A Long Vacation - Hard Mode - (6)
It was a bizarre reenactment of the carnage that had unfolded in this exact spot just minutes earlier. A surprise attack she never saw coming until the blade was already buried—exactly the sort of situation she had dismissed as impossible. There was only one difference.
“……Bu…”
The blow that should have ended his life had failed to sever his windpipe this time.
“Unbeliever… how dare you!!”
A wet, bubbling snarl like boiling blood. The terrifying aura erupting from every inch of the man’s body made Ligret release the hilt of her sword and hurl herself sideways.
“How dare you… pull this shit…! Kgh!”
Dubhe—the man on the receiving end of the ambush—had the Ancient Guardian’s Greatsword halfway through his neck, yet he was still spewing rage and pain in equal measure. It was almost impressive that he could even speak in that state, but the real absurdity was the simple fact that he was still alive.
Of course, a human neck wasn’t easy to cut through in one go, and she had fired the attack the instant she saw him after being launched from the ground to the top of the tower. It hadn’t been a perfect strike. Still, that was no excuse. Anyone else might have failed for such a reason, but not Ligret.
“Whatever you are, you’ve clearly stopped being human.”
The sensation she’d felt through the blade was nothing like cutting flesh. It was closer to hacking into a log or a rubber block. Ligret considered pressing the attack as Dubhe reached up to yank the sword from his own throat, but stopped when she saw his lips twitch into a grin.
Depending on the opponent, letting a talkative enemy ramble could be useful. Whether from carelessness or excitement, they tended to leak information. Of course, if her employer—the young master—started running his mouth like that, she would simply kill him.
Clang!
Dubhe hurled the sword aside with a violent motion.
“Stopped being human? Obviously! I, Dubhe, who seeks to ascend to the new humanity—why would I care about a pathetic little attack like that!”
Blood kept pouring from his half-severed neck, but the crimson fluid rising from the ground wrapped around the wound and the bleeding slowed. More than that, the injury itself was visibly regenerating at frightening speed.
“Foolish unbelievers steeped in ignorance and sin! No matter how you struggle, you cannot defy the will of the stars! Mere offerings like you could never stop the ritual offered to the Star of Struggle and Life!”
His voice boomed, completely unlike the tone he had used while competing under the name Shimark. His eyes bulged with blood vessels, gleaming with madness. Had he simply stopped suppressing his true nature, or had this so-called “ritual” changed even his personality?
Ligret ignored the oppressive, frenzied aura and calmly scanned her surroundings. Two broken swords lay on the ground. A set of clothes with a gaping hole in the chest lay crumpled like a discarded shell, empty. She narrowed her eyes as she recognized the owner—one of the more notable fighters from the martial tournament.
The rest of the clothing was strangely clean, without a single tear. It didn’t look like the result of a fierce battle. In other words, the victim had most likely been killed in a single strike before they could even react.
Some kind of ambush ability?
She filed the observation away and coolly assessed the situation. The opponent’s name was Dubhe. He was performing some kind of star-related ritual. He had babbled about becoming new humanity and the Star of Struggle and Life, but the details didn’t matter right now. His physical toughness and regenerative ability were abnormally high. Even a near-fatal wound that should have taken his head off hadn’t slowed him down. On top of that, there was clearly some kind of “something” capable of killing a fighter nearly as strong as Ligret before they could mount any resistance.
She was aware of the object at her waist, but the weapon she drew now was something else entirely. A beautiful cross-spear, every inch of its blade and shaft pure white. At full length it reached four meters—hardly suitable for indoor combat—but she had adjusted it beforehand for the tournament. Its current length was about half that.
The moment Ligret gripped the shaft and sent mana flowing through it, the spear trembled faintly in response and exhaled a wave of cold air. Dubhe, who had been lost in his own ecstasy and shouting slogans, sensed the shift in her presence and dropped back into a combat stance.
Ligret kicked off the ground. The two monsters collided.
Meanwhile, on the ground, Chrome’s group was locked in a fierce battle with the three “blood clots” trying to stop them from heading up the tower.
“—!”
One of the blood clots let out a roar that defied human language and swung down a massive iron mace. Akasha met the blow—clearly modeled after a heavy warrior—with her own greatsword. A terrifying crash shook the air.
“A blood-clot heavy warrior? Now that’s got style!”
Whether she was mocking or genuinely impressed, Crow spat a curse from beside her.
“Style my ass! From the way it looks to the way it feels when you cut it, nothing about these things isn’t the worst!”
“I wasn’t being serious!”
Ignoring Akasha’s protest, Crow shot forward. The blood clot shaped like a knight with sword and shield tried to block with its shield, but the flame crystal Chrome hurled from behind exploded right in its face. The creature staggered, exposing its torso. Crow’s right blade sliced through the knight’s neck while his left carved a deep gash into its side.
As if avenging their comrade—assuming they even had such a concept—the spearman-type blood clot attacked from the rear. Crow deflected it, but he couldn’t react in time to the knight’s counterattack even though its head had clearly been sent flying.
“Crow!”
When Fiore reached out toward the retreating Crow, who was clutching the deep wound in his chest, a pure white light flowed out and the injury began to close rapidly. Crow spat blood and growled.
“Ptui! If you’re gonna imitate humans, at least do it right! How the hell is it still moving after its head flew off?!”
“Stop yapping and swing your sword again!”
Scolding Crow, Chrome hurled a handful of flame fragments. The three blood clots flinched and curled in on themselves. Wounds opened across their bodies, but that was all. The injuries healed almost instantly, and even the head Crow had severed grew back as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Are these things ever going to end?”
Crow’s frustrated mutter was met with silent agreement from the rest of the party. Unlike the blood clots they had fought on the way to the tower, these three had distinct forms complete with weapons and armor. More importantly, no matter how many wounds they received, they simply regenerated without pause.
Fiore spoke up. “Their regeneration can’t be infinite. Their power and speed are dropping, even if only slightly. Akasha, could you tie down the spearman and the heavy warrior for just a moment?”
“You want me to hold them, not finish them? Yeah, I can manage that.”
“Brother.”
“I know.”
After a brief exchange of glances, Chrome moved first. He scattered more Attribute Stones, this time focusing on those imbued with flame power. At first glance it looked like a repeat of his earlier tactic, but instead of fragments he used crystals.
BOOM!
The simultaneous release of five mid-tier spells forced the blood clots to retreat to protect themselves. Akasha charged through the gap, slamming into the heavy warrior. She forced her way through the scorching heat with her body wrapped in white mana and swung her greatsword. The heavy warrior blocked with its mace while the spearman thrust sharply from the side, but the combined power of Akasha’s mana barrier and the remote barrier Fiore had cast sent the attack bouncing off harmlessly.
The lone knight swung its sword in a threatening arc, but Crow ignored the cuts he received and countered with even fiercer swings, pushing the creature back. Right wrist, left shoulder, head, and two massive diagonal slashes across the torso—the knight was hacked into pieces. Even then it tried to regenerate using its remaining legs, but as Crow pulled back, a barrage of Attribute Stones from Chrome poured down on the scattered remains.
Brilliant flashes of light erupted as the spells detonated. The blood clots on the ground twitched once, then failed to reform. Only the heavy warrior and the spearman remained. Preparing the next strike, Chrome’s eyes gleamed with cold light.