Practice Battle (2)
A desolate wind whipped the sand into a swirling dust storm. Gritty grains scraped past my nose as they blew by.
“Achoo!”
Evrande stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
“I thought the same when you spouted that nonsense at your master. You're completely insane.”
“That's right!”
“What?!”
Evrande recoiled in shock. A man needed guts, after all. I'd seized the initiative before the battle had even begun.
“Yohan…”
“Goddess. Are you embarrassed of me?”
“A little. A lot…”
“Don't worry. I'll hand you the victory.”
“That's not what I'm worried abouuut…”
“Pffft.”
Dohoyo, watching from the sidelines, cracked up again. Our goddess wasn't the type to laugh at everything—so why did that woman find everything so funny?
It was starting to piss me off.
“Goddess. From now on, I'll be your personal entertainer.”
“What are you talking about now…”
“I'll be your entertainer!”
“Battle! Let's just start the battle!”
Sophia shouted in a panic. Dohoyo was still snickering.
“Why? This is fun. Can't we keep going a little longer?”
“It's not fun at all!”
“Fine, then. Battle start. The rules are simple. Whoever runs out of stamina first loses.”
“How do you calculate stamina?”
This was reality, but there was a system—maybe it had HP bars like a game. Evrande sneered at me.
“You don't even know that? In the War of the Gods, you don't die. You just get summoned back out of the arena.”
Shiiing.
Evrande drew the rapier from her hip. Rapiers didn't have scabbards, so there was no real sound effect—I provided one myself.
“…You're a lunatic. The craziest human I've ever met.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“That wasn't a compliment!”
Evrande snapped. This was the psychological warfare I'd honed in virtual reality. Get your opponent riled up before the fight even starts, and they never see your real moves coming—they just take the hit.
Face-to-face really did make the taunts land harder. I wanted to break into a victory dance, but Sophia's face looked ready to explode, so I held back.
That pretty face of hers deserved national-treasure status. If a national treasure got damaged, we'd be in real trouble.
“I'll kill you…”
Evrande ground her teeth. At the same moment, Dohoyo declared:
“Battle start! Evrande! Use a skill!”
“Understood!”
Evrande raised her rapier vertically and muttered something under her breath. This wasn't a Pokémon battle—why was the trainer giving orders? Was that even allowed?
I'd have to ask Sophia once this was over.
“Goddess! I'm going to use a skill too!”
“No!”
“Aw, why not.”
“Just focus!”
Sophia pointed ahead. Evrande, wreathed in green energy, charged at me with her rapier raised high.
“Die!”
“Thunderclap Strike?”
“This is my mother's swordsmanship!”
A game technique—closing the distance like lightning and driving a thrust into a single point. I'd seen a proud lady knight use it in a game I used to play.
It really did feel more like a game than reality. Beginners used that move straight-on. Experts flicked the tip of the rapier to confuse the target point.
Evrande. Beginner or expert?
“You're an expert!”
I'd tried to dodge by a hair's breadth, but her rapier flexed and curved after me, so I spun my whole body around.
Then came the flurry of follow-up thrusts. If I'd had a sword, I could have blocked and counterattacked—but empty-handed, all I could do was focus on dodging.
“Hey, Goddess! She's got a weapon—why am I barehanded?!”
“Oh. Right.”
“‘Oh, right,’ my ass!!”
Of all the things to forget—my weapon? I didn't quite clear the last thrust and the rapier grazed me.
I used to be the kind of guy who flinched at a paper cut. But thanks to the Iron Man talent, maybe, the wound wasn't bad. About as deep as a light scratch from a fingernail.
“How weak.”
“We're just getting started!”
Evrande clenched her teeth and worked her arm. It rippled like a wave, and afterimages bloomed along the rapier—aiming for my brow, my heart, my vitals.
Only one of the three was real. I didn't need to read her mind and pick out the genuine strike.
“Your attacks are way too honest.”
If you're going to make afterimages, at least don't line them all up on a straight path. That was the problem with rapiers. They specialized in thrusts over cuts, great for hitting a single point—but against someone as sharp-eyed as me, you could just watch and dodge.
I pivoted lightly, slipped past the attack, and slapped the flat of the rapier.
“Kh…”
Evrande hissed and pulled the blade back. I'd give her credit for not dropping it. But had I mentioned this yet?
“My win rate against lady knights is a hundred percent?”
“Still spouting nonsense…!”
“You'll believe it once the tears start.”
I'd never worked out a day in my life, yet my body moved exactly as I wanted. That let me recreate the motions of game characters loaded with every kind of bonus.
The one I was channeling was a nameless fist fighter—a stubborn man who'd believed bare hands could overpower a sword.
Against an armed opponent, distance control and positioning were everything. I kept my feet busy, claiming the blind angle where Evrande couldn't line up a clean shot.
She could force her arm into an awkward angle and attack anyway, but from that position the power wouldn't land. Even if she stabbed me, Iron Man would keep it from being fatal. In the end, Evrande had no choice but to keep turning her body if she wanted to hurt me.
That half-step of constant rotation made it nearly impossible for her to hold the range.
“Ah—!”
Evrande realized it too late and mixed in a backstep, but it was already over. Everyone knows jumping forward is faster than walking backward.
“You should've kept your distance better.”
I offered the same advice I used to give newbies and threw a punch. I feinted at her head, and Evrande frantically raised her rapier.
Not much experience fighting fist users, huh. She should have either opened the gap or attacked—not blocked.
I copied a game's joint-lock technique and seized her wrist. Evrande realized the mistake, tried to drop the sword and create space—but I was faster.
Crack.
The sound of a wrist breaking, and the rapier hit the sand. Shame the packed ground swallowed the noise. I kept hold of her wrist and went for a strike to the chest, but I had to let go to dodge the fist that came flying at my face.
Whoosh.
I ducked, and a vicious rush of air skimmed over my head. I didn't need to look. Evrande hadn't pulled her arm back—she'd tried to drive her elbow down into me.
Her stance was broken, so a real counter was out of the question. I drove straight into her guard, wrapped both arms around her waist, and shoved her down!
“You're not falling?”
“Hah. Did you think I was weaker than you?”
A sharp elbow hammered my back in a rapid series. Every hit felt like it was rattling my organs, but Iron Man at least kept my strength from draining away.
The moment she lifted a leg for a knee strike, I hooked the supporting foot. I swept her ankle and her body tipped.
“Don't you dare! Behold the elven martial arts passed down from my father!”
“I was personally trained by a nameless fist fighter!”
Technically I'd just possessed a game character and used the moves. But I'd executed them myself without inputting commands, so calling myself a direct disciple wasn't a stretch.
Evrande fought desperately to keep her balance, but my technique was better. I toppled her and took the mount—and she wasn't wearing a bra.
Small but springy breasts mashed against my face.
“Y-you perverted human!”
“It wasn't on purpose!”
“Die! Die!!”
I pinned the thrashing Evrande with everything I had. Rubbing my cheek into her chest must have shattered her composure. They say a woman being assaulted fights with three times her normal strength?
“A man fights with seven times his!”
I grabbed both her wrists and pinned them to the ground. Only then did I have the breathing room to look at her face.
Eyes brimming with tears of pure humiliation. The elves in those adult games always made that exact face right before they got taken. The sleeping beast in my crotch surged awake.
“Evrande! Use spirit magic!”
“Ah—Sylphid!!”
Wind kicked up behind me, and something took shape.
“Fire Wind Cutter!”
At Evrande's command, something razor-sharp raked me from back to front, carving across my entire body. Blood erupted like a fountain, soaking my back, then running down my face and body to drip onto Evrande.
Even Iron Man, which had been earning its keep all fight, couldn't fully stop this one. My whole body burned like I'd been seared. The cuts went deep enough to show the grain of the muscle, and my strength drained away.
“Yohan!”
But our goddess was counting on me. I wasn't going to fold over something like this.
Self-Healing
Sylphid kept opening new wounds in the meantime, but I recovered. Not perfectly—but enough for the cuts to close.
“Impossible. You have a healing skill…?”
“Healing isn't the only skill I've got.”
“Grrh! Even that skill has a limit!”
The elf gritted her teeth, and Sylphid attacked even more viciously. If this turned into a war of attrition, I'd lose. How do you get rid of a spirit?
I didn't know much about spirit magic, but I knew summons vanished when their summoner took a hit. Both her arms were locked down—so I headbutted her.
Thud—thud-thud—
“Khhhk…!”
I smashed her with my rock-hard skull several times, and Evrande still wouldn't lose her will to fight. If anything, her eyes blazed brighter as she shredded my back.
So this wasn't going to cut it? I'd planned not to use this in a practice match, but fine. No choice.
Impregnating
“No!!”
Sophia's scream rang out as the skill activated.