Arena Finals (7)

I'd thought setting the sword down for a moment would make it better.

It hadn't. The foul, clammy feeling clung on, refusing to lift. A vivid sensation climbed from the hilt into my palm, and with it came that same crawling revulsion, as if something were coating my arm. Through the quiet bamboo forest, every breath I exhaled carried a tinge of gloom.

The one mercy was that the seizures weren't as violent as before. Maybe the weight of the final match in the championship was what kept my reason from slipping entirely. As long as it didn't interfere with the fight, I could rot for all it mattered — and yet a tightness still sat heavy in my chest. Even deep breaths did nothing to calm it. I found myself wondering whether a small cut on my forearm might help.

I never acted on it. Because beyond the still bamboo, a commotion rose.

The thunder of a galloping horse striking the earth. Faster than before. Heavier. The sound rolled outward through the grove.

A heavily armored knight astride his mount. Kelberos came at me without a word of warning.

Speed fused with mass — the attack went past powerful and into the realm of pure destruction. His weapon hadn't even properly connected yet, and the wind alone was enough to measure its force. The black steed that had been little more than a means of transport until now ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was clad in full barding. The volume of mana pouring off it was considerable, and it seemed he'd abandoned the endurance-oriented playstyle that was his specialty. His weapon had changed too — a halberd suited for mounted combat. This, then, was the last stand Kelberos had prepared.

A fine war cry. Rough fury clung to the blade of that spear, yet the temperature of it was so bitterly cold it scattered frost through the air around him. It was the low growl of a wounded predator whose pride had been cut.

Nice. Unexpected, and a good pick against a dual-blade fighter like me.

I was glad of it myself. Clashing weapons was about the only thing that made me feel even slightly better. I hoped that attack would hit hard enough. Hard enough that just taking it would make my arm scream — that would be even better.

But no matter how devastating a strike might be, it was worthless if the point of impact was wrong. Without precise control behind it, the force simply scattered. There was no need to meet it head-on. As long as the enemy's weapon never touched my body, that was enough. A power-loaded attack was hard to correct mid-trajectory — which made deflecting it to the side all the more effective.

Or was it?

Maybe just trading blood would be fine. I could take a little pain right now.

"Hhh…"

For some reason, a faintly sweet taste filled my mouth. A dull heat seemed to pulse through me, and something tickled deep in my throat as if it were caught there. The instinct carved into my body knocked the shaft of the spear aside. I'd meant to spear the horse and kill it — but killing a mounted knight barehanded was never going to be easy.

Before Kelberos could re-enter, I tapped the hilt of my sword against my ear.

It's noisy, Mom. Your son's in the middle of a match right now. I'll cry and thrash and bash my head against the ground later, so just be quiet for now. Yes, I love you too.

While that bleak emotion was still gnawing at my chest, Kelberos charged back in and poured out his rage. A clean, unadorned downward cut. I thought I'd blocked it well — but the force riding the spear-blade far exceeded what I'd expected. The spine of my sword was driven down into my shoulder, and my body nearly took real damage.

"Ah."

"Focus! I paid you my respects — the least you can do is show me the courtesy I am due!"

"…That's fair."

Look at me, he was saying. Concentrate on the match and nothing else. Never once in my life had anyone else's words gotten through to my illness. And yet today, all at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once, it felt as if ice water had been dumped over my entire body. The nameless revulsion coating my skin seemed to wash away with it. Not completely gone, of course — my head had been broken for far longer than a day or two. But once reason had room to step in, something resembling normal thought became possible again.

Looking back, I'd been doing him a disservice. This guy was wringing every last drop of his ability for the best match he could give, and I'd been distracted by something completely irrelevant, not concentrating at all. In short, I'd been doing the one thing I hated most. And honestly, the way he'd put it had been fairly gentlemanly. I'd always been much rougher about it.

You fucking bastard! You were thinking about something else just now, weren't you? Am I that easy?

…No, that wasn't it. Sorry.

Do it again. It'll be different this time. God, this is so fucking annoying.

Hey! Who swears during practice?!

I'm sorry!

Back when I'd first slammed into a wall. I'd lost miserably and still thrown my pride around like a shield. My language had gotten so rough the instructor had chewed me out more times than I could count. Honestly, the gap had been enormous. Even I, on the receiving end, knew I had no chance of winning — so how much worse must it have been from the other side? But admitting that was a different matter entirely. I'd dug in my heels and kept sparring with him anyway.

And now Kelberos was charging at me the way I had back then. That inferiority — or that hunger to win — was so welcome I could have laughed. It didn't just feel like chasing the past. It felt like I'd returned to it. And so, for the first time since my legs had been ruined, I found myself truly concentrating with a sword in my hands.

Here it comes. Take it, then cut for the waist?

A motion I'd repeated countless times. Deflect the descending strike to the side, and in the same instant the weapons collide, fold the blade's path. Kelberos was mounted, so higher than usual — target the leg braced in the stirrup. A horizontal slash left a faint afterimage hanging in empty air. A clean hit. As the blade pulled free, blood spattered across the dirt. The follow-up meant for the horse's leg missed by a hair, but I hadn't expected much ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from that one to begin with.

"…Better than before."

"Yeah? Good."

Still arrogant, even while being pushed back. Even that was exactly like the old me, and I was glad of it. Our positions might have shifted a little — but so what.

Kelberos choosing a mounted approach wasn't a mistake in itself. He'd never shown it in league play, but the skill behind it looked like something he'd honed for a very long time. A weapon he'd kept hidden, ready to draw whenever he needed it. But his opponent was me.

The first wall I'd had to climb after starting kendo hadn't been my friend. Back then, even the instructor had been an insurmountable wall. I hadn't been the type to lose on physique wherever I went — but that was when the instructor still carried fragments of his prime, and I had just entered middle school. Kendo may not have weight classes, but that raw, stupid strength had hit like a truck.

Hey, I blocked that just now — you just overpowered me with pure strength!

I did.

Isn't that cheating?

If you thought you couldn't stop it, you should have found another way. Think of it as a good thing. Fighting when the strength gap is this wide is useful experience.

I never imagined that experience would come full circle and serve me now. My kendo had begun with learning how to handle force.

I deflected the halberd's attack once. What I needed was the fleeting instant when the edges of our weapons scraped past each other. I slipped my sword inside the curved blade of the spear, and as the two weapons locked, my body was dragged roughly forward. I didn't have the raw strength to hold it. In reality, I would have had to give up — but this was a game. If the strength wasn't enough, I simply made more.

A common activation skill for warrior-class characters. In exchange for burning my life, I took the power — gripped the spine of the sword with my bare hand and held on. If I, standing on solid ground, couldn't hold, I'd simply be dragged by the horse. But for Kelberos, still mounted, the story was different. The moment our strength inverted, he was yanked toward me and thrown from the saddle.

"Let's end it here!"

"Hah…!"

He recovered his stance with the speed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of someone who'd expected exactly this. But it didn't matter. Even at full readiness, he wasn't someone I couldn't break through.

Sparks flew as my sword slammed into his shield. I folded the blade, twisted the spear-shaft free, and drove straight into the opening, punching through his armor. The shield he thrust out I seized by hand and forced open. Defense reduced to empty air. Into the gap of his body I poured every ounce of force into the sword.

My body moved before thought could finish. The blade found his waist and head as if by nature. Instinct reached first — and after that came the throat, the heart, the vitals. And with that, exactly one step forward. The moment I closed the distance further, Kelberos's spear-shaft crashed down onto my shoulder.

"We'll meet again… for certain. And next time, it won't be like this."

"Let's."

It was a strike with everything he had left. Every last scrap of strength and mana wrung dry — and even though it was only the shaft that hit me, my right shoulder shattered. But that was all. The spear-blade that should have been the true point of impact stabbed empty air, and the mana that had lost its destination scattered into wind. The bamboo forest trembled for a moment. My sword did not.

With my left hand, I shoved Kelberos's body away. He slumped against a sturdy stalk of bamboo, and the blade that had driven clean through his waist left a red trail in its wake.