Black Knight Kalt (3)
In the game, Kalt had been strong.
Even with the setting that he was the weakest among the Masters, he had been insanely powerful.
Still… phase-one Kalt had been manageable enough.
That grotesque health bar had been a problem, sure, but the attack patterns themselves hadn’t been all that hard.
Of course, taking even a single hit left you at death’s door—that was the real issue.
But for a veteran like me, that never applied, so skip it.
A handful of hardcore players, myself included, could beat phase-one Kalt.
Yeah.
Phase one, I could win a few thousand times, tens of thousands of times.
In fact, I had won more times than I could count.
The problem was phase two.
When his health dropped to twenty percent, a cutscene played.
Kalt driving his sword into his own heart and screaming for the goddess.
The goddess answering, granting him power in exchange for his remaining lifespan.
Empowered Kalt tearing the sky open with a single gesture.
And beyond that ripped sky, the Black Sun revealing itself.
That was the end of the animation, and phase two began—thousands of shadow tentacles lunging in.
Nowhere to dodge.
You had to parry every last one.
What about mages?
Dirty mages could just die.
Or parry with their staffs, whatever.
Anyway.
Up, left, right, right, upper-right diagonal, down, from underground, up, lower-left diagonal.
You had to memorize it all like that.
Like the periodic table, or 3.14… and so on.
Yeah… if you somehow memorized those hundreds of directions and cracked that god-awful pattern…
Then the real hellish attacks started.
Shadows blanketed the ground, draining three percent of your health every second, while swords and shadows that seemed to move frame-by-frame lashed at the player.
Health? Dump potions into it and you were fine.
The absurd attacks could be dodged with invincibility frames and every dirty trick in the book.
It was a game, after all.
But the problem wasn’t Kalt’s attacks.
The biggest problem was this:
Nothing connected.
Physical strikes, magic, a priest’s divine power, even summons’ attacks—none of it landed. That was the real despair.
Just closing the distance through thousands of tentacles and that frenzied swordplay was already an impossible stunt…
But even if you cracked every pattern and reached Kalt…
The fact that your attacks did nothing crushed countless players.
It was so ridiculous that people started saying if phase-two Kalt fought the Finality, Kalt would win.
In the end, a few users left questions for the admins.
Could a player even beat Kalt?
No answer came.
It was the first time.
The first time the admins hadn’t replied to a player’s question.
After that…
One user posted a theory.
If you killed Kalt, maybe you’d get an ending where the shrine maiden didn’t die.
That post struck a chord with every hardcore player.
Dozens of veterans, myself included, challenged Kalt all over again.
And then, just once.
Out of thousands of attempts, just once…
My character chipped Kalt’s health.
Only one percent… but it worked.
I rewound the recording. Rewound it again.
Dozens of times.
And finally, I figured it out.
How to bleed him.
How to beat phase-two Kalt.
I smashed aside the thousands of tentacles rushing at my face and rolled backward, clearing the spot.
Dozens of tentacles punched up through the earth where I’d just been standing.
Then again.
I batted away the lunging tentacles and closed the distance.
Sometimes planting my greatsword in the ground for leverage.
Wrapping myself in blood qi and twisting my body.
Just taking the hits.
Carving flesh, breaking bone, I pushed forward.
Even now Carpeng’s will tried to swallow me whole.
Every time it did, I forced myself back by remembering Rubia being crushed under Kalt’s boot.
The sound of skin tearing open reached me.
Hearing and touch returned.
Blood mixed with organ matter burst from inside me.
Taste came back.
The thick iron scent of blood flooded in.
Smell sharpened.
My fading mind snapped awake.
Forty meters left.
I poured out blood qi, resisting the rippling shadows around me.
Planted my feet, stretched out my arms, and smashed the cascading shadows aside.
Thirty meters.
I used the greatsword’s rebound to accelerate.
I tanked the damage with my body.
Ripping shadows apart with my hands.
Biting them, I advanced.
Ten meters.
An arm was skewered through.
My movement locked up.
I twisted, snapped, tore the hide free, and ran.
Five meters.
Two steps more.
I honed my Qi Sensing to the absolute limit.
Erased every scrap of useless information.
Wiped away the shadows erupting from the ground.
Wiped away the tentacles raining from the air.
I needed nothing else.
Only Kalt’s data.
Behind the skin.
Inside the muscle.
Within the veins.
A body filled not with blood and mana, but with shadow.
I mapped it, accepted it, understood it.
I dragged up the old memory.
The old sensation.
The shadow writhed.
It flowed along the vessels.
Spread through the entire body.
The heart contracted.
Muscle pulled taut.
Hide stretched.
The waist turned.
An arm rose.
And through that arm—
the shadow was about to fire.
Now.
I took the shadow with my body and swung the greatsword.
A cut with no power behind it.
No sensation of slicing.
No sensation of catching either.
But—
Puhwaak—
I cut him.
In the exact instant of the attack.
The single 0.2-second window when Kalt’s shadow-formed body locked into shape—the only moment an attack could land—I carved it open.
Blood erupted from Kalt’s waist.
The thirst held.
Kalt’s face twisted in pure shock.
The corner of my mouth lifted.
Between those rising lips, blood sprayed out.
So much blood gushed that my body threatened to wither dry.
But Carpeng’s will refused to let me die.
It used my blood as fuel and drove the blood qi.
Blood qi propped up my collapsing body.
I stood again.
I sliced tentacles, batted them aside, let them glance off.
Opened distance.
Closed it.
Dodged.
Charged in once more.
And cut.
Droplets of blood floated in the air.
Mine? Or Kalt’s?
The thirst still burning told me some of his was mixed in.
That made two.
Eighteen more and I win.
I smashed shadows aside and carved through the tentacles rushing from every direction.
Wounds multiplied across my body.
The rippling blood qi grew denser.
What would happen to me when the thirst ended?
Live or die.
Hurt or not.
I didn’t know.
I decided to stop thinking about it.
I gave up.
Win or lose.
Either way I was going to die, so…
I just accepted it.
I stood.
I advanced.
This wasn’t some hero complex about saving Charlotte and Yuria.
No sense of justice about saving the world or killing a villain.
I…
just…
wanted to beat the opponent in front of me.
For eight years.
The one opponent I had never once beaten.
I wanted to win.
Something no one else had ever managed.
I wanted to be the first.
Had Carpeng’s will already broken my mind?
Even if it had, I didn’t care.
If I could just beat that bastard.
If I could kill him.
If I could change the ending of this story with my own hands…
I could break a few more times. Dozens. Tens of thousands of times.
“This is impossible!”
Kalt’s roar reached me.
The shadows that had blanketed the sky poured down on me.
They fell like rain, a torrential downpour.
Every single drop carried murderous force.
I ignored them.
Holes punched through my body.
I kept going.
Every finger shattered to pieces.
Thick blood qi became my hand.
And with it, I cut.
That made eight.
Twelve left.
“A piece of trash like you—worse than a beast! How dare you put yourself on the same level as that woman!”
A sonic boom that nearly ruptured my eardrums hit at the same moment my body went flying through the air.
I sailed dozens of meters and slammed into the ground.
I got up immediately.
Blood qi braced my staggering frame.
It moved in my place.
And in return…
it took more of my blood.
Tried to devour my consciousness, my very existence.
I lifted a finger.
Stabbed it through my eardrum.
I didn’t need sound.
It only got in the way.
I flicked the blood off my finger and gripped the greatsword again.
Once more. Let’s go.
I kicked off the ground and dove into the seamless wall of shadows.
I mapped the perfect path and swung the greatsword.
Not even a tenth of a second of error was allowed.
A single graze, a single pause…
and tens of thousands of shadows would swallow me whole.
I had to keep moving without rest.
I twisted the greatsword, swung it, scattered it.
Drew a full moon to clear space.
Planted my legs and stood straight.
Raised my arms and swung the greatsword.
Stamped a true step and cut through shadow.
I never stopped breathing; I clung to the thread of life.
When the greatsword wasn’t enough, I swung blood qi.
When blood qi wasn’t enough, I reached out with my hands and blocked.
When hands weren’t enough, I used my teeth.
When teeth weren’t enough, my body.
When even my body wasn’t enough, I scattered droplets of blood itself.
I blocked the shadows.
I punched through them.
I overcame them.
I reached Kalt.
And I swung and cut.
Cut, cut, cut.
Kalt’s face twisted in raw agony.
The depth of the shadows grew denser.
The blood qi’s movement slowed.
My body grew heavy.
I tore open my own hide with my nails.
Spurted blood.
Again.
The blood qi thickened.
My body lightened.
And I cut.
Five left.
I could see the end.
I could see the finish.
My mind was fogging over.
I wanted to see Rubia.
I wanted to bury myself in her arms, breathe her in…
and sleep.
When the very last moment came…
would Rubia hold me?
I wanted her to see me win.
And then, wearing a smile soaked in victory…
I wanted to chatter about tomorrow.
What we’d do.
What we’d eat.
How she’d scold me.
Those silly, ordinary tomorrows.
So…
again.
Let’s go.
Go…
end this fight…
and save Rubia.
I lifted a foot that felt infinitely heavy.
I dodged the shadows pouring down on me, cut them, batted them aside.
Let them glance off, and advanced.
Forward. Forward.
Without stopping.
And then…
I raised a tattered arm…
and cut Kalt.
In that instant…
my right arm was severed.
I lost the greatsword.
Qi Sensing went dark.
Nothing painted itself anymore.
And…
the thirst…
was gone.
One left.
Just one more touch…
even a fingernail…
even a tooth…
even a shard of my own bone…
if I could just reach him…
Indescribable agony shattered my mind.
Froze my body.
Stopped my thoughts.
Shoved surrender at me.
Forced death on me.
No.
No.
Please.
Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.
Move.
Move.
Go forward…
stab Kalt’s heart…
kill him…
and save Rubia.
Endure.
Even if it hurts, endure.
I can endure it.
I lifted my foot.
Took a step.
It crumbled.
My body tilted.
I planted an arm.
It collapsed.
On my elbow.
On my shoulder.
I held on…
and crawled.
I drove my teeth into the ground and crawled.
Teeth broke and fell out.
With my gums, my jaw, my forehead…
I crawled forward.
A sharp sensation crushed my body.
Pierced it, tore it.
I couldn’t…
go any farther.
The skin of my neck twisted.
At the same time…
something writhed up from underground.
Something that felt like tree roots surged up…
wrapped around my body, and lifted me.
Hot heat…
warmed my chilled flesh.
A soft, gentle power…
supported me.
I groped with my remaining arm.
A hand thick with calluses…
held out a sword.
Not a greatsword.
Not a tree branch either.
An ordinary…
old…
shabby…
pathetic…
but…
the one-handed sword that had once cut the world.
The roots cradling me breathed life into me.
Hot heat stood against death.
Warm power…
raised my arm.
With a small smile…
I swung…
the sword.