Moonlit Escape (4)
Sword Seeker.
Those who have risen beyond merely weaving mana into aura, to the stage of imbuing that aura with their own Mindscape. The swordsmanship they display runs on an entirely different track from ordinary bladework.
That is only natural.
The aura a Sword Seeker draws forth possesses its own form and nature. Some scatter aura that resembles flames; others, aura like snowflakes. Even when performing the same technique, the reach and domain of the cut change according to the shape of that aura.
A swing that sets vegetation ablaze. A swing that severs someone far away.
Standing in the gap between human and superhuman, the blades these powerhouses wield sometimes simply ignore common sense. Just as they do right now.
Chaaaak!
Najin staggered backward.
Blood poured freely from his shoulder. He had thought he'd caught the blade fully—yet at the gush of blood, Najin clenched his teeth.
Najin was by no means weak.
He stood at the very peak of the Sword Experts, and among Experts there was no one who could beat him. His physical ability and the output of his aura had long surpassed the Expert level, and his instantaneous judgment would not fall short even against a Sword Seeker.
And yet—Najin was still a Sword Expert.
He had not yet reached the realm of the Sword Seeker.
People say not every fight is decided by rank, but most fights are decided by rank. Because the level of strength accumulated is different.
Chaak!
Najin pressed a hand hard against the shoulder where blood was bursting out and lifted his head. Before him stood Knight Commander Griffin, aura drawn.
The aura that surged along his blade was red.
That crimson aura took the form of a thorned tree, sharp branches spreading outward. Keeping his distance, Najin narrowed his eyes.
I thought I'd blocked it.
The moment he received the sword, the extending aura had cut deep into his shoulder. Najin had only ever fought those who produced aura of a fixed shape. Aura that changed form was unfamiliar to him.
…Unfamiliar, but he would have to get used to it.
This was no training bout where neither sought the other's life. This was real combat, a fight for survival. Naturally there was no leisure to stand and observe. Escape was not an option either, and he was the one who had to hold this man back.
He would not send Knight Commander Griffin after Dieta.
He would buy time against this opponent until the objective was achieved.
That was the duty given to Najin. Carving it into his mind, he moved. Steadying his breath, he set his sword right. By the time he had composed himself, Griffin was already closing on him.
Tak.
The step Griffin took was only a single pace, yet Najin found himself face-to-face with the man who had somehow already arrived right under his nose. Reflexively, Najin swung.
Kagagagagagak!
Aura crashed against aura. Najin had grown to the point of having no equal among Experts, yet he could not fully receive Griffin's aura. Density, output, the very cohesion of the aura—he was inferior in every respect.
With every block, his aura was scraped away.
Even when Najin forced himself to hold a collapsing stance, Griffin shattered that stance with raw power. Every time the man swung, Najin's body shook hard.
Jjeong!
At last his posture shattered completely.
The arm holding his sword whipped backward. He had failed to endure the rebound of the aura. And into the torso left wide open, Griffin's kick exploded. Najin saw it—but could not dodge.
Jjeok.
A kick armored in greaves and boots produced more impact than a heavy blunt weapon. The breath he had swallowed was forced out in an instant; Najin's eyes flew wide. His body lifted and flew backward.
Swaeek—the sound of air being cut reached his ears. He was sailing through the air.
By the time one became a Sword Seeker, physical ability had already entered a realm that could no longer be called human. Even Expert-level Najin could send a hulking knight flying with a kick; there was no reason a Sword Seeker like Griffin could not do the same.
Scenery streaked past Najin's eyes.
The figure of Griffin, who had stood before him, receded.
No—it did not recede. Griffin planted the leg he had extended for the kick back into the ground. The instant he kicked off the earth, the receding figure snapped close again. He had pursued Najin the moment he was launched.
This is insane. Seriously.
Najin spat a curse inwardly and clenched his teeth.
If he stayed like this he would be cut down. He twisted his body midair. Fortunately they were in a forest, and even while flying there were things to grab.
Kwak.
Najin stretched out an arm and seized the trunk of a tree whipping past him. Twisting with that grip, he avoided the sword Griffin swung in pursuit. Missing Najin by a hair's breadth, the blade cleanly severed the base of the tree he had been holding.
No time to rest after dodging. As the cut tree toppled, Najin kicked off it and got clear of the range of Griffin's blade.
Chaaaak—sliding across the ground as he landed, Najin caught his breath. His struck abdomen throbbed. One or two ribs might be broken. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva and looked at Griffin.
Kuwooooong!
The tree crashed down, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Parting the dust as he walked out, Griffin's eyes fixed straight on Najin. Not a hint of fatigue, and the crimson aura rising from his sword was nothing short of chilling.
Truly, a monster in his own right.
More than the demon knights who regenerated no matter how many times they were cut, the knight before him felt more terrifying to Najin.
No mystical swordsmanship, no flashy tricks, no special footwork.
He simply swung his sword with stubborn force and pressed in.
And that alone was more than enough threat. This was a Sword Seeker—this was a swordsman who had reached a realm Najin had yet to touch. Steadying the uneven breath left by the blow to his gut, Najin let his sword hang.
Use the terrain.
Kick off the trees and move. Avoid a head-on contest and aim for the blind spots in his vision. Najin roughly knew how to fight someone stronger than himself.
That was the moment he started to move.
Kung.
Griffin took a step.
The ground shook. Gripping his sword with both hands, he drew it back behind him. The crimson aura thrashed and coiled into a single mass.
"···!"
Najin's eyes went wide.
Instinct rang the alarm. For an instant his heart hammered violently. Instinct, reaction speed, and immediate judgment. Without distinguishing front from back, Najin poured more mana into his body than it could handle.
The surging mana writhed inside him, triggering extreme pain—but that hardly mattered.
He had to move now. Having drawn more mana than his capacity allowed, Najin kicked off the ground and leapt high. The instant he jumped, Griffin swung, and the crimson aura clinging to the blade lashed out like a whip.
Ujik, ududeudeuk… and kwaang.
Mid-leap, Najin's eyes went wide.
Looking down, he saw trees swept aside as if a giant had raked them with its hand. With a single swing, Griffin had blasted every tree within roughly twenty paces.
Crazy.
If he hadn't reinforced his body in that instant and leapt, he would have ended up just like those shattered trees. Landing in the clearing created by the obliterated timber, Najin could only click his tongue.
"······."
Standing at the center, Griffin simply watched Najin in silence. He said nothing, but Najin knew exactly what he meant.
There is nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
If you thought this was a stage advantageous to you, abandon that thought.
The cheap tricks Najin had always favored, the movement that exploited terrain, the techniques that dove into blind spots of vision—none of it worked against the man before him. Difference in realm meant you could still hold the advantage even accounting for all of that.
As expected, I can't win.
Unless he drew Excalibur—without drawing it, he could not win. If he were truly driven into a corner he would have to draw it, but Najin was not thinking that far yet.
But buying time is possible.
Winning would be nice, but Najin's original purpose was to stall. Once Dieta reached the checkpoint and showed the invitation… the marquisate's knights would come running here. If he could hold out until then, that was his victory.
So think.
Think without stopping.
Matching Griffin's steps, Najin moved. The moment Griffin raised his sword, Najin accelerated his body. Closing the distance, he smashed his blade into Griffin's before the man could complete his swing.
Kaaaaang!
Through the roar their eyes met.
Griffin narrowed his eyes. He felt a sense of wrongness. The opponent before him was unmistakably an Expert—yet that movement was in no way an Expert's.
And the wrongness did not end there.
Najin moved before Griffin could swing, and as if reading that motion, he persistently stabbed into the openings. The blade itself was not especially threatening, but he could not deny it was annoying.
And above all, what demanded attention was—
Jjeok!
The youth's instantaneous judgment.
Griffin was shoved back. The armor plating his chest was dented. Najin had closed to point-blank range and driven an elbow into the plate. Striking the armor to push him back, securing distance, then swinging his sword.
The linkage between actions was smooth.
Watching Najin's blade fly for his throat, Griffin felt surprise. He had not expected the boy to dive in at that moment. Griffin swung and knocked the edge aside.
He charges even after seeing a strike like that.
A blow that had leveled the surroundings.
Closing distance even after witnessing such a technique was impossible with ordinary courage. The normal judgment was to keep distance and watch carefully, conscious of that technique—and that was the movement Griffin had been trying to induce.
If the boy kept his distance, Griffin, who could sweep a wide area, would continue to hold the advantage.
But the youth's movement of suddenly closing in without flinching at that technique was something Griffin had not anticipated—and it was also the optimal judgment. At this close range, probing for openings, Griffin could not use large techniques.
I can respond, but the moment I miss, it becomes a fatal blade.
He was clearly facing someone weaker than himself, yet Griffin admitted he could not let the tension slip. Even compared to himself, who had swung a sword for long years, this youth's judgment did not fall short in the least. In reaction speed and judgment alone, he was even above Griffin.
Not an opponent to take lightly.
Therefore.
He could not kill him by taking him lightly.
Griffin adjusted his stance, imbued with respect for the youth before him. Dragging this out any longer was a situation he himself did not want either.
Dieta ran toward the marquisate's checkpoint.
Perhaps "ran" was the wrong word. She was dragging her unmoving ankle forward as she advanced. Her speed was slow, her posture thoroughly awkward.
But anyone who saw the face of Dieta as she took each step would not have been able to urge her on.
Sweating coldly, teeth clenched, Dieta was walking with everything she had. Every time her poorly moving foot dragged on the ground, a sharp pain ran up her spine. It had healed, supposedly—but her remaining leg was not exactly in perfect condition either.
Even so, she walked.
Or rather—she ran.
The sound of clashing swords that had been coming from behind her began to grow distant. Eyes wide, teeth gritted, Dieta urged her steps. She whipped her own body without pause.
Najin was fighting.
He was staking his life, crossing blades with the Knight Commander, buying time. Dieta had to answer that effort. She hoped the effort of the man who had not let go of her until the end, who had tried to keep his promise, would not be meaningless.
The sooner she arrived, the higher Najin's chance of survival would be. Chewing on that fact, Dieta put every ounce of strength into each step.
Please don't die.
Dieta muttered that inwardly.
The man she had opened her heart to.
The first person who had made her feel fondness… no, something more. She hoped that person would not die. Once all of this was over, she wanted to speak with Najin again.
"Ugh!"
Tripping on a root, Dieta tumbled to the ground.
But at once she grabbed a tree, pulled herself up, and limped toward the checkpoint. Emerging from the forest, the gate began to come into view.
Dieta ran.
Just as she had fled the ducal villa as a child, she ran toward the checkpoint with everything she had.
A Sword Seeker masters the swordsmanship that suits them.
The form of their aura, the Mindscape contained within it, the special properties of that aura—swordsmanship that can best bring all of that to life. A Sword Seeker finds such a style and then grafts their aura into it, forging techniques that are theirs alone.
Griffin was no different.
He was the Knight Commander of the Arvenia Ducal House, the first sword of Duke Osman. Osman had spared no investment for the knight he cherished most, and had helped Griffin, upon reaching the Seeker realm, learn a swordsmanship that suited him.
The swordsmanship Griffin thus obtained was—
Originally, a secret style kept at the heart of the Empire.
The swordsmanship of the war hero Arta Trigardian.
The hero who had swung his blade to protect the Sacred Tree from demons and heretics. For Griffin's sword, into which the Mindscape of a thorned tree was carved, no style could have been more fitting. And so for decades Griffin had polished that swordsmanship.
…Under ordinary circumstances, it was not a technique one would show to some random adventurer who was not even a knight.
But Griffin had acknowledged the opponent before him. And so he unleashed the swordsmanship he had refined. He stamped the foot he had raised down toward the earth.
The planted foot was the root of a great tree set into the ground.
The body that stood upon that earth was the trunk of that great tree.
The raised sword was the branch of the great tree reaching toward the sky.
The crimson aura on Griffin's blade spread in all directions like a thorned tree. Aura that carried a Mindscape, grafted onto swordsmanship. What was born was a technique belonging to Griffin alone. Facing that technique, Najin let out a laugh that did not fit the situation at all.
A Sword Seeker's swordsmanship. Opportunities to watch such a thing this closely were rare. Najin engraved into his retinas the mana moving through Griffin's body. Of course, imitating it on the spot was impossible.
Impossible—but.
That did not mean he could simply stand there with his hands down. He did not think he would survive being swept up by that great-tree-like aura.