[521] The Nameless Swordsman (5)
For a moment the battle quieted.
Dozens were already dead, and the thieves were in a frenzy, but Rian's cutting of a fireball was so shocking it drained even that rage in an instant.
The Yaksha's fury transcends the Law and manifests in action.
Commonly called Axing.
Among those, Dinai was Rian's own technique of breaking another's will with his own.
Put into a formula, it condensed into the feedback of a thesis—"If it must be done, it must be done"—endlessly layering the Law until it denied every principle of the world.
"How did he cut magic…?"
Brize still couldn't face reality.
True, a fireball born of omniscience and omnipotence acts like real fire inside the Spirit Zone and can be cut by a blade.
But the problem wasn't that the flame was cut—the magic itself had been extinguished.
The spell vanished as if someone had blown out a candle, and even the untrained thieves knew it wasn't normal.
"So that's it…."
Feikon of the Red Spear rose from his seat.
He still didn't fully understand the result, but if he widened the category to include strange phenomena, it wasn't impossible to guess.
On battlefields, rumors that blur truth and falsehood always circulate, and one common tale was of swordsmen with transcendent abilities no schema could reproduce.
"I wondered what a brat that young thought he was doing, charging a stronghold alive."
Feikon gripped the red spear propped beside his stone chair.
"Kill him with everything you've got. This isn't the swordsman we know—he's different at his core."
At the captain's order, the officers flanking him drew weapons and fixed vicious stares on Rian.
"Move! Full assault!"
Feikon leapt from the dais, sweeping his spear, and the stunned thieves snapped back to attention and charged.
Rian watched them with a steady gaze.
Don't cling.
He poured his will into each split-second judgment, and every time the greatsword swung another attacker was cut away.
It was a mechanical severing, like drawing a blade across paper.
That was precisely the blade-fingerprint that made people call him the Knight of Maha.
When the thieves' numbers fell below fifty, momentum finally tipped toward Rian.
How unjust it was for one life to take seventy.
The thieves trembled with fear; meeting Rian's eyes felt like one's heart stopped.
"Come here, you brat!"
Feikon charged, brandishing his red spear.
The moment spear met sword, Rian's trance snapped back to reality.
His fingertips felt as if they'd struck iron, not flesh.
So this is Feikon.
Even without the red spear, Feikon's skill stood out.
The order of his technique tree was Strength, Nerve, Mitochondria.
Especially the base strength enhancement—multiplied through a technique called Folding—made him formidable.
"Hahaha! Is that it? Try ramping up like before!"
Feikon pressed the attack without pause, and Rian was pushed back again and again.
In a one-on-one duel Rian might have tried something clever, but surrounded by thieves it was impossible to spar with a master.
And the officers aiding Feikon were no ordinary men.
Grandfather—how did he even think of this?
Ozent Klump rose unbidden in Rian's mind as he fought with everything he had.
When he'd been the family's youngest, coddled by parents and siblings, he'd thought putting down bandits would be easy. Now, after living it, he understood how indulgent he'd been to his bones.
Still naive.
Feikon narrowed the distance, eyes bright.
He faltered badly in crisis. One could credit him for ultimately overcoming it, but his lack of experience showed at a glance.
Stubborn and heavy-handed. How did he even reach this level? He should've died long ago.
That was Feikon's diagnosis after long years in the world of the blade.
"Urgh!"
As a bloodied spear slashed like it would cut Rian's lifeline, he swung the greatsword in a wide arc.
A counter that would normally land, but Feikon had already perfectly read Rian's breath from their brief exchange.
Dodge—
The greatsword brushed Feikon's nose and rose.
Thrust.
Bang!
Twisting his arm, the spear's tip plunged in, hollowing a fist-sized wound through Rian's flank as it passed.
Huh?
Feikon's brows lifted—he'd aimed for the heart.
"Grrr!"
Rian clenched his teeth, pain flashing across his face, and again the afterimage of an avatar manifested.
Feikon, despite his veteran status, was thrown off.
It wouldn't actually be visible.
If some energy from Rian flowed into Feikon's brain and formed a special image, space was no limit.
Immensity.
Whatever the largest thing in the world might be, if such a thing existed, it would be the gargantuan form baring its teeth.
At the same time, like scraping noodles from broth, black lines sprang from Rian's flank and wove together, rapidly repairing the empty space.
The wound was regenerating?
A bizarre phenomenon even schema couldn't explain.
"Argh!"
Rian charged with his eyes rolled back.
A different, surging emotion exploded—belligerence.
The desire to fight, to face someone stronger, drove his sword.
-Smille. Smille.
"It's our chance! Kill him!"
Having ignored bodily preservation to boost offense left huge holes in defense.
No—this wasn't merely sloppy.
He attacked as if he had no life to lose.
"Stab him! Just stab!"
Now they could kill him.
But facing an explosive, godlike surge of fury, only Feikon among them could even hold his blade out.
"You imbeciles!"
Twenty-two remained.
If they lost any more here, there'd be no turning back.
Feikon, guessing Rian aimed for mage Brize, used his men as a shield to close the gap.
As the thieves' fierce spearwork again opened holes in Rian's body, the phantom voice sounded once more.
-Smille. Smille.
Like wind lingering at the bottom of a deep valley, the voice pulled Rian back to himself.
I'm scared. So scared, Shirone.
Why is this happening to me?
He hadn't heard the phantom when his right arm regenerated after devouring Imer's arm, nor when he'd taken the Idea and fought countless battles.
But one day it began—probably when he first suffered a near-fatal wound.
The problem: Klump had heard the same voice only once in his life.
So why wouldn't it leave him?
The only certainty was the conviction that it wouldn't last forever.
Rian gripped the greatsword hard.
Doesn't matter. If I can fight now—
Ka-aaang!
Feikon, halting Rian's attack, grimaced as if his bones had been crushed.
"Heh heh."
A hollow laugh slipped out.
"Hohohoho!"
Kakakak!
Feikon pressed the spear shaft close to his body and held the line; Rian's rush stalled.
Through the crossed X of weapons, Feikon's face showed madness.
"Do you want your name in history? Huh? Do you think that's so easy?"
Who had started it?
Some madman thinking to make a name by routing a thieves' band.
"It's over. Your future is nothing but a corpse for birds to feed on."
Feikon turned his head and shouted.
"What are you waiting for! Finish him!"
No one answered.
Impossible—
Unease forced Feikon to frantically scan his surroundings.
There was no one left standing.
He'd cut down all 120 thieves in three hours.
Maybe this kid will—
He might carve his name into history.
As that thought crossed his mind, Rian said, "Die."
Ah. I'm the one who dies.
The thought came naturally; the voice carried overwhelming force.
"You…"
As Feikon tried to speak a last word, Rian's arm rose very slowly.
Seeing his torso fully exposed, Feikon thought he still had a chance.
If I stab the heart—
But realization hit in that instant.
Not his body—his tongue forming the words wouldn't move.
A temporal gap born of transcendent relative speed.
In reality, Rian's arm was already moving faster than Feikon's tongue.
With Dinai in effect, the two arms rose and then came down several times faster than Feikon expected.
Kwaaaang!
The greatsword slammed into the ground, and with a shock like the world splitting, Feikon's body cleaved in two.
"Grrrrrr!"
Rian grimaced as his body endured the overstrain.
His muscles twisted; he felt as if he were metamorphosing into another creature.
"Phew."
Only after some five minutes did Rian manage to lift himself.
I'll be laid up for two days.
In any case, he had survived. He had also fully shaken off the burden for the Silvia family.
I won't waver anymore.
It had been a fight where death was nearer than life, but for Rian, who learned through combat, it was a huge gain.
"What luck. I didn't expect him to actually be here."
A voice at the entrance of the stronghold made Rian turn his head.
"Who are you?"
A heavily built man in black-iron armor leered over the corpses. A squire standing behind him held pen and paper, so he was clearly a noble out on knightly duty. He looked a little too old to be a novice squire, though.
"You must be the Knight of Maha? I've heard the rumors."
"Knight of Maha?"
Rian tilted his head at the unfamiliar title, but the man paid no heed and drew a sword as long as a spear. It was black iron with ornate patterns.
"As expected, a mysterious fellow. But the sight before my eyes is proof enough."
When a deadly light gleamed in the man's petal-like lashes, Rian's body reacted on its own.
A master he'd never met before.
"A bandit hunt, you say. Hah—when I was young I did this whenever I was bored. Seeing it now makes me nostalgic."
When Rian didn't respond, Lamdas spun his sword and took stance again.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Throw yourself at me. Don't tell me you don't even know what you're doing and are just waiting to die."
It wasn't uncommon in squire training to be thrown into a duel.
But Rian had just annihilated a bandit band of 120, and Dinai's aftereffects hadn't entirely faded.
"Of course I know."
Rian smiled and turned to Lamdas.
They faced each other twenty meters apart.
A long distance for swords, but not so much given schema movement speed.
Come. I'll reveal your true self.
The instant Lamdas thought it, Rian vanished.
All Lamdas saw was an infinite horizontal flash in the realm of thought.
As if turning Lamdas's three-dimensional body into two, his waist and wrist and his black-iron blade were sheared off at the same plane and fell to the ground.
The scribe stood slack-jawed, pen motionless.
When he slowly turned, he saw Rian descending the mountain with his greatsword arm extended.
Puh-puh-puh-pow!
Muscles from shoulder to wrist tore, bones showed, but his fingers still gripped the sword.
-Smille. Smille.
Feeling the muscles of his right arm reconnect, Rian moved out of the scribe's sight.
He will grow stronger.
He will rise to the ends of the world.
That will be your seat beside it. Right, Shirone?
Only after Rian had completely disappeared did the scribe swallow the saliva filling his mouth.
Ten years of service to his lord had ended in death, but instead of sorrow, excitement came first.
"The rumor… was true."
His trembling hand guided the pen, and the nib traced slowly across the paper.
Knight of Maha
(End of Volume 21)