Confession (2)

Darkness so thick I couldn't see an inch ahead wrapped itself around my skin. Lily still lacked the skill to run two spells at once—and even if she hadn't, the magic she was preparing now was already burning through enough mana to leave her strained.

So I took a step back, closing the distance between us. In the original novel, the beast had made no secret of going after Selina rather than Ian, the one actually standing against it.

Even in the dark, the gaze it had deliberately lowered to hunt me stabbed through, cold and sharp. It seemed well aware that its eyes gleamed in the blackness the same way a beast's did.

Ian really is a talent-freak, that bastard.

I'd inherited Finn's experience, and this body had walked the assassin's path more than once—moving unseen in the dark. I could hold my own even in a fight this stacked against me. But Ian? What the hell even was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he? He'd gotten through this with nothing but raw, innate combat sense. No experience. And he'd done it while protecting Selina for a full five minutes.

A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it. The corners of my mouth had already been twitching upward. Of course they had. Ian had barely scraped through five minutes of this. Three minutes, by comparison, was nothing. I couldn't even imagine failing to last that long.

And now, without a hair of deviation from that line, the creature's massive, iron-hard paw—dagger-claws hidden inside it—came hurtling toward me.

Clang! Shhk.

I swept my sword from upper right to lower left, then rotated my wrist and carved an upward slash toward the space above me. A wet slap, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a line of crimson opened through its pitch-black mane. Blood sprayed across its face and, for a split second, flashed through my vision.

The novel had said the beast showed no tell at all. And yet I'd felt that paw coming—felt the intent to tear me apart. A strange question stirred. Had they written it that way simply because Ian hadn't been at that level yet? The protagonist of the original was Ian, after all. Framing the story at his level of perception was entirely possible.

Grrrr... grr...

As if it had no intention of giving me time to think, it melted back into the dark, watching for another chance to strike. Then, riding a wind so faint it barely registered as presence at all, the smell of beast-blood pricked at the membranes of my nose.

The creature, being a beast, apparently had no idea how viciously metallic its own blood smelled to a human. If it had, the scent wouldn't have kept pooling so thickly from a single spot.

The presence was so blatant I couldn't help it—I smirked toward the source of the smell. The underbrush rustled. And in the same instant, a black deeper than the darkness filling my vision, and the lycanthrope's luminous eyes staring straight at me. This thing had a short fuse, apparently.

"You dumb son of a bitch."

Until a moment ago, I hadn't sensed it until it was already in my face, so I'd had no choice but to block first and counter after. This was a completely different situation—which was why I could say that at all.

An assassin waiting for his mark to come to him, versus a mere beast. Granted, calling something of that size, that frame, that overwhelming presence and power a "mere beast" was a stretch. But the fatal weak points every living thing shares? Those, it had same as me.

I stepped in, ducked under the foreleg it swung at me with everything it had, and closed to point-blank range. Then I carved a thread of light into it—starting at its groin, ending at its jaw.

What followed was too much to call a mere psshh. Through the split in its pitch-black hide, crimson meat twitched and began to gush blood in torrents.

KUEEEEEK!! KUEEEK!

It screamed, a shrill cry of agony—but the sound filling the darkness still wasn't quite satisfying enough. Because the path of my blade, which had peeled its belly open like curtains yanked apart, had also split its jaw in two—that jaw that jutted so prominently toward me, far more than the belly hide ever had.

Grrrlrr...

The lycanthrope dragged its tongue along the ground, unable to do anything about the thing lolling out through its split jaw. The grotesque sight looked a lot like that alien's mouth from some American movie I'd seen years ago.

So does that mean this thing can lay eggs in people's stomachs too?

"Pfft."

It was supposed to be a serious situation. I laughed anyway. Because my current circumstances were ridiculous enough that I actually had the leisure to make a joke that stupid.

Kuhh, kuhhh.

Apparently it couldn't breathe properly through a mouth torn open like a burst bag of popcorn. It let out a strained, urgent rasp of pain and vanished back into the dark. The result of not being able to ignore my cheap provocation.

I could've chased it down and finished it right then. The thought crossed my mind. But even so, that kind of overconfidence could get me killed, so I just flicked my eyes toward Lily.

Eyes closed, still as stone, she was gathering that opaque mana into her palms. I wasn't a mage. I had no feel for magic, no sense of how much mana any given spell required. Even so, comparing it to the descriptions of Selina's mana in the original, I figured Lily's spell would be ready in about twenty or thirty seconds.

Things are going a little too smoothly, though.

The outcome was so one-sided it left a bad taste in my mouth. I watched the darkness the way you'd watch something you didn't trust. Why had Ian and Selina struggled so desperately against something of this caliber?

The question sent me scrambling back through the original's description of the creature's appearance.

Size of a house... check. Blackness incarnate... more or less check. Fangs reflecting the orb's light as the only way to judge its form... also check.

So why? Every line in the original pointed at this thing. And yet my gut was screaming that Ian and Selina wouldn't have had this much trouble with it.

I'd never actually seen Selina. But Ian's skill? I'd crossed blades with him in the finals. I knew that for a fact. He still couldn't beat me—but I couldn't beat him without taking damage, either. The idea that Ian plus Selina together had been so hard-pressed against a single house-sized lycanthrope that they could barely even block... something about that didn't sit right.

I tightened my grip on the sword and stared into the darkness where the thing was clearly dying. But Lily opened her eyes as if to say I wouldn't need to lift a finger, announcing the spell was ready.

"It's ready."

I pointed my sword toward the presence it thought it was hiding—so blatant that even Lily was looking straight at the source of the smell.

"...Fire that way, Your Highness."

"Seems so."

As she answered, Lily positioned the creature between her lightly opened hands—then clapped them shut.

"Hah... ha... hh..."

"Are you all right?"

It was a spell that crushed whatever sat in her field of view, space and all, regardless of size. No wonder she looked exhausted. I hadn't told her she didn't need to prepare the spell. The original's descriptions had made me think I couldn't take it down alone.

"Canceling a spell you've already started unfolding doesn't give anything back anyway... I'm fine."

Add one more absurdity of this world to the list. Or maybe it was unexpectedly realistic? No reward without a price. In this world, if a mage abandoned a spell mid-cast, they still spent the mana for it. Always.

"Well, you did just annihilate something the size of a house. I'd say you're entitled to be tired."

"...The size of a house?"

"It is house-sized, isn't it?"

Lily looked up at me with a puzzled expression.

"It's definitely the biggest monster I've ever seen," she said. And then she pointed out something I'd been mistaken—no, something I'd completely misunderstood.

"But it's not house-sized, is it? A house is usually a lot bigger than that."

The size of a house, by the standards of a modern guy who'd lived in a moldy one-room studio. Versus the size of a house by the standards of Lily and Ian—royalty and nobility in a fantasy world. Those were two very different measurements.

And only then did a line from Ian's inner monologue, the first time he'd laid eyes on the lycanthrope, flash through my mind.

Gulp.

...Unlike the original, there isn't just one lycanthrope.

I wasn't certain. And yet I was sure. It had to be. I whipped my head around to warn Lily not to let her guard down—

"Hm?"

Lily was looking at me with those bright, round eyes I'd seen before. And coming toward her was a blackness so vast it was blackness itself. The pitch-black mane we'd seen a moment ago couldn't even compare. This was a black so dense, so oppressive, it crushed the air.

I kicked off the ground with everything I had, throwing myself between Lily ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and that black.

KAANG!!

And instead of her, I took the black foreleg full-on. It flung me through the air like a dart and drove me into a tree in the forest.

"Ghk—!"

"V-Veri!!"

Then a low growl, more roar ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than snarl. That alone was enough to guess its size. I was starting to wonder whether you could even still call it a wolf.

Fuck. It looks like more than twice the size of the last one.

How something that huge had gotten this close without a sound didn't matter anymore. What mattered was over here, not over there.

Agony rode my shoulder blade and stabbed, ice-cold, into my spine. I hadn't gotten my sword up in time. My left arm was bent in a direction arms don't bend, and my left shoulder was shredded—a mass of meat pumping blood in gouts.

The alarm that had been warning me my plan was going off the rails was now screaming that our lives were on the line. Not just mine. Lily's, too.