El Maestre (9)
The candle flames flickered. A fierce gust tore through the sanctuary. With enough kicking power to shatter the floor beneath every step, the two-meter-tall heavy knight accelerated savagely in the enclosed space. Charging ahead with his full-body shield out front, it was an impregnable rush where no blade could find purchase from any angle.
Normally, one would dodge first. Then aim for the opening. But.
Thud! An overwhelming gap in power. My strike pierced the thick shield like soft wax and drove straight into his skull.
The cartel boss miraculously twisted his head in that split second as my sword penetrated the shield, dodging a fatal blow. Then, carried by his momentum, he kept shoving me back. Trying to topple me? A judgment that maximized his mass advantage, which I couldn't overpower with raw strength.
But even as he pushed me steadily backward, my stance didn't waver. Seeing that, the knight twisted his shield to lock my blade and swung his sword at my neck.
The massive blade falling diagonally halted with a jerk. We were too close; the hand gripping it had been seized by mine.
What followed was a pure contest of strength. Crunch, crunch. A grinding metallic screech came from the knight's hand. My grip was crushing the titanium gauntlet—and the flesh and bone inside.
The shield, too, was slowly prying open around the embedded blade. A grotesque noise leaked from between the knight commander's clenched teeth. Grrruuuhhh.
Desperate effort to draw out more power beyond his limits. At close range, the cartel boss and I stared into each other's eyes.
The knight commander's eyes turned blood-red. Tiny ruptured capillaries spread like distorted crimson circles. The kind of eyes you see in a man strangling to death.
And I gazed beyond that. To the brilliant glow of mana blazing in his soul circuit. The natural awakening of a peerless genius, dragging forth his power at the risk of death.
There were multiple fragments of code within it. Wisdom this world granted me.
Knowledge is power. I immersed myself in the primitive magic before me like a scholar devouring a fine tome.
"Grraaaah!"
With a scream-like roar, the knight commander broke my hold and pulled away. He abandoned his shield with a punch that knocked me off balance, rolling his massive bulk. Two pews splintered beneath that weighty tumble.
In truth, I'd let him go on purpose. If I'd held on, he'd have eventually vomited blood and died.
No good. That wouldn't do. I hadn't observed every reaction yet. Hadn't fully etched those principles into my mind.
Retrieving my sword, I kicked the fallen shield away. A rifle bound to it broke free from the impact, turning the shield into a heavy projectile hurtling straight.
Boom!
The knight commander, twisting at the waist for a knee strike. The soaring shield spun like a top, smashing into the cathedral vault and ricocheting back amid crumbling debris. He snatched the falling shield mid-air, bolstering his defense.
The side door was close. But the fake knight didn't flee. He blocked his front with the shield, inching closer while stepping sideways, cautiously probing for an opening.
Worth returning the shield after all.
Crack... The ceiling chunks and scattered pew fragments crunched under heavy footfalls.
This was no refined swordfight between skilled bladesmen, but the careful circle they traced resembled a traditional duel. Refraining from telekinesis preserved his fighting spirit—and served as my own training.
In this standoff, the knight commander's vitals had passed the brink of instant death and stabilized. His rapidly failing organs visibly regenerated.
Long-term viability was questionable, but it would sustain the fight for now.
The fake holy knight muttered incessantly.
"Lord, grant me the strength to overcome this trial. Bestow upon me the power to vanquish this great foe. For in You is the life of man, and my soul's vitality rests wholly in You—please heal me, that the one You have chosen may endure..."
An aura that never doubted his power was God's blessing and selection.
No wonder he didn't run even after tasting my strength. If faith is power, then defeat must be the failing of the faithless.
A delusion—and plague-like fanaticism—spreading rapidly across Mexico, and indeed the entire human world.
"...As I hearken to Your word and obey, as I act according to Your lofty will, You shall become the enemy of my enemies, the foe of my foes..."
Even amid recovery, his bloodshot sclera stayed stained. The burst blood didn't reabsorb.
Those beastly eyes glaring at me brimmed only with feral fighting spirit and rage. The initial shock and fear were gone.
"...The faithful are the righteous, so let holy justice abide in my blade!"
Marble shattered beneath the revitalized knight commander's feet. Another shield-up charge.
Surely not repeating the same move? The moment I thought it, he slammed his shield into the floor, braking harshly.
Thud! Crumble-crunch!
The wave-like fracturing floor erupted into dust and debris that blinded me. Beyond the smokescreen, the holy knight hooked his front foot on the shield for balance, channeling all his braking momentum into his longsword.
Clang!
The shock of blade on blade made the stained glass rattle. The mana in his circuit now blazed with a different hue and form than before.
Savoring the change, I spun my sword. Using our crossed blades as a pivot, I stepped diagonally, wrist turning in a sharp semicircle.
He deflected the head-chopping strike with his shield's rim and shook free our locked swords. His immediate counter: an outward kick exploiting the shield's blind spot.
Masterful. But I have no blind spots.
I closed in tight to nullify the strike, slamming my shoulder and upper arm into him and sending the knight flying.
Crunch!
With a thunderous crumple of his breastplate, the knight commander tumbled like a wild boar hit by a truck. Yet he twisted his limbs, slamming his shield to recover his crouch. Truly a born fighter of exceptional talent—not just excelling in one gift.
This time, a mangled corpse clung to his body. One of his three dead subordinates, stripped of armor due to wounds.
The cartel boss shuddered. Blood and flesh from the dead man dripped thickly from his frame. Some chunks still twitched in spasms.
Mana tumors that lived on even after their host died. The culprits horrifying recent medical and scientific circles.
Inferior sicario knights had pushed their immature circuits to the limit—inevitable result.
"Aaaaaaah!"
Glass shattered in waves at the knight commander's roar of fury. Before the glittering shards rained down, we exchanged five clashes.
Once more, the knight commander slammed into a wall. But he rose again and again, pressing his struggle against me.
The tabernacle splintered, the Virgin Mary statue toppled, and the nave wall exploded like it'd taken a shell hit. Less a man-to-man fight than a demolition job.
Without the rhythm broken by our one-sided power gap, the fake knight commander would've crumbled without recovery time.
The cathedral trembled. Huff, huff...
After countless wall-smashings, the massive knight propped himself on his sword like a cane, heaving ragged breaths. Powdered incense clotted bloodily in his wounds.
Staggering through the rubble, he stood by the fallen Christ statue, raising his shaking sword. He tossed aside the handle-less shield.
Beyond the heaving sword tip synced to his breaths, his glaring eyes remained undimmed. If anything, sharper with each moment.
His soul's mana flowed the same. Primitive magic forcibly moving his limit-reached body.
A spirit overcoming flesh through mana. Burning life itself as pure will to fight.
Truly satisfying resolve.
Yes, burn it all. Leave your true legacy in this world.
I'll ensure it contributes to your real enemies' deaths.
That's right. Real enemies. Without their notice, this strong, irreverent knight might still be torching Guadalajara right now.
His men alive, fighting at his back.
I'd have overlooked this ugly genius's prime code, paid him no mind, wrapped the deal, and left the port.
He could've become a new power in central-southern Mexico—a drug lord dominating an era...
Crack!
The snapping sword scattered my idle thoughts. Another collision—I'd lost my weapon this time.
"Don't interfere!"
Kyung-tae and the other, now at the entrance, flinched and lowered their guns.
The saw-toothed blade from endless clashes lunged for my throat. I caught it barehanded.
Kevlar gloves shredded with a rasp, my tougher flesh tearing bit by bit. A single trickle of blood from the wound that healed, tore, healed again. Unfamiliar warmth wetting my wrist.
"Looord!"
Making me bleed at last, the knight bellowed and headbutted. Exhilarating! When had I last savored such a brawl?
I countered his helmet with my forehead. Our clash devolved into brutish bulls ramming heads, shoving and battering.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Like burning his remaining life, the knight commander's circuit dimmed with each headbutt. His mana field's radius shrank like collapsing pits.
Even attempting melee while maintaining his field against me was extraordinary.
Fortunately, I'd absorbed all the code. Time to kill him with full sincerity.
My savage headbutts honored this barbarian. The massive sword trapped between us warped with a precarious groan under extreme stress.
Thud! A kicking strike sent me staggering; he tumbled messily too.
Crawling to create distance and rise, but his body betrayed him now.
"Cough..."
Dark red blood gushed from his helmet.
"...Remember that your God Yahweh made you wander the wilderness for forty years. To humble you, to test you... to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His holy commands or not..."
A fanatic believing in miracles doesn't break till the end. Victory or defeat—God's will.
>
This drug-peddling cartel boss's zeal proved that awakening transcendent power could be a religious revelation reshaping one's soul for some.
Utterly drained, he groped blindly and seized his dropped sword. Scraaaape.
The notched blade dragged, reflecting the wavering candlelight in faint, twisted shadows.
Gripping the hilt fiercely, the knight commander squeezed every last drop from body and soul in a final explosion.
The sword shot forward in a blinding ambush, faster than ever, straight for my heart. Beyond limits.
Still slower than me. I uppercut the flat with my fist.
Twaang! The longsword flew from his grasp, spinning wildly before hitting the ground.
This was the end. The knight commander died unknowing his death.
His armor and gear? Or his body itself extraordinary? The hulking form didn't topple forward or back—merely knelt, head bowed.
A noble death unfit for his life. Proof enough no gods exist in this world.
A benevolent god is mere cultural fancy of humanity. Amusing, but perilous fiction if sought beyond that diversion.