Episode 12: Blood & Flag (7)

Strength is always a relative thing, and nowhere is that truer than on a survival battlefield. A viper that has brought down a lion is offered no promise that it can also slip the talons of a hawk circling overhead.

In that sense, Chae Geon-wook was certain Go Tae-min had just walked into the highest wall of the match.

Just run. You don't actually have to fight.

He had been watching Tae-min's strength in real time, and only moments ago he had taken in every detail of him casually dropping Antonio, a seasoned hand. Even so, he could not bury the unease — because he had watched the pretty boy fight just as clearly, and just as live, as he had watched Tae-min.

Christopher, the Grey Ghost. Before he ever came looking for Go Tae-min, the boy had already erased two named fighters. Juggernaut, called a monster of the battlefield, and Joaquin the Human Slaughterer — at the point of that sword, even they had been nothing but game. Jeans and a short-sleeved tee, a getup that had no business in a scene out of hell, and still, say what anyone liked: on this map, that boy was the strongest thing alive.

Tae-min's odds of winning are slim.

Hopeful readings are poison to an information broker. Chae Geon-wook laid the two men's capabilities side by side with a cold eye.

Go Tae-min had never formally learned the sword. There was no record of a master taking him on, no years of sweat poured out in a dojo. The single reason he had survived the hell of the arena and climbed this far was overwhelming talent — a sense for interval, reading the distance to an opponent in a fraction of a second; reflexes that answered before a swing had even begun; and a hard-trained body carrying every one of those movements. Only because the three locked together in perfect time had any of it been possible.

But the Christopher in Chae Geon-wook's eyes was a genius who could make even that talent look ridiculous.

The caliber of the talent itself is different.

Christopher had all three of the gifts Go Tae-min carried. Perhaps more than that. And then the decisive gap: the pretty boy held one weapon Tae-min did not — an inborn genius for the sword. Where Tae-min swung on instinct, Christopher had laid precise technique over that same instinct. It was a beast with razor claws, and then wings besides. A genius armed with nothing but talent and sense, against a monster who had the technique too. The scales of the fight had already tipped.

On the screen, Christopher leveled the point of his sword at Go Tae-min with a languid gaze. Against every desperate wish Chae Geon-wook held, Tae-min did not look inclined to avoid it. Watching that, he let out a bitter sigh.

"Yeah. Getting smashed to pieces once, right about here... might not be the worst thing."

If Go Tae-min meant to keep surviving in Nova Arena, swallowing the bitter pill of defeat was a step he would need. All Chae Geon-wook hoped was that this junior, standing on such thin ice, would not be crushed too badly by how bitter the result turned out to be.

It was Go Tae-min who broke the stillness.

Fwaat—! The figure in the demon mask shot forward like a round from a gun. At that headlong charge, Christopher gave a light shrug of the shoulders.

"Hmm. Tougher than I expected. I thought you'd at least accept a greeting."

In the same breath, his sword carved the air.

A vivid Red Line scored itself across Go Tae-min's vision — a trajectory of death, read on instinct. He twisted without a heartbeat of hesitation, and the line shaved past his shoulder by a hair. At the same time he kicked his undefeated formula into gear.

Drag this out and I'm finished.

Close the distance. Slip into the gap. Cut the breath off in a single stroke. A current that had never once failed him.

Shhk—!

"......!"

Against every expectation, a sensation like a burn raked his shoulder. He had been outside the Red Line. He was sure he had read the path and slipped it — and in that instant Christopher's edge changed both speed and trajectory and took the shoulder anyway.

How?

There was no room to think it through. Tae-min counterattacked at once. The distance was already closed, and he drove his dagger deep toward Christopher's flank. It was the very instant he believed he had landed it.

"......?"

There was no resistance at his fingertips. The pretty boy who had been standing there a moment before turned, light as anything, and let the strike slide off him. Christopher, who had avoided the attack by the thickness of a sheet of paper, was already at his back.

The nape of Go Tae-min's neck prickled.

Death.

For the first time since he had entered Nova Arena, his instinct dragged that word up out of him. Senses tempered across countless lines of death were screaming. A noisy alarm bell clamored in his skull. Give the flow away like this, and he died — not a vague hunch, but a fear sitting right up against certainty.

Christopher, for his part, was no less impressed.

What. He dodged?

From the time he was small, he had heard the word genius more times than he could count. Even in America, crowded with monstrous physiques, his dynamic visual acuity and his reflexes stood alone. His father, a fanatic for American football, had poured every ounce of passion into raising the still-young Christopher as a star of the field. Christopher had found football boring.

If I can dodge it, why would I ever bother colliding?

To him, a fight was not smashing an opponent apart with force. It was trampling them without permitting so much as a single hair. In that sense, Nova Arena was the perfect playground, and he had climbed to its peak without one crisis and without one wound. The blow just now had been meant the same way. He had intended to end the Demon in a single cut. All he had managed was a thin slice across the shoulder blade.

Christopher let out a low sound of admiration and tipped his head.

"You dodged that? I like this toy. Doesn't look like it'll break easy."

The boy's voice was as clear as ever, but the killing intent inside it was cold enough to freeze the air of the jungle.

Go Tae-min clutched the shoulder welling blood and glared at him. Instinct whispered that if he wanted to live, he should run. He did the opposite — dropped his stance and kept the point of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his sword leveled. Fall back now, and there would be no next time. Die as prey, or remain the hunter. There was only one choice.

He kicked off the ground and shot in again.

Shhk—! This time it was his left side. Hot blood seeped through the leather armor where the edge had opened it, while his own strike still only ran through Christopher's afterimage. Even so, he did not stop. With an animal's fixation he swung again.

Shhk—! The right thigh. Burning pain climbed his spine.

The longer the exchange went, the more the interest washed out of Christopher's eyes.

"Fresh only at the start. In the end you're the same as the rest. Swing like you're dying all you want — you're not hitting me anyway."

Pressing the man in the demon mask, the pretty boy decided it was about time to put this boring fight to bed.

That was when Go Tae-min threw the dagger in his left hand.

"Heh. As if something like that would ever be enough."

Christopher lightly batted the dagger aside with the tip of his sword, and in the same motion came in with the counter.

Clang—! A sharp ring of metal, and the sword sprang out of Go Tae-min's hand. It was over. A warrior with no weapon. Christopher was certain of the win, and in the instant he moved to drive the last blow into his opponent's heart—

Tack—!

"Huh......?"

The sword dropped from Christopher's hand. Somewhere in the blur, Go Tae-min had drawn the empty scabbard from his belt and cracked it dead across the boy's wrist. No sword, then the fists. If the fists would not do it, then the body itself. That was how the mercenary Go Tae-min had stayed alive on the line of death.

The commentators who saw that impossible scene screamed as one.

Now both of them were empty-handed. Go Tae-min hooked Christopher around the waist and slammed him into the ground.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Merciless fists began to pulp the pretty boy's face. The dignity of the Grey Ghost, who had ruled the battlefield a moment ago, was nowhere to be found. On the ground there was only a frail boy, arms flailing, trying to get out from under the punches.

So you can fight like this, too.

Christopher took the raining blows as they came, and could not help admiring them. It hurt. And it burned. This man was different from him at the root. If he himself had been playing an elaborate game, the opponent in front of him was a warrior in the middle of a real death-fight — a true warrior who had walked here over a great many corpses. Inside that alien feeling, Christopher gathered up his last thought.

This is fun. Still...... next time, I'm winning.

The boy's head lolled lifelessly to one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠side.

A new notification window rose before Go Tae-min's eyes.

"Hah—hah—hah—hah."

Go Tae-min dragged in ragged breaths. The stink of blood stabbed at his nose. His whole body was screaming, and where the adrenaline drained away a vicious pain came flooding in. The gash along his side was the critical one. Fresh blood welled through the torn leather and soaked the ground. His vision flickered and went distant — the onset of too much blood lost.

......Still. I won.

He forced his swaying body under control, reached down, and picked up the sword and scabbard lying on the ground. The Red Diamond mark's stamina regeneration, it seemed, did nothing to replace the blood he had spilled. The one mercy was the first-aid kit he had brought along. He dumped coagulant into the wound and wound a bandage tight around his side. It was not professional treatment, but it would serve as a stopgap until the match was over.

Done with the emergency work, he bit the end of the bandage and knotted it, then clutched his throbbing side and let out a pained groan.

Thought I was about to cross over and high-five Dad on the far bank.

A good while still remained before the match would end, and the remaining prey — no, the remaining survivors — were still scattered in every direction. Go Tae-min hauled himself up.

Gotta make the money. Even if I die, I die after I've made it. Otherwise it's just a raw deal.

Two thousand dollars a head. The survivors in this jungle were not threatening rivals to him. They were only golden goblins, hidden through the forest or walking around on their own two feet. If he could earn that money, the pain he was in now was nothing but a pleasant ache in the muscles.

He rose with an effort, resettled the demon mask, and stepped once more into the dark of the forest. Using the red marks as signposts, he roamed, and he slaughtered the other warriors.

Go Tae-min moved with thorough calculation. To a mercenary for whom efficiency was life itself, meaningless slaughter was nothing but wasted ammunition and wasted stamina. Ordinary warriors did not make him money. They were only reserves, waiting to receive the next mark. So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he sought out mark holders alone and cut their breath. The mark then passed to someone new, and he hunted that warrior in turn.

Cut, and cut again, and before he knew it—

In the wide forest, only Go Tae-min remained.

By rights, the match should have had another eleven hours and thirty minutes still to run. But the jungle no longer held a single guest who could meet the point of his sword. In a survival match that had begun with a thousand people, he had put every last participant down before the time limit expired.

At the arrival of a new named warrior, the viewers of Nova Arena's American Pro League poured out their cheers.