Catastrophe, Part 3
The moment I stepped into the cabin, the first thing that caught my eye was a thick trail of blood. The floor we used to walk on was stained red. Dark crimson spots marred the carpet Hena had cared for so diligently every day. I could still vividly picture her shaking the dust out of it every morning, but now it was a ruined mess, caked in mud.
The tableware we used every day lay shattered across the floor, and the leather of the sofa Therion often lounged on was torn to shreds. It was repulsive. It felt as though our precious sanctuary had been defiled. This cabin was a place everyone had desperately wanted to leave. It was a prison, a place of exile we wouldn't have survived without each other. But it was not a place to be trampled by filthy, muddy boots. Painful memories though they were, they were still our memories. This was where we had lived. Perhaps, in the distant future, we might have returned here just once to look back on these days.
There was a corpse lying near the kitchen. Thank god, it wasn't a face I recognized. The corpse was silent. But there was no way a corpse was the only thing left here. Yet, the cabin was eerily quiet.
"Therion? If you're here, answer me."
No answer came. The only sound reaching my ears was the low, heavy drag of my own breath. My heart sank. An enemy was likely hiding. If Therion had defeated them all, someone would have answered. If he hadn't, it meant an enemy was still lurking. In that case, there was a high probability that Therion had been incapacitated.
I ground my teeth. Fortunately, there was no sign of Hena or Sirien. I could only pray they were hiding safely somewhere.
"It's me, Rajen. If you're okay, just say something."
"..."
"Alright. Sirien, Hena? If you can hear me, stay hidden. I'll finish this quickly."
Still, silence. I gripped my sword tighter. I had thought my body was reaching its limit, but it seemed I still had some strength left. Was it anger? Or was it a final, fleeting burst of life before the end? It didn't matter. As long as it gave me the strength to fight right now, I didn't care what it was.
My eyes swept over the cabin's interior. First, I needed to analyze the signs of the struggle. Chairs and tables lay overturned in every direction. The chess pieces I used to play with Sirien were scattered like garbage. There were numerous bloodstains, likely from both sides wounding each other. However, the footprints overlapping them weren't numerous enough to suggest more than three people.
Was the fight short?
No. I spotted a slash mark on the kitchen curtain. The tear was relatively low. I pictured Therion's height. He must have launched a successful ambush from behind that curtain. He probably forced a one-on-one fight right from the start. That must have been how he managed to buy so much time.
I could picture him fighting desperately. He complained a lot, but he was a tough bastard in combat. He would have fought with zero regard for his own safety, ensuring he left a mark on his opponent. Whoever was left must have been incredibly strong. Still, I couldn't imagine anyone walking away from a fight with Therion completely unscathed.
What worried me was that Therion's sword was broken.
That sword isn't something that breaks easily. And there's no way Therion neglected his weapon's maintenance.
The sword gouges left around the room were also unusual. At a glance, they looked as if they had been carved out by sheer, overwhelming force.
Just then, a faint sound came from behind the wall where I had paused. It sounded like the rustle of fabric. In the dead silence, it rang out exceptionally loud. Without hesitation, I lunged forward. But just as I was about to swing my sword, my eyes widened in shock.
"Therion? Hena?"
There was no sign of the enemy. All I saw were Therion and Hena, slumped in the corner of the wall. Hena didn't seem to have any visible wounds. Her breathing was steady, and there was no blood on her. She had probably just been knocked unconscious. Thank god.
Did they decide she wasn't worth taking hostage because she was wearing a maid's uniform?
The problem was Therion. Crimson blood soaked his entire body, pouring from a deep gash on his neck. He had other minor cuts, but the wound on his neck was catastrophically severe. He was still alive—or rather, barely clinging to life. His breath was incredibly faint, threatening to stop at any moment.
Snap. Something seemed to break inside my head. I had to stop the bleeding right now. But then, footsteps echoed from behind. If I hadn't spun around instantly to block, I would have been sliced clean in half.
Clang! The steel shrieked violently.
How can someone have this much strength...?!
It was a familiar downward slash. Blocking it was easy enough, but the moment our blades locked, he began to press down with raw, brute force. I couldn't see his face clearly. His loose, baggy robe made it hard to gauge his build, though I could glimpse bulging muscles through the tears in his collar. My physical abilities were often called monstrous, but that was only compared to peers my age. I wasn't equipped to match someone who challenged me in a direct contest of strength like this.
Screeech. My sword shrieked under the pressure. The wounds on my arms throbbed in protest. I could endure the pain, but they severely hindered my ability to exert force. This was bad. Even if I were in perfect condition, locking strength with this guy would have been a terrible move. I had to abandon a losing battle quickly. But as I tried to pull my sword back, a kick flew toward me. I managed to block it, but the impact sent me stumbling back several paces.
"Ugh!"
"You look pathetic. I'll put you out of your misery soon."
His voice was deep and gravelly. Normally, I would have snapped back with a sarcastic retort, but I genuinely didn't have the luxury. I was at a severe disadvantage. The cramped indoor space made it difficult to keep my distance and fight from the outside—not that it would have been easy anyway, given my smaller frame.
Relishing his advantage, he rained down relentless strikes.
Crash! Clang! Screeech! The deafening clashes sounded far too violent to be mere swords colliding. As the blades ground against each other, the shockwaves jarred my arms.
I've only blocked a few times, and the blade is already chipping.
The sword's durability couldn't withstand his blows. Feigning that I could no longer hold my ground, I took another step back. I quickly lowered my stance and lunged toward his flank. There was no way I could fight him head-on. As we swapped positions, the best I could do was leave a shallow gash on his calf. It wasn't a deep wound; the feedback through my hilt felt superficial. His expression barely flickered.
If only my body were in one piece, I could have cut deeper.
This wasn't enough to turn the tide. If I kept letting him dictate the offense, I would end up dead without a fight.
Clang! Crash! Every time our swords clashed, a searing pain shot up my arms. I bit my lip, fighting off the encroaching darkness in my mind. On his fifth strike, a crack splintered across my blade.
Will this thing even hold for two more strikes?
I had to make a decision before then. But how? Swordsmanship wasn't the answer. My technique might have been superior, but my physical condition rendered that advantage meaningless. Grappling or hand-to-hand combat wasn't even worth considering; trying to get into close quarters with this monster in my current state was an idea only an idiot would entertain. There wasn't even a proper angle to throw my sword like I did earlier. That left only one option: a mutual destruction that disregarded survival entirely.
Forget about surviving.
If I resolved myself to die, I could surely land at least one decisive blow. He was the last one anyway. Even if I died, Sirien and Hena would be able to escape alive. Just as I steeled myself for death, a miracle occurred.
"Agh! Urgh...?"
The man froze, suddenly coughing up a torrent of blood. A broken blade was buried deep in his neck. Through the haze, I caught sight of a staggering figure behind him. Therion. It's you. I didn't waste the opportunity. My sword lunged straight for the man's heart, striking true. I heard his sword clatter to the floor. He wasn't dead yet. With my blade still embedded in his chest, I hacked and slashed at him repeatedly. Only when my face was completely drenched in blood did his body finally collapse. At the same moment, Therion slumped to the floor.
"Is... is this the last of them...?"
Therion asked, his voice barely a whisper. I rushed to support him. I hadn't seen it clearly before, but the slash on his neck was horrific. It was so deep that even if I stopped the bleeding now, I didn't know if he would survive.
"Don't talk! You're losing too much blood."
What should I do? Was there any way to treat a wound like this in this cabin? I didn't know. I needed help. Just then, my eyes fell on Hena, who was lying nearby. She was the one who would find a way, no matter what, for Therion's sake. In this moment, Hena was the most reliable person I had. I rushed over to wake her.
"Hena, Hena! Wake up. Hena!"
Fortunately, after a few frantic shakes, her eyes fluttered open.
"Help me. Therion is in danger. We have to do something."
Her eyes, initially dazed, quickly scanned her surroundings as clarity returned. In an instant, her gaze locked onto Therion. Hena's face drained of all color.
"N-no... Young Master. No. Please, no, Young Master!"