168

A halt in midair.

I reflexively swung my sabre at the sensation of something wrapping around my body.

But something invisible hindered my arm’s movement.

‘Magic!? There shouldn’t have been any magical reaction!’

I wasn’t completely unable to move.

It was just that something in front of me and around my feet kept snagging all over my body.

The moment I realized it was some kind of net, the old mage staring up at me crushed a small, red-glowing stone.

“If this ends it, all the better…”

Without strain—like an ordinary, unremarkable strike—it was released.

A red light… no, it was more accurate to call it a lump of heat.

It wasn’t fast, but it still moved about as quickly as a full-force throw by a human.

It wasn’t fire.

It was an attack with mass.

Because I could perceive magic, I judged it dangerous and instantly pressed my shield against the unseen net, using it as a foothold to spring backward.

The next instant, a blazing crimson sphere touched my shield, and its heat exceeded the alloy’s tolerance—an alloy born from the Empire.

A red circle formed on the shield’s inner face, and as I watched it spread, I knew my instincts had been right.

Staring at the huge hole burned through my shield, I raised my threat assessment of the old man to the maximum.

A direct hit wouldn’t have ended well, but judging by his earlier actions, it was fair to assume he couldn’t use it repeatedly.

If so, trading one shield for it wasn’t a terrible exchange.

‘Magic-related things can never be overestimated. That net just now was probably magic too. And yet I couldn’t sense it—meaning concealment methods exist.’

Reading a few books wasn’t even close to enough knowledge.

As if cutting off that thought, a mercenary charged in to match my landing.

“Raaah!”

I caught the battle-axe strike aimed at my legs with my sabre—wielded by a grizzled, short-haired middle-aged man.

And right on cue, the familiar captain—someone I wanted to say “How many times now?” to—brought down a greatsword.

I knocked the axe aside with brute force, then met the greatsword with my left fist.

A sound like stone colliding with metal rang out, and I followed with a spinning kick that sent the captain flying…

…but he’d already jumped back before it landed, so the damage would be minor.

Leaping up after the captain was that wild-type blonde beauty from before.

A crossbow was in her hands, and once again she fired a bolt straight at my eye.

I deflected it with my head, then caught the warhammer swung from behind as I turned.

At the same time I grabbed the hammer, thinking, “One down first,” and drew my sabre—

—but the blade that should have thrust in was forced into defense instead.

I’d caught the presence perfectly.

A spirit sword strike that should have come from a perfect blind spot stopped short.

My sabre—switched to a reverse grip—caught the slash, and I hurled the warhammer and its wielder away, then fired a turning kick at the male wielder.

He barely slipped it and tried to counter.

But it was too late.

His swing cut empty air.

My assault stopped, and a moment of mutual glaring arrived.

Combat was terrifying—because even that dense exchange was still only the opening.

My first ambush had failed.

But the subjugation force’s counter hadn’t succeeded either.

While we glared at each other, the usual captain spoke to the old mage.

“Old man, didn’t your firepower go up again?”

“Heh-heh… no matter how old I get, I never neglect my training. But more importantly, O-bō. We prepared thoroughly, and it still didn’t scratch you… this is a bad deal.”

The old mage looked at the captain with an exasperated face, like, “How are you still alive?”

The mood was bizarrely calm for the situation, but the old man was gesturing toward the mages behind him.

‘Hand signals, no doubt. If they didn’t think I understood language, they wouldn’t bother.’

Time had passed since last time, sure, but this subjugation looked carefully planned.

As proof, most mercenaries seemed to have no intention of joining the main fight, instead spreading out to encircle the area.

It looked like only selected elites would fight while the rest supported.

That judgment was unquestionably correct.

But correct judgment didn’t guarantee victory.

I jumped back onto the big rock and switched tactics to a decisive throwing assault.

Thrown stones had always been a brutally effective attack.

Before gunpowder, the Empire even had stone-throwing machines like catapults.

“Eat the most primitive violence there is!” I switched my sabre to my left hand and grabbed rubble I’d scattered atop the rock.

“Old man!”

“Youngsters these days are so rough on the elderly.”

His tone was almost as if he’d predicted this.

He raised his free hand—the one not holding his staff—and flashed some kind of signal.

At the same time, I aimed rubble at the old mage—

—and without even throwing, my footing started collapsing.

‘The rock is turning into sand!?’

My feet sank, and my posture broke badly.

Even so, the concrete chunk I threw with sheer arm strength flew true—

—but as it neared the target, it rapidly lost momentum.

And it stopped dead in front of the staff’s point.

‘That net again!’

I clicked my tongue and escaped the crumbling foothold.

The moment I landed, the spirit sword wielder and the axe mercenary struck from both sides.

With the sabre in my left hand, I caught the spirit sword, used my right fist to deflect the battle-axe, and fired a kick.

A warhammer cut in, changing my kick’s trajectory—turning what should have been a lethal blow into a light injury.

But it didn’t end there.

I clearly caught footsteps from behind.

I intercepted with my tail and sensed them spring back—so I’d managed to drive them off.

When I confirmed, the wild-type blonde beauty was glaring at me with a scimitar faintly wreathed in flame, clicking her tongue.

The captain stood in front of the old mage.

‘So if I try throwing, that middle-aged man becomes the guard…’

Considering his weapon, it was reasonable.

Which was exactly why it was annoying.

I could force a breakthrough, but without knowing their remaining cards, it felt like needless risk.

There were no signs of reinforcements, and the mercenaries on support still weren’t moving.

Then I’d show them my other weapon.

How much time had passed?

By feel alone, at least five hours.

A fight with your life on the line—what happened to humans if they sustained razor-sharp focus for that long?

I didn’t even need to think about the fatigue.

Fundamentally, my stamina was different; facing me meant their preparation was inadequate.

The tactic I chose was endurance.

In many-versus-one, that choice usually belonged to the many—but that logic didn’t work against a monster that could sprint at full speed all day.

I prioritized defense, but never let them rest.

No reckless gambles—just solid defense and relentless pressure.

The elite-only choice was correct—

—but they’d brought too few.

And that result was here.

Everyone was gasping, their momentum visibly drained.

Who could blame a battlefield where magic almost never flew anymore?

The mages had almost no self-defense, and protecting them forced the mercenaries to bleed stamina.

They couldn’t rotate with the rabble waiting in back—those people couldn’t buy time—and it would only add corpses.

Eventually, some even fled.

And still they fought on.

I could even say I used their refusal to retreat to create this situation.

If I had to name one reason they lost, it was this: they never finished the job.

‘It’s time.’

I praised the ones still standing, and decided to draw the curtain.

They had no more cards.

Having judged that, I still kept priorities straight.

If anyone would pull something at the end, it would be a mage.

So I targeted the old man—even though his magic was completely drained and he was barely standing with his staff.

I smashed the captain away along with his greatsword, then blew the wielder back with my sabre, spirit sword and all.

The old man looked up at me, panting.

My sabre arm rose.

And instead of bringing down the killing blow, I chose to evade in sync with the old mage’s movement.

A thrusting staff—truly worthy of being called a spear of light—missed, an attack far too sharp to come from an old man.

‘I already know that.’

A mage’s final struggle I’d seen before.

The sharpness was on a different level than last time—but my reaction speed wasn’t what it used to be either.

“You… dodged that…”

The old mage muttered, and the staff’s tip, shattered as if it had exploded, trembled and fell away.

Clinging to the remaining stick, the old man collapsed.

I brought my withdrawn foot back and stepped into sword range again.

It was over—my strike carried certainty.

And in the instant I relaxed, believing I’d removed the troublesome mage—

—I saw a flash.

A beam of light punched through the hand holding my sabre.

Caught by interference completely outside my awareness, I turned at once, ignoring the sabre that clattered to the ground.

There I saw a silhouette—someone with a distinctive trait, drawing a bow atop a tree branch.

“…An elf?”

Shock forced the word out of me.

The question of why the elves—supposedly reluctant to join the subjugation—were here, I swallowed by recalling elven internal power struggles and guessing which side was cooperating.

One thing was certain.

It looked like this wasn’t going to end yet.