Clash of Auras

Clang! Clash-clang!

Every time their blades met, the blue current of energy faded away.

James ground his teeth hard.

"This is impossible."

What had he poured into the edge of his sword?

Aura.

The technique that stood as the very emblem of an A-class warrior hunter.

It was not enough merely to release mana; one had to reach a higher realm of enlightenment before it could be manifested. Imbue the mana within the body with will and project it outward, and even solid metal could be carved apart.

—Aura must be met with Aura.

That was the reason a B-class hunter could never defeat an A-class hunter: the blue current streaming from the blade in James's grip.

And yet—

How could a mere C-class hunter's summon be projecting Aura?

"The density of your Aura is lacking."

Damn it all.

A summon, of all things, daring to speak so insolently.

James ground his teeth and lashed out with all four swords at once.

Clang! Clash-clash-clang!

Sword strikes flew back and forth several times in a single second. Because James's realm was not high enough, he could realize Aura on only a single blade. Though he wielded four swords, only one could truly contend with Sir Isra.

While their Auras canceled each other out, he sought openings with the remaining blades. For some reason the trajectories tangled, and he never quite landed a clean hit.

I'm clearly faster and stronger.

It was as if she already knew where he aimed and moved a half-step ahead—a reaction bordering on the uncanny. The completeness of her Aura surpassed his own as well, and so the exchange remained even.

"Hmph. This is no easy matter."

Sir Isra muttered in mild complaint and drew back a pace. The corner of James's eye curved faintly.

As I thought—there's a catch.

Relief loosened the knot in his chest. Of course. There was no way a C-class hunter's summon could wield Aura without some demerit.

It must be a temporary enhancement, or some sort of berserk-type ability.

A skill strong enough to trade blows with an A-class hunter. That was surely why that yellow monkey had proposed the match with such confidence.

If I drag this out, victory is mine.

Holding that conviction, he prepared to swing—

The ground beneath his feet entered the magic's sphere of influence.

"Did you think you could stop me with such petty tricks?"

He detonated the mana he had concentrated in the soles of his feet in a single burst. Grease magic that dropped the friction coefficient to zero? Press it down with mana at the proper moment and the effect should vanish without a trace…

"Guh!"

The friction under his feet dropped to nothing. Cold seeped in, and his footing tangled. Having lost the chance to press his advantage, James staggered in an ugly fashion.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!"

Impossible. The magic that had altered the nature of the ground was clearly Grease. He had been caught by it more than once, so he knew it well. A sudden release of mana ought to shatter the rearrangement axis and nullify the spell entirely—yet nothing about the fight with these two familiars obeyed common sense.

Even so—

"Haaah!"

Even a rotten mackerel is still a mackerel. James refused to leave the opening unpunished.

Kwa-kwa-kwa!

The four swords spun through a full three hundred sixty degrees, sealing every avenue of approach. Sand sprayed in all directions. Every grain caught in the sword-wind carried crushing force. The racket was like a shotgun blast, and the power that swept outward matched the sound.

Sir Isra kept her distance and swept the grains aside with a single stroke.

"Tch."

James spat a bitter curse. Had he closed recklessly, the four blades would have carved him to ribbons. He had to content himself with the breath he had bought.

Having reset his stance, he drove strength into both legs.

Aura shimmered along the blade he thrust straight forward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠while the remaining swords danced in irregular patterns. The force of the strikes alone tore the air; the resulting gale battered everything inside the Sacred Wall. The sandy beach caved into deep furrows. Even solid ground would have fared little better. Power enough to rewrite the terrain crashed toward Sir Isra.

Lightning spread wide—the same combination she had used against Turang.

Crackle-crack!

It was wholly different in nature from a sudden bolt.

"Lightning of this caliber merely tickles."

"Mm. I only wanted you to feel a little ticklish."

Crackle-crack!

Fine currents laced around his entire body and dulled his reaction speed. The damage itself was minor. An A-class hunter's magic resistance was formidable, and the elemental resistance gear GGG had issued him let him endure the fragmentary lightning. Nothing more than a trivial tingle.

"In a fight for one's life, that tiny opening becomes fatal."

A blue current spun around the Serimis Magic Sword, Aura revolving again and again to gather power. Had James's movements not slowed even slightly, the rotational force would have fallen short. Less than a second. The two familiars used every last fragment of that instant.

A sacred wind suddenly wrapped the spinning Aura. It was a powerful defensive holy magic that activated automatically when the wearer faced danger.

Wooong!

The blade was seized by the silver wind and could advance no farther.

"Huk—!"

Startled, James yanked all four swords back and scrambled into a defensive stance. Sir Isra did not press the attack; she withdrew at once.

"Wh-what in the world was that last strike?"

"Oh my. You're startled by something so trivial?"

"A halfwit who cannot even fully employ the powers he possesses. It cannot be helped."

The two familiars spoke with perfect calm. Their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voices carried no mockery—only plain statement.

"Krrrrr!"

James exhaled a rough, bestial breath. Panic surged: if this continued he would be dragged completely into their rhythm. Insisting on a frontal contest was no longer wise.

In that case—

Don't forget that time is on my side.

Until whatever skill Sir Isra had used ran its course, the best course was to keep a measured distance and trade blows.

The four swords carved wildly through empty air.

The blast raced along ground and air toward the two familiars.

"Hmph. A dull choice."

"With the wisdom of an iron skull, this is likely the limit."

The Serimis Magic Sword swept in a long arc and cleaved the shockwave apart. The counterattack came in the same breath. Ingrid's rearranged mana burst free, and James, still recovering from launching his own blast, barely managed to weather the magic.

"Shall we play a little longer?"

Sir Isra's movements grew even more ferocious.

Clash-clang! Clang!

KWA-AANG!

Aura collided with Aura. Magic and steel met. For more than a full minute the breathless exchange continued until the sandy beach was unrecognizable. Deep furrows laid bare the earth beneath; scars of sword-wind remained even on the stretch of sea where waves had once rolled.

Sophia kept her lips pressed tight.

Their combat sense is A-class—no, calling it S-class would not be strange.

Sir Isra and Ingrid. What made the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two familiars truly formidable was not their raw specifications. For the servitors of a C-class hunter they were certainly strong; even if one lined up every summoner or tamer on the planet, the number who could field summons of this caliber at Minho's level could be counted on one hand.

Yet their combat sense sat at a height where even among S-class one would struggle to find peers.

It isn't that James lacks skill.

The exchange never paused. Having spent Simret's Blessing so fruitlessly in the opening clash, James fought with caution. Sir Isra and Ingrid, despite inferior specs, pressed him all the harder. Occasional vicious counters flashed out—though none of them quite reached the two familiars.

Clash-clang!

In total volume of Aura, Mr. Park's familiar is the one falling short.

The gap in raw power was real. They were bridging that gap through exquisite mana control. Easy to say, of course. Winning a fight simply meant taking fewer hits and landing more—the sort of empty platitude everyone knew.

And those spells that have abandoned the usual forms of magic…

The magic Ingrid employed had rewritten the existing framework entirely. Deployment method, range, power—everything varied so wildly that responding was anything but simple.

To overturn this situation, that mage must fall first.

James could not be unaware of the fact. Yet the intermittent form-shifting magic continually restricted his breathing and footwork. Whenever he tried to close the distance—

"Where are you looking?"

—Sir Isra would ghost onto his back as though she had read his intent. Simret's Blessing was a powerful artifact that activated only once every twenty-four hours, strong enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to seize even an Aura that had been spun and reinforced. Having squandered that trump card so cheaply, James found it difficult to choose aggressive measures.

A hunter Executive Director William raised with such care… reduced to this by a C-class hunter.

She had never imagined a scene like this. She already knew Minho's potential was extraordinary. Yet potential remained only potential until money and time were poured into its flowering. Looking at the familiars he fielded now, it felt less like latent talent and more like full bloom already achieved.

Combat sense that defied common sense. Specifications far too high for any C-class hunter to command. Nothing about them could be dismissed.

"Hrrraaaah!"

James stumbled backward. The Sacred Wall left him nowhere else to retreat. The sight was so painful Sophia swallowed a quiet sigh.

If only he had kept his composure, he would never have been pressed this far.

In the eyes of the Saint of Los Angeles, James still held a slender chance of victory. The coordinated assault of the two familiars who moved as one body was fierce, yet if he charged ready to sacrifice his right arm he could still pin Sir Isra. Once the vanguard fell, the rear-line mage would be no harder than soft rice. That single winning formula remained invisible to James, whose vision was clouded by a veil of fear.

Coming to Korea was the right decision after all.

A deep smile curved Sophia's lips.

Clash-ang!

James's final sword rose into the air, then drove itself deep into the sand.