I swung my sword. Once loosed, the blade shot straight for a mortal point.
Yet Martha slipped past each stroke with the swift, fluid footwork peculiar to a master of the fist.
She turned her body just enough to let the blade aimed at her heart pass by, then drove a punch into the opening left by my swing.
I caught it at once with the flat of my blade.
Boom
"...And this is meant to be Strength D?"
I had succeeded in blocking it, yet the impact still forced me a step backward. The shock running through the sword made the hand gripping it throb.
Realizing that the power in those two fists far exceeded all expectation, I widened my eyes.
I reviewed Martha's status once more. By all reckoning, her Strength was indeed marked as D.
...What part of this was Strength D?
A hollow laugh escaped me. Then, all at once, I recalled that she wielded a special technique.
Ah. So that was it.
She had amplified her meager raw strength through skill and delivered the blow in that fashion. The instant I understood, I was struck with fresh astonishment at its monstrous force.
That single strike possessed power that ought to have required at least B+. And yet her actual parameter stood two and a half ranks below it.
In other words, by means of some martial art or hidden technique, she had not merely surpassed her natural strength by two full stages, but risen yet another half-step beyond even that.
A martial art that raised one's might by two and a half ranks? What absurd craft was this?
Even so, the advantage remained mine. However dreadful the force in those fists, they still lacked the power to break through my armor outright.
Thus, when Martha hurled a punch toward my solar plexus, I answered by thrusting my sword toward her throat.
No. I meant to.
As I swung for her neck, my instinct suddenly cried out in warning. I halted the stroke midway and twisted my body aside.
But her fist was already too near. I avoided a direct hit to the solar plexus, yet I could not evade it entirely. In the end, I had no choice but to yield my right chest to the blow.
Boom
"-!?"
Pain burst through me as though my right lung had been churned to ruin. I kicked Martha away after she had stepped in to close the distance, then hastily retreated.
Once I had opened the gap between us, a hot liquid rose through my throat together with the agony in my right lung. I spat it out and looked down.
Blood. Bright red blood stained the ground.
My eyes widened.
"...A penetrating strike."
The moment I grasped that truth, my face twisted into a frown. The fatal weakness of my [Armor of Vortigern] was precisely this: it was vulnerable not to attacks upon the exterior, but to those that struck the inside.
My [Armor of Vortigern] was derived from Vortigern, the second White Dragon of Britain.
And therein lay the problem. Vortigern had met his death through an attack inflicted upon his interior.
Having inherited the dragon's power from Vortigern, I could not help but inherit that legend as well. Thus my absolute defense became worthless before penetrating attacks.
And now, of all times, I stood in precisely such a wretched circumstance.
...What a damned situation.
I examined the place where I had been struck. As expected, the inside had been violently shaken. Feeling the pain rising from within, a chill ran down my spine.
Had instinct not warned me, the spiritual core in my solar plexus would have been shattered. If that had happened, I might have endured for a few minutes through sheer battle continuation, but after that I would surely have vanished. Considering that, I could at least count myself fortunate.
Yet there was no cause for relief. Even having avoided the worst of it, the damage I had suffered was immense. Judging by the way I could scarcely draw breath, my right lung had likely burst.
After that brief self-assessment, I raised my sword once more and settled into stance. Martha, seeing me do so, regarded me with open wonder.
I met her gaze and spoke.
"...Remarkable. A martial art that can produce force equal to Strength B+ while bestowing a penetrating attribute as well."
At my words, Martha gave a small shrug.
"You've got incredible grit. Usually, if one of my punches lands on a vital point, it's over in a single blow. Even if you did evade the worst of it, you're the first man who's ever taken one of my punches head-on and stayed standing."
"..."
Was that meant to be praise? And why did the line sound so sweet while the meaning behind it was so terrifying? It left me with a very strange feeling indeed.
Perhaps she herself realized the same thing after saying it, for she scratched her cheek awkwardly and changed tack.
"Ahem. In any case, you're absurdly tough... but still-hiya!"
Boom
I raised my sword and blocked her fist with the flat. Seeing that, Martha smiled.
"Tough is good, isn't it?"
"...Ha, hahaha!"
Boom
"Ugh!?"
At Martha's words, laughter burst from me. At the same time, I drew forth [Mana Burst] to its utmost limit. The gathered prana whirled violently about my body like a storm.
I pulled that surging force into my blade and hewed upward from below toward Martha.
At that strike, far swifter and heavier than before, Martha's eyes flew wide. She raised a guard, yet could not withstand it and was hurled backward.
Even so, true to her fame as a Servant of renown, Martha twisted her body in midair and landed upon the earth. Seeing that, I spoke.
"To meet one who is strong is a joyous thing. All the more so when one is strong oneself. It means one may pour forth the full measure of one's power without reserve."
I leveled my sword at her as she steadied herself.
"I placed too much faith in my defense and failed to fight in earnest. For that, I apologize. From this moment onward, I shall come at you with all I possess. And I believe that is what you desire as well... is it not?"
"...Of course it is!"
At my words, Martha broke into a radiant smile and charged. Seeing that, I too smiled and thrust forth my sword.
Fist and blade crossed.
Crash
Boom, boom, boom!
[What in the world... those two are complete monsters...!]
Watching the battle between Martha and me through the communicator, Romani spoke with a face full of disbelief.
The remark might have been called rude, yet even Mash, hearing it, found herself unconsciously nodding as she stared at the spectacle before her.
This was no human contest. Even with the dynamic vision granted to her as a Demi-Servant, the exchange was difficult to follow. Cold sweat ran down Mash's brow.
"...Will every enemy we meet from here on be that strong?"
[....]
At Mash's question, Romani could only fall silent.
...Was the restoration of Human Order truly possible?
"Mm. You're meat."
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