Group Stage (7)

“Ha.”

The moment I saw the selected map, the corner of my mouth curled up.

Of all places, the Duelist's Corridor.

No complicated layouts, no gimmicks—just a pure test of skill. And since we'd both chosen the same class, everything rested solely in my hands.

The Chain-Sickle wouldn't work this time. There had already been several dangerous moments against a fog mage; against an Assassin, there was nothing more to say. No need to hand over a hard-won victory for free.

I boldly abandoned the ambiguous skills. Better to trust myself than pour points into tools that would never land.

When the scheduled time passed, my vision went black. When it returned, a long corridor stretched out before me.

The greatest feature of the Duelist's Corridor was that you could see your opponent the instant the match started. Stealth behind obstacles was impossible. Scouting was meaningless. All that remained was a blood duel—a true battlefield for men.

The moment combat began, Ripper and I both sprinted at full power toward each other. When the distance had closed enough, we offered each other “respect” as if by prior agreement, paying our “regards.”

Ting—ting!

I knocked aside the flying dagger while hurling a throwing weapon of my own with the other hand. Black smoke rose from the blade that struck the floor—thanks to the generous dose of deadly poison I'd coated it with.

Weapons brought: dual daggers, same as me. Then his favorite opening should be… left-hand fake or low attack.

Correct.

Because of my smaller frame, Ripper swung first. It looked like he was aiming for my left eye, but his other hand was already preparing a stealthy strike at my thigh. I couldn't dodge everything, so I had to parry.

We locked into a binding clash of blades. I no longer held the advantage in strength; I couldn't simply shove his edge away. If you can't win a contest of force, you simply don't fight it. I twisted my blade toward his wrist, and blood welled from both our arms.

A flicker. Ripper's gaze dropped for an instant. Without thinking I snapped my head back. A thorn of shadow erupted where my chin had been a second earlier. His twin daggers lunged for the opening while my attention was split, looking for all the world like a spider's fangs.

Instead of a clumsy block I took two steps clear. The moment distance opened I flung another throwing blade. His dagger swatted it aside as if it were nothing—but thorns sprouted from the shadow of the dagger that had stuck in the ground.

First blood was mine.

“Pff…”

Dagger fights are inevitably vicious. Close-quarters combat with short weapons on both sides. Perfect defense is impossible, and the short range makes every attack land that much faster. Worse, we were both dual-wielding, so even the hand that should have been free for defense held a blade.

Attacks never stopped, and blood flowed freely. My dagger skimmed the underside of Ripper's jaw. A red line opened across my forward shoulder. One arm each remained locked in a binding stare-down. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Unwilling to release, I drove in hard and buried the blade. Ripper forced a reply. My dagger sank into his collarbone; his buried itself in my right shoulder.

A dagger driven deep is hard to pull free in one motion. Both of us needed to dodge the next strike. We tore free at the same time and simply yanked the blades still lodged in each other's flesh to use as our own.

The swapped daggers tore into us. Mine stabbed my own body; his stabbed his. We fought more aggressively than at the start. If it meant dealing more damage, we abandoned defense without hesitation. I stamped on Ripper's ankle and sliced his calf. In the same breath he opened cuts across my cheek and the nape of my neck. The instant our blades were about to clash, both assassins slipped away along the shadows at the same moment—each of us trying to cross the other's guard and arriving at the identical conclusion.

It was so absurd I let out a short laugh.

“Nice. This is fun. You're definitely good, and definitely strong.”

Blood poured from my body. My torn clothes were already soaked through; the cooling blood felt both cold and hot. The faint iron tang of blood—was I the only one smelling it?

Thinking he had a safe distance, Ripper briefly eased his stance. I stayed wary, wondering what he was doing. Then the dagger that had been swapped earlier clattered down in front of me. I understood. I tossed his dagger back as well. Once we each held our original blades again, words were unnecessary.

The next clash would kill one of us. We couldn't see each other's health bars, but neither of us was anywhere near whole.

No hesitation. Dragging my blood-soaked body, I advanced on Ripper. The high immersion rate meant there was nowhere that didn't hurt, yet my heart felt strangely at peace.

The kendo I had devoted my life to is, at its root, a combat sport. They call it a martial art of etiquette, but in the end it is a sport of putting a weapon on a human body. After hours every day of striking with a bamboo sword, finding an unbruised spot was nearly impossible. That was why this felt good. The full-body burn of this pain. This moment of throwing my body into the fire for victory. It felt exactly like going back to those days—as if every cell in my body was waking up.

It's been a while, this feeling.

The enemy was suddenly close. Once again Ripper took the first strike. Just as natural weight classes grant overwhelming advantage in martial arts, it was only natural that Ripper, with his longer arms, held the initiative.

But I saw it. As if the world's time had slowed. The glance that swept across my wrist before the attack. The back muscles twitching, ready to yank the arm back at any moment. I had read every intention, so I could decide.

I'll give it to you.

The artery at my wrist was laid open in a long cut, and the bleeding would not stop. In exchange I drove deeper inside. Ripper aimed for my heart. I arched my waist hard and dodged—rolling backward completely—then planted my good arm against the floor. My inverted vision surged upward. A brief weightlessness, and my heel connected with Ripper's jaw.

The gamble paid off. A clean heavy hit earned a short stun. As his body crumpled into free fall I wrapped both legs around it. Ripper's neck settled between ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my thighs. I tried to drive the dagger in… but he had already sliced my wrist in that same instant. My arm wouldn't move properly. Well—did it even matter anymore?

“Ahah.”

Pinning his neck tight between my thighs, I twisted my body and hips hard. A wet crack of breaking bone—and Ripper and I both sprawled across the floor. Something pressed down near my lower abdomen; I felt the weight of it.

I didn't know. I couldn't even bring myself to lift my head. If I moved carelessly the bleeding would only get worse and I would die. Even now the volume pouring from my wrist was anything but ordinary. If Ripper still wasn't dead, this was my loss.

Death drew near and my vision darkened. Just as I closed my eyes thinking I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lost, the pain vanished all at once and I opened them again. A blue system message floated before my eyes.