Chapter 20 — Outpredicting Your Prediction
"Then I won't dodge."
Lain's eyes darkened in an instant.
The casual calm he had shown until now vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. The muscles in his legs coiled like compressed steel, veins standing out beneath his skin as he pushed his body to its absolute limit.
Then he released everything.
Boom!
The ground cracked beneath his feet as his body shot straight upward, like an arrow loosed from a fully drawn bowstring.
"What?!"
For the first time since the battle began, Denken's expression collapsed into open shock.
What is he doing?!
Jumping straight into the air—into my line of fire?
High above the battlefield, Lain had no foothold, no leverage. Gravity had already begun its silent countdown. Facing the incoming barrage of light swords, he spun both blades in his hands. The steel blurred, forming a dense, shimmering sphere around his body.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The impacts rang out sharply, echoing across the sky. Each sword of light was deflected with uncanny precision, knocked aside at the exact angle needed to avoid penetration.
But no matter how monstrous a human warrior was—
Strength still had limits.
Gravity tugged at Lain's rising body, bleeding away his momentum inch by inch. The peak of his jump was already behind him.
Once he began to fall, he would be nothing more than a living target.
"Jumping fifteen meters…" Denken muttered, forcing his composure back into place. "Impressive."
His staff glowed as he gathered magic for a decisive strike, eyes narrowing as he calculated Lain's falling trajectory—specifically, the position of his right shoulder.
But in the very next instant, Denken's pupils contracted violently.
Without hesitation, he flicked his staff and propelled himself upward and backward.
The distance between them exploded open.
Thirty meters.
Forty.
Sixty.
Why?
Because in that split second, he had seen it—
Lain's throwing stance.
Even if he could instantly deploy defensive magic, Denken could not be certain it would hold against a thrown blade from that posture.
Against a warrior that bordered on the absurd, caution wasn't cowardice.
It was survival.
More importantly, Denken sensed something else.
Lain had only chosen to throw at that distance.
And that choice meant danger.
"Tch… seen through, huh?"
Lain narrowed his eyes.
Within the ten seconds of foresight flashing through his mind, he had already laid out the plan. At twenty meters, he would throw the first sword to shatter Denken's defensive magic. The second would follow immediately after, riding the opening to strike the mage directly.
Within that range, the first blade could pierce high-level defensive barriers while retaining enough kinetic energy to cripple—or kill.
But foresight was never perfect.
Tiny deviations in timing, in decision-making, in instinct—
And now…
Lain landed heavily on the ground.
Dust billowed around his feet as he looked up, scowling.
Denken was still retreating upward.
Sixty meters—and climbing.
At that distance, air resistance alone would bleed away most of the sword's power. Even a perfect throw wouldn't be able to pierce the defensive barrier of a first-tier mage.
He was retreating beyond the battlefield itself.
---
Outside the Battlefield
"He's still pulling back."
Laufen blinked in disbelief. "The old man is being way too cautious. He clearly has the advantage."
"He's right to be," Kraft replied, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "He realized Lain's throwing technique could actually threaten his life."
"From what you know about Lain?" Laufen asked.
"From experience," Kraft said calmly. "Within twenty meters, a full-power throw from him can break through high-level defensive magic. Beyond that, the power drops sharply."
Laufen glanced back at the sky. "That's at least seventy meters now, isn't it?"
"Which is why," Kraft said, eyes narrowing, "Lain is waiting."
---
Back on the Battlefield
Denken hovered high above, looking down at the lone figure below.
A warrior was still a warrior.
Bound by gravity. Bound by physical laws.
Even if Lain threw his sword now, its power would be severely reduced by distance and air resistance. Defensive magic would block it effortlessly.
Denken raised his staff, his gaze sharpening to a razor's edge. His magical reserves were running dangerously low.
This would be the end.
A deep hum echoed through the air.
A massive golden magic circle unfolded before the tip of his staff, complex runes interlocking as it spun.
"Hellfire of Karma," Denken whispered.
The magic circle rotated violently, and from its center poured torrents of deep crimson flame. The fire fell like a waterfall from the heavens, roaring as it spread outward.
This was not ordinary fire.
It was compressed, high-density magical flame—hot enough to melt stone into magma within seconds.
The inferno swallowed the battlefield whole.
Lain didn't retreat.
Foresight images exploded through his mind in rapid succession.
Three seconds—left side, weakest heat density. Nine seconds—Denken descends five meters to observe.
Not enough.
He needed Denken lower.
"Hey, old man!" Lain shouted, his voice cutting through the roar of the flames. "If you're gonna burn something—try roasting yourself!"
And then he charged straight into the center of the firestorm.
"He's insane?!"
Elily stomped the rock beneath her feet, panic flooding her face. "That's suicide!"
The flames consumed him entirely.
High above, Denken frowned.
Was it desperation?
Denken instinctively lowered his altitude slightly to confirm Lain's condition.
Sixty meters.
Fifty-five.
Fifty.
Even if Lain had hidden his true jumping height… even if he had five more meters—
He was still safe.
Then—
Boom!
The heart of the firestorm exploded outward.
A massive slab of earth shot upward, torn from the ground like a shield hurled by a giant. The flames parted around it.
The slab shattered midair.
From the smoke burst a figure.
Lain.
His clothes were scorched and tattered, skin flushed red from the heat—but his speed had not diminished in the slightest.
"Using earth to block the instant heat," Denken scoffed. "Clever. But meaningless."
He raised his staff again. "I won't let you get close."
Light gathered.
Judgement Light prepared to strike.
A warrior trapped by gravity was a perfect target.
Yet—
As Lain leapt again, soaring another fifteen meters, his ascent showed no sign of slowing.
Denken's blood ran cold.
"He… hid it."
That was when he realized the truth.
Even when Lain had been within striking distance, giving Denken countless opportunities to attack, he had deliberately concealed his true jumping capability.
Not by five meters more.
By at least half.
Wind screamed past as Lain twisted midair, drawing back his right arm. The sword gleamed in his grip.
Distance: twenty meters.
Denken's magic reserves were nearly empty.
He couldn't ascend further.
No escape.
He had no choice but to endure.
"Defensive magic!"
Three layers of hexagonal shields snapped into place in front of him.
The next instant—
Lain hurled the sword.
But the trajectory was wrong.
The blade wasn't aimed at Denken.
It was flying toward a point roughly one body-length beneath him.
At the doorframe, Kraft straightened. The muscles beneath his monk's robe tensed.
"…My turn."
Inside the battlefield, Denken's heart skipped.
He didn't trust his defensive magic to fully block the blade.
So he canceled his flight spell.
He chose to fall.
To dodge by dropping out of its path.
But—
His falling trajectory perfectly intersected the sword's flight.
It was as if he had personally guided his own throat into the blade's path.
Crack! Crash!
The three-layered shields shattered like fragile glass.
The sword continued forward, unstoppable.
Straight toward his neck.
Denken's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
No time.
No room.
No escape.
Just as the blade was about to pierce his throat—
A hand appeared from nowhere, gripping the hilt with iron force.
The sword stopped.
The tip grazed Denken's throat, drawing a thin line of blood before halting completely.
The hand belonged to Kraft.
The old elf landed lightly, sword in hand.
Lain landed moments later, chest heaving, breath ragged.
"That's enough," Kraft said calmly.
He tossed the sword back to Lain.
Denken touched his throat. His heart was still racing violently.
Defeated.
Completely defeated.
If Kraft had been even a fraction slower—
He would be dead.
This wasn't just foresight.
This was prediction layered atop psychology—anticipating decisions, accounting for defensive strength, distance decay, fear, and instinct.
Terrifying.
Denken slowly descended. Only when his feet touched the ground did the unreal sensation fade.
"So?" Lain asked, sheathing his sword. "Do I qualify now?"
"You do."
Denken looked at him, emotions swirling in his eyes. "You're stronger—and far more crazier than I imagined."
"Thanks," Lain replied with a grin.
"But I have a question."
Kraft spoke again.
"That last throw," he said quietly. "You intended to kill."
Denken touched the dried blood on his throat.
There had been no restraint nor deviation.
If Kraft had hesitated at all, Denken would be dead.
"Weren't you afraid I wouldn't make it in time?" Kraft asked, staring directly into Lain's eyes. "Or did you simply not care whether he lived or died?"
The air froze.
Laufen rose slowly to her feet.
Elily stared at Lain, confusion and unease written across her face.