Hierarchy Sorting
Hierarchy sorting. Inside the black lens, the ground rushes closer at breakneck speed. I blink once without thinking. Like a cut in a film, the top of a foot comes surging upward from below, aiming straight for my neck. While I was playing with that rat—no, that grayish-brown puppy—she'd been preparing this adorable little ambush? Not bad, thief.
Thud! My brief admiration is cut short as my neck bends at an unnatural angle from the front kick she'd clearly thrown with the intent of getting caught. Wham! At the same time, a heavy impact slams into my side. Judging by how deep it landed, she'd chained it into a side or back kick. I don't know if taekwondo exists in this fantasy world, but if it does, this damn cat must be a ninth-degree black belt. The way she puts rotation into her ankle is no joke.
A second shock follows, twisting my side along with the first. I can't even begin to imagine how someone twists a kick to split the impact into two distinct waves. Did she borrow some secret from those wuxia novels—Fa Jin, maybe? If so, I'd love a lesson or two.
Crack! With a sound like a drumskin tearing, my vision stretches like a brushstroke dragged across a palette of scattered colors. Yet my eyes ignore the distracting afterimages. They fix solely on the prey.
Floating in that instant, I reach toward Sion, who wears a smug, well-fed cat's grin while watching me. Mutation.
The hot-and-cold energy cycling through my body—mana—condenses into my right arm. A realization gained from all that enthusiastic knife throwing: [Indescribable Terror] changes the speed of Mutation depending on how much mana I pour into it. If used well, it can do things like this.
Deployment.
Shrrraaak!!! A black arm explodes outward from the palm I extended toward Sion. A chain reaction of growth begins from that first limb. At its end stands the cat-eared rogue, her expression twisting in alarm.
“Tch.”
She clicks her tongue and dodges sideways in a flash. The chain of black arms grazes her ash-gray hair and shoots past her shoulder. But—
You think that's all?
The arm that passed her whips around and rises, stealthily targeting her back.
Split.
Four black arms branch out from the palm aimed at the unsuspecting Sion's spine. Then those four limbs begin to multiply further. Like a cluster of white phosphorus shells falling at an angle, the countless arms erase every angle of escape and plunge toward their prey like striking vipers.
The sensitive cat ears twitch, detecting multiple presences behind her. At the same time, the fur on her tail and the hair on her head stand on end. Yet it's only a physiological reaction—her expression remains perfectly calm.
“....”
Sion's golden pupils meet mine where I lie slumped against the sandbag. Unlike the other humans, her gaze holds no fear, only bold confrontation. It is the look of a hunter.
Tap. Wearing a thief's sly smile, Sion drops the white wooden stick to the ground, draws a knife from her robes, and lowers her stance. So her target was never the contractor—it was me from the start?
How interesting.
It's been ages since anyone challenged me with genuine intent. My blood begins to boil for the first time in a long while.
Shhhheeeek! The swarm of black arms plummets toward Sion like missiles as she crouches like a cat about to pounce. In that moment, she launches herself straight at me.
Pabababak!!! The black arms slam down behind Sion's back as she slides toward me in a low assassin's posture. Yet every time her ears flick, the attacks miss by a hair. Her evasive maneuvers show not a single moment of hesitation, as though she has eyes in the back of her head.
“Eliminated.”
I rapidly withdraw my mana, severing the branches grown from my right arm and letting them crumble into ash. Then I flood my legs with mana and kick off the ground with force. A combat knife woven from shadow now rests in my hand, held in reverse grip. The more I focus on combat, the easier it becomes to maintain and control [Indescribable Terror].
Maybe someday I'll be able to keep it active all day.
No fight is more meaningful than one where you actually learn something. I'd worried this would just be a waste of time, but the unexpected gains are a pleasant surprise.
Smiling faintly at the sense of accomplishment, I kick off even harder and charge toward the oncoming Sion. The suffocatingly fierce clash between black crow and gray cat—the true hierarchy sorting—has begun.
***
“Crow! Get ready to die, nyang!!!”
Shouting that, Sion slides across the grass at high speed. I silently swing my empty left hand toward her face.
“!!!”
Her center of gravity shifts violently and she twists her body in the opposite direction from where my hand points. She'd recalled my knife-throwing motions, and the survival instinct etched into her flesh had activated unconsciously.
Got her.
But I would never actually throw a dagger at our guide, now would I? She should have trusted me, Sion-Sion. Was our friendship, forged through the chaos of Dungeon Road, really only this shallow?
“You underhanded bastard!!!”
Realizing too late that I'd bluffed, Sion flares with anger and struggles to regain her posture. The sudden evasion has strained her muscles; a slight tremor and creaking can be felt. In close-quarters combat, such minor differences in condition often separate the living from the dead. These small details matter far more than flashy, useless knife tricks.
Whoosh! I thrust my empty left arm toward Sion, who is now glaring at me through gritted teeth.
Shhhheek! As if waiting for this, a blade comes slicing upward from below, aimed at my wrist. It's fairly threatening, but—
Does our veteran lack experience in PvP?
Why does she keep biting at every obvious bait? I wouldn't just stick my arm out toward a knife-wielding mad cat-eared rogue. I'm not some idiot who gets his arm bitten off by a fish in the starter village while being the strongest being in the world.
Swish! I immediately retract my left arm and deliver a kick to Sion's exposed side. This is what we call a revenge side kick. Getting hit feels pretty nasty.
“Khhk!”
Yet in that split second, Sion crosses her knee and elbow to block the lethal blow. Even so, the impact must have been severe—her body is sent flying backward as if struck by a truck.
Whoosh!
“...?”
And then I, too, am dragged along, one leg lifted toward the sky, following Sion like a cannonball.
Wire?
In Western movies, you've probably seen scenes where a criminal's ankle is roped to a horse and dragged across the ground. My current state is exactly that. The only difference is that instead of a horse, the one pulling me is a flying cat.
Thud. Sion, who had been flying almost vertically, yanks on the invisible wire tied to my ankle, steadies herself in midair, and delivers a soccer kick straight at my head as I slide toward her.
“Die, nyang!!!”
The venom in her expression is terrifying enough to appear in nightmares. Still—
Are you sure about that? This mask is pretty hard, you know.
Thonk! A tremendous impact travels through my jaw, nearly snapping it upward. But it seems the one more shocked by the collision isn't me—the one who got hit—but her.
“Nyaaak!!! Why is it so hard, nyang!!! You crazy rock-headed crow!!!”
Screaming like a cousin who just stepped on a Lego, Sion hops in place while clutching one leg. The pain must be intense—tears the size of chicken droppings roll down her cheeks.
See? This is a thirty-thousand-won indestructible object that maintains its shape even inside a black hole. The strongest weapon in this world would probably have its molecular structure collapse if pecked by the beak on this mask. Moral of the story: don't act tough if you didn't pay for it.
I shake my head to dispel the lingering shock, sever the wire around my ankle, and charge at Sion, who is frantically shaking her leg like a cat that stepped on tape.
“You damn....”
Grinding her molars against the pain, Sion forces her foot back to the ground. I swing the knife held in reverse grip outward toward her collarbone. But—
“...What?”
Sion suddenly raises her left arm toward my blade.
Shrrrip! The knife tears through her robe.
Scrrrape! It produces a grinding sound, as if caught on something.
That's—
A buckler?
Using the small circular shield hidden beneath her robe—about the size of a forearm—she deflects my knife, then ducks low and dives straight into my embrace. Thus begins the knife fight.
Most people imagine knife fighting as something flashy—blades flashing, clashing in rhythmic exchanges, sparks flying with every metallic ring. Reality, however, is far less romantic. It's simply a matter of one person trying to grab and stab while the other tries to stab without being grabbed. It's incredibly tedious.
Shhhhek!!! Every time I attempt to seize her shoulder or arm, her knife lashes out, targeting my wrist. Still, I keep trying to initiate the grapple. Back when I played Tekken with my friend, I was always the grab-heavy player.
“Agh! Seriously, this is so damn annoying, nyang.”
Shuddering at my dirty tactics, she apparently decides close combat is a bad idea and leaps backward. Then, as if deciding it's time to end this tedious exchange, she sheathes her knife and raises both hands into the air like a conductor.
What is this—some kind of ultimate technique?
“Crow, I'm getting serious now, nyang.”
“...?”
We'd already been going at one hundred percent sincerity this whole time. I have no idea what she's talking about. And yet...
Has ten minutes always felt this long?
***
“Um, Regina-nim.”
“Hm? What is it, Recorder?”
“It's just... I think it's been a bit more than ten minutes. You haven't said anything, so....”
“Ah...!”
She'd forgotten to count the time.