Chapter 384 - Saved

“Half a day. All my plan ever needed was to buy half a day.”

Krang said it just before the fight. This was the first Matthew had heard of it, too. Matthew immediately glanced outside. The sun had yet to set. The sky had not even begun to turn red.

'We have to hold out until evening?'

He expected it would not be easy.

But... WHOOSH. A slight bend of his wrist sent the whip's tip dancing straight ahead as though alive. Without even looking, his opponent struck the leather with his elbow rather than the tip.

It was only a light tap, but the force coursing through the whip vanished, leaving it slack and limp. He had interrupted the transmission of force at precisely the right point. Matthew felt his rhythm snap, but gritted his teeth and put more strength into his arm. With a broad swing, he shot the weight at the whip's tip forward as though throwing it. WHOOSH. The whip sliced through the air. In that moment, Encrid swung his sword. It was a thunderbolt plunging vertically from above. Even Matthew could feel the power within it. 'Blocking that will leave an opening.'

Even a proto knight could not avoid that. The opponent struck Encrid's swinging blade just above the ricasso and pushed it aside. Rather than meeting strength with strength, he deftly deflected the force to one side.

Encrid's body lurched sideways. Having committed his full strength, he momentarily lost his balance. But he spun in place with that imbalance, drew Spark, and stabbed. An unorthodox move, and a technique honed on his way to overcoming Aesia. The stab called the Will of the Instant. WHOOSH. His opponent twisted at the waist to evade it as though dodging a stone thrown by a child. He did so with such composure that it looked only natural. Encrid sheathed Spark again, took Silver in both hands, and swung, stabbed, and slashed, shifting his feet to change the distance again and again.

Matthew kept swinging his whip despite the repeated interruptions to his rhythm. His fellow guard thrust her trident whenever she could. Injured or not, she was no ordinary fighter. Yet their opponent barely bothered to dodge her trident. As though brushing away an annoying fly, he turned aside just as it reached him and let it slide past, or knocked it off course with his sword before it could touch him.

Matthew's whip posed little threat either. Only Encrid was managing to hold his own. And that was why Matthew despaired.

'Hold out against this until evening?'

Impossible. Encrid could collapse at any moment. A sword grazed his cheek. Drops of blood sprang from the shallow cut and scattered through the air. Ignoring it, he hurled himself sideways and swung horizontally. WHOOSH. The slash seemed capable of splitting the air itself, yet his opponent merely took a casual step back. Encrid's sword passed through the space he had occupied. He evaded it without even the sound of a footfall. Watching him filled Matthew's chest with a sense of futility. A wall. A different kind of being. Different in talent. Different from birth.

And they were supposed to hold out against that?

'Impossible.' Despair and anguish filled his chest. Strength began to drain from the hand wielding his whip. He could not keep his spirit from crumbling. Swinging his whip felt like lashing a cliff face. He could strike it for a hundred years and never bring it down. Wasn't that obvious?

How could a whip ever destroy the cliff barring his way? Then his companion with the trident suffered a mortal wound. It happened despite Encrid's relentless, ferocious charges and swings, so fierce that Matthew wondered whether he was even breathing. Their opponent tossed a dagger behind him. Slipping through a gap in her breathing, it tore across his companion's neck. Even the simple act of throwing a dagger displayed chilling skill.

Blood spurted, then gushed out in pulses. She clutched her neck, and Krang, who had been watching, rushed over and bound it tightly with cloth. Matthew faintly heard him say,

“Hold on.” There was no time to look back. But a thought had been troubling him for some time.

'Is there any point to this?' There was, if it saved Krang. If holding out would do that, Matthew would hold out. But even that was beyond him.

He could not stop this man any longer, and Krang would die. Should he have made him flee after all?

No. Hadn't Krang, his lord, said that doing so would mean his heart died first? Just as black paint spread across his heart,

“Hah!” BOOM! A roar erupted with the battle cry, loud enough to make his ears ring. Both the shout and the explosive crash that followed battered his eardrums.

Such was the force behind the cry, and the impact behind the clash. Matthew saw a man with his sword locked against the enemy's, blood streaming from his flank. He saw the back of a black-haired head. A broad back. A man whose spirit, unlike his own, had not diminished in the slightest. “Caught you,” Encrid said.

“I let you,” his opponent replied. Curly brown hair fell in little clumps across the enemy's forehead as he spoke. Only then did Matthew get a proper look at his face. “Let's keep going.”

Encrid spoke. What was that in his voice? The two had shifted positions before Matthew knew it, driven by Encrid's relentless assault. Now he could see Encrid's face, and the sight sent a pang through his chest. Starting at his toes, every hair on his body stood on end. Matthew knew. They could never hold out until evening. Encrid defeating this new opponent was a distant prospect indeed.

The proof was there: blood pouring from his flank, the scratch on his cheek, the left forearm guard that had been sliced to tatters at some point. And yet.

'He's smiling.'

Encrid smiled. He exchanged blows, his rhythm broken again and again, and still he smiled. At that sight, the paint of despair that had blackened Matthew's heart began to fade. Sunlight shone from somewhere, and white light cut through the black.

Strength returned to his arm. He raised his whip and swung. Several more exchanges followed. In that time, Matthew dodged three thrown daggers.

He admitted it: without luck on his side, he would not have evaded any of them. Even those three daggers had only been this manageable because Encrid interfered. Alone, he would not have stood a chance of stopping them. The fourth dagger, which he failed to dodge, buried itself in his thigh.

'I was sure he'd go straight for my throat.'

Against a vastly inferior opponent, the man was first taking away his mobility.

'No. That must be because of Encrid, too.'

Encrid's presence was why the dagger had struck only his leg rather than his throat. Matthew retreated. Now he would only get in the way. Krang slipped an arm beneath his armpit from behind to support him. “You mustn't go near them.”

“I know that much. He's going to lose, isn't he?”

“He's holding out.”

“Then why is he smiling?”

“... I don't know.” Yet Krang's own eyes shone as he spoke. Something Encrid had shown Matthew had barely kept him going.

Even so, sunset was still far too distant. “When will help arrive?”

Matthew asked. Protecting Krang was his duty. But before that, above it, or perhaps in some other form, another wish arose unbidden.

'We can't let that man die here.' They had to save Encrid. Matthew was now ready to throw himself into the fray if that was what it took.

Why? He did not know. Exhilaration simply filled his body. All he could think was that this man must not die here. “If that fellow has any sense, he'll come a little early.”

Krang pulled over a chair and seated Matthew, then examined the wound in his thigh.

Krang was no ordinary man either. Tending the wounded at a time like this. Matthew's gaze naturally turned toward his companion with the mortal wound in her neck.

“She won't die,” Krang said.

If they could just hold out through this, that would be true. Both turned to watch the fight. It was not a battle they could readily join.

On one side, a man struck and broke his opponent's rhythm like a puppet without emotion. The other was like a wild horse at full gallop. He exploded into motion, charged, and held nothing back.

* * *

His rhythm kept breaking. Nothing he did could sustain the flow.

This man was not merely a cut above Aesia. He was definitely on Rem's level.

Or was he weaker? Encrid didn't know. Now was not the time to think about that. He slashed vertically and horizontally, stabbed and struck in curves, mixing in the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

Feigned breath. When he pretended to be winded to lure the man in, his opponent closed without hesitation. Encrid seized the moment to stab with Spark. The Will of the Instant. The pinnacle of the technique he had honed against Aesia.

The stab was lightning. The instant he thrust, it reached its target. He combined what the stabbing soldier had taught him on his first today with everything he had learned about speed since. And still it was blocked. By a movement so simple it was disheartening. TING. TI-TING. His opponent raised a shortsword as though playing and angled its flat, sending Spark's point sliding along it.

It was a form of Flowing Sword executed with exquisite finesse. Encrid released Spark in midair and lunged forward holding Silver, turning his body into an arrow. He shot ahead just as quickly as his opponent had closed in.

The gap narrowed. He let go of his sword and entered grappling range. But his opponent was already retreating, leaping back so abruptly that he seemed to vanish.

Encrid's rhythm snapped.

He ignored it. He extended a foot behind him and kicked the middle of the falling Spark's blade upward with his heel. It rang as it flew over his head. He snatched it from the air, then reached out and caught Silver before it could fall. The opponent who had been watching was suddenly upon him, thrusting his sword.

The bastard specialized in exploiting openings. He broke his opponent's rhythm and fought only at the moments he chose.

Still, Encrid held on. Normally, anyone would grow sick of fighting like this. They would protest its unfairness. Give voice to their anguish.

Encrid did not.

'I've never seen this before.'

It was new. Different. All of it was joy and amusement to him. “I'll kill you, then kill Aesia.”

The man spoke as though announcing he would have mashed potatoes and roast duck for dinner. A flat tone. A statement of facts. If the man killed Encrid, today would repeat. But if only Aesia died?

Would today still repeat? [“I have no intention of leaving at the cost of losing anyone else.”]

No. Krang's words had held determination, too.

For Encrid, who had lived through repeating todays, was worry any reason to waste this moment? 'I don't know.'

He did not want to know anything. Right now, all he wanted was to swing his sword.

In this moment, that was enough. “Hah!”

A battle cry brimming with joy and exhilaration. He reveled in it, again and again. His mind held only his sword and himself, his opponent and the man's sword, attack and defense, swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. Joy filled it until it overflowed.

Encrid felt the experience condensed within his repeated todays come together as one. His body moved before he could think, as though a god had taken hold of his limbs and guided them.

And he could see his opponent's next move in advance. The man would raise his sword above the right side of his head and prepare to thrust. Even now, he was taking the hilt in both hands and lifting it.

Watching him, Encrid slid his left foot half a step forward. He pushed into the space, claiming it. He twisted from the waist and struck. His sword descended toward the man's forearm rather than his head.

It looked no different from his earlier attacks, but for the first time, he stole the timing.

A strike half a beat ahead. Compared to his attacks just moments before, its speed and trajectory could have been called ordinary. And yet his sword connected. THWACK! It split his opponent's forearm guard. Blood spattered. The man had thrust out his left arm to block at the last instant. He retreated as he did so.

“... Hmm.” He was surprised, but made no fuss. His reaction amounted to: My arm's been cut. So it has.

Then he resumed the fight. Encrid had no time even to feel elated. His opponent was the very definition of bland. Unseasoned chicken breast.

He made that dry, tasteless lack of emotion his weapon. No exhilaration. No hunger to win. So what?

All he had to do was swing his sword. And Encrid did.

If he could do it once, he could do it twice. But not right now. The strike half a beat ahead succeeded only once.

Timing in a fight was ultimately relative. He had slipped between his opponent's beats only because, for an instant, his body had moved first. Couldn't do it again? That didn't matter either.

Encrid feinted a forward charge, then planted his foot against the wall instead of the floor. He imitated Aesia's light-footed movement. His opponent swung as though he had been waiting. The blade swept in diagonally, so fast it seemed to vanish.

It was exactly half again as fast as before. Encrid had anticipated it, but the blade drove toward his head through an opening that was difficult to defend. He hastily drew back his extended sword to block. Fail to evade this and he was fucking dead. CRACK! He blocked it, but now his right wrist was completely wrenched out of shape. He tried to turn the blow aside, but that failed too. The force behind the sword sent him flying backward. Encrid landed on his back with a thud, rolled backward, and got up.

“Urgh.”

He vomited blood. Blocking that blow had damaged his internal organs. It had been a Will-infused slash. Encrid did not know it, but more precisely, the technique used Will to transmit the impact into the body of whoever blocked it. His legs trembled, and his vision briefly blurred. Pushed beyond its limits, his body would no longer obey him.

He blinked several times.

Then someone stepped in front of him. “If you're going to kill anyone, start with me. But spare the people behind me in return. I think my life is worth that much.”

It was Krang. Trying to rise, Encrid realized his ribs were broken.

“My lord!”

Matthew shouted. Encrid finally stood and spoke. “Who said you could?”

The man had surely come here to kill Krang.

“You're not finished with me yet.” Encrid steeled himself for death again. For another repetition of today.

Was this another wall?

Then he need only overcome it. But it was not a wall. At the very least, something had twisted and changed. This was certainly not the same today. His opponent raised his sword indifferently. Krang, Encrid, Matthew if he intervened: he meant to cut them down, one after another. At that exact moment, a chilling warning from his Sixth Sense flared.

Behind him.

Something hurtled in. BOOM! An explosive crash rang out. A figure burst through the broken window, smashing the frame itself.

He crossed the distance in an instant and shot past Encrid. Then he immediately brought something down at the rhythm-breaking proto knight. Through his fading vision, Encrid saw what the newcomer held. A blade longer and thicker than an ordinary sword. At some point the sun had begun to set, sending orange light through the window. He saw the back of the man who had smashed bodily through it.

Encrid knew who had arrived, and spoke.

“Saved.”