Real Combat
The instant Fortuna gave the signal, Jun leapt through space.
His chosen landing point was a patch of undergrowth a short distance from the battlefield. From there he loosed a crossbow bolt at the assassin Fortuna had marked for him, then leapt through space once more.
The moment the assassin screamed as the bolt punched into his shoulder, Jun appeared at his back. Pain flaring through the wound cost the man a beat before he registered the presence behind him — a window wide enough to end it in a single stroke.
Jun did not hesitate. He drew Firmus from subspace and swung.
In the instant before the blade would have carved the assassin open, their eyes met.
Resentment, rage, resignation — the weight of those eyes drained the strength from Jun's arm for a fraction of a second. That flicker of hesitation was all the assassin needed to keep his life.
Clang!
Steel rang against steel, sparks leaping between the blades. The crimson glitter seemed to rebuke his own weakness, and Jun clenched his teeth. He carried the rotational force of the clash into a kick. The assassin, still recovering from the block, took the blow full-on. His body sailed into the air like a ball struck clean off the ground.
Once you seize the advantage, never give the enemy an opening.
Robin's old admonition surfaced in his mind. Jun yanked six throwing knives from subspace and sent them flying.
"Ghk—!"
In the split second before the knives struck home, the assassin groaned and wrapped himself tight in his cloak. A low vmmm of activation hummed from the fabric — and the knives buried themselves in it.
Thud.
The assassin crumpled to the ground, twitching like Yamcha blown apart alongside a suicide bomber, unable to rise. Jun only frowned and kept his distance. His radar told him the knives had pierced the cloak but not deeply. Worse, the man had twisted at the last moment to shield his vitals, so the actual wounds were trivial. That he still refused to get up meant one thing: he was playing dead, waiting for Jun to approach in careless confidence so he could land a killing blow.
A ruse that crude might fool someone else. It would not fool Jun — not with his powers of observation and reasoning.
Instead of closing in, he pulled an axe the size of an adult's torso from subspace and hurled it. Only then did the assassin spring up and dodge.
Caught out, the man stared at him with eyes full of shock, disbelief, and fury, and forced the words out.
"W-what kind of strength is that… How do you have Aura? That wasn't in the intel—"
"Sorry, but I've got no interest in making conversation in a fight to the death."
Talking with an enemy never ended well. Eight or nine times out of ten you got played, or walked away with a knot in your gut for nothing. Jun leveled Firmus at the assassin as if to say further words were unnecessary.
Damn it. Daaamn it!
Faced with that flat, unhesitating indifference, the assassin cursed inwardly and scanned his surroundings for any lifeline that might save him.
There was none.
Far off, the man who had been their team leader lay sprawled headless on the ground. The vice-leader was a breath from death. The rest of his seniors were nowhere in sight, but the unbroken screams from the forest said they were being slaughtered one-sidedly — or else already subdued and under torture.
No one was coming to help him. He would have to break through this alone.
I can do this. I can.
He repeated it to himself and fixed his gaze on the enemy before him. A ten-year-old orphan. Tall and solid for his age, but nowhere near the assassin's own build. A Triple Core — impressive, yes, but still a child, still unripe.
It's possible. I only lost ground to the ambush, my own carelessness, and bad intel. If I stay calm and fight seriously, the odds favor me.
Steadying himself, the assassin drew the dagger at his hip and fired his Aura Core, reinforcing body, blade, and cloak alike. The fruits of brutal training showed themselves, and a satisfied smile tugged at his mouth.
It did not last long.
"Fuck my life."
The smile crumpled into ruin.
Three faint activation hums reached Jun's ears — the sound of the assassin reinforcing three things with Aura. Triple Reinforcement. That was a technique that required at least a Squire's level of skill. He had sensed it when the man blocked the throwing knives, but this assassin was no ordinary opponent.
And he's supposed to be the weakest in the team? Just who do these people belong to?
Worrywart Formamang had singled this one out for an obvious reason: he was the softest target among the assassins. Which meant their affiliation was almost certainly not some ragtag outfit, but one of the handful of elite assassination guilds — or a family that made killing its trade. If that guess was right, being marked by people like this meant five years of sleeping easy were off the table.
Don't you even know the standard route? The standard route? Why take the side path!
Five years remained until Leon's coming-of-age ceremony. With that much time left, shouldn't they leisurely send small fry at the start to test the waters bit by bit — the way Demon Kings always did in novels and comics?
What the hell is the rush, throwing in people who shouldn't show up until the mid-game?
Jun clicked his tongue and scowled. The assassin, reading the expression as a sign the tide had turned against the boy, brightened visibly. Jun, already foul-tempered from his worst-case speculation, had no desire to leave that look on the man's face.
Realize
Psychic energy steeped in Jun's will was absorbed into his Aura and guided it exactly as he imagined.
Vmmm. Vmmm. Vmmm.
Three crisp activation hums rang out from Jun's body, from Firmus, and from Premium. The moment those sounds carried across the clearing, the assassin's expression twisted as if the earlier confidence had never existed.
Jun's mood improved, just a little. He had nothing else on hand worth reinforcing, but if the man ever learned that Jun could manage sixfold, ninefold — even the twelvefold reinforcement reserved for national-level combatants — simply by deciding to… what face would he make then?
The passing image drew a snort of laughter from him. Then he shot forward at the still-hesitating assassin like an arrow.
The instant he closed to point-blank range—
⟨ Blink ⟩
—he leapt through space again, reappearing behind the assassin, and swung Firmus with everything he had.
Clang!
This time the assassin was fully alert and caught the blow in time. But spinning so abruptly left him off-balance. In the exchange that followed he could not land a single counter, forced back step after step.
Goddamn it!
He thrashed as hard as he could, but he could not stop the retreat. He knew the truth already. His disadvantage was not merely a matter of stance. Speed and precision of swordsmanship, the overwhelming output of a Triple Core, the quality and matchup of their gear — every factor that mattered most in combat, he was losing on all of them. Each backward step felt like sinking deeper into a swamp of despair.
"Fuck! This is shit, so just finish it already!"
The cry was thick with despair and raw fury. Jun had wanted to keep the live combat going a little longer, but he could not ignore that shout.
Just this one last thing.
Crack! Crackle!
He activated his Trait. Eyes that had been black as the night sky turned a clear, brilliant blue, as if lightning itself had been driven into them — and a moment later, vivid azure current erupted from every inch of his body.
"Haha. You monster brat."
"…"
Something in the assassin seemed to shift at the sight of the Trait. His voice went quiet, almost at peace, as if he had set everything down. For reasons Jun could not name, that voice landed heavier than before. So he neither confirmed nor denied it. He did not ask the man's name, or whether he had any last words. He had no interest in carrying unnecessary weight.
Realize
The crackling current, dancing wild a moment before, gathered into Firmus at the pull of Jun's imagination. The sword's plain black blade began to blaze with blue light and electricity, like a beam saber.
Watching the sparking edge with hazy eyes, the assassin asked,
"That's cool. What's the technique called?"
"…Chidori Sword."
"You little shit. I thought you were mute. Can't cut me down without teaching me the name first? You really are a brat."
"Yeah. I'm a brat."
So of course telling him the technique name — and feeling a quiet swell of pride afterward — was nothing strange. Honestly, how was anyone supposed to resist that?
Somewhere off to the side, Formamang, who had already finished her own fighting and was watching, sent him a look of pity usually reserved for a slightly dim child. Jun ignored it with everything he had.
"I was trying to needle you, and somehow you look happy about it. Well, whatever. Let's end this."
"…"
Jun and the assassin leveled their blades at each other. As if, in that single moment, the two of them were the only people left in the world, the surroundings fell utterly still.
Then a single thread of wind slipped between them — and right after it—
Chichichichichit!
A sound like a thousand birds crying out at once rang across the field.