Chapter 177

“Let’s leave that aside for now.”

Separate from the commotion happening over there.

A boy walked up to me with sandals, his hands spread wide.

His snow-white clothes and white hair fluttered wildly like a beast’s mane in the wind.

On this side too, my vision was messed up from my hair being blown by the wind.

“Is there any problem with your movement?”

“…….”

Exhaling deeply, my sword remained inverted.

I responded by gripping the hilt pressed into my palm, twisting it into place.

“Then let’s see you back up your words from here on out.”

He keeps coming.

I lower my stance to meet him.

He had nothing in his hands, yet there was no hesitation or doubt in his pace.

He approaches me straightforwardly.

Holding my sword in a Fortes position with only my right hand, I point it at his midsection as if to pierce.

Each breath feels labored.

Though the pain weighing down my body had vanished, an overwhelming sense of helplessness and weakness now burdened both my flesh and spirit.

It’s hard to even keep my eyes open.

Breathing is uncomfortable and constricted – just how battered is my body?

“Serious situation we’ve got here.”

Even though my body reacted reflexively…

He smacked the blade away with the back of his hand, sending it swinging to the side.

It was miraculous I didn’t lose my grip.

Whether it was a mutter or an unconscious complaint, I’m not sure…

But his kick came faster than the words reached my ears, striking directly into my torso.

“!!!”

If I had taken that blow without preparation, it would have been fatal.

This isn’t simple impact or harm.

Without defense, that alone would be lethal.

“In battle, situations arise where you must change or drop your weapon, but that’s no excuse.”

That’s exactly right.

“So should I surrender now? Should I kneel?”

Somehow, by twisting my hips to divert part of the impact into the ground at the critical moment, I managed to endure.

Otherwise, I’d likely be clutching my stomach in agony or vomiting from instinct, or maybe even collapsed.

My body flying backward was due to utilizing that force.

His kick wasn’t about pushing or shoving – it was far beyond such amateur techniques.

“Being unarmed is a matter of mindset.”

Weapons like swords, spears, axes…they’re all extensions of one’s limbs until severed.

The weapon you can hold onto and swing until death was already decided long ago.

“The momentum in war comes from reasons like these.”

Even in one-on-one combat, the one whose spirit breaks ultimately loses.

War, in that sense, makes breaking spirits even easier.

It’s like fighting between people who can’t properly control their limbs.

Therefore.

Those who can control even slightly better sometimes overcome disadvantages in numbers or equipment to achieve dramatic victories.

“No matter how angry you get, this kind of thing is troublesome.”

Even his approach unsettles my composure.

Having already seen what he’s capable of once, my body reacts instinctively to prepare a response.

But my current physical condition isn’t normal.

And the guy right in front of me is clearly aware of that and trying to exploit it.

Physically speaking, under normal circumstances, I should be overwhelmingly superior.

But relatively speaking, at least right now, that’s not the case.

“The worse your body feels, the heavier your head gets.”

He aims for my lower half.

Specifically, my feet and ankles.

As if anticipating kicks or sweeps…

Instead, he crouches low to the ground like a lizard, closing distance in four strides before throwing a punch at my ankle.

Half a step.

The moment his fist grazes my ankle, I drop my stance further and counter with a combination of Fortes and Bettyta using just one hand.

Right now, extending my arm recklessly risks having my sword seized.

So the only option is to curl up like a hedgehog.

“Hmph.”

In reality too.

If I had extended my sword carelessly, I would have been disarmed.

He positioned himself perfectly for where I would strike with my sword.

“You’re still not swinging properly despite being in this state.”

His pristine white clothes were getting dirty with sand, but he didn’t seem to care.

Judging from his raised hands, I assume he intends to catch my horizontal slash.

Could someone really do that barehanded?

Just seeing him confidently strike the blade surface shows his audacity and spirit.

Given the extraordinary movements he’s displaying…

He must have some basis for this.

“One cannot overlook situations where even without negligence, one ends up in a predicament.”

This verbosity of his isn’t just showing off.

It’s demonstrating his ease, a tactic to shake his opponent’s morale and willpower.

If this causes his opponent to falter emotionally, it would be most convenient.

“What will you do next if even I can’t handle this?”

Further back, a warrior wielding a golden sword is struggling against a dragon, appearing precarious.

But isn’t that true for him as well?

“One of the best strategies in war is retreat. And I’m particularly skilled at that.”

Meaning, if the warrior falls, he can extract himself.

Even if extraction isn’t possible, evading damage suffices.

…Is that even possible?

With him determined to press forward like this, could a human body really manage it?

Time is Ahriman’s greatest poison.

That’s probably why he’s saying all this.

“This isn’t something you need to worry about anyway.”

He feints a lunge, extends his hand, then kicks again.

I place my sword between the expected point of contact and trajectory.

Yet he simply bats it away in plain sight.

Crouching instantly, he strikes the blade surface again with his sandaled foot, harder than before.

The impact nearly made me lose my grip this time.

But that’s not the end.

Both he and I know it.

So instead, I use the struck sword like a swing, letting my body follow as if flying.

It’s not an attack meant to break or bend the sword.

Clearly, it’s intended to repel.

Perhaps because of that, by shifting my center of gravity and adding weight to the momentum…

My body floated upward as if given wings.

Though I barely managed to regain my stance upon landing, the boy was already right in front of me.

“Unfortunately.”

As he grabs for my neck and left shoulder,

I twist my entire body, retreating while maintaining my sword grip, and thrust backward with my right hand toward his back and armpit.

Despite his attempt to grab me…

“Ho ho.”

He lets go willingly.

Maybe he judged that grabbing and destabilizing me or pushing me away wouldn’t work effectively.

A small miracle made possible by his unhesitating reaction.

“Surprisingly flexible.”

“…”

Somehow, I ended up with my sword behind my back.

Is this still considered a Fortes stance?

The posture actually resembles it quite closely.

My left arm wraps protectively over my chest, my left foot steps forward.

While in reality, it’s more about somehow supporting my collapsing upper body with both arms.

“Focusing solely on swordsmanship training often leaves one vulnerable to this kind of approach. That you’ve prepared for it is commendable.”

That fake compliment naturally irritates me.

Knights armor themselves.

But with a sword, mana can cut through armor.

Unless the opponent’s a fool, when disarmed or only armored, they sometimes channel mana into their armor to respond.

Still, the lack of effective weaponry remains unchanged unless retrieved or provided.

“…”

Conclusion.

Make it so the opponent cannot use their weapon.

The theory sounds good, but does it work?

Turning that into reality takes skill.

Even if not full-fledged grappling, techniques like throwing opponents or breaking joints to incapacitate them…

We who have professionally trained in knightly countries are likely more proficient than ancient peoples, though not at wrestling level.

These are still legitimate parts of combat training.

…Thinking about it now, even more infuriating.

“Never forget that you’re in a precarious position!”

As he approaches, I slightly lower my sword, switching to a reverse grip while planting my foot, rotating my body so the reversed sword naturally wraps around me.

Changing my stance further.

Lowering my posture even more.

Reducing exposed areas so his direct approach becomes burdensome.

Switching approach positions? That would delay time.

Creating approach routes is all about timing.

But this is about instantaneous judgment, instincts, senses, and primal domains.

In close combat, there’s rarely leisure for prolonged deliberation and contemplation.

Even with clear rationality.

Being too calculating leads to wasted effort, stiffened bodies, and messy responses resulting in mistakes – excelling without those is remarkable.

Can you stay calm when a sword aims for your eyes?

Even a strong heart struggles.

…Only familiarity remains.

And how does one become familiar with this?

Here, talent, aptitude, and luck divide paths.

With aptitude and talent, rapid responsive methods can be ingrained through training or actual combat while avoiding death.

Survival requires luck.

And…

Unfortunately, I lacked all three.

“Hah!”

I don’t complete the sword swing.

This sword, thanks to its sharpened edge, slices skin and flesh upon mere contact.

Though not fatal, applying a bit more force or ensuring distance would quickly escalate to mortal wounds.

Maintaining a low stance, I execute a Grate.

The originally shoulder-rested blade now hangs diagonally downward.

To widen the motion range of my right hand and arm, my left hand deliberately rests behind my lower back as if crossing my arms.

“More exhausting than expected.”

The military deity, the boy, smiles pleasantly.

Boom!

The ground shakes.

The earth dragon violently rampages, seemingly turning the area to waste.

Yet somehow, the warrior with the golden greatsword continues to hold firm.

…He’s writing a different kind of myth over there.

“But this situation won’t last forever. When will you pull out your trump card?”

He speaks as if ready to conclude the situation anytime.

“This space can’t remain indefinitely. In other words, you know very well that now or never is your only chance against me, correct?”

“…”

“That’s right. Even you have some unexpected aspects.”

I don’t know what led him to that conclusion…

But it’s correct.

Done without strategy in a fit of passion.

Yet… it’s more complicated than expected, isn’t it?

The boy’s sword handling skills aren’t ordinary, but it wasn’t limited to swordsmanship technique either. Nor did it belong to divine abilities or powers.

Trying to maintain distance while stepping back from his agile approach proves difficult.

Attempting to properly re-grip my sword and utilize distance…

But allowing for grappling concerns, I withdraw too much, ending up…

…exposing my chest.

The kick penetrates muscle to strike bone, momentarily cutting off my breath.

“!!”

Struggling to suppress coughs and nausea, I forcibly steady my disrupted breathing.

Though my consciousness grows hazy, my body persists despite wobbling.

“Is it spirit? Is it tenacity? Or… ah, it’s already such an instinct.”

His voice faintly reaches me.

“However, lacking the strength to raise and swing your sword is pitiful. Otherwise, the competitive urge would have been much more stimulated.”

In other words, he’s declaring right now that there’s no opportunity to reveal that potential.

“Earlier, you agreed to hear the victor’s words, yes? From now on, I’ll consider you under my command.”

“…”

Who decided that?

It was absurd, but the earlier blow must have been critical.

My body condition is worst, every part creaking, noticed late.

…Definitely feel cracks in the ribs.

Having broken bones countless times and moved slowly yet violently in such states…

…Very familiar.

Regardless of intact or damaged.

Checking and understanding the body’s condition.

“Will you accept this willingly?”

“…”

“That look! You’re persistent too! But everything will go according to our will, as it always has!”

He walks over.

No longer guarding against an intentional aimed sword like before.

Which made resentment boil up.

‘Like this…’

Cannot lose.

The opponent knows that well.

Then what he aims for is only one thing.

He intends to kill me.

Planning to harvest after killing me?

What a serious tyrant.

Yet he shows not a trace of doubt in his own beliefs.

That’s what he is.

In that brief, very brief moment of clouded consciousness…

When I notice, a black curtain has descended before my eyes.

The sound of stomping on the ground echoes vaguely several times.

An oddly familiar yet unfamiliar voice comes from above.

“You. Your current state is terrible.”

“…”

No energy to respond.

Just…

“How dare some random woman interfere in this sacred battlefield?! Such behavior is blasphemy against the gods and insult to the holy ones! This sin! Worthy of dying a hundred deaths!”

A woman fully covered in black cloth.

Heeba stands there with a wooden stick as tall as her legs, pale gray eyes filled with venom…

Glaring fiercely at the war god.

Right in front of me.

Surrounding my vicinity while positioning herself.

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