Cretus's Trial (2)
Rather than charging in on the cry of my soul, I calmly observed my enemy.
A leather belt hung with six throwing daggers. Daggers about twenty centimeters long in each hand. Movements that instantly slip into my blind spots…
That vanishing into the dead angle of my vision was Shadow Ambush.
In the game, the cooldown was ten seconds. A Level 20 Assassin could use it a maximum of ten times over the course of a five-minute fight.
And if he brings the throwing skill into it as well—
Whoosh!
With a light, wind-cutting whistle of air, the bastard who had been standing at a distance closed the gap in a flash and swept his dagger at me.
I kept the arm with the targe strapped to it tight against my body, held as defensive a posture as I could manage, and leapt back.
But a follow-up strike came in as if the whole point from the start had been to force my response.
Skrrrk!
The reverse-gripped dagger in his right hand scraped along the targe, then shot up and grazed past my cheek.
If my reaction had been even a fraction slower, it would have carved a long, certain gash across my face.
"Hey. You're pretty quick, huh?"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He started bouncing lightly in place as if riding a rhythm.
Right hand reverse grip, left hand forward grip.
It was the basic weapon hold for an Assassin who used Shadow Ambush to rise out of a blind spot and attack.
If I wait to see and then decide, I'll be too late…
Shadow Ambush shifted him into the blind spot on either the left or the right, then chained into an attack that surged up like a spring. A binary choice of an attack from an Assassin whose Agility received an S-rank correction.
As a Guardian who got precious little benefit from Agility, waiting to see and then deciding was already too late.
Focus…
In a long-guard stance, I extended the arm with the targe strapped to it.
I gauged the distance with the thrust-out targe and calmly read the direction of his attack.
Left hand, reverse grip!
I twisted my body as if throwing a hook with my left hand and dropped my posture low.
"Kh!"
A light impact jarred through the targe on my left arm.
I hadn't seen it clearly. But from the way he shook out his hand as if it hurt, it felt like I had driven the reverse-gripped blade straight into the targe.
I can answer him somehow, at least.
Two Shadow Ambushes so far. At most eight more attacks aimed at my blind spots still to come.
Keeping that in mind, I poured every nerve into his two fists.
"Heh…. You, you're something else, huh?"
The corner of his mouth curved into a crescent.
Swish!
"Kh!"
It happened so fast that twisting my body was the best I could manage.
The instant I thought I saw that slimy smile, he had already flung two throwing daggers at me.
Simultaneous strikes aimed at my right shoulder and left thigh.
Because I had dropped my stance, I protected the left thigh—but a dagger skimmed my right shoulder and left its mark.
Paralysis poison…
A burning sensation and a tingling ache spread from the cut on my right shoulder.
Thanks to the status-ailment resistance training that had long since become routine, I had a rough sense of what kind of poison I was dealing with.
Same family as whatever's smeared on his daggers.
He could have coated them with a lethal dose from the start. Instead he used paralysis poison—the type who liked to torment an enemy once they couldn't move.
That was why I had been able to win the first fight with a dirty trick.
But now—
"Hey! Where the hell are you looking?!"
Swish! Whip, whip!
The daggers came slashing.
Throat, shoulder, wrist, elbow, eye, collarbone.
Horizontal cut, thrust, thrust, thrust.
The left-hand dagger locked firmly onto my targe while the right-hand dagger carved reliable wounds into my body.
A strike meant for my throat skimmed my jaw. One meant for my shoulder scraped the skin raw. One meant for my eye sliced the outer tip of my eyebrow.
Blood ran.
My heart hammered. The paralysis poison spreading through my whole body made every movement heavier and heavier.
Blood from the cut at the outer tip of my left eyebrow streamed down.
"Krgh…."
Blood seeping into my left eye stole half my vision.
A stinging coldness filled the eye; a sticky foreign sensation that wouldn't go away even when I squeezed it shut.
"Hah… hah… hup!"
I focused again with parrying in mind.
The body that had started to panic over the stolen left-side vision settled back down.
"Damn. You're actually something? You're holding out pretty well."
I felt like a living punching bag.
This was a different league from the Remington Viscountcy trainees who got dragged around by their skills.
Malice honed for the sole purpose of toying with an opponent and killing them.
The word defeat flickered before my eyes.
Open the distance…
Fighting in open space put me at a disadvantage. I needed to use the battlefield in a way that at least constrained his options.
I dropped my stance and edged slowly backward.
"Why don't you try begging for your life? You lot aren't even fun to kill."
Whirl, tap. Whirl, tap.
The son of a bitch closing in while idly flipping the dagger in his right hand filled my vision.
Four throwing daggers left on his belt. Not so much as a scratch on him.
I couldn't win by playing it straight.
Cretus might disagree, but at least for me that was true.
In my past life's memories, this was easy…
If you used a shield to land a perfect defense, you could absorb most of an enemy's attacks even without wearing armor.
Of course it meant nothing if their attack power massively outstripped your defense—but against a human who had stepped into an arena, that scenario didn't really apply.
Watch the timing, land Perfect Guards, and when a big, telegraphed attack came in, look for a reversal through a parry.
In the game, every time the shield changed, the motion and frame differences made it a fairly tough trial.
Even so, it had never forced a fight this hard….
"Alright. Where should I start carving you up?"
As I dragged my legs and kept retreating, he seemed to decide he had the complete upper hand and grinned, savoring it.
Thud.
My back hit the wall.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
"Victor! Victor! Victor!"
Then I heard the cheers of those welcoming the death that had risen to my throat.
…Stay calm. Give what has to be given.
The enemy was playing with me.
The only proper attack skill he was using was Shadow Ambush, and even while throwing those daggers so skillfully he wasn't using the skill for it.
In other words, he was being careless.
So I had to use that carelessness.
Thud.
"Hah… hah… hah…."
I dropped to one knee and let out ragged breaths.
With my back to the wall and my stance lowered, my right side was left wide open.
He must have registered that, too—his form vanished right in front of me and the dagger drove in toward my flank.
I couldn't dodge it.
In that case, the only option left was to welcome it—!
Shunk!
Arms spread, I took his dagger deep into the exposed side.
A dagger with a blade nearly twenty centimeters long. I felt it crush my organs in a single thrust—a cold-and-hot sensation of something churning inside me, clear and vivid.
He must have taken it for a mortal wound as well; he put snap into his wrist and twisted even more thoroughly through my guts.
"Gahhk!"
A groan I couldn't hold back burst out of me, and a smile spread across that ugly frog-like face of his.
I wrapped my right arm around his throat.
"You little—?"
Like working a stiff old plug free from a socket by rocking it side to side, he churned through my insides.
The wound in my side tore wider, and shredded, ruptured organs and shit spilled out from within.
"Heh heh. Shit, the smell's fucking awful."
It was over.
That must have been what he thought; his face was full of smiles.
But I did not loosen the arm locked around his neck.
Whoosh!
I wrapped him up and dragged him in tight.
"Ugh—?!"
"You maggot…."
"Ghk— ghhhk—?!"
Ah. Was this déjà vu?
From the bastard thrashing in my grip, sounds of pure agony poured out.
His eyes bulged wide enough that frog-eyes might pop free, and spit turned to foam spilled from his gaping mouth.
— Gorreuk, gorrrrreuk.
Ah. That brought the hunting grounds of our territory to mind.
Damn frog bastards….
Thud.
Both of his arms fell limp to the floor. Confirming it, I seized his neck in both arms and—
Crack.
—snapped it.
And then—
"Even fallen as far as I have, to have to fight some punk without a blessing…. You're pretty unlucky yourself, huh?"
He reappeared in front of me, whole and unharmed once more.
Yeah. Not going to be easy…
"What? Why the hell are you grinning like that?"
"Because I'm enjoying myself."
"Enjoying yourself? Ha. Will you look at this guy?"
Everything I had put myself through hadn't been for nothing.
This was the moment I felt it for myself.
Nothing could have been more enjoyable.
"Even fallen as far as I have, to have to fight some punk without a blessing…. You're pretty unlucky yourself, huh?"
"That's fifty-two."
"Huh?"
"Come at me, brat. I'll show you the difference in class."
"Ha. Will you look at this asshole…!"
Swish!
With a sound like tearing wind, two throwing daggers came flying.
Thud! Swish!
I blocked one with the targe on my left hand and let the other slip past with a slight twist of my body.
"Oh? You actually reacted to that?"
I pulled the throwing dagger free from my shield and shrugged.
"That all?"
"What the hell are you? Why are you running your mouth like this?"
A vein bulged on his forehead as he kicked off the ground and closed the distance in an instant.
I watched him and lightly thrust the targe forward.
"Ha!"
His form vanished as if the whole thing were a joke.
I already knew. An attack would come from the blind spot on the right, where there was no targe.
Screeeech!
"Wha—?"
I deflected the strike along the thin edge of a throwing dagger and swung the targe at the jaw of the bastard who had left himself open.
Crack!
"Gahhk!"
Crash!!!
He slammed down on his rear and rolled across the floor.
I didn't pursue him. I simply stood there and looked down at him.
I had more than enough room for that.
By the time I started my tenth bout with this guy, I could win without taking serious injuries.
Around the thirtieth, I could subdue him with nothing worse than scratches.
And once I passed forty, it was down to the level of grazed clothing.
Even so, I was facing him for the fifty-second time.
Because I still hadn't finished boiling every last drop of stock out of this guy.
"Against an opponent without a blessing, what the hell is that…."
"What else would you expect from a blessing with no foundation, like an Assassin's? Ugh…."
"Hey, you son of a bitch! I put my whole living stipend on you!!!"
Jeers hit him; his face flushed brick-red, and then the excitement drained out of it until no expression remained.
Finally showing it, are we.
A Level 20 Assassin scraping by for meals in the arena.
And that was all he put on display—Shadow Ambush and dagger throws.
In game terms, you could call it considerate difficulty balancing.
Thinking that, I almost felt disappointed at clearing the trial this easily.
How far can I push this.
"You. What's your name?"
"Edwin Revan."
"Wasn't it Cretus? Whatever, fine…."
I heard a short intake of breath.
"Die."
Swish!
A throwing dagger came for my head. I pivoted on my left foot and spun my body clear of it.
Thud!
With a heavy jolt, the reverse-gripped dagger forced its way into the joint of the targe.
I was already thinking through the next move when—
Crrrack!
The blade lodged in the targe twisted, and the sound of wood splitting rang out.
Ugh!
Having driven the dagger into the targe like a wedge, he threw his body back as if collapsing to the floor.
A targe was armor that bound arm and shield together; in a situation like this, you couldn't simply drop the shield.
My body lost its balance right along with him.
Thud.
I saw him drop the dagger in his left hand and reach for his belt.
The skill that fired three throwing daggers in a single close-range volley—Splash Dagger.
"Hup!"
I had no intention of taking it.
From that already tilting posture I applied the principles of a Shield Bash and slammed him into the floor.
"Gahhk!"
Driven down on his back and robbed of air, he curled up like a pill bug.
But as if wary of a follow-up, he immediately opened the distance again.
Slide.
He picked up the dagger he had dropped and put it back in his left hand so he could free a hand for the throwing daggers.
Then he drew the last throwing dagger into his left hand and set his stance.
Left hand forward, right hand held at a right angle.
Swish!
The dagger thrust out.
This was a feint either way. I could predict he would attack from the side.
Left? Or right?
What he chose, though, was the front.
Swish!
He flung the throwing dagger at my thigh, then with the emptied hand seized the hilt of the dagger still firmly lodged in my targe.
Using it like a pivot, he twisted his body and, with a gymnast's flexibility of angle, drove a dagger in toward my ribs.
I watched the entire flow of that attack from start to finish, and then—
Thud!
—I cracked his wrist cleanly with my right elbow and deflected the strike.
"What?!"
Against the bastard whose stance had completely collapsed—
"RAAAAAAAAH—!!!"
—I let out a battle cry.
"Kh!"
I hooked the leg of the one whose body had stiffened at the sudden noise.
To keep from falling, he clamped down even harder on the hilt of the dagger stuck in my targe.
That was the end of it.
Crack!
With a Shield Bash using the targe, I struck him cleanly across the jaw.
Crash!
"Gahhk— urk— uhhk…!"
As if the strength had gone out of his legs, he staggered and crawled across the floor.
"Thanks."
It had been a grateful stretch of time—one that finally made me understand why the skill granted by Shield of Faith (Lv. 2) was not Cretus Defense Arts but Cretus Martial Arts.
If you have no teeth, use your gums, is that it.
Because Cretus had sworn never to take up a weapon, he would have had no choice but to train body techniques that used the body itself as a weapon.
And since he hadn't been issued proper armor along the way, any attack that a shield couldn't fully deflect or block as a mortal blow had to be taken with the body in a way that minimized the damage.
By batting or sliding it off with hard parts like joints, for instance.
The skill that reflected that struggle of his would be the core skill of Shield of Faith (Lv. 3)—Flesh Cut, Bone Crush.
"You— son— of a— aaagh— uuugh!"
Crack!
I kicked him in the jaw and knocked him out cold.
Alright. What comes next?
If the pattern was the shield getting progressively smaller, maybe a stage fighting a spear-user while holding a buckler?
Whatever the situation, I didn't feel like I was going to lose.
Who's my next opponent!
The moment I boldly widened my eyes, what appeared was—
Cretus…?
The man called the God of War, the Immortal.
The man himself had shown up in person.
Are you kidding me?
Cold sweat began pouring down my forehead.