One Strike Short

The enormous forepaw crashed into Kane, and the sight of him being launched backward seemed to unspool in slow motion. That was how sudden it was. A sight to raise the hair on your neck. It was a miracle his head hadn't burst on the spot.

Damn it!

I moved the spear on reflex and drove it at the werewolf's exposed throat. The spirit had already told me something new had entered the fight, and the thrust I threw the instant Kane was hit was, even by my own reckoning, perfect.

But the point only buried itself in the forepaw that shot up to block it. Not the throat.

"Jason!!"

I put my weight behind the spear, shoving the thing back as I shouted. Only then did Jason burst out from beside me.

Far too late.

Ghk!

The spear was still stuck in the sole of that paw when my body was hurled into the cave wall. I slammed into the stone and a scream tore out of me — and in that same instant I saw the blood-slick forepaw smash into Jason's head.

His skull split like a melon. The werewolf's yellow eyes were already turning toward the fallen Kane. I clenched my teeth and got to my feet.

"Over here, you son of a bitch!"

I snatched up a rock, hurled it at the thing's skull, and charged with the spear. It wasn't that I had a plan. Only a raw, shapeless certainty that if I let Kane die like this, everything would be over.

Fortunately — if that was the word — its gaze swung back to me.

I watched that maw gape open and sealed my ears with mana. Warding off the roar, warding off the Fear, I closed the distance and thrust.

Volante Footwork, used to eat the gap, shortened the space at a speed that startled even me. But the spear I threw at the end of that light movement was just as light. Light enough that a single swipe from the werewolf ripped the shaft clean out of my grip.

Tch!

The instant I moved with the direction the spear had been knocked, a massive foot scythed through the place I'd been, fast as the wind. The hind leg I'd thought the werewolf used only for running had exploded out of the dark — an acrobatic strike.

Hhh.

I'd slipped the combination by luck, but a chill raced straight up my spine.

One hit and I die.

If that foot caught the plate armor I'd spent a fortune to buy, it would crumple like paper. I managed to catch the fallen spear, but I couldn't bring myself to plant a weighted step in front of the thing and drive a heavy thrust.

Focus on dodging. Footwork over spearwork.

The moment I decided that, the attacks came pouring in. My flesh trembled. Claws tore past, and the air they burst prickled as if it were my own skin even when they missed.

Goddamn it.

But fear was one thing, and this was another. I erased my blind spots through the spirit's senses and poured everything I had into the footwork.

Front — break off to the side. Fist covering my eyes. Hind leg! Rear hand — the next beat!

Reading the attacks and slipping them started to feel less and less impossible.

The System's voice chiming in the middle of it nearly earned me a hit, but I was feeling the footwork's effect in every inch of my body.

Yeah. Thanks a lot!

The problem was that this still wasn't an answer. And it wasn't even a moral question — whether or not to leave the fallen Kane behind.

Running is just as hard.

Right now I was dodging by predicting its movement through the spirit's senses and sliding into blind angles. The moment I turned and sprinted, that became a straight-line race. And I had no confidence I could shake a four-legged monster in a straight race.

I have to finish it here. Somehow.

I focused like a madman on that thought, and at some point its movements started to feel familiar. More precisely, I started to see the gaps.

The angrier it got, the more it snarled and lashed out, the bigger its motions grew and the rougher they became. And the bigger the openings looked.

The problem was that I had no confidence I could stab one of those openings and end it.

If I don't land a fatal wound in a single strike, I die.

Against a monster that recovered from ordinary injuries on the spot, the blow had to be lethal. Which meant—

The throat. Or... the eyes?

I watched those bright yellow irises slowly flush red. Then a thin streak of blood showed on the claws that grazed past, and only then did I feel my cheek burning.

I definitely dodged that.

A few more attacks scraped by, razor-close, before I understood. My feet were getting heavy.

Stamina. Mana. Damn it.

It didn't feel as if we'd been fighting long, and already my strength was dropping hard. Time to gamble, whether I wanted to or not.

I have to end it for certain. One sure strike. As fast as I can.

Under that desperate pressure my thoughts narrowed to a single point, and the focus that had climbed without end found a method. No — it would be truer to say that instinct seized a flash of inspiration as it went by. There was no time left to think it through with my head. My body was already moving.

I slipped the attack lightly and cut into a blind angle. Then I traced the mana flow of Volante Footwork — an art that chased boundless lightness — backward, and stamped down the heaviest step I could.

The werewolf, as if scornful of someone who had done nothing but dodge, swung a forepaw straight at me.

But I was first.

"Hup!"

I took the essence of the Pendulum Spear Art, that cycling advance and retreat, and built it not with my feet but with my hands and the spear, drawing a vibration out of it. The thrust, loaded with that exploding weight and that vibration, finally drove into the werewolf's throat from the blind side.

A flash. A deep blue haze bloomed thick from the spearpoint, and with it came the System's voice.

The fierce feedback through the point was pure, extreme pleasure. The spear punched through the forepaw the wolf had thrown up — abandoning its strike at me to bar its own throat — and bored on into the neck beyond.

But.

Shallow?

Most of the force had been spent piercing the paw. It hadn't seated fully in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠neck. The moment I sensed it, a wretched future painted itself behind my eyes.

And then a silver line was suddenly drawn across the werewolf from behind.

"Well done, rookie."

With that familiar voice, the werewolf's head lifted into the air. It hit the cave floor and rolled. Behind the collapsing bulk, Kane was down on his knees.

"Ghk. Khak. Khak."

He vomited blood. And with that, the voice I'd been waiting for arrived.

"Hhh..."

It was over. In that instant I sank down where I stood before I knew it.

"...Hah. Are you all right, Captain?"

"I can move. Goddamn it."

Kane ground his teeth, and his face was past describing. Half of it was bruised a deep blue-black, and the skull looked slightly caved in besides. That he was alive and moving was the astonishing part.

"Are you sure you're really all right?"

"Not dying. Not from this. Ghk. Khak. I— I've got regeneration, too."

Blood still on his lips, the caved-in skull ground itself back into place a little at a time. I had no choice but to believe him.

"Hah..."

So that was how he'd come back from nowhere and landed the finishing blow.

"...I lived because of you. Thank you."

"Khak. Same goes for me. Thank you, rookie."

Kane, looking half dead, and I, wrung empty, faced each other and smiled without strength.

Well. This much, at least, was a fight we'd actually pulled off.

I'd dealt early with the Fiend from the Perfect Clear conditions, and along the way I'd evolved my spear art and shoved the footwork up hard. Too perfect a result...

...Wait. Hold on.

A deeply unpleasant feeling hit me all at once. Had the combat-end voice said Fiend just now? It had only said werewolf...

Startled, I called the conditions up again. They hadn't changed.

"...Shit."

The werewolf hadn't been the Fiend.

"Something wrong?"

"No. No, there isn't."

The realization dragged a curse out of me on its own, but I couldn't say any of it to Kane.

"...I see. You barely knew Jason, and you're mourning him anyway."

Ah.

Right. A comrade was dead. And here I was, thinking about nothing but a Perfect Clear. Was the Labyrinth already swallowing me?

"I'm sorry. This is on me, for saying we should track them here..."

"No. It was a sound call. Leave things like these alive and they'd have gnawed the whole party down bit by bit. Jason died doing his job. It's fine. It's fine. Yeah. Fine, and not fine."

Words he kept repeating. The stiff set of his face let me guess a feeling that didn't match them. So I turned the subject.

"...First let's take the spoils and head back."

The two werewolves had dropped two red crystals the size of a fingernail, and one the size of a fist. The two mana stones I could set aside.

An ability stone, too... hah.

They'd said even the Labyrinth's own residents used ability stones. Its value would be enormous even in here. The reason I'd prodded the Merchant Head into hunting werewolves in the first place was the bet that if the second floor held monsters like these, they'd at least drop mana stones or an ability stone. A shame, but for now these had to go to the Merchant Head.

"A werewolf's hide and muscle are worth plenty, too."

"Can you butcher that as we are?"

"...Can't."

"Then we discuss it with the Merchant Head once we're back."

"...Right."

Kane's face had gone bitter. He staggered upright and took the dead Jason's longsword.

"You're not taking the rest of his things?"

"This is enough. His head's gone. Least he ought to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠keep his clothes on for the walk to the other side."

I couldn't add another word to the bitter look on that bruise-blackened face. I got a shoulder under the staggering Kane, and we retraced the path we'd come, back toward the camp.

Just when I thought we were nearly there—

A snarl. Steel on steel.

"Kill them!"

The wind spirit brought me the noise from the camp before my own ears could.

"What? Why's your face like that?"

"Something's happened. I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠go on ahead."

"What!?"

Kane didn't try to stop me. I ran like lightning, and what I found was a boar the size of a small house, and a swarm of wild dogs tearing into the camp alongside it.

Shit!

I sprinted flat out for the giant boar as it wheeled and charged the escort's flank. Volante Footwork, far easier and faster than before, carried me to its side like the wind. Then, just as I had against the werewolf, I reversed it in an instant — a step stamped down under a crushing weight. The spear vibrated in my hands, took all of that weight, and lanced out, a bluish light breaking from the point.

The boar's neck was run clean through. It broke off its charge and went into a frenzy.

Kh—!

The spear had gone in so deep that I was half a beat late pulling it free, and I had no choice but to tumble across the ground. But that was enough.

The boar was still thrashing — and thrashing was all it was. Like a man dead drunk, it couldn't even hold a direction, and it was bowling over wild dogs instead of the escort.

"Kill every last one of them!"

A foul sense that something had gone badly, filthily wrong tore the shout out of me, rage and killing intent tangled in it.

Fortunately, the escort roared back as one.

"Kill them all!"

"We can do this!"

"Hell of a job, rookie!"

I threw myself in with them and set about ending it harder than anyone.

When the fighting was over, I heard the rest. In the assault that had begun after Kane and I left, five more of the escort were dead.