That low, hoarse, processed voice stretched endlessly in Samuro's ears.
The gray-black cloak swayed like a vicious demon.
The path of that slender needle point, its origin, seemed to come from somewhere deep in his memory. Crossing silent time, it reappeared before him, as if to prove itself, scattering sparks of metallic stardust.
Hexagram Trace.
He did not need to think. The name of that excellent, god-speed Sword Skill burst into his racing mind. Whether by conditioned reflex, or because the sealed-away sensations in his virtual muscles and nerves had been stirred awake, his wakizashi moved naturally, blindingly fast, and blocked the rapier's attack again and again as if predicting each thrust.
The weapon in his hand could only really be described as a wakizashi in terms of size. But after it spun flexibly around his wrist and countered, the attack he instinctively slashed forward with was...
Vicious Rend.
Once, it had been one of the plain, unremarkable Sword Skills of the dagger category.
The wakizashi became sharp and vicious, like a snake or a scorpion, driving straight toward the opponent's chest. Inside that almost divine realm, the wakizashi scraped against the air with a hum no weaker than a bullet tearing through empty space. The strike was fast too. So fast that all one could see was the metallic color of the wakizashi left in the air.
The scene looked like the dazzling light effect of a Sword Skill that no longer existed.
But the red eyes inside the skull sockets flashed with faint crimson light. The man shifted aside before the attack arrived, and the wakizashi only pierced through and shaved away the gray-black hem of his cloak.
It was not because his reaction speed had caught up to Samuro.
It was not because he had seen clearly through that chest-piercing thrust, fast enough to rival a bullet.
He had relied only on feeling and experience. The moment he saw the wakizashi in Samuro's hand take that starting motion, he understood the strike's endpoint and path. Like a confident blind man, he completed the dodge. His rapier turned, then bit toward Samuro's side.
Crescent Tremor.
The wakizashi returned to defense, its thin blade guarding Samuro's cheek. With arrogant confidence, it blocked the rapier at the perfect point. The needle-like blade bent slightly under the wakizashi's pressure. After failing to land, the rapier bounced off the wakizashi's edge like water touching the surface, and the man spun, the rapier circling back around his body before striking out again.
Howling Octave.
The attack had no bullet prediction line. It was only a metal sword item. Yet Samuro could feel the direction of that eight-hit thrust even more clearly than if he had seen a line. That motion, forged through endless practice, and that long-lost tangible pressure were impossible to ignore.
The wakizashi screamed as metal met metal.
"..."
Silence.
In front of the lone gunman and the ghostlike man, there were only cold sparks, not hot gunsmoke. The tense, breathless exchange of blades made it easy to forget that this was supposed to be a stage for firearms. What sliced and pierced the air again and again was not the heavy vibration of a gun barrel, but a clear, painful tremor of metal.
Fast.
Faster.
The man behind the skull mask pressed forward. On the bridge scarred by bullet marks, the two of them held a conversation with blades.
If Sinon were still waiting in the rear and watching through her scope, she would only be startled by this way of fighting and marvel at the speed of the close-quarters clash. Having never been a swordsman, she would not be able to see anything deeper.
This nerve-tightening slaughter was, in truth, only a back-and-forth question and answer.
Every Sword Skill was a question. Every clear dodge and parry was an answer. Every counterattack was the other person's next question.
From low-level Sword Skills, to mid-level, to high-level combos. Even though the assist system no longer existed, they were still recreated perfectly, and with even greater power and speed.
There was no need to question it anymore.
The conclusion was already clear.
Both of them were "orphans."
In the middle of battle, Samuro closed his eyes deeply.
When he opened them again, his golden eyes burned bright.
The neat turn-based game of asking and answering questions was over.
He had suddenly thrown away the chalk in his hand. He had even smashed the blackboard covered in writing. Samuro lowered his body and charged straight in, exposing countless openings beneath the point of the rapier, taking a posture so arrogant it was almost absurd.
There were clearly more than a dozen ways to deal with an attack that cared nothing for retreat.
Yet the man holding the rapier, contrary to the frenzy of his earlier offense, chose first to pull back when faced with Samuro's completely unguarded advance.
"You can't escape."
For the first time, Samuro spoke in a low voice.
The retreating man froze when he heard it. Then, though he had meant to defend, he immediately swung his sword and met him head-on.
Shrrrk!!
The rapier pierced only air.
Samuro's wakizashi was already buried deep in the man's abdomen.
"...!"
It was a large wound, but the damage a mere metal item could cause was limited to that. Unlike a bullet, it could not simply shave away HP. Red shards, symbols of blood, drifted from the man's abdomen. He instinctively reached out with his left hand and clamped it around the wakizashi, but Samuro suddenly drove forward with the blade still pressed deep into him, violently forcing the man's body backward.
The wound was being widened.
His HP began to fall, slowly and steadily.
"What do you think? I haven't thrown away Yurnero's skills, have I?"
Keeping the wakizashi pinned deep inside the man's abdomen, Samuro stared at the skull mask inches away and whispered in a voice filled with an emotion he could not quite name.
"..."
"...Heh. Heheh."
A hoarse laugh came from beneath the mask.
"You can still laugh? Weren't you supposed to bring me a more brutal fight? Like this, it's pretty boring," Samuro asked coldly.
"Is that so? Then why... are you smiling? Why do you have that smile... that uncontrollable, delighted smile?"
The man was still being forced back, but he spoke with ease.
Just as he said, the person with wide golden eyes had a chilling smile on his lips.
"Whether you admit it or restrain it, you are enjoying this."
"My stage... is almost ready."
"Once more, in a death game... let us speak."
Both of them, Samuro included, let out low laughter.
Suddenly, Samuro froze.
He snapped his head back. Behind him was a bounding mine that had been placed there at some point. He had already triggered it, and it had jumped up toward his back. He pulled the wakizashi from the man's abdomen, turned, and threw it. The spinning blade knocked the mine away, and it exploded with a roar not far from them.
In that tiny gap, he felt a cold, sharp sensation pierce his body.
"Cheap trick."
Another small blade appeared in his hand. He turned back and chopped down the brittle rapier directly. After taking that hit, the rapier shattered.
The man in the skull mask retreated like a ghost.
"This weapon... has reached... its limit too."
"A defective item... made through crafting. Its durability... was only... this much."
Samuro stared at him from a distance.
"But next time... it will be different." The man tilted his head and looked toward the darkness behind the bridge. That was exactly the destination Samuro had come for, the place where the highest-grade metal material waited. "Next time... bring a weapon... worthy of you."
"I will wait... at this world's altar of the strong."
The man slowly stepped back. Distortions began to refract around his body, and he gradually turned transparent and hollow before vanishing like a ghost.
"..."
Watching him disappear, Samuro lowered his gaze to the small wound on his abdomen.
One day, you and I will stand on a battlefield even more brutal than that time with Didos. More terrifying. More beautiful.
That roar from long ago echoed again, repeating in his mind.
Then...
What will you do?
What will you do to surpass Makoto Kaizuka and make me feel something far beyond the helplessness and rage of being forced back then?
If it doesn't reach that level, it won't deserve to be called more terrifying or more beautiful at all.
Heh.
I'll look forward to it, just a little.
A pulse of pain began to spread through his brain. It was the normal reaction after using Fluctlight. If anything, that pain only made the nameless fire in his chest burn even hotter.
After all, you were the one who gave me a murder plan so early on.
This should be...
Interesting, right?
Samuro stood there, looking in the direction the man had disappeared.
"Samuro."
Sinon hurried over to him.
"Did the enemy retreat?"
"Yeah. They were probably a two-person team, just like us. You killed one, and the other was driven back. So it's safe now."
"Why are you so sure there were only two of them?" Sinon asked, confused.
"There are very few people who could team up with him. Anyway, none of that matters. I'll collect the material, then we'll head back."
Samuro turned back toward Sinon and spoke calmly.
But when Sinon saw him, she could not help taking a step back.
"...What is it?"
"No. Your face just now... It was probably the shadow, but it felt a little scary."
"What kind of face would I have to make to look scary like this?"
Samuro smiled helplessly, looking like the teammate she knew again.
Sinon hesitated for a moment, then shook her head and chose not to say what she had just imagined.
Because it was a rather rude impression.
A few seconds ago, when he had turned around...
He had looked like a demon savoring blood.
His face had seemed stained entirely crimson, with a smile as if his tongue had just passed over the corner of his mouth.