His words were like a detonation signal. The instant he leveled the Crimson Sickle Fang forward, he was already charging, carving through the night with the first dazzling flash of a life-or-death sword skill. The tearing wind shrieked so sharply it felt as though it would slice apart not only his earlier words, but Morte himself.
Morte, hidden behind his mask, revealed nothing of his expression.
But to Satoru, that didn't matter. Whether it was surprise at Morte's audacity to provoke a death match, his composure, or even a confident smile.
There was no chance of winning through information anymore. No point hesitating and burdening himself with doubt. He would simply go all out.
In an instant, Satoru stepped into Morte's range, his face cold. He slightly raised his curved blade. The fading orange-red glow reignited, its faint light reflecting in Morte's eyes, blending with his gaze into an indescribable color.
Falling Leaf Slash. No hesitation at all.
Morte finally moved, stepping back as if startled by the sheer force of the strike. That reaction made Satoru's lips curl upward. The advantage of the opening move was already his. Even if this attack missed, the following sword skill chain would not.
But Morte only took a single step back.
Beneath the ragged mask, his lips curled into a strange smile. That step wasn't fear. It was a recalibration of distance. His hand moved, drawing the weapon hidden beneath his cloak.
"!!"
A thin, steel-gray flash vanished in an instant, aimed precisely at the weak point near Satoru's waist. Relying on the speed of his weapon and sword skill, even though he moved later, Morte struck first. Before Satoru's second skill could land, the hit connected. Digital fragments of blood scattered. In the next moment, three slashes tore across Morte's chest.
Both of their HP bars dropped at the same time. A faint trace of pale yellow appeared beside their names, barely noticeable.
The steel-blue blade in Morte's hand snapped back, and his body surged forward, the light effect brushing past Satoru.
"Shooting Star" Satoru murmured.
"Correct. And it's also the sword skill that will lead you to your end."
The voice came calmly from behind him. Morte had used the thrust not only to deal damage, but to reposition himself behind Satoru.
A rapier user.
"I've heard about your sword skill chains. Fighting some 'trending girl' out in the plaza like that really gives away a lot. I'm not about to step into your rhythm so easily."
Once again, Morte flaunted his advantage in information, watching as Satoru slowly turned around.
"So what? I just took one hit from a low-tier charge skill."
"So what…? Have you forgotten? You're the kind of person who builds victory piece by piece through tiny details. You understand this style better than anyone, don't you?"
That was true. Compared to the Reaver he used to seize the initiative, this Shooting Star was far more refined. It struck and retreated in one motion. As a result, Satoru had effectively wasted two skills. Only Flash Triple Slash had actually landed.
"Trying to copy my tactics to defeat me. You're not just aiming to destroy this character, but me as well. That's a dangerous idea."
Satoru stared straight at Morte, who continued to sway his rapier. The needle-like black blade tapped lightly against his leg, again and again.
"Oh, I'm not copying you. I just can't let myself fall into your rhythm. See? Your sword skill chain is already missing its opening move, isn't it?"
This time, Morte didn't wait for a reply. With a low laugh, he dashed forward in long strides, the tip of his rapier subtly aimed at every vulnerable point on Satoru's body.
His body lifted slightly into the air. With a carefree laugh, his rapier burst into dazzling blue sparks. Under the sword skill's effect, it was as if three thrusts were launched simultaneously from different angles.
Fast. But only within system limits. Not faster than Sheeta. Not faster than Asuna.
Satoru lowered his gaze and met the attack head-on with his curved blade. One-handed swords and blades feared heavy horizontal strikes the most, as they could severely damage durability or even break the weapon.
But against a rapier, which focused almost entirely on thrusting rather than slashing or chopping, the curved blade had no such weakness.
Clang!
A series of crisp collisions rang out.
Satoru paused for the briefest moment. Behind those three starlike thrusts came an unending barrage of flashing blade light. The blue glow flickered, extinguishing and reigniting. The sensation was unmistakably familiar.
A chained sword skill.
"Heh… hahaha!!"
Morte's laughter grew louder, filled with uncontrollable delight.
"And another thing, Yurnero. Combo sword skills were never your invention. For closed beta players, this isn't a secret."
The rapier's speed surged. Multiple flashes pierced the air, accompanied by sharp sounds. Wounds tore open one after another across Satoru's body.
"And in this game, speed is everything! The rapier may be fragile, but it has higher agility priority. And the sword skills built on that are even faster. Continuous sword skills can unleash massive damage in an instant. If you really want to focus on chaining, the rapier is the best choice!"
Morte grew more arrogant.
"You're still one step behind in this regard!"
"Not necessarily."
Clang!!
With a heavy impact, Satoru's red-glowing curved blade knocked aside the steel-gray rapier.
The speed you're talking about is superficial. True speed lies deeper. In the mind.
It surpasses physical movement. It's the speed of thought. Like predicting sword skills in advance.
Satoru's sudden interruption forced both weapons into a brief recoil. In that instant, his left hand pulled open a virtual interface in midair. With astonishing speed, almost purely muscle memory, he tapped a command.
A burst of light more dazzling than any skill activation followed.
The Crimson Sickle Fang vanished. In its place, the Forged Blade appeared in his hand.
At the same time, all of his one-handed straight sword skills were on cooldown.
A deep blue glow wrapped around the newly drawn blade, humming as it danced.
This time, Satoru completely overwhelmed Morte. His calm eyes tracked every skill the opponent had just used.
Left hand resting at his chest. Blade pointed straight forward.
That was. Slant.
The Forged Blade turned in his hand, its edge tracing a downward slanted arc as it struck precisely toward Morte's wrist. At the same time, Morte's rapier skill had just begun to activate, but the light effect dimmed as if it had been heavily disrupted.
Morte's laughter cut off abruptly as he adjusted his stance.
Right hand at his side. Blade angled slightly downward. Flashing Penetrator.
Satoru closed in instantly. The Forged Blade drove his entire body forward into a charge. The descending path of azure light, as if by sheer coincidence, sealed off the rapier's line of attack.
He could see it. Clearly. Completely.
Satoru's vision was filled entirely with Morte's outline.
Relying on technique is the privilege of the gifted. They seek to overpower through control of the body. But he steps beyond the opponent's thinking, always one move ahead, delivering the most precise and lethal strikes. Skills always take priority over basic attacks. Neutralizing advantageous skills is like clearing obstacles from the road.
And once the path is clear, nothing can stop his advance.
The Forged Blade did not slow. The azure light did not fade. Breaking through the rapier's guard, it carved deeply into Morte's body.
"Ugh.!" he let out a muffled groan.
Morte, in turn, forced his rapier into Satoru's body. It wasn't even a skill. Just a furious basic thrust.
In this world, even injury, even dismemberment or paralysis, brought no pain. The only thing that remained was the instinctive fear of approaching death. Watching the HP bar steadily drop felt like watching a scythe inch closer and closer to your neck.
The rapier and straight sword pierced into each other's bodies, producing only a dull, rough sound.
All that decreased were numbers. Even if one reduced it to a crude comparison of values.
There was no doubt. This was slaughter.
The system's safe PK mechanics had been abandoned. The two of them faced each other with their very souls, tearing into one another without restraint.
"Ha. Hahaha. Not a hint of hesitation. This cold cruelty. That's exactly how you enjoy this world. You self-deluding fool!" Morte roared.
"In the real world, this would be stabbing each other with cold steel. It'd make the headlines!"
"You, who can still go out into the wild and treat 'killing' as practice to improve your skills just like before. You must see everything happening right now as just part of the game, don't you?!"
"And that. That is the very definition of distortion!"
"Is that the whining of a mad dog?" Satoru sneered. His grip on the sword did not weaken in the slightest. He was executing everything exactly as he had envisioned. To defeat him. To kill him.
"No. I'm having the time of my life.!!"
Morte's laughter trembled with barely restrained excitement. Their HP bars dropped rapidly as neither side gave ground. And yet, both of them held a strange confidence that they would be the one to survive to the end.
"What we're doing. The way we plan in our heads to bait out each other's skills. It's no different from the brilliant murder schemes of a high-IQ killer!"
"This is great. This is perfect!"
"This immersive clash. The pounding of the heart. This is the sense of reality this hyper-real game brings!"
"Then enjoy the taste of defeat. Forever!"
A sinister flicker of yellow passed through Satoru's eyes.
"You're excited too, aren't you? Luring someone into your trap like hunting prey. That satisfaction. That thrill of success. On the other side of the board. You're smiling, aren't you?"
Morte stopped hiding it. His earlier frenzy twisted fully into malice. A malice that chased destruction to its very end.
"But. I know you. How could I come unprepared?!"
"No. Precisely because it's you. This move is worth making!"
Morte's left hand shot into empty air, sliding downward as he opened a window invisible to Satoru. Almost identical to Satoru's earlier action, the rapier in his hand began to glow white.
Satoru's expression tightened.
A different weapon appeared in his hand with brutal force. In the next instant, it swept across. Satoru's straight sword let out a strained cry under the heavy impact as he was forced backward.
"I knew from the start that you wielded two weapon types. Of course I'd bring two as well. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair."
Morte stared at him.
In his hands was something unmistakable at a glance.
A two-handed axe.
Of course. That made sense.
If he already knew Satoru used both a curved blade and a straight sword, then challenging him with only a rapier would have been irrational.
So this was his trump card.
I see.
He really did understand him. At some forgotten point in time, they had likely fought more than once. That was the only way he could grasp his style so thoroughly. With that knowledge, what he aimed to construct and compete with wasn't a simple exchange of skills.
He intended to surpass his thinking itself.
That had been his goal from the very beginning.
What he was baiting out… wasn't skills.
It was weapon types.