Chapter 84

Posted by Kuze, ? Views, Released on February 8, 2025

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The warning bells of sensation are mostly confusion and falsehood, bordering on delusion.

This too.

It must mean I still can’t fully control my own flesh.

Crash!

“?!”

I swatted the sword away and said,

“Don’t try to show off. It’s pathetic.”

And just like that, straight from Grate came Fortes.

Right after we barely clashed, that thing tried to show off again,

and I threw it all back with a Bettyta-Grate-Fortes combo as if swatting it away.

“Yeah, you seem experienced despite appearances, huh?”

“…….”

In place of an answer, I rolled my eyes and tilted my neck while swaggering,

causing his amber eyes to distort in anger.

“You’re really getting on my nerves.”

Even though his eyes look like they could cut someone into dozens of pieces,

his words are embarrassingly endearing.

“So how long do you plan to keep defending? Or do you think I’ll give you an opening?”

“…Let me tell you, trying to outthink me or scheme will only hurt you.”

That thing is using every means to shake me up and create an opening.

Even if it doesn’t seem like it, carefully observing shows everything.

Most importantly.

“You’re watching me. But know this—I’m observing you just as closely. Can you feel who’ll reveal their bottom line first?”

“Hah. Yeah, good point.”

The kid readily agreed.

So.

It’s time for both of us to show our true colors.

More precisely, starting with him.

Since I don’t exactly have much hidden up my sleeve anyway.

“Die without regrets.”

As if implying he’d let me off easy until now, but…

the reality is, his movements and aura have reached a whole new level.

—!

Even before the metallic clang, my body was pushed back as if struck by something.

More accurately, it was dragged along to avoid losing grip on the sword.

The blade bent significantly but managed to snap back into place thanks to its resilience.

This kind of maneuver is possible only because I’ve channeled some force through it.

“…….”

It all happened in an instant.

A heavy blow that nearly destabilized my center of gravity for a moment.

Or rather, should this even be called a single strike?

“Still…”

Can you get stronger?

Without even utilizing mana to enhance physical abilities.

Just naturally getting stronger like breathing?

‘There’s no way.’

There must be conditions.

There must be limits.

Therefore, this won’t shake me.

No need to stay calm.

Why waste breath on what’s obvious?

Analyze, judge, speculate, estimate.

Even account for unforeseen variables in your head.

But that doesn’t mean you shrink back or hesitate.

While engaging, gather the fragments of information, clues, and hints he leaks.

Sort through them to find answers and respond accordingly.

And.

“…….”

My movements changed drastically, even if subtly.

Shards.

Just before moving, preparatory actions became slightly more obvious—another fragment.

Despite knowing it, responding would depend on adaptation.

If it’s possible, then the rest hinges on adapting.

The key has been given.

Did I counter and adapt to horse charges simply because I could?

Could I endure arrow volleys just because they were humanly adaptable?

Besides.

If it were truly absurd, he should’ve pursued and finished me off when he struck.

“Do your limbs tremble?”

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I warned you.”

The kid immediately lunged.

So impatient.

Even though the distance was twice as far, he closed it in an instant.

And instead of slashing, he thrust.

With such a narrow area to defend against, allowing it would result in fatal consequences.

“…….”

I dodged.

Of course, it wasn’t by a hair.

I boldly rolled out of the way.

That was absolutely something not to allow.

Even if I blocked it, insufficient response might’ve led to being pierced or slashed as if hit by a charging carriage or warhorse.

If my torso got skewered or cut anywhere…

That moment would’ve been the end.

“…….”

As long as you’re human, there’s such a thing as stamina.

Even while clenching my jaw tightly and struggling to maintain breathing…

…that clenched jaw itself provides me with a clue.

Pointlessly forcing power.

While I exclude emotions and conserve vital strength by cutting them off…

That glaring gap becomes vividly clear.

“…….”

No need for words.

Para again.

Followed by Grate.

This time, the center.

Lift the sword over my head as if placing it there.

“What the crazy bastard doing?”

When already hard to counter with the sword pointed at you, why move it behind your head?

Is he looking to die before even swinging?

That exact thought flashes in his eyes.

But the kid doesn’t verbalize it.

He’s no fool either.

So I remember this is also my doing, and he sharpens his focus to decipher my intent.

Yet the boiling emotions label this doubt and suspicion as mere bravado and mockery.

Unable to restrain myself, or rather unwilling to lose, I kick off the ground.

It rapidly closes the distance.

I, however, pull my right foot extending forward…

Not backward or forward, but deeply to the side.

Simultaneously, Partita.

The sword held in both hands flips from behind my head right in front of my forehead.

But the slackened blade isn’t aimed forward—it tilts toward the left side.

Then lowering my waist and twisting my lower body…

My legs spread even wider left and right.

The heel of my left foot naturally lifts, forming a perfect right angle with my knee and ankle in no time.

Para again.

But due to the stance, I can neither raise the sword upright nor hold it sideways—

I can only grasp it horizontally as if laying it flat.

From there, Para-Grate-Fortes-Partita combination.

I unleash all these moves in rapid succession without even taking a breath.

Naturally, countering his descending blade, deflecting it upward, rebounding instantly, slashing downward again, thrusting forward, and slicing through…

All deflected, parried, and shaken off in a chain reaction.

“You son of a b*tch―!”

By then, the previously spread-out legs and feet had converged.

But it wasn’t merely about widening and narrowing stances.

This too was a parade formation and chain technique.

And a method to accumulate and circulate power continuously.

With my center of balance firmly secured, absorbing the impact into my body, redirecting the shock and recoil entirely back into my body…

“――”

Paviarm.

Deliver the finishing blow.

I slash down.

I cleave down.

Yeah.

Whatever.

The gist is that.

Paviarm.

Partita.

Necata.

Chop. Thrust upward. Stab.

What differs here compared to earlier…

Para, Grate, Fortes, Bettyta…

Only now does it signify the extension of the elbow joint.

It may extend partially or fully, reaching its maximum stretch.

And this represents willingly creating openings amidst the ironclad defense formed by the previous four linked techniques.

With the elbow extended, the movement count and transitions slow compared to before.

Given the natural limitations of human anatomy, this is an unavoidable concession.

Ordinarily, one might ask what’s so extreme about it.

Or question whether this constitutes giving away gaps or weaknesses.

But those who don’t understand might argue about it as if it’s normal.

…We accept it as a matter of course.

And upon trying it yourself, you’ll realize—over and over again—

just how massive even a fleeting moment of vulnerability can be.

It’s akin to forcefully opening a securely locked gate during wartime.

At that point, the decision signifies a bold counterattack.

But if the judgment is wrong, it directly equates to admitting defeat.

Thus.

Swish!

“?!”

The kid suddenly recoiled as if having a seizure.

Hence.

This readiness to transition from defense to offense implies…

…delivering a corresponding finishing blow.

The seamless trajectory of the slash carving through.

The sensation of tearing flesh and skin transmitted through the steel…

Spread vividly throughout my hand and entire body.

The garment clearly split along the exposed path, spurting crimson blood.

‘…Is it shallow?’

No, it’s not shallow.

It’s a fatal wound.

Having absorbed the incoming force, I redirected it entirely back as a finishing blow.

Considering this attack was meant to slice through his upper body along with the sword if he attempted to block…

Detecting it early and twisting his upper body with an almost miraculous motion prevented worse damage.

Nevertheless, it remains a critical injury.

“F*ck! You little…! This, this! Ughhhhhh!!”

The cries of pain.

Even the desperate roars to dispel fear aren’t that.

Rather, the opposite.

Anger boils over.

Fury cannot be contained.

Not a single compromise can be made, yet I allowed it first.

This f*cking humiliation!

How! How on earth! At what cost!

To atone for! To cleanse and wash away!

Must resolve it!

“Tch.”

He resembles an injured beast roaring in fury.

Indeed, his sheer momentum deserves acknowledgment.

Instead, it fuels his fighting spirit further, grinding his teeth audibly as if ready to charge at any moment in that ferocious stance.

Even though it appears his reason has collapsed…

Even while burning with killing intent and fervor…

His relentless determination to seek effective strategies by scrutinizing and retracing my every move—what exactly is this?

Not the fighting spirit of a knight per se, but rather…

Something akin to the reckless frenzy of berserk warriors, utterly devoid of restraint.

From his bloodshot eyes, swollen as if they’ll burst any second, emanates…

A fiery resolve that burns everything—including himself—to cleanse with blood.

And that momentum makes no distinction between friend or foe.

“What, what’s going on here?”

“That, that guy Venus is completely flipped out, right?”

“Didn’t he get hit?”

Most people witnessing this would likely feel their legs go weak, their spines freeze cold.

In fact, most spectators recoiled in fear, trembling uncontrollably or collapsing outright.

Some even turned tail and fled desperately.

…Though cognitively understood, their bodies and instincts couldn’t handle it.

Meanwhile, I find it hilarious.

“Fearful bastards bark loud.”

“What?! What did you say?! Calling me a dog now—?! You son of a b*tch!”

He rushes forward, spewing curses.

Undoubtedly.

Excluding reason and unleashing attacks makes the threat even more formidable.

“…….”

Yet I didn’t miss the concealed dagger within that rage.

Deflecting each assault with linked techniques, it’s evident he’s deliberately striking and retreating.

From an observer’s perspective, the difference might not be noticeable, but the distance is clearly maintained.

And the distance neither narrows nor widens.

His height and build exceed mine.

Thus, exploiting this advantage strategically.

The prolonged engagement that previously lasted only a few exchanges now extends into dozens.

Perhaps aiming to wear down the sword’s durability, along with my hands, wrists, and arms holding it?

Looking for openings to exploit and press further?

‘Meaningless.’

The opponent must know this too.

Why persistently push despite knowing it’s futile?

Targeting the sword?

However, thanks to skillfully deflecting and parrying, the sword sustains minimal damage.

Rather.

Why is this sword in such good condition?

After briefly pondering this suspicion…

I swiftly flow through the links and approach this time.

‘That’s right.’

Although it seemed like a counterattack, fundamentally, inflicting wounds on you resulted from my countermeasure.

So.

Are you attempting to reverse-engineer that now?

The idea and attempt were commendable, but the fundamental premise was flawed.

I never intended to employ counterattacks in the first place.

Moreover…

…I can threaten sufficiently otherwise.

Engage more fiercely with linked techniques, and his hands and movements quickly become disordered.

What happens when you exclude reason?

Even if primal instincts excel…

…did you really think you could win with just that?

Humans can’t compete with beasts in raw strength alone.

Throughout civilization, beasts have hunted humans whenever opportunities arose.

But by wielding tools, understanding their habits, and learning how to confront them effectively…

Humans began hunting beasts.

Had I faced them unprotected and barehanded, even I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Acknowledge what needs acknowledging.

You’ve hunted much this way.

But.

The truth of the world is that hunters can also become prey.

In the relative rule where the strong become weak…

And the weak overcoming or humiliating the strong when seizing the right opportunity…

…undeniable realities.

Sssshh!

“Kk!”

Somehow, he manages to evade skillfully.

Still, with a severed leg, his mobility will inevitably decrease.

Cutting an arm is painful, but having an unprotected leg is far worse.

Even enduring the pain, full capability cannot be maintained due to the compromised state.

Especially as time passes, the condition worsens.

“…….”

For someone like me—a normal person—at this point, options would be exhausted.

But that insane berserker seems to use this extent as fuel to boost morale and spirit instead.

“…….”

His fighting spirit and resolve remain unchanged.

Is it belief in oneself?

Or the expression of a resolute intention to achieve at all costs?

Or perhaps…

Through countless victories, believing this too can surely be overcome…

Optimism and arrogance.

Or perhaps hubris?

Great trees are cut down first.

Yet if they survive, they must be extraordinary indeed.

But how long can even they maintain their position?

I can’t live that way, so I don’t know.

Why he can assert such baseless confidence indiscriminately remains a mystery.

“Persisting without giving up ensures victory. That’s not what you’re implying, is it?”

“Shut up.”

“Distinguish when mental fortitude works and when it doesn’t.”

“I said shut up.”

“…Your unwavering willpower isn’t particularly special.”

Who is the adversary I’ve set my sights on.

And with what mindset do I approach life to face them?

Admiration and hatred.

Envy and reverence chasing victories and idols like children…

Including crushing and trampling even that—do I possess such resolve?

You.

Can you truly be the trial I seek?

“Haa.”

I sighed and ostentatiously turned my back.

“Hey! Where are you going?! Hey! Aren’t you staying there?!”

“Why bother barking when a misstep would suffice?”

Without turning my head…

I call out while blatantly showing my back.

Walking straight toward that f*cking sword embedded there.

Don’t assume I’m vulnerable just because I’m showing my back.

Unfortunately, the kid knows better than to rashly act.

Eyes aren’t required on the back.

I merely…

Like breathing…

Opening and closing eyes…

Stay vigilant and prepared every moment.

Trees don’t sway only when the wind blows.

Grass and weeds don’t bend solely during storms.

Neither do wildflowers.