zaifa's heart. The sword would strike before the fist. But Zaifa didn't stop. Puhwak! The blade pierced his chest as a massive fist smashed Schlieffen's forehead. The sword narrowly missed the heart, but the fist surely crushed his skull. It's over, Zaifa thought, lips curling. Then...
Swaa... Schlieffen's form scattered like ash on the wind.
"What...!"
Zaifa's eyes widened. He belatedly noticed Pale Road had vanished from his chest. Schlieffen hadn't been in front at all. A wind-based feint.
Then where?
Zaifa's fur bristled. A presence suddenly behind him. As instinct screamed danger and he turned...
Sgak! A comet-like slash carved his side.
"...Kuhk!"
Blood burst from Zaifa's mouth. A fatal blow. Silence blanketed the stands. Schlieffen, who had charged with the strike, landed twenty paces away.
"Ugh."
Schlieffen staggered. He stabbed his sword into the ground to stay upright. Zaifa remained frozen in his slashed pose.
"Blood is the tears shed by the sword."
After a pause, back to Schlieffen, he spoke. Dark red dripped from his razor nails. Unclear whose. His raspy voice posed a question.
"Can you bear those tears?"
Words laden with meaning. Once father, hunter, and leader of the Northern Beastmen Alliance—now the emperor's blade—he had felled countless foes.
The sword's tears meant death. The Sword Saint: the empire's greatest blade. Strongest, yet bearer of the most tears.
And no one could guarantee eternal peace. Zaifa questioned his readiness for that burden—perhaps forever. After silence, Schlieffen replied.
"Yes."
No hesitation. His gaze lingered on Iril and his friends in the stands. No matter the weight, his loved ones always gave certainty and courage. Turning to Zaifa, he nodded firmly.
"If it's to protect... as much as needed."
"...Hmph."
Zaifa laughed. His tilting body collapsed backward. A dizzyingly blue sky spread above. The cumulonimbus they'd torn apart now floated as dozens of sheep on the wind.
A scene he'd normally ignore felt refreshing today. The freely scattering clouds seemed unusually free.
Schlieffen staggered forward and offered salute. Etiquette demanded joining him, but he lacked the strength. A slight hand raise expressed regret. Eyes closed, Zaifa murmured.
"I lost. Sword Saint."