Perfect Game
Not many people stayed to watch the preliminaries through to the end.
The first two matches had raised expectations so high that interest in the ordinary bouts that followed cooled almost at once.
Naturally, the number who even remembered a man named Albert could be counted on one hand.
Everyone treated him as nothing special.
The crowd’s mood was clear: hurry up and finish the remaining quarterfinals and semifinals so they could watch the final between me and Lady Seraphina.
That mood lasted less than ten minutes before it flipped completely.
…So it really was Bloodvein.
The stands, still buzzing with festival heat, froze solid in an instant.
Even the spectators had sensed how alien and dangerous it was.
I tightened my grip on the mace.
It was time to step onto the field.
The referee’s voice carried across the arena.
“Second son of the Revan Viscounty, Guardian Edwin Revan!”
I walked out onto the field to the roar of the stands.
“His opponent—mercenary Fighter Albert!”
A different kind of murmur filled the arena, nothing like the cheers that had greeted me.
Albert paid the noise no attention at all.
He stood with a weapon wrapped in ragged cloth hanging at his side, staring at me with dull, empty eyes.
“Where did you get that sword?”
“….”
“You must have known the level of the people entering this tournament. Did it never occur to you that someone might die because of that blade?”
He only smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in place of an answer.
Fine. If that’s how you want to play it…
A trumpet blared.
At the same moment an ominous tremor ran through his sword.
Bloodvein’s slash came flying.
The instant I registered it I raised my shield and leapt backward.
Three sweeping arcs cut through the empty air where I had been standing.
Sinister red slashes followed their paths.
Dodge and break them.
I ducked under the one aimed at my head and smashed the chest-bound slash apart with a mace charged by Flesh-Carving Bone-Crushing.
The last slash came in at a slant, leaving my right side open.
At a glance it looked like the only escape route.
Bait.
He was already charging, preparing Bloodvein’s next cut.
If I stepped into that “opening,” he would close the distance in a heartbeat and swallow me in his assault.
This won’t be easy…!
I used Tackle, kicking off the ground as if shoving the floor itself, and drove forward.
His eyes widened as I appeared right in front of him; he thrust Bloodvein, mana seething along its length.
I slammed the blade skyward with a Shield Bash. The surging mana scattered into red waves that sprayed through the air.
The aimless waves carved deep scars into the ground; dry dust billowed up from the cracked earth.
He let the sword hang limp and stared at me.
The color had drained from his face more clearly than before.
Not going the way you planned, is it?
Harassing me like that wouldn’t be enough.
I locked my body behind the shield and fixed him with a hard stare.
He swayed, sword dangling from his right hand, then came at me like a drunkard.
His center of gravity lurched left and right as if the weight of the blade itself were swinging him around.
It felt like fighting a mirage—far more irritating than facing any other Blessing with clean, readable forms.
Where’s he coming from?
His shoulder dipped to the right.
The drooping tip of the sword scraped the ground with a nasty screech.
Then the blade snapped upward like a snatch, flinging dirt into my face.
Cheap trick…!
I jumped back and brought the kite shield up square in front of me.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him drop so low he was almost lying on the ground.
I drove the kite shield straight down into the path of his cut.
Sparks flew; his stance collapsed and he rolled across the dirt.
I started to close in on the opening, but he curled into a ball and something glinted in his left hand—something I hadn’t seen before.
A dagger.
If I had kicked out to finish him, that blade would have punched straight into the gap between my heavy plates.
Unreadable…
No structured technique, no steady breathing that came with it.
He didn’t care that his balance was gone; he still launched attacks while being dragged around by the sword’s weight.
To anyone properly trained with a blade it was nothing but third-rate mercenary scrap mixed with a Fighter’s Blessing—hardly practical.
And yet it was troublesome.
Because the movement refused to fit any mold, even the smallest mistake became a fatal variable right now.
He seemed to struggle upright on limp legs—then the dagger in his hand shot toward my thigh.
I dropped low and caught it on the shield; the instant I did, an all-out overhead smash came crashing down as if he had been waiting for exactly that.
Red energy boiled along the sword.
He had thrown the deciding blow.
I stamped hard, rose, and lifted the shield toward the edge that was just beginning its cut.
Power from the Tackle climbed through my hips and poured into the parrying motion of the shield.
The sword rebounded upward; the sword-energy shot off in a wild direction.
“Kyaaaah!”
“Ugh?!”
The aimless energy streaked toward the stands; startled screams rose from the spectators.
This ends it…!
I swung the mace at his exposed waist the moment his posture broke—
He grinned, mouth twisting grotesquely.
It was almost pure instinct.
I snapped my wrist mid-swing, twisted the trajectory upward, and drove the mace into his armpit.
“Guhhh!!!”
For the first time a cry of real pain tore from his throat. Something tumbled out of his coat as he rolled.
Blood Jam…
An accessory used as a set with Bloodvein; it could store the user’s vitality through sheer willpower.
It worked like an external battery, extending how long Bloodvein could be used—and if struck, it released explosive red slashes.
If I had simply smashed his waist, the shock would have set the Blood Jam off at point-blank range and the slash would have swallowed me whole.
“Ghk… ghhh…!”
The mace, still charged with Flesh-Carving Bone-Crushing, had completely shattered his left shoulder.
He was in no condition to keep fighting.
What he chose next was—
He crushed the broken left arm against Bloodvein in his right hand.
The saw-toothed edge, like a beast’s fangs, greedily drank his blood.
The blood-soaked sword scattered red waves as it woke from sleep.
I never thought this would be easy.
He swayed, broken left arm dangling, and swung Bloodvein with his right.
The kite shield met the blade; a red slash erupted from the point of impact.
Here it comes.
I let the sword-stroke flow backward without fighting its force, then twisted my wrist and shoved the delayed slash hard aside.
The red energy rode the slant of the shield and shot upward.
A light graze split my visor open; my field of vision widened.
He slid past my back as if drawn by the sword’s weight and spun.
The broken left arm flailed and ruined his balance, yet he used even that collapse as rebound for the next attack.
I pushed away a cut aimed at my right shoulder; the slash burst toward my side. The moment I lowered the shield the saw teeth whipped back at my throat.
Sword-stroke and slash.
Even if I blocked one attack, a new one followed after a beat the instant contact was made.
Focus.
I reduced every movement of my body to the absolute minimum.
Large motions created large openings.
With the smallest possible motion I let the blade slide past, then slipped the following slash as well.
I deflected the sword.
I twisted the slash’s path and swung the mace into the opening that appeared.
He twisted desperately and barely avoided it, but the mace crushed his dangling left arm.
“Gahk!”
Blood sprayed from the ruined limb; Bloodvein howled even more savagely.
Even while screaming in pain he put his entire body weight behind the next swing of Bloodvein.
I knocked the blade aside with the mace, warping its path; a red slash detonated right in front of my face.
I covered myself with the shield and slipped past the blast by a hair’s breadth.
The slash scraped the shield and split the arena floor.
Even though I had defended almost perfectly, the Barrier I had been converting through Flesh-Carving Bone-Crushing finally reached its limit.
Life Conversion…
My heart gave a heavy throb; the shattered Barrier wrapped around me once more.
His sword-strokes grew faster and rougher, yet my own movements became slower and more precise.
Block, deflect, counter.
I reproduced every motion I had drilled countless times the day before while imagining an enemy who wielded Bloodvein.
Red slashes sprayed in every direction, yet not a single scratch marked my body.
His knees buckled.
The moment I judged he had reached his limit—
He charged with abandon, discarding all defense as if death itself were acceptable.
A necklace-shaped Blood Jam was wrapped around his broken left arm; Bloodvein in his right hand seethed with red energy gathered to the absolute limit.
A death-wave that could neither be blocked nor avoided came rushing in.
On the border between life and death, what I chose was—
Attack.
The swinging mace crushed his right hand; the impact sent Bloodvein, glutted with life force to its limit, clattering across the arena floor.
Slashes shot out in every direction, but I had no time to look behind me.
He slammed the Blood Jam against his own chest and detonated it; the slash came straight at me.
I could not dodge.
I could not block.
I could not even parry it away.
In that case—
Gorgon…!
A translucent Gorgon shape rose from the ring and sank its teeth into my entire body, laying the curse of petrification upon me.
I felt my skin harden like stone.
In the instant before my left arm fully solidified, I thrust the kite shield toward the Blood Jam—the origin of the slash.
The red slash that exploded at point-blank range swept the entire arena.
A ringing filled my ears along with the shock.
“—win!”
Someone’s voice seemed to call faintly.
The already-cracked helmet shattered completely and fell to the ground; the shield that had absorbed the full force of the blast crumpled into pure scrap.
Slashes that leaked past the shield left the armor covered in sword-scars; a greave whose joint had torn free rolled across the floor a moment later.
It looked like the aftermath of a storm of blades.
Yet standing at the very center of it, my body did not carry even a light graze.
Albert, by contrast, lay motionless where the recoil of the detonated Blood Jam had flung him.
I shook off the remaining petrification, then raised the mace high toward the sky.
“Ah… aah…”
Ariella sank into her seat, cold-sweat-soaked hands covering her mouth.
Edwin was the kind of man who would keep his composure even if a meteor were scheduled to fall from the sky tomorrow.
That same man had trained with a seriousness she had never seen before.
Watching him had filled her with an unnameable tremor, and at the same time she had been unable to shake a crushing anxiety.
After Seraphina returned from finishing her own semifinal, Ariella had asked again and again whether Edwin would truly be all right.
Seraphina had not even had the leisure to answer properly.
Her eyes had stayed locked on Edwin in the arena the entire time.
That isn’t human technique…
Against Albert before he drank blood, Seraphina was confident she could have overwhelmed him.
The moment Bloodvein tasted blood, however, the entire atmosphere changed.
A sword-stroke followed a beat later by a slash.
It was not an attack you could see and then react to.
Even if she had held a shield, the instant the blade scraped it her balance would have broken, and the trailing slash would have ridden the shield up and left wounds on her skin.
Even under exactly the same conditions as Edwin, simply blocking the sword-strokes would have pushed her to her limit.
If it had been me…
Seraphina rested a hand on the pommel of her saber.
Albert’s attacks could neither be dodged nor blocked.
Therefore she would have crushed the enemy at a speed faster than the attack itself, before it ever landed.
She might have taken a few wounds in the process, but she could still picture a victory.
A perfect victory without a single scratch, however—that was beyond even her.
Edwin Revan…
He had been the wastrel about whom rumors said he had chosen Guardian as a joke.
And now?
“Ah—oh—wow… is this… is this what a knight is?”
“Waaaaaah—!!!”
“Edwin! Edwin! Edwin!”
Everyone was chanting his name.
“Kyaaaah!!!”
“Sir Edwin!!!”
“Knight! Waaaaah—!!!”
When the shattered helmet fell away and revealed his grave face, several women let out piercing screams.
“Man… this is gonna be a mess.”
Caiden uncrossed his arms and checked the betting slip that bore the name “Edwin Revan,” his hand trembling.
“It was the real favorite all along…?”
Retirement was already flickering before Caiden’s eyes.