Warrior Monk
Warrior Monk
Aslan and Harod hurled themselves at the Warrior Monk, weapons swinging.
Every collision rang out—a deafening clang of steel shrieking against steel. Harod stumbled visibly with each impact, gasping for breath.
Clang!
He couldn't even catch his breath freely. The instant their weapons met, the shock jarred him to the bone.
Hissing a curse, Harod pulled his greatsword back and deflected the oncoming spear with a short, sharp parry.
The blade of his two-handed sword screamed in protest, chips flaking away.
The monk's assault was that overwhelming.
The spear had power, and its reach made it a nightmare to evade. The way the Warrior Monk whipped it around as if it were a dagger had Harod fighting for his life.
The only reasons Harod still breathed were his own hard-won experience and Aslan's relentless struggle alongside him.
Screeech!
Aslan ducked low, driving inside, and his axe scraped across the Collector's shield. The Collector hoisted the shield high and brought its edge crashing down like a guillotine.
Whooosh!
Crunch!
Following his Sixth Sense's warning, Aslan snatched his head back. The shield's edge buried itself in the earth, carving a deep trench into the soil.
Aslan clicked his tongue at the sight, then leaned forward and lunged back in.
Clang! Scrape. Snap!
"Tch."
He slashed at the monk's exposed instep, but the shield tilted diagonally, blocking it. He swung his axe at the shield's flank, but the monk withdrew his foot and pulled the shield tight to cover his body.
One movement from the Collector was all it took to stifle Aslan's combination.
The deflected axe struck sparks against the metal slab.
The all-metal shield was too solid to push aside. No gaps showed. Still, Aslan kept pressing forward.
It was an impregnable defense, yet he never backed away.
Ssssssshk!
Aslan twisted his body to slip past the monk's thrust, then angled his blade to catch the follow-up shield strike and let it slide harmlessly off.
Mana-enhanced muscles flowed around the weapon. The Warrior Monk glared at Aslan with his compound eyes, launching spear thrust after spear thrust.
"Haaah!"
Aslan caught a descending spear with his sword, bracing the axe underneath to lock it. A thunderous clang erupted, and the force shoved Aslan backward. At that instant, Harod burst out from behind him, bringing the greatsword down in a devastating arc.
Claaaang!
The Warrior Monk simply bashed the blade aside with his shield and deflected it.
The moment the greatsword spun free of the monk's red scales and cartwheeled through the air, Aslan rammed the monk's torso with his shoulder, reached out, and snatched the airborne hilt.
He struck down with the stolen greatsword. The downward slash mirrored Harod's stance, but the execution was on a different level entirely.
The blade collided with the spear's shaft. The Warrior Monk shifted his bulk and responded by twisting his three arms around the spear for a brutal sweep.
Screech, claaaanng!
Blade and haft ground together in a screech of tortured metal. Using that sound as a backdrop, Aslan thrust the greatsword upward.
A sharp crack echoed as the monk's tough carapace split under the glancing blow.
"...Ungh!"
The Warrior Monk stared at the scar marring his shell with visible surprise.
The power behind the strike far exceeded what Aslan's stance and momentum suggested.
It was the sort of force even the Warrior Monk found unexpected—the power of a Combat Art perk.
A trait that doubled attack power at the cost of doubled durability consumption.
It was something Aslan had earned by reaching the final level of the Combat Art after countless battles and trials.
That single perk shone brighter than any other tool in his arsenal.
"Those are some vicious strikes! I'd be in trouble if they landed!"
The monk bellowed cheerfully, then spun his body and rammed his shield forward as if to prove his words.
Faced with the sudden wall of metal, Aslan aborted his swing and retreated.
"Harod."
"Ah, much obliged."
Aslan stepped back, returned the greatsword to Harod, and drew his own sword and axe once more. A heartbeat later, he was back in the fray.
Steel clashed against steel, killing intent against killing intent. Thunderous explosions of noise and sparks flew with every collision.
Watching, Harod let out a breath that was closer to a sigh.
He had steeled himself for this, but the gap in their skill was staggering.
Aslan's rapid-fire combinations blurred before his eyes, while the Warrior Monk's attacks dominated the battlefield as if commanding space itself. Harod couldn't even find a gap to exploit.
So he had to fight aggressively while carefully gauging his safety, searching for the right opening.
If he hadn't, he would have been split in half and rolled across the floor within the first few exchanges.
Aslan and the Collector threw themselves at each other with their full strength. Their brutal clash looked like two stars trying to consume one another.
Then, the deadlock broke. Aslan's axe shattered.
Crunch!
Wood splinters sprayed into the air. Through them, the Warrior Monk swung his shield in a wide arc.
He aimed to push Aslan away, then exploit the opening with a heavy blow and crush him. The monk's massive frame surged forward as if to smother him.
Even with that towering bulk pressing down, Aslan didn't flinch.
Instead, he lunged forward as if this had been his plan all along. In the depths of his mind, he invoked a perk's name.
Thunder Call.
Thunder answered.
CRACK-BOOM!
A sharp roar erupted, and pale lightning danced along the edge of his blade.
The sound froze the Warrior Monk in his tracks. Behind him, Harod finally surged forward to attack.
The monk only realized the thunderclap itself was part of the plan the very instant that luminescent blade touched his shield.
The shield that had seemed ready to split Aslan in two and crush him flat met the sword edge and rebounded violently.
BOOM!
"Nngh...?!"
The recoil was so fierce that the Warrior Monk nearly lost his grip on the shield, despite holding it with three hands. He couldn't react properly to the bizarre technique.
And the moment it bounced aside, Harod lunged forward and snatched the shield away.
"Interesting tricks. But this won't end the way you hope!"
The monk bellowed, reversing his grip on the spear. The weapon, twirled by three hands, launched forward like a javelin, driven by the brute force of a three-meter frame. It was aimed squarely at Aslan.
Crrrack!
It never reached him. Harod shot forward, holding the stolen shield. The thrown spear punched through the metal, its momentum dying just short of its target.
Aslan drew a round shield in his left hand, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
The monk had lost both shield and spear. Harod tossed aside the pierced shield, driving the point home.
A faint sting of humiliation touched the Warrior Monk's pride at having lost all the weapons his War God had granted him. But one last weapon remained.
The monk hurled away the bundle hanging at his hip. An Executioner's Sword lay hidden beneath it.
The Warrior Monk drew the blade and smiled.
Before he was the Collector, he had been called the Executioner. The one who held the beheading sword and severed heads for tribute.
The Collector's true form resided there.
He gripped the Executioner's Sword, gleaming like imperial steel, with all six of his hands.
Four hands wrapped around the slightly extended hilt. One hand covered the pommel at the base. The remaining hand clutched the ricasso just above the crossguard.
"It's not over yet, Master of Combat! Show me your martial way!"
The Collector roared and thrust the Executioner's Sword.
Aslan answered with his shield tucked close to his shoulder, blade pointed forward.
Crack!
The heavy, sharp blade of the Executioner's Sword slammed down. Aslan twisted his blade back, letting the edge scrape along its length. Sparks erupted madly, casting wild light against the darkening forest.
"Haa!"
The monk whipped the blade around with his six hands. The moment it turned, it stabbed forward. A thrust.
The Executioner's Sword had a blunt, thick point rather than a sharp one, but its target was the throat. A direct hit would break the cervical vertebrae and kill. Aslan pulled his body back and deflected the strike with a short swipe of his round shield. Before the clang of impact even faded, the monk's blade wheeled around and chopped down again.
Screeeeech!
Aslan let the strike glance off his flank, catching the pommel of the monk's sword and shoving it aside. As he spun his body, the deflected Executioner's Sword carved a deep furrow into the ground.
With only two arms, Aslan matched the six-armed swordsmanship with his own shield work and blade work.
Every collision echoed like thunder, shaving away at his mana reserves. Even though he channeled mana only in the instant of impact to reinforce his muscles, the drain was relentless.
Something felt off. The Collector sensed it.
It was as if Aslan were stalling for time. He had shifted entirely to defense, a stark contrast to his aggressive onslaught just moments ago.
Even Harod kept his distance, watching silently without intervening.
A sense of wrongness prickled at the Collector.
Crunch!
The massive rectangular blade smashed through Aslan's falchion and split the overlapping round shield beneath it. Aslan's stance wavered.
An obvious win condition.
But something was wrong. Aslan's face remained utterly calm, untouched by unease.
It was the expression of a man waiting for something to happen.
That was when it happened.
"Raaaaaah!"
Someone exploded through the underbrush.
The voice rang out high and clear, unmistakably a girl's.
The figure revealed was slim.
Bony limbs exposed, the figure burst out, clutching a hand axe in one hand.
The Warrior Monk glanced that way instinctively—and froze in shock.
An aura coiled around the girl. Familiar, yet somehow alien.
The Collector couldn't stop himself from shouting.
"A Last Descendant of the Ancient God...!"
He stiffened. He shouted. His gaze snapped toward her.
The moment Aslan felt the Collector's attention slip away, he gripped the broken falchion with both hands.
Claaaanng!
He wrenched his hips and swung horizontally. Seeing the strike at the last second, the monk flinched and barely blocked it.
Behind him, a girl with the power of an Ancient God was charging. In front of him stood the Master of Combat.
The Warrior Monk made a fatal misjudgment, deeming Aslan the greater threat.
Even if the girl held an Ancient God's power, she didn't look strong based on the visible aura alone.
So the monk trusted in his carapace. He braced the spot where the girl aimed her axe and tensed his body.
Crunch!
"Kurgh...!"
That was his undoing.
He had underestimated Angie's strength.
He'd failed to prepare for it. With his shield stolen, he had no way to defend against attacks from two directions at once.
The girl's axe bit deep into the Warrior Monk's spine. Shock and agony ripped through him, forcing an opening.
Everything had gone exactly as Aslan planned.
He had hidden Angie, denying the monk any chance to assess her strength. He had used Harod to strip the monk of his shield and apply pressure.
He himself had pushed relentlessly, hammering in the impression that he was the primary threat.
The result was the Warrior Monk's fatal misjudgment.
A gap formed.
Only a fleeting instant, but it was more than enough.
Because Aslan was the Master of Combat.
Aslan pulled back the broken falchion, exhaled a heavy breath, and chanted inwardly.
Knight Slayer.
The name of the Sword Skill's final perk.
Following the brief invocation, the blade darkened to pitch black.
The lightless edge shot toward the Warrior Monk's nape.
Watching the blade driving toward his neck, the monk brought the Executioner's Sword sweeping down. He placed it directly in the path of the oncoming strike. If he could block it just once, he could reverse the unfavorable situation.
But cruelly, the ink-black blade seemed to vibrate the instant it touched the Executioner's Sword—and then passed straight through.
Aslan's sword cleaved through the monk's neck without even a whisper of metal colliding.
"How...?"
The blade sliced clean through the exoskeleton of his neck. Not a drop of blood, nor even bodily fluid, stained the steel.
It was such a clean cut that his vocal cords still functioned. As the stunned Warrior Monk rasped the question, Aslan relaxed his stance.
"Knight Slayer."
He spoke the name of his Sword Skill perk with casual familiarity and sheathed his blade.
"Consider it one of the reasons your master craves me."
Such was the Master of Combat. The Collector, ever the warrior monk, felt a sense of awe as his arms fell limp. The Executioner's Sword clattered to the ground, and his massive frame slowly collapsed.
A moment later, his head rolled across the dirt.