There Was... But There Wasn't
There was... but there wasn't.
Something unspeakably vile and repulsive, enough to set one's teeth on edge, stirred within Mathieu's bosom.
Kyle watched Mathieu reach for that something and tensed, just a little.
Was he worried the man would drink it, suddenly become overwhelmingly strong, and put him through a brutal, one-sided thrashing?
Hardly. If anything, he'd count himself lucky for the chance at an even hotter fight.
No—the only reason Kyle tensed was the fear that this magnificent duel might be tainted by that filthy thing.
Please no. Don't use that. The moment you do, I won't be able to treat you like a person anymore.
If you use that! If you trample the pure heart of this fight! Then I'll turn into a thug myself!
So take your hand off it. Please.
Mathieu was strong. He hadn't earned the title of one of the Three Heroes for nothing.
Kyle had heard that the Empire's Imperial 10 Strongest and the Coalition's Three Heroes stood at roughly the same level. He had wondered if that claim was just empty boasting—until he clashed with the man himself and found it was true.
He had sparred before with Yulika, a member of the Imperial 10 Strongest, and with Captain Priscilla. Neither woman had gone all-out; both had held a little something back. Even so, Kyle had felt their strength with absolute certainty.
And right now, he was learning just how powerful a fighter of that caliber could be when they truly went all-out.
He had no desire to watch such a fine opponent debase himself.
If you gave everything and still fell short, you clenched your teeth and dragged yourself past your limits. If even that wasn't enough, you accepted the loss with regret, promised yourself another day, and trained like a madman. Letting the result right in front of you seduce you into throwing everything away—that was pure folly.
"Mathieu-nim. Please don't. That... no matter how I look at it, that just isn't right."
At Kyle's words Mathieu seemed to hesitate for a moment, then rose to his feet. Confirming that the man's hands were empty, Kyle smiled.
The title of one of the Three Heroes, a powerhouse of the Coalition, truly was not handed out to just anyone.
"Thank you, Kyle John Nassen. Merely falling for the temptation is shameful enough."
"Not at all. If anything, I'm just glad you overcame it."
Mathieu nodded and drew in a deep breath. Then he shifted his stance, pulling his sword all the way back, and spoke toward Kyle.
"I will give you everything I have. A duel without regrets."
Ssssss—.
His earlier presence had already been impressive, but what rose now was several times more intense. The mana around Mathieu vibrated under the sheer volume of power he was gathering.
It was enough that Kyle let out an involuntary sound of awe, caught between tension and anticipation.
Guess bare hands might be a bit much after all.
He glanced down at his own fists. The skin was shredded, the flesh cut open, blood running freely. These were the same hands that could smash a giant monster without even turning pink. Not long ago, in a duel against a classmate's sword, they hadn't taken a single scratch. Now they lay before him a bloody mess.
Even the famously durable body of a John Nassen apparently struggled against sword aura.
When he had sparred with Captain Priscilla last time, he had held up just fine. After a moment's thought, Kyle pieced together the reason.
Captain Priscilla must not have been pouring out her sword aura at full power either.
Looks like he would have to challenge her to a proper rematch once he got back. He had assumed, after that spar, that sword aura was something you could simply beat down with your fists. Turns out she had been holding back just a little, the same as him. The thought left a thick residue of disappointment. Grumbling to himself, Kyle wiped his hands roughly on his clothes.
Then he looked at Mathieu, who seemed nearly finished gathering his power.
"Are you ready, Mathieu-nim?"
"...Thank you for waiting, Kyle."
What was there to thank him for? If anything, Kyle was the one who wanted to offer thanks. The man had refused whatever mana-overload drug that had been, and was simply doing the absolute best he could with what he had. Leaving the rest to heaven—that was the bearing of a true powerhouse.
"One question, Kyle."
"Go ahead."
"Those two over there—are they stronger than you?"
Kyle glanced back at his older brother and sister. The siblings wore expressions of keen interest mixed with open regret. At the Academy Kyle himself was a monster, but in front of those two he was still just a kid.
"...At the very least, they're twice as strong as I am."
"I see."
"Could be even more than that."
"...Thank you for the answer. That is a relief."
With that, Mathieu steadied his breathing for a moment. Then a single streak of radiance, as if light itself had exploded, shot straight at Kyle.
Holy shit.
Instinctively he threw up an arm to guard his neck and chest. For the first time since the fight began—after pressing the attack without pause—Kyle was forced onto the defensive.
Shraaak!—
He couldn't even tell whether it was the sword itself or pure sword aura that had come flying. What he did know was that the strike was powerful enough to send a chill down his spine. Through the searing sensation he cautiously checked his arm. Blood dripped steadily from a wound far sharper and deeper than before. The scrapes on his fists were nothing compared to this.
A blow that could cut this deep meant Kyle could no longer afford to be careless. A major tendon, a critical muscle—or worst of all, his throat—and he would be in real trouble. Even a John Nassen was still human; take a bad enough wound and you died.
...Or rather, it would be more accurate to say you would die. In all his time as a John Nassen, Kyle had never once seen a family member die of injury.
Should I pick up a weapon? But I don't know how to use any of them.
After a brief internal struggle, Kyle decided once again to face his opponent with nothing but his two fists. Not knowing any weapons was part of it, but the bigger reason lay elsewhere: the John Nassen will inside him simply did not feel the need for one.
He blocked that. With his bare hands.
Mathieu swallowed hard, forcing down the ragged breath that wanted to escape. Before the fight he had judged his opponent like this: a powerhouse approaching the Imperial 10 Strongest, or perhaps just a step below. With no information on the other side, and with Kyle openly suppressing his presence, it had been a reasonable estimate.
But the moment the duel began in earnest and Kyle started revealing his true strength, Mathieu had been forced to rewrite every assumption.
The young man standing before him, and the pair behind him, were not on the level of the Imperial 10 Strongest. They were stronger. Far, far stronger. There was no comparison.
Just now had proven it. That had been a blow carrying nearly everything Mathieu possessed—his signature technique of momentarily erasing every trace of presence before launching sword aura: Shadowless.
You could tell an attack was coming, yet you could never read where it would land. Fellow members of the Three Heroes and even the Imperial 10 Strongest had broken into cold sweat at its power. Yet the youth in front of him, though a fraction late, had read the exact path of Shadowless and successfully blocked it.
Only two uses of Shadowless remained. Could he land a decisive blow before they ran out?
Ssasasa!!—
Mathieu swung his sword once more. A sword stroke without trace or presence—the sure-kill technique from which no one had ever escaped free. Yet the very next instant left Mathieu's mouth hanging open.
Kwajik!!—
Just as he thought the young man had failed to defend, Kyle drove his fist precisely into the point where Shadowless was arriving.
Is—is this even possible?
It had been read. Completely read. Nothing else could explain it. Kyle had perfectly grasped the attack's trajectory and shattered it at the optimal moment. In that instant Mathieu knew with certainty that he no longer had any chance of victory.
"Khuk."
Even so, he could not simply accept defeat. One sword stroke still remained, and he intended to use the last one as a counter. Kyle, believing the chance to counterattack had come, would surely switch to the offensive. The moment of attack was when the largest opening appeared. Mathieu's final plan was to launch his last sword at exactly that instant and decide the match.
And just as he expected, Kyle began pressing the attack once more.
A little more... just a little more.
If his calculation was off by even a hair, Kyle would close in before he could even swing. Give too much room, and the young man would have time to prepare. He had to aim for that gap of less than a tenth of a second—only then could he deliver a perfect counter.
...Now.
At the single most perfect moment, Mathieu unleashed his final stroke. An attack that could not have been sharper, timed to perfection. He had given everything, and for a heartbeat he even dared to hope he might win. Anyone watching would have called it a flawless counter.
"...Ah."
Right up until Kyle slipped past it by the thickness of a single sheet of paper.
Don't tell me... he even read this sword path?
It was absurd. How could anyone do that? He almost wished it had been pure luck. But movement like that could not be explained by luck alone. Kyle had predicted the trajectory and, with the barest shift of his body, simply let the attack slide by.
"You've worked hard, Mathieu-nim."
In the space of that breath Kyle had closed to point-blank range and offered a polite greeting. In the John Nassen fashion, of course: a carefully delivered fist.
Ujik!—
"Guhhk!!"
Mathieu lost his grip on his sword, rolled across the ground, and sprawled out completely. The shock of having every ounce of his power perfectly dismantled had left his insides a churning mess. It wasn't a mortal wound, but for a while even drawing mana would be difficult.
I lost.
He had been defeated—not by the Imperial 10 Strongest he had long considered his rivals, but by some sudden, ridiculously young man who had appeared out of nowhere. Thoroughly, mercilessly defeated. His pride as a powerhouse had been ground into dust. He ought to feel rage, curse the heavens, and shed bitter tears of humiliation.
"...Hahaha. Hahahaha!!"
And yet a hearty, unrestrained laugh was the only thing that came out. Mathieu simply laughed.
Sabak—.
Even when Kyle approached, Mathieu could not rise. He lacked the strength to twitch a single finger; even keeping his head upright was a struggle. Honestly he just wanted to sleep, but with superhuman willpower he managed to keep his eyelids from closing.
"The name of the Three Heroes is not wasted on you."
"...My thanks. Though I can't say I'm particularly glad to hear it."
"You should be glad. Those two coming this way—no, those two idiots—are nothing like you, Mathieu-nim."
At that, Mathieu turned his head, wondering what the young man meant.
"...No."
Whether they had witnessed his defeat and decided this was an emergency, the remaining two of the Three Heroes—Grushi and Bernadotte—had used amplifiers. The aura rolling off them now was completely different: powerful, yet dangerously unstable.
"Those idiots coming this way don't even deserve to be called powerhouses. Sharing the title of the Three Heroes with them is a disgrace to you, Mathieu-nim."
An Imperial noble was insulting his own comrades, yet Mathieu had nothing to say in their defense.
"Hup-cha."
Kyle plopped down on the ground and watched the two men hurtling toward him. Then he stretched once and spoke in a lazy drawl.
"You're not going to let me have those two as well, are you?"
"Sorry, little brother."
"Really sorry, Kyle. But I can't hold back any longer."
"Yes. I understand. Have a good time, Brother. Sister."