Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Thorn Rose Belmont (3)
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Shwick—
The rapier lunges for my collarbone, but only a faint afterimage grazes past.
As long as I time my roll perfectly, I'm invincible. No matter how fiercely or precisely Belmont swings his rapier, my roll delivers flawless evasion.
"Unbelievable..."
Even in the heat of battle, Doren's cry echoes from afar. He's clasping his hands tightly together, genuinely cheering me on as he waits.
"R-rolling around... dodging everything..."
But I can't fight with the flair to match that passionate support.
Roll, dodge, strike.
The basic framework stays the same every time. Monotonous, you could say.
There's hardly any variation. Instead, my movements grow ever more refined, and the number of rapier stabs I take drops sharply.
Still, the tide of battle slowly turns in my favor.
Belmont's thrusts lose their menace. The sleek blade that once shredded flesh and bone starts to dry out.
No more of my blood coats the edge. I roll with precision that allows not even a scratch, factoring in the rapid follow-up stabs.
Shwick! Shuk! Shwick!
Three thrusts.
Then the off-beat stab that comes right after. Belmont grips his rapier with both hands, bracing to thrust forward—but
Slash!
In that moment of preparation, he eats another hit from me. My longsword slices quick across Belmont's gut and pulls back.
I pay him back in kind for what he did when I swung the greatsword. And without taking even one strike in return, I roll aside to dodge his stab.
Bang!
The furious rapier lets out a shrill, irritable whine. It used to just cut the air; now it feels like it's ripping it apart right by my ear.
Belmont's skull and petals shudder. His calm facade cracks bit by bit.
The more his stamina drains, the less he keeps his cool. His thrusts speed up, our duel accelerating to a frantic tempo—but
Pshuk!
Only my longsword drinks in the bright red blood.
Finally, Belmont's HP dips below half.
Remaining HP: 49%.
Kkuduk—
Right then, Belmont gets serious. Blood starts seeping from the arm clutching his rapier.
No, not just his arm. Every untouched part of him splits and cracks open in tandem.
Phase 2.
Thorn Rose Belmont has a Phase 2 too.
But thankfully, it doesn't fully restore his HP like with Veronine. He's just unleashing his full potential.
Belmont's form twists into something grotesquely bizarre.
His whole body stretches unnaturally long. More precisely, his flesh, skin, and muscle tear open like scored meat, enabling maneuvers no normal body could manage.
Like his sword arm and torso elongating wildly in every direction.
Bang!
From that state, his rapier thrusts fiercer than ever.
We'd been at a standoff across a wide gap, yet the blade's tip shot out to a distance it never could before.
Belmont's style hasn't changed much, but now I'm in his range no matter where I stand.
Distance means nothing. He tears and shreds his body to close in, limbs and torso stretching disgustingly like rubber.
It's like a tornado potato drenched in bright red ketchup—perfect metaphor.
Of course, every twitch reveals bones, muscles, and guts pulsing inside the rents in his skin, but I've got no time to gawk at the horror show.
Whiish!
His arm, extended like a thorny vine, whips at me like a lash. Beyond rapier swings, Belmont jabs at me with every elongated, torn limb he can muster.
"Urk... th-that cursed thing..."
Doren, spectating the fight, gags and recoils in my stead. If I were watching from afar, I might've shrunk back too.
But I can't afford fear.
This is mid-battle, and I have to beat this bastard.
Far more critical than his gut-wrenching, fear-stoking appearance is how the fight shifts in Phase 2.
First, I roll calmly, probing each new pattern one at a time.
Whiish!
Stabs at weird angles exploiting that extended reach...
Whik! Whiish!
Wild grabs flung out to snag even my clothes?
His elegant fencing flair is gone, replaced by ugly grappling, but I dodge it all with care.
One hit, and I'm done for.
But even as I evade, I swing my longsword. Evade an extended strike, and I carve a fresh gash into his repulsive arm.
Slash!
Damage sinks in even on those writhing, stretched limbs. I whittle him down, bit by bit.
...No.
This won't cut it.
Time for my own rushed Phase 2. Good thing I've got just the item.
I'll slip in new tricks between his attacks, just like the monster. No holding back now.
I grip the Throwing Dagger I bought from Frigo last time in my left hand, lobbing it into every gap he gives.
Pok! Pok!
His remaining HP hits 27%, 26%...
Petty little chips of damage, but it'll do.
Boss fights demand patience—no rushing.
If Belmont brawls up close, I peck at his HP from range with daggers. If he stab-fests, I roll light and slash his arm with the longsword.
He wants to play range? Fine, I'll match his dirty tricks. No diving in for a fair fight.
Romance can wait. Killing this vicious boss first will scratch the itch.
Keuruk!
Belmont snaps completely. He's going all-out to kill me, yet eating hits one-sidedly—must burn.
Deureuk. Deuk. Deuddeureuk...
He reels in and compresses his torn flesh again.
Like coiling a spring, cramming every body part tight...
Bang!
Then elastic-launches his upper body at me like a bullet. Thinks he's a damn cannonball.
Thwack—!
I don't fully dodge the nasty pattern—his skull slams dead into my gut.
"Keuhek."
Not the instant HP plunge of a rapier stab, but I lose footing and sprawl backward.
Feels like organ damage. Skulls are no joke.
"Sir! G-get up, pleeease!"
Danger. Consecutive hits here, and my solid fight so far's wasted—back to square one.
But Belmont strides over to finish me on the ground.
I see the rapier. That pinpoint blade...
"Aaaah! N-nooo!"
In this do-or-die pinch, Doren's voice rings out from afar.
Glance over—Doren clutches a fist-sized rock in his right hand...
"Hik, hiik..."
He's frozen, hesitating.
He's trying to pull aggro for me, desperate to save my skin.
But Doren's gaunt face overflows with terror.
This ain't some run-of-the-mill foe. A rapier virtuoso who shreds his own body to whip out insane range—a raving monster.
The rock dips slowly. He can't chuck it.
Belmont ignores Doren's pathetic presence, fixated solely on me. The fear-eaten man offers zero aid.
Meanwhile, Belmont's rapier is primed. The straight killer aims for my finale.
...Then a wildcard drops in.
Shooo—
Beside the unthrown rock, something rockets off fast.
A honed edge gleams.
It slices air viciously and...
Pfuk!
Burrows deep into Belmont's flesh.
At once, his faintly hovering HP bar ticks down slow, like dot tick damage.