A low growl, more animal than man, rumbled in Lacerta's chest. The air curdled. His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his katana, the hilt clenched so firmly that it begins biting into his palm with every frantic, hammering beat of his heart.
The bandits he'd faced. The Witchbeast he'd clashed and killed weren't even comparable to the sensation of dread that this man before him was unleashing.
The pressure emanating from the white-haired man was a physical weight, a chilling bloodlust that promised a violent end.
This man… he was a predator.
Haldran: ["Frozen dead with panic? What a shame."]
The words were a silken threat, and then Haldran was gone. Not a step, not a lunge, but a pure, explosive erasure of the space between them. He moved incredibly fast, faster than anything he has seen up to this point.
The world narrowed to a single point of interest—the gleaming tip of his longsword, screaming towards Lacerta's heart.
Instinct and a thousand repeated sword swings and battles in his mind screamed for him to parry the attack. As such, Lacerta did so as he raised his blade into the attacks trajectory.
And then came the impact.
Lacerta: ["——!!"]
It wasn't the clang of steel on steel. It was the crack of trying to suppress a lightning strike with his wrist. A seismic shockwave shot up his arm with enough force to almost break it. The force was absurd and unlike anything he'd ever felt—like trying to deflect a landslide with one hand.
Haldran: ["—You should have just dodged."]
The voice was right beside his ear. Through the shower of falling sparks, the longsword was already free and lacing straight for his gut. Lacerta twisted at the last moment, a wrenching motion that saved him from impalement by a hair's breadth.
The blade punched into the marble wall where his body was—
But there was no pause like what many would expect.
With a sound of screaming stone, Haldran ripped the blade free, carving a deep, straight scar across the wall as he stepped into Lacerta's range still swinging.
Thus, the motion never ended; it flowed, absurdly fast, into a horizontal arc aimed for Lacerta's throat.
Gritting his teeth, Lacerta felt the ringing sensation of pain jolt through his wrist as he narrowly blocked that explosive slash. Instantly, he could just tell...
He couldn't keep blocking these absurd attacks.
Lacerta's feet slid across the polished floor, his chest heaving, not in exhaustion but more in panic and thought than anything else.
Right when he landed on the other side of the room, stumbling into a low crouch, muscles screaming in protest, his entire body coiled like a spring wound up too tight.
Haldran didn't even advance after seeing this. The hint of interest on his face made him pause in place.
He stood perfectly still in the center of the room, the master of his domain, and leveled his longsword until its point was aimed directly at Lacerta's eyes.
A cold, predatory calm settled over his features.
Haldran: ["...It is about time you stopped defending."]
Lacerta grounded his teeth and bit down on his jaw after Haldran spoke those words. Instantly, he ducked low and bent his knees until he was a tightly wound coil of pure explosive force, and while he throttled his full might from his blade, he unleashed everything else through his body.
The ground beneath him didn't just crack, they simply exploded behind him. Lacerta erased the distance between them, becoming a smear of black motion that approached the Second-Class General.
His blade didn't cut the air; it tore a screaming vacuum in its wake, an upward slash aimed to bisect the arm cleanly from the armpit.
Haldran: ["The flow method?"]
A gust of displaced air was the only proof of the attack. It whipped through Haldran's stark white hair as he pivoted to evade the slash.
Haldran: ["—Constant and instinctual too, interesting!"]
Lacerta ignored him. He hit the far wall not as a retreat, but as a launching point to propel himself off of it like a missile toward Haldran's flank.
Again. And again and again. The room filled with the percussive symphony of his failure: the deafening ring of two blades clashing multiple times each second, a desperate rhythm against Haldran's unwavering calm.
From above. The side. Head on. Each attack was came unveiled with most of his power, yet Haldran perfectly blocked and parried each attack.
Why is nothing working? What is this person?!
Haldran: ["But it is a shame... It's not your skill, or your physical prowess that I find myself disappointed by...."]
One final, desperate launch from the wall. Lacerta's blade tore a fissure in the air itself, aimed to split Haldran down the middle. It was all or nothing.
And.... it was nothing.
Haldran let the attack pass with a simple, elegant sidestep, his final judgment delivered like a death sentence as Lacerta's blade continued it's swing.
["—But because you are so pitifully predictable."]
The momentum of his own swing had betrayed him and Lacerta's sword crashed into the stone floor with the force of most of his might, shattering the ground and sending a tremor up his arms.
Before he could recover, a heavy boot stomped down, pinning Lacerta's blade to the pulverized stone. Right then, a shadow fell over his features—Haldran's hand, cold and unyielding clamped over his face. His grip more akin to a vice than any actual human grip as he effortlessly tore Lacerta from his own sword.
Lacerta: ["———!!"]
The world became a violent, inverted blur as Haldran lifted him, and then slammed him into the ground with enough power to crack the ground below and make Lacerta vomit up blood.
A singular breath escaped Haldran's lips, fogging the dust-choked air. Below him, the boy lay strewn amongst the debris, a testament to their battle that had just subsided. Defeated, certainly, but his eyes were still open, more than what a lot of people Haldran has shown in various battles.
All of that, just from one boy as well.
Haldran's gaze drifted to the raw, gaping wound in the wall of the sword slash which he had dodged. A slow trickle of marble dust and splintered wood fell down from the edges of the hole, revealing another room to the mansion beyond.
Though he couldn't help but wonder....
What would've happened had I not dodged that attack?
Haldran smiled at the thought.
Haldran: ["Hmph. A satisfactory display. You have certainly got enough power and speed, I'll grant you that much."]
He instantly stepped forward, squatting before Lacerta's prone form. The white-haired man's shadow fell over the boy as he leant in.
Haldran: ["My daughter tasked you of this already, but she is… economical with the details. I shall not be. Listen closely, boy, for I will only say this once. Caro Mendin, the Velin family's factor, has vanished. Last seen circling the Warrens in Guaral. A trusted associate of mine will accompany you—he will explain the nature of that place. Your task is simple: find Mendin. Bring him back. Preferably alive."]
With that, Haldran rose and returned to his high-backed chair, the sole piece of furniture that had survived the onslaught of their battle. He settled into it as if it were a throne, crossing one leg over the other and surveying the beautiful destruction he had wrought.
A chilling smile touched his lips as he leaned forward.
Haldran: ["There will be coin, of course. But more importantly, there will be the… 'information' you oh-so desire. Among other things too."]
Using the wall for leverage, Lacerta peeled his bruised body from the floorboards. Each movement was a fresh agony. He staggered towards the door, his world a tunnel of pain.
Lacerta: ["…Understood."]
Haldran: ["I was careful not to break anything that would take a long time to heal. Still, if the damage is too severe for you, we can delay your departure by a few hours."]
Lacerta gave no reply, his silence a more potent answer than any word. Whether from broken pride or simply a lack of air, it was impossible to say.
Left alone amidst the wreckage of his own making, Haldran's gaze swept what was left of the room. A dry chuckle escaped him.
Haldran: ["...Perhaps I went a bit overboard this time around though."]