The Cliff Duel – A Spear Pierces the Red Warlord
“Charge! Push them back! If we break through the entrance, this canyon is ours!”
Velkain’s roar thundered across the battlefield like an ogre’s bellow. His mana-laced command reached the soldiers in an instant.
“Kill them! Kill them! Kiiill!”
“Just break through here! Push forward!”
With the supreme commander joining the fray, the Imperial army’s morale soared to the heavens.
BOOM!
“Gyaaah!”
“Urgh!”
The shield-bearers at the front slammed their massive tower shields flush against their bodies and drove straight into the Kar warriors. Blades slipped between the shields and carved into flesh, yet not a single man faltered.
“Smash them!”
“Hyaaaaaah!”
The front line where Imperial soldiers and Kar warriors clashed was soaked in blood and steeped in madness. In that killing field where only courage kept a man on his feet, the soldiers found a new hope blooming.
If they could take this canyon…
If they could win this fight…
Perhaps their war would finally end.
Amid the stalemate, Velkain swiftly assessed the situation around him.
These bastards… they actually pulled off something this insane?
Only thirty men. Thirty soldiers who had not merely scouted but slipped into the canyon and wrought this catastrophe.
Velkain’s gaze swept the Kar warriors on the canyon walls near the entrance.
…So they wiped out every archer on the walls.
Whether they were all dead or still fighting was unclear. What mattered was that no arrows came from the positions that should have been raining death.
Velkain raised his voice again.
“The enemy archers have all been suppressed! Break the ones right in front of us and victory is ours!”
The mana-charged shout rolled like thunder.
“Kill every last one of them!”
“Uwaaaaaaah!”
To his own men it was pure fuel for their fighting spirit.
“Th-the archers on the walls have been taken out?!”
“Reinforcements! When the hell are the reinforcements coming?!”
To the enemy it was pure terror.
Every emotion tangled on the battlefield, and the balance began to tip, inch by inch, toward the Imperial soldiers.
The entire Kar force inside the canyon numbered fewer than a thousand. Of those, the ones still able to hold the front after Arteon shattered the canyon wall were barely five hundred. Even with the terrain on their side, the numbers were hopelessly thin. And those five hundred could not even focus solely on the entrance.
Bractus bit down hard on his lip until it nearly split. The situation was balanced on a knife’s edge that could snap at any moment.
How… how did it come to this?
They had not grown careless. Every sense had been sharpened, every watch doubled; they had stared through the night without sleep.
“They really crossed the eastern canyon wall…?”
To do that they would have had to ford a river of murderous current.
If they prepared for that, we would have seen it.
Then the thought struck him like lightning.
“…Don’t tell me they crossed it bare-handed?”
Bractus’s body shuddered. If they had truly gone in with nothing but their own bodies, it was possible—just possible—that his men had missed them.
He clenched his teeth so hard blood trickled from his lip. He still could not fully grasp how the enemy had done it, but right now the only thing that mattered was holding this fragile balance.
“Destroy the canyon entrance! Seize the high ground on the walls and throw back every Imperial who tries to climb!”
It was Bractus’s final gambit. Block the narrow path between the canyon walls and buy time. If the enemy tried to scale the sloping side paths, his men would already hold the high ground—and on a mountain, the high ground always won.
But at his command a voice cut in from behind.
“You think we’ll just let you?”
“…?”
Bractus spun around. Sharp eyes met his. A solid frame, muscles corded beneath armor—clearly no ordinary fighter.
Bractus demanded, “Imperial dog. Name yourself.”
“Isaac Duraik. And yours?”
“I am Bractus, Red Warlord of the valiant Kar Tribe.”
“Red Warlord?”
Isaac’s brow twitched. The Kar ranked their warriors by the number of tattoos—lower, middle, upper. Above them stood the Warlords, colored red, blue, white, or black, and above even them sat the King. A Red Warlord meant…
…At least four-star.
At four stars a warrior no longer merely used mana; he could manifest aura itself. A monster who could slaughter a hundred soldiers in moments. Considering that every other member of Isaac’s unit was barely past one-star…
“This won’t be easy.”
“Don’t get cocky, Imperial dog. None of you can stand against me.”
Bractus drew the two-handed sword from his back. The blade alone stretched well over a meter, three or four times thicker than a normal sword—a weapon built for crushing rather than cutting.
Bractus said, “Our warriors on the canyon walls still stand. While you waste time here, your main force charging the entrance is in danger.”
“Don’t worry. The right wall is already mostly cleared… and the warriors on the left will be finished soon enough.”
“You really believe that? My valiant upper warrior Turak is climbing the left wall even now. Those rat-like comrades of yours will all die, and your main force will never set foot inside this canyon.”
Bractus spoke as if pronouncing a sentence.
Then Isaac answered, “An upper warrior? Laughable. You think someone of that level can stop the man who went to the left wall?”
“…?”
Bractus’s brow furrowed. Against someone of Isaac’s caliber, maybe. Anyone less would never match Turak.
There can’t be more than one of these freaks.
If there were, Bractus would have known.
Isaac met his stare and said, “You already know how we got in here.”
“…You crossed the river under the eastern canyon?”
“That’s right. Bare-handed. And the one who made it possible… is the same man who just headed for the left wall.”
“….”
“So take it calmly. This place…”
Shiiing.
“…is going to be your grave.”
With those words Isaac and his unit formed a half-circle around Bractus and launched their assault.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!
Sparks exploded as Arteon spun on his right foot. The relentless flurry of strikes was so dense it could make a man doubt his own eyes.
A spear… can actually attack like this?
A spear was a mid-to-long-range weapon. At distance it was unmatched. But this close, with this much destructive power…!
Turak gave ground, lips pressed white. Arteon’s assault was far fiercer and more continuous than he had expected.
Yet…
In raw strength I’m still far above him.
If it came down to a single decisive blow, he was certain he could crush the boy’s skull on the spot. Arteon knew it too.
More… more… more…!
He was driving the attack hard, but the one growing desperate was Arteon. He was carefully rationing his limited mana, yet forcing Turak back demanded more than he could spare.
Clang!
As Arteon whirled the spear from his shoulder, his mana flickered. It was nearly spent.
…Now.
He could no longer keep pressing. He had to create one opening—one clean shot—no matter the risk.
It might be dangerous, but…
Arteon tightened his grip on the shaft.
Then—
Whoosh!
He twisted hard to Turak’s left and drove the spear upward with everything he had.
Thuuud! CRACK!
“……!”
The impact staggered Turak. This was different—a true, solid blow.
“You crazy little—!”
Even under the dizzying storm of strikes Turak had refused to yield, trusting his superior strength. For the first time he was thrown back.
The fact stabbed his pride raw.
“You insolent whelp!”
Turak swung his sword upward in a vicious arc, determined to seize the momentum back. But in that instant—
Now…!
As Turak’s motion grew large—
Tap!
Arteon, who had been pressing without pause, snapped two steps back in a clean retreat. Turak’s blade carved empty air.
“Hyaah!”
Whoooosh!
Gripping the very end of the shaft, Arteon thrust straight for Turak’s heart.
Thwick!
Turak twisted aside at the last possible moment. The spear only grazed his chest, but bright blood still spattered the canyon floor.
“Y-you son of a bitch…!”
It was not a deep wound—little more than a scratch. Yet the sight of his own blood made Turak’s eyes twist with rage. He had never imagined a green boy could draw it.
Arteon watched him with perfect calm.
An upper warrior’s pride is always fierce.
The wound was far from fatal, but it would rattle him. Just enough.
Shake. Shake harder than this.
Coldly measured, Turak still held a half-step advantage in pure power. If the Kar warrior fought with composure and stuck to his own style, Arteon had almost no chance of winning. That was why shaking him mattered more than anything.
And now—
“I’ll cut you down!”
Enraged, Turak bellowed and charged. Murderous mana poured from his blade and flooded the air. His presence had grown fiercer…
“…Hoo.”
…yet Arteon felt a strange ease settle over him. Moments ago his mana had been scraping the bottom while he forced the flurry. Now—
…It worked.
The plan to abandon the endless barrage and land one solid blow to provoke him had succeeded. Turak’s movements had grown larger.
And the larger they get…
…the easier the openings become.
Turak poured killing intent into his sword and concentrated his mana.
Just once.
Survive this single attack.
Arteon slid his right foot half a step back and lowered his stance. Years of fighting the Kar had taught him exactly what was coming.
His next strike will definitely be…
“Die!”
KRAAAAAASH!
Concentrated mana erupted in a single blast that obliterated the ground where Arteon had stood. Turak’s chosen method: release everything at once so the target could not possibly escape.
The decision was absolute.
“Heh. Did your body get shredded and fall to the bottom?”
The spot where Arteon had been was pure ruin. The floor had collapsed; the surrounding walls were scarred by the sword-wind of mana.
But—
“Thanks. You moved exactly as I expected.”
“……!”
The voice came from directly above. Turak jerked his head up toward the sky—
“You bas—!”
THUNK!
Arteon’s spear punched straight through Turak’s open mouth and out the back of his skull, skewering him clean through.