Arena Finals (4)

At last, the feeling of facing the opponent I was always meant to face.

The ace of Europe's prestigious AT. The centerpiece of a glittering career. A Dark Knight rated among the absolute best in the world stood blocking my path.

After the promised first ambush, a knight on a black steed tore through the deep blue forest at a full gallop. Bold of him — he clearly meant to trample me under those hooves. Getting crushed beneath a horse that size was not among my preferences.

I rolled toward my shield side and slipped clear. The bare touch of a dagger was enough to paint the field with the beast's blood. The warhorse's summon dissolved, and Kelberos set his feet back on solid ground.

A sword instead of the axe. So he bent once.

Of his two favored weapons, the sword had been chosen. In raw destructive power, the axe was clearly superior. That the sword had come out meant he had abandoned any plan of simply crushing me with physical force.

Our weapons met for the first time. He came at full strength, and the pressure was nothing like the previous match. I had thought I had denied him any useful data — yet Kelberos's defense was far sturdier and more solid than I had expected. And still, every single blow carried a living weight.

Knight-line classes were born with high strength; that much was true. But this was a realm entirely separate from stats. Without perfect impact points and blade paths, power like this simply did not appear.

A successful parry window lasted longer the higher my defense, and shorter the stronger the attack I was receiving. Force of this magnitude meant I would have to overcome some viciously tight timing.

Sword-violet mana spread as if seizing the surroundings. The forest's blue greenery lost its vitality, went brittle, and began to darken into black. The flowers that bloomed again wore grotesque shapes.

The Dark Knight had been released as the polar opposite of the Holy Knight. No ally-support abilities. No self-healing of any kind. Instead, the class applied debuffs to enemies and finished them with aggressive skills. That sword-violet aura and those ugly flowers were part of the same package.

Simply drawing near put you inside the curse's range, and Malice stacks accumulated. Ordinarily he seemed to favor defense buffs, but right now it was clearly a slow. Fight long enough and even my mobility would start to die.

Normally this would have been a catastrophic drain on mana. But this battlefield happened to be the Great Forest of Fairy Trees — mana could be topped up as freely as I liked.

A little stifling.

I could not find a single seam to drive into. Whether he was conscious of the previous match or not, his low-line defense had become considerably tougher, and his rear coverage was airtight. Even when I led with skills and tried to force aggressive exchanges, he refused to play along.

I had stabbed his sword wrist several times, but—

As the debuffs piled up, the exchange could no longer be called a clean win. I had been certain I blocked it — then a mana detonation went off a beat late and the damage came through anyway. That was the kind of trick Ripper excelled at. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nowhere near the original, but he had added one more irritating little technique to his kit. A flourish he had never once used even in pro matches.

So I wasn't the only one holding a hidden weapon?

Kelberos drove his sword into the ground. An ominous ripple spread from the blade, and the only place left for me to go was the sky. From the opposite side, a shadow surged up in a half-circle and lunged for him. I had thought the angle would leave him blind — but a clean metallic ring told me the parry had succeeded.

Using the Silver Thread I had already set as a foothold, I moved onto a fairy-tree branch. I made the sky my temporary sanctuary — then plunged toward the ground. Even Kelberos could not take this one on a pure guard.

Burning a critical buff, I shattered his left pauldron. A longsword check, then the shield thrust forward like a fortress wall. I caught the upper face of the shield as if it were the most natural thing in the world and vaulted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard upward. In the inverted world, Kelberos's head came into view.

A kindhearted assassin greets moments like these with poison and hidden weapons. Beside the black helm — toward the chainmail covering his neck — I flung a dagger. Crouching had ruined most of the impact points, but one of the three still landed. A pleasant enough trade.

I hid myself in the fairy trees again and laid more Silver Thread. Better to set it early if I meant to use it as footing later.

This isn't what the weapon was originally made for, but…

My advantage in this match was the ability to use the air. My opponent was a slow-footed Dark Knight. The only reason to bring Silver Thread was as footholds. He would never thrash around caught in the wire, so hanging it high from the start and using it myself was the correct call.

While throwing weapons muddied his attention, a shadow surged up behind Kelberos. Black thorns punched through his shoulder. The clone that flew in from the opposite side was crushed in a violet fist. In that opening I carved a wound into his side and leapt, using the laid Silver Thread to wheel around. The instant I cleared to the far side, a black slash tore through the spot I had just left — and a precious length of Silver Thread snapped, hanging limp. A waste was a waste. I went for Kelberos's head again.

"Annoying."

"Assassins tend to be, don't they?"

I said it, but my own frustration had not resolved. Kelberos's guard was not invincible. I had broken a Lancer's shield before. Bring anyone in this world and they still could not achieve perfect defense against me. The problem was that every time I crossed that solid wall, my own bleeding was just as severe.

The damned debuff stacked without end. His attacks grew steadily stronger, and the iron-walled knight showed no sign of crumbling. Even a rough calculation led to only one conclusion: the health lead I held right now was not enough.

An enhanced slash split into multiple branches. Blocking them was not hard. Catch them simultaneously with both daggers and a parry was guaranteed. But spending time on those slashes handed Kelberos an opening. I did not want that.

I rode a shadow to the rear — and pitch-black rain fell as if it had been waiting. I was being read. No — more precisely, I was being herded. Assuming both of us played optimally, this was the only place I could have gone.

This won't work.

At a glance the exchange looked like my advantage. In this acrobatic kind of fight, I had held the initiative. But the things I used as footholds were vanishing one by one. Fairy-tree branches were cut and fell. The Silver Thread being severed over and over was not infinite. Even I could not maneuver in midair without something to stand on. Little by little… my feet were being bound.

I have to throw the decisive play. Before it's too late.

As the last Silver Thread was spent, mana poured out of me in a mass. Around the moment I slipped into cover behind fairy-tree leaves, a colossal chain descended ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the sky. To kill an opponent, you sometimes have to accept risk yourself. I shoved both my clone and my own body into the skill's range; the summoned chain skimmed past me by a hair.

While Kelberos's shield caught the chain, I rode a shadow and seized his back in a single motion. Done. The guard was brok—

"Quick to decide, as expected."

The instant I thought I had broken the guard, what filled my eyes was a mass of mana writhing atop Kelberos's armor. He had been hiding it behind the shield all this time. I knew what it was. A skill originally meant for area control — not so much for hitting someone as for forcing them out of a given zone. Carrying that thing right against his body meant only one intention.

Self-detonation. The brute was trusting his defense and setting off a bomb in my face.

Kelberos even threw his own sword aside and seized my arm.

"You insane bastard…!"

Even at a glance, the remaining countdown was not long. And a little injected mana would be enough to accelerate it. No time. I had to use even this tiny gap.

I threw the best attack I could manage. I tore the subscapularis, then drove a dagger into the weakly armored nape of his neck. I was just about to shove the blade through and cut his throat when a massive explosion hurled my body away.

The guard gauge did not hold for even a fraction of a second before burning out completely. My body flew beyond any control and only stopped when it slammed into a tree trunk. When the brief blackout cleared, the world around me was nothing but a blur.

The match had not ended. Somehow I seemed to have survived — but my condition was no different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from a living corpse. Remaining health sat around three percent. Between every kind of trauma and fracture, I could not so much as twitch. And before any of that, it hurt too much. Screaming would have been too humiliating, so I clenched my teeth and endured it.

Soon Kelberos, having collected himself, strode up to me. In his hand was a broken sword. The dagger in his neck had been my gift, and it looked as though it had caught, by the barest margin, somewhere around the cervical spine.

Kelberos spoke as if he were thoroughly fed up.

"To think you'd push me this far in that tiny window. You're quite the monster yourself."

Then my heart hurt — and then it stopped hurting.