Devil and Knight (4)
Kriel recalled the cheerful wandering knight from the novel, the sad old man. That novel, which mocked chivalry through its ridiculous old man, was paradoxically filled with romantic homage to a bygone era and its lost knightly virtues. Beneath the name of that old man, whom Kriel took as a model for the honor he believed in, he refuted the Abyss.
"You Quixote-ham or what?!"
The "Don" attached to Don Quixote wasn't part of the name—it was an honorific. It signified something like the patriarch of a group. But it wasn't a fully formal title like "lord" or "sovereign." So translating it as "ham"—a somewhat friendly way to address someone of higher standing—was appropriate.
Kriel chuckled, thinking of the nonsense.
"Quixote...?"
A strange ring to it. Was that knight his swordmaster or something?
Gila Decaire immediately dismissed the thought. The nameless knight, the future king's sword, was straight. That was all. It possessed the virtue of swift, precise strikes covering minimal distance, but it lacked the myriad techniques inherent to knightly swordsmanship. Above all, there was no shadow of the dark path of slaughter. If it had been inherited from a proper Dark Knight, the secrets of murder would surely have been glimpsed. This was no sword with a master. Straightforward, but simple. No matter how highly he rated it, it was just a commonplace blade.
In the end, victory would be his.
Gila Decaire was bewildered. There was no change in his enemy's swordsmanship. He'd pushed Kriel to the limit, with no room left to retreat. The flow of battle favored Decaire.
'Then why?'
Closer than usual range. The moment for a single decisive blow—and yet Kriel's sword matched Decaire's evenly. No matter how he looked at it, Kriel's sword was unchanged from before. But Decaire's was repeatedly blocked, allowing counters unlike before.
Kagagagagak!
Decaire hastily raised his blade. He deflected Kriel's thrust by a hair's breadth. It had aimed for his throat. A chill premonition brushed past Decaire.
Kriel knew the reason for the shift. He hadn't suddenly gained enlightenment to grow stronger. It was Eve Kaha's armor. To overwhelm Kriel more surely, Decaire had closed in beyond the interval for swinging a greatsword, exposing himself to Eve Kaha's holy power. In the midst of the abyss unfurled by the demon himself, the holy power dwelling in the armor had been suppressed by the overwhelming Abyss, failing to reveal its presence. That was why Decaire hadn't recognized the armor's nature.
But the holy power within the armor ceaselessly clashed with the Abyss even as it was crushed. The repulsive force of the holy power weakened the Abyss power Decaire wielded. Unbeknownst to him, the red glow of blood qi coiling around his sword-gripping fingers flickered dim and bright, and the ghostly wail in his resentment aura softened slightly. When Decaire stepped back, it returned to normal in an instant—but the effect was undeniable.
A flash of inspiration struck Kriel's mind.
Decaire's greatsword swung wide. Resentment flew toward Kriel's feet, restricting his movement. Buying time, Decaire took a couple steps back to readjust the distance. To analyze the anomaly in the fight.
What allowed Kriel to stand against him?
But before he could follow the thought—
Kriel swung his greatsword, shattering the frozen ground, and charged. Decaire surrendered to the impulse boiling within. If he wouldn't die from the usual power, then kill him with more. A Dark Knight tempered by endless combat instinctively knew the precise moment to extend his blade from Kriel's speed and range. Surging blood qi and resentment infused his flesh with power.
And the Abyss pulsed.
Between the hot and cold dual forces, the Abyss-dense darkness settled, becoming one. An absolute black that buried both the red of blood qi and the wailing blue of resentment. Decaire's blade, shrouded in pitch darkness, fell.
A downward cleave slamming into the midst of Kriel's sword strike to bury it.
But Kriel's blade arrived one step ahead of Decaire's expectation.
'Faster than me?'
Decaire looked at Kriel. The black armor enveloping his body had vanished at some point. Speed increased by the shed weight. His calculations collapsed.
This was the trap sprung on the seasoned warrior. Throughout their clash, Decaire had measured Kriel's limit speed. With the disappearance of Eve Kaha's armor, acceleration utterly transcended that margin of error.
Kriel's greatsword moved. Decaire's slash was a vertical cleave as swift as its power demanded—the form that could carry the most force. Yet force moving vertically excels in direct vertical clashes but is vulnerable to horizontal interference.
Decaire's right blade face. It collided with the sword gleam scattered by Kriel's greatsword. Sparks of sword ki exploded with a roar. Decaire's blade bent upward diagonally.
In that instant, Kriel released his left hand from the hilt and clenched a tight fist. His punch targeted Decaire's face.
'Even enhanced by fighting spirit, it's bare-handed. No way it pierces armor reinforced by dark fighting spirit and blood qi.'
Rather, it was rational to interpret this as a feint. Pretending to attempt a foolish attack to feign some extraordinary trick. If Decaire dodged by breaking stance, Kriel's assault would continue. He wouldn't fall for the ruse. Decaire corrected the twisted blade trajectory back to a downward strike. Bare hands were bare hands to the end. Clever idea, but meaningless. Even if it were an iron fist instead of bare, he'd have taken the hit to maintain the attack—he sneered inwardly.
Just before impact, fighting spirit poured into Eve Kaha's necklace. A jet-black gauntlet coiled around Kriel's hand. The combined might of Eve Kaha's holy power and Kriel's fighting spirit.
Kajijijik!
Metal crumpled, shredding Decaire's face. Reflexively, he tried to swing the greatsword harder. But Kriel was already in ultra-close range, where acceleration couldn't properly build. Too close even to maneuver his arm.
Kriel released his right hand from the sword and made a fist. His left, which had smashed Decaire's face, now crushed the right arm that had tried to swing the blade. The blade's aim wavered.
His now-free right hand grabbed the breastplate and yanked. Decaire's head followed. A helmet covered Kriel's head. Collision. Decaire's already mangled helmet shattered completely on the right from Kriel's headbutt.
"Kheuk...!"
In an instant, Decaire's face filled with wounds. Kriel didn't miss the opening. Grabbing both shoulders, he drove a knee into the abdomen.
At this point, Decaire shifted judgment. He discarded the greatsword and forged a dagger of blood qi. Then Kriel donned all his armor again.
Now Decaire understood the armor's nature. Why a Dark Knight's defenses had crumbled so pitifully. Holy power-infused sacred armor. A blood qi blade shatters instantly against a holy relic. The blood qi dagger could transfer pain sensations through the armor to the flesh beneath, but it couldn't inflict true physical wounds.
Decaire was a knight too. He was familiar with close-quarters brawling in such situations. He kicked Kriel's abdomen with all his might. Kriel flew back through the air, vomiting blood.
Mid-trajectory, Kriel's sword stabbed into the ground. He crashed into it.
Kriel endured the pain and rose, gripping the greatsword's hilt tightly. He recalled the blood Decaire had just spat. The physical agony Decaire had suffered. The prerequisite for accumulating blood qi.
He sensed that within himself, enough blood qi for one use had welled up.
Blood qi swirled around Kriel's right arm. Eve Kaha's armor constricted it as if to burn it away. But Kriel didn't withdraw it. Even now, Decaire's wounds were regenerating from the abyss aura. He needed a blow powerful enough to prevent even attempted regeneration.
Decaire was reaching for his greatsword again. Kriel charged. The gauntlet, heated from clashing blood qi and holy power, cast a single ray of light into the abyss.
The instant Decaire's gaze reflexively followed the light, Kriel's empty left hand shot toward the sword hilt. The greatsword slipped from Decaire's grasp.
A disarm through crude, clumsy, un-knightly brawling—unthinkable for a Dark Knight's swordsmanship.
Through the shattered helmet, Kriel saw Decaire's clear bewilderment.
Decaire had deemed Kriel's swordsmanship commonplace. Proof of Kriel's desperate flailing. Had he followed the Dark Knight's swordsmanship inscribed as a red star in his inner constellation, he could have easily mastered hidden techniques like ascending strikes or secret blades.
But Kriel silently ignored the guidance of the glowing red star and forged a new path. Absolute Death Six Songs, Spirit Demon Annihilation Style—all Dark Knight techniques demanded the Abyss.
What Kriel had etched into his inner constellation with a single sword and clumsy motions—a yellow star named simply: Swordsmanship. No fancy modifiers. Just that.
But it was enough.
Black—not like the Abyss, but akin—once more cloaked the blade. Right arm condensing blood qi to match two hands' destructive power. Fighting spirit flowing through the greatsword.
And so a straight line was drawn. A thrust toward the heart.
Kriel's full-powered strike shattered Decaire's breastplate, tore flesh and bone, and finally reached the heart.
The dark heart was pierced.