Twins, Countdown (3)
The twins' surprise attack missed twice. Naturally, the crowd wasn't pleased. Outrage, curses. The spectators' backlash was smaller than on the first day, yet far more vicious. It proved how much hope they'd pinned on this match. For them, already thoroughly fleeced, this was the last chance to claw back even a single coin. In a way, it made sense.
'Father always told me—if you can't knock your opponent down, curse them instead.'
What Nathan had learned through countless beatings, these people practiced without ever being taught. Everyone here must be overflowing with the talent for pettiness, Nathan thought with a sneer. He wanted nothing more than to stuff them all into an envelope and mail them straight to his father. The twins included.
Kilika's soft voice scraped against Nathan's nerves.
"When you dropped just one knife on the tray, I thought you were underestimating us. Or maybe you'd completely let your guard down."
Either way, she must have been grateful for that foolishness. But both assumptions were wrong. As payment, Kilika had lost one of her weapons.
"Right. You came from the Lower World, so the brat wouldn't know anything yet. That's why you thought you could fool us. But it turns out you've been hiding a serpent in your belly."
One end of the chain held a blade; the other, a weighted flail. If the weights didn't match, the other end became useless. Kilika discarded the ruined chain and drew a long pitchfork. At first glance it resembled a farming tool, but its tines curled once more at the tips—designed for hooking and ripping away whatever it caught. Weapons from an opponent's hands. Or entrails from their gut.
The uninjured twin, still holding an intact chain, gripped the handle of a sickle and began spinning the weight overhead. Nathan whispered while watching for the bludgeon that could fly at any moment.
"Hey, snakehead. Think you can fall back on your own?"
"Crawling on my arms? It'll hurt, but I'll manage. Though calling me 'brother' feels a bit cold, don't you think?"
"We haven't known each other long enough for that. Read the room."
If they started acting like sworn brothers, Arqueba would become a valuable hostage. A hostage would only get in the way. Getting in the way would get them both killed. Arqueba accepted this with a pained hiss and began retreating. Sand would scrape against his half-grown legs again, but Nathan had no luxury to lend a shoulder.
Nathan left his friend behind and advanced on the twins. The chill he'd felt earlier hadn't been imagination. Even before the match began, Hodrick's killing intent had been fixed on Arqueba.
Whoosh.
The iron ball traced a wide arc above the steel helm before hurtling past. Its target: Arqueba's head as he struggled to move. But once you read the trajectory, evasion became simple.
"No learning ability at all?"
Nathan seized the two-hander by the blade and swung with all his strength. The crossguard and hilt smashed the chain downward, sending it crashing to the ground. The iron writhed like a snake with its neck caught, thrashing across the sand. Nathan didn't have time to sever it. Before he could stomp it down, Hodrick yanked hard from the other side. The chain whipped back toward its owner. Stepping on it would mean losing balance.
Nathan reached out instead and grabbed the chain. The giant snorted and kept pulling, pouring his full weight into it like a fisherman hauling in a net. Any other opponent would have been yanked off their feet. Nathan, however, slung the two-hander over his shoulder and braced with one arm alone. His feet slid through the sand, but he neither fell nor was dragged forward. The giant's head tilted in confusion—his weight and strength should have given him the advantage.
"What's wrong, little brother? You've been off since earlier. Skip a meal?"
Kilika sheathed her hook and reached into the gaps of her brother's armor like searching a pocket. Another chain dropped from the giant's chest—shorter, denser, paired with a smaller sickle. Nathan's pupils contracted. He'd thought he'd sealed off ranged combat, but he'd been wrong.
Kilika charged, spinning the chain twice with flair before hurling it at Nathan like lightning. Thinner. Faster. The trajectory was nearly invisible. By the time the eye registered it, it would be too late.
Nathan released Hodrick's chain half a beat early. The sudden shift in tension sent the giant stumbling. Nathan's two-hander spun, its path intersecting the sickle's arc. A clear metallic ring. The sickle wasn't deflected—the two-hander had caught the chain below the handle instead. The hooked blade, wrapped around the chain and riding centrifugal force, whirled toward his head. Nathan threw himself sideways with everything he had.
What grazed past his face, however, wasn't the sickle. It was the weight.
This is why I hate fighting assassins. Too many variables.
'They're being real pains in the ass.'
As the weight tumbled violently through the air, the blade wrapped tight around the chain. The enemy's intent was obvious. Before he could be disarmed, Nathan seized the sword with both hands. Kilika leaned back, shifting her center of gravity to resist. The posture spoke of experience—professional, like a butcher dragging livestock to the slaughterhouse.
"I told you, admitting defeat would end the match peacefully. That wasn't a lie. Once the match ends, the winner simply decides whether the loser lives or dies!"
'Don't be swayed by an opponent's tongue.'
Nathan let the taunt wash over him. Hidden beneath Kilika's shouting was the sound of the flail tearing through the air behind him. In that instant, Nathan yanked the sword free and ducked. His strength exceeded Kilika's expectations. Her body, robbed of its counterweight, flew forward like a paper doll. The executioner failed to react in time. The flail came screaming in—passing just above Nathan's lowered head. Kilika threw herself flat, barely avoiding her own weapon. Hodrick, startled, finally released tension on his chain. Both twins' balance shattered. Two seconds of precious opening bought at the cost of a near-fatal crisis.
'Their record when separated is decent, but when they're together... they've won every time.'
Nathan remembered Vin's warning.
'Then I need to cut one of them off quickly. Just like when I broke the chain.'
He kept his body low and charged. Kilika's head, rising from the sand, met Nathan's shoulder like a thunderbolt.
"Khhak—!"
Nathan mounted the sprawled Kilika. Gripping the two-hander by the blade, he raised it like a spear. It happened in an instant. Kilika's eyes widened. She was one heartbeat from becoming a corpse pinned to the ground. Hodrick roared and hurled his sickle in time. Nathan pressed the sword down on Kilika and ducked. The winded executioner let out a choked gasp. Nathan lifted the two-hander again, ready to bring it down like a guillotine. Kilika barely managed to wrap her arms around his waist, buying herself a moment's reprieve. As Nathan reached for her ears to tear her off, he sensed movement rushing in from behind.
'That big, yet that fast.'
Hodrick closed the distance in a blink, drawing a cleaver meant for beheading. The blade was unrealistically wide—wide enough to block rain. The giant seized Nathan by the nape and brought the cleaver down with all his might.
Crack.
It wasn't the sound of flesh parting from spine and ribs. It was the dull impact of a metal lump smashing into living meat.
The two-hander and chain-sickle shared one trait: both struck using centrifugal force, with the wielder's hands as the pivot. Their entire arc was lethal. And using both arms meant the chin was exposed. Nathan didn't miss it. The two-hander spun in his grip, using the blade he'd been holding as an axis. The steel pommel slammed into the giant's throat, crushing his windpipe. Hodrick staggered backward, choking. Surviving the blow at all was remarkable—it should have snapped his neck outright. Even as he fell, the giant refused to release Nathan's neck. Nathan let go of Kilika and tumbled backward with him.
Hodrick, who had briefly blacked out, regained consciousness before Nathan could rise. He wrapped a thick forearm around Nathan's throat and hauled him upright, squeezing as if to crush his neck. Before the carotid could be fully compressed, Nathan jammed his arm into the gap. The two-hander clattered to the sand. The choke wasn't complete. Furious, the giant freed one hand and drew a dagger. Nathan twisted, trying to escape, but realized he was out of time. The remaining arm was too strong.
'If I can't dodge, what do I do?'
'Then meet it head-on.'
'That's right, son.'
Nathan drove his forehead into the giant's wrist. The dagger meant for his torso only grazed his cheek. Below, he stomped viciously at Hodrick's shin. Both men lost balance and crashed down together. A knight held the advantage over a grounded opponent. It wasn't merely classist humor—it held true in real combat. An enemy beneath a horse, an enemy in low ground, an enemy pinned during a grapple. Without prior knowledge, no one could counter a trained knight's ground fighting.
As Hodrick planted a hand to rise, Nathan slipped an arm beneath his shoulder blade. Nathan's shoulder drove down, folding the giant's arm at an unnatural angle. Bone popped. Hodrick let out a grotesque roar through his helm, thrashing in agony. Nathan folded the dislocated arm further, ruining it completely, then mounted the giant's chest with a knee. He'd lost his sword, but there were plenty of ways to finish a man. He clenched his fist and drove it into the helm like hammering red-hot iron. The ringing inside the helmet didn't stop there. The metal crumpled inward, blood seeping through the seams.
Thud. Thud. Gurgle.
"Get off Hodrick."
Clang.
A chain wrapped around Nathan's left leg and yanked. His lower body was pulled out from under him. Nathan pitched forward, head striking the sand, and lay still as if unconscious. Kilika sighed in relief.
Damn it, finally.
"We're close-combat specialists, boss... That thing's a monster."
Kilika snarled through clenched teeth and hauled on the chain. But just as Nathan seemed to be dragged along obediently, he snatched up the fallen two-hander.
"Ah, why won't you just die already!"
Nathan surged to his feet and yanked the chain. Kilika resigned herself. She prepared to die alongside her brother. The executioner drew a dagger from her thigh and used the pull to launch herself forward. The blade never reached Nathan. He caught the sword by the blade and used the crossguard to shove her wrist upward. The elf's overextended hand lost its grip; the dagger fell. Kilika's face darkened. Both her arms were now extended away from her body—just like when her brother had been taken down.
Nathan rose like lightning and seized her by the throat with his left hand. His forehead slammed into hers. A savage headbutt.
"You son of a—!"
Bone cracked against bone. Another headbutt. Then a third, brutal one. Crude, honest aggression. A direct hit to the face meant unconsciousness. Kilika raised the arm still holding the chain to block. When that proved insufficient, she desperately turned her head. But there was no stopping the blows, and the difference in size and bone density was overwhelming. Agony exploded around her eye socket as bone fractured.
Meanwhile, Hodrick staggered upright, vision swimming, and reached for the cleaver with his good arm. Nathan twisted aside and thrust the half-conscious Kilika forward like a shield. If Hodrick threw, he'd sever his own sister's life. Pain and hesitation made his hand tremble. His eyes behind the helm wavered in confusion.
"Damn it, Hodrick... just throw it."
Kilika gasped as the grip on her throat tightened. Blood streamed from her battered eye and crown.
"I'm... I'm fine... just kill him."
Hodrick decided. He lowered the cleaver and instead retrieved the chain-sickle lying nearby. Nathan pulled Kilika closer.
"Go ahead. If you think you can hit."
The chain began spinning within the giant's one arm. Once it gained momentum, it flew. But the target wasn't Nathan.
Whoosh. Thud.
"Hrrraaaagh—!"
'That rotten bastard.'
The sickle hadn't struck Nathan or Kilika, whose nails still scraped at his arm. It had buried itself in Arqueba's leg—the lizardman who had been steadily retreating. One violent tug. Arqueba, hooked through the thigh, was yanked into the air like a marlin on a line. Pink foam bubbled from his serpentine mouth. Hodrick caught the falling lizardman and pressed a dagger to his throat.
"Then."
The suppressed voice of the twin brother. He wasn't completely mute, but speaking seemed excruciating. Nathan released Kilika's throat and spun her around, pressing his longsword against her neck instead. The brother's dilated pupils locked onto the blade.
"Then."
Nathan showed no reaction to the hostage situation. Any flicker of emotion would reveal his exhaustion—that he couldn't stop Hodrick if the giant charged, and that Arqueba held real psychological value as a hostage. He merely sneered, expressionless.
"Looks like everyone's catching their breath. Wouldn't you say?"
The eyes inside the helm narrowed as if in pain. In a way, Nathan was right. The twins gasped for air they'd been denied countless times. Nathan's own ragged breathing gradually steadied. Meanwhile, the stands—which had grown quieter and quieter—now fell into complete, absolute silence.