Chapter 49

My thoughts were incredibly clear.

Even though the man I once thought was far beyond my reach was standing right in front of me.

Cold air filled my lungs, and a moment of silence enveloped the space.

-- Screech

The knife sliced through the air with a screech. That sound was the beginning.

I thrust my right foot forward, keeping my elbow relaxed, and ran the two knives. My targets were his neck and wrist.

I had already decided on the first strike. I had dreamed about it many times in my head. If I ever had to fight this man, Helt Stanley, I would definitely start like this.

The chances of winning were already slim. If I even gave him the first move, it would be like offering my head to the guillotine. I had to measure the distance and always take the initiative.

-- Clang -- Clank --

Of course, I understood how difficult it would be to face this man. My opponent was Helt Stanley, the hero.

The two strikes I aimed to surprise him with were deflected by a white light.

He parried one head-on and the other with a flick of his wrist, using his two-handed sword. How could he perform such a delicate maneuver with those large weapons?

"... You must not interfere. I will cut down anyone who comes near."

Helt ordered the guards who were about to draw their sabers at my assault, his back to them.

Was it chivalry? It was very considerate, but it also sounded like he was confident he could handle it alone. My spirit was already feeling inferior.

While my stomach was about to burst with frustration, his voice was cold and collected. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

I forced my ragged breaths back into my throat and narrowed my eyes.

This duel-like battle was completely different from the bar duel I had with Karia. That was more like an extension of a game. This was a genuine exchange of life. I had to take Helt's head, even if it meant sacrificing a little.

Helt's stance was to hold his two-handed sword at chest level, ready to deflect my attacks. However, there was no killing intent or hostility in his stance. It seemed he was thinking about how to pin me down.

How infuriating. So infuriating. But the difference in our combat strength was clear. Helt must have gauged my abilities from the first strike and found them insignificant.

Of course, it was a reasonable judgment. Therefore, I had only one chance. I took a deep breath in an instant.

-- Screech -- Clank --

Using the dust kicked up from my feet as a blind, I aimed a low strike at his knees. Next, I rotated my body and drew a silver half-circle to slash at his side. Neither of these strikes reached their target.

There was always a white light to deflect the silver flash. Each time the silver blade sliced through the air, a deafening sound echoed around.

With each strike, I changed my stance, high, low, and middle. I used every angle, timing, and speed to cut through the space with my knives.

There was no breathing. My lungs were struggling for air, and my legs, which had carried me so many times, were already giving out. But I understood. My mind was acutely aware that if I let out a breath within Helt's range, my torso would be torn apart.

Helt had no killing intent. There was no hostility. But occasionally, I felt a golden gaze that seemed to be contemplating how to slice my neck and take my life. A cruel and vicious look that didn't match his gentle expression, a savagery that gleamed in his eyes.

My heart reluctantly understood. If Helt wanted to, my torso would be split in two, my skull would cave in, and my limbs would be torn apart, all in a single breath.

One breath was an exchange of life. I didn't know his intentions or plans. He was calmly deflecting my continuous strikes, his expression as calm as ever, not even breaking a sweat.

-- There was only one chance to win.

My brain was starved for oxygen, and my vision was starting to flicker.

The silver light I had launched, wearing down my life and spirit, was being deflected by Helt's wrist and waist movements as if it were useless.

There had been no move from him yet. It was infuriating, but also fortunate. I was being spared, but that didn't give me a chance to win.

I kicked the ground hard and took a few steps back.

If he struck me here, I would surely die. But even knowing that, Helt didn't even show a sign of moving his feet.

"... Let's both lower our swords, Ruis. This has no meaning."

Those words were spoken again, but they had a different meaning this time.

My body was sweating to release the heat, but a burning sensation overwhelmed my chest. The breath I exhaled felt like it was scorching my mouth.

He, Helt, had said it. Your skills cannot even scratch me. Continuing this is meaningless. He had said it so casually.

He said it. Ah, he said it. But it was true. Despite his young age, there was no shadow in the brilliance of his sword skills.

Karia's longsword still had a hint of sweetness. Fialart's magic was not yet refined.

Yet, Helt Stanley's sword skills were terrifying.

Even at his young age, they were already so complete, it was unsettling. The guards behind him were also wide-eyed. The absence of a lizard among them suggested that perhaps Cereal had gone to look for something. My heart beat even faster.

I had heard that heroes were chosen by fate and champions were favored by the gods. In Helt's case, it was as if he himself was crafted by the gods.

"Very confident, aren't you? Indeed, my sword skills are tough, especially head-on."

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and moved my tongue.

To keep my emotions from getting the better of me, I suppressed my anger and used it as fuel. For now, there was no need to add emotion to my words.

Dust danced, and I blinked slightly.

"Ruis. I don't... I don't hate you. In fact, I'm even interested. You don't seem like just a common thief. I don't want to cut you down here. If you step back, I swear to the gods that I will not harm you."

My cheeks trembled. My eyes widened involuntarily, and my skin tingled.

Why was Helt interested in me?

My mind was a mess. The words suggested that something ominous had entangled my fate. Yet, there was a slight excitement in knowing that my former arch-nemesis, whom I couldn't even bite, was interested in me.

How pitiful. How utterly pitiful. I couldn't reach Helt at all. Yet, I had the illusion that I was getting closer to him.

But, it's not over yet. The battle isn't over.

"What are you talking about? I haven't even been scratched yet. If you want me to drop my weapon, then use your sword, Helt Stanley."

Even to my own ears, the words sounded cheap and tiring.

But he would come. Even if he knew it was a trap, he would still come. That was the nature of Helt. I trusted that much about him.

His golden hair swayed, his eyes gleamed, and his knee moved for an instant.

-- There was no sound.

It was a single breath.

His eyes, wide open, shone with the ferocity of a predator about to pounce.

The dust danced, clearing the way for him. The distance closed so quickly, it seemed the ground itself had shrunk for him.

In that instant, I was already within the range of his white fangs.

Helt's two-handed sword, held in a middle stance, drew an arc with the movement of his waist.

The blade aimed precisely at my left rib. There was no way I could deflect such a powerful strike with my knives. Blocking it would be madness. I could see myself lying on the ground with several broken bones in a few moments.

Of course, that was just a prediction. I couldn't see the blade. It was just a flash of light, a white something approaching.

It was intense. Witnessing it firsthand was beyond comprehension. There was only shock.

-- But it wasn't unexpected.

I already knew. And I understood that this was my only chance.

Before the movement even entered my field of vision, I placed my hand extremely low and flashed silver. Just once. Only once.

At the moment the golden light was about to reach me.

From the lower stance, where visibility was the worst, I thrust my knife upward, aiming to tear through his lower abdomen. The move was invisible.

It was a single strike based entirely on prediction, estimation, and experience. It could be meaningless, just slicing the air. But it was my best move now.

The white light, unseen, was about to tear through my left abdomen. From my hand, a silver flash aimed to cut through my enemy's insides and reach the sky.

What my ears heard at the end was the whistling of the wind.

And what I felt was—pain, as if my body was being torn apart.