232 - A Certain Sword Saint’s Trump Card

When that report reached the village, I was holding my longtime partner in my hands and focusing my mind.

When one lived long enough, there were times when one was moved by what people called intuition.

It was definitely not because I had simply been trying to look a little impressive, thinking that I had not done anything worthwhile lately.

In any case, when I heard that Argos had multiplied, I could not help but ask, “Huh?”

Apparently, if I wanted the details, I had to go to the Forshna people, so I headed there to learn more about this strange report.

“A black Argos was sleeping inside a large metal box with a glass window. The gray Argos woke it up.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, but apparently the new black Argos had been sleeping in some sort of device, and the gray one had awakened it.

Also, the black Argos was clearly hostile toward us, and attacked the moment it woke up.

Since the old gray Argos stepped in to stop it and tried to let them escape, it seemed certain that the gray and black ones had some sort of relationship.

They said they had never trusted it from the beginning, but at the very least, we ought to be warned.

“Things have gotten mighty hard to understand,” I said as I picked my nose, but apparently there was still more information, so the explanation continued.

Do not try to cram so much into an old man’s brain all at once.

“The Argos that woke up clearly spoke human language. We believe it was the language of the Fullretos Empire.”

“…What?”

The gray Argos had not been able to speak.

No, it was possible that it had merely been pretending, but if so, that meant it had deliberately acted out the whole process of learning until it could speak.

Had it truly been unable to speak?

Or had it needed to perform such an act?

“I don’t get it,” I thought, abandoning all thought.

Whether it was connected to the Empire or not, either way, I had thought that cutting it down would solve the problem—but apparently, the black one was stronger than the gray one.

As for the gray one, my assessment was that if I were in my younger days, “Well, I could probably win.”

That said, this was only a prediction.

I could not think that the strange sensation that prevented me from swinging the spirit sword at full power and its magic resistance had already reached their limit.

As long as there was a chance that the spirit sword could be sealed or restricted in the worst case, I could not be optimistic. That was my honest feeling.

And the black one was stronger than the gray one.

I had not had such a bad feeling since the Great War.

But even so, the hard part about being the strongest was that I still had to move.

Sorry for being too strong, all right?

Though that title of strongest had become little more than a name ever since the bow changed generations, there was still no doubt that I was the “strongest swordsman.”

Strictly speaking, since I was the “strongest elf” in this village, I was not lying.

That aside, I thought the village had gotten a little too lax lately.

Just when I thought the Nightmare had tightened them up a bit, they had immediately gone right back to normal.

At this rate, there was no meaning in me trying to look like I was struggling and messing up my restraint.

Yes, there was a compatibility issue, and since my sword was meant for fighting people, I was actually bad against non-humans.

On top of that, magic-based attacks did not work on it, so I had genuinely struggled quite a bit, but that was on purpose.

I had also been keeping my trump card in reserve, and if I had fought seriously, I could have won.

In any case, I had heard what I needed to hear, so I took my partner with me and entered the forest.

It was close to certainty rather than a premonition.

It was that troublesome intuition I had acquired after experiencing countless battlefields, telling me, “I have to do this,” or, “This should be the better choice.”

Whenever I ignored it, someone usually died.

So I advanced without regret and continued cutting.

But at the same time, another premonition existed within me.

“Ah, even at this age, I still have to pass through the line between life and death?”

This battle would probably become the harshest one in my life.

How much time had passed as I wandered aimlessly through the forest?

Before I knew it, the sun had begun to set.

I had intended to return around lunchtime, but apparently my intuition was telling me it was still too early, so I did not feel like turning back.

“…Is it close?”

When one grew old, one tended to talk to oneself more.

When I searched for presences, I found that the wild animals had vanished from the surroundings.

I closed my eyes and searched for presences even more deeply.

“It’s coming.”

I opened my eyes, took my partner in hand, and lifted my face.

What I saw in the distance was the monster called Argos, whose strength I had once measured.

However, its color was black.

Without either of us saying a word, we approached each other as though by mutual agreement.

As I walked, my thoughts gradually shifted into a combat state.

(Hey, hey, just how much killing intent is this guy scattering around?)

Did it have some kind of grudge or what? I was already sick of this before the fight had even begun.

The distance between us closed in silence, and both of us stopped almost at the same time before the black Argos opened its mouth.

“――, ――”

That was certainly the language of the Fullretos Empire.

I did not know exactly what it was saying.

But I roughly understood what had been said to me.

“You have grown old, Sword Demon.”

I could not understand everything.

But they were words I had heard countless times on the battlefield.

What I understood, I could not help but understand.

Sword Demon—if it called me that, then this thing’s true identity was exactly as I had imagined.

“A ghost, huh… I’ll send you right back to the afterlife.”

Argos’s true identity was an Imperial-made monster that had slept for two hundred years.

The village had probably reached a similar conclusion, but it was difficult to believe without seeing it with my own eyes like this.

Since it had called me “Sword Demon,” there was no doubt that this thing had originally been human.

(So they turned humans into monsters. The Empire really did whatever it wanted.)

Immediately after I spat, “Heh,” what my eyes caught was a jet-black fist closing in on me.

I made a small leap backward, and as I did, I slashed upward at its fully extended arm.

“…Are you serious?”

There had been no response, but that strike should at least have caused a little bleeding.

However, the wound I had made healed instantly.

I knew about Argos’s regenerative ability, but this one might be even beyond that.

At the very least, the black one was larger in size.

Since I had assumed they were the same, I had misjudged the distance slightly, which had made my opening move as dangerous as that.

The black Argos before me leisurely checked the arm I had cut.

Then it laughed.

It provoked me, as if to say, “Is that all?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give a sleepyhead like you a proper eternal sleep.”

What I wore was wind, and what I controlled was light.

Without sound, sword strikes hid within illusions.

I thought of the back of the man who had left behind those words.

(This is the technique of the only Sword Saint I ever called master. If you can see through it, then go ahead and try.)

Another me appeared.

Of course, it was an illusion, but the other one visible to him had already been switched as well.

I sent the illusions deployed to the left and right forward, and I followed behind them.

It was a petty technique that spaced them apart so the two illusions would not be broken with a single blow, forcing the enemy to use both arms.

A first-time kill was the surest path to victory.

Thanks to my strengths and weaknesses, there were few moves I could use, but that trickster Sword Saint had enough tricks in his drawer to be worthy of being called my master.

With the most complete imitation I had ever managed, “Mirror Illusion Stroke,” I would accurately measure this thing’s strength.

The illusions on the left and right each linked with the real body like mirrors, while the real body, having vanished, changed its movements to match the opponent.

It was a tempting move that made the enemy misidentify either the left or the right as the real one depending on the situation.

It advanced the battle exactly as one pictured it—therefore, it was called a stroke.

Remembering that man’s smug face and voice irritated me, but in fact, it had taken me seven attempts to break this technique.

I could declare with certainty that this was the best move I could use now.

Faced with the approaching illusions, the black Argos compared them to see which one was real.

It was probably trying to distinguish them by sound and smell as well, but… as someone with experience, let me say that was a bad move.

I had erased the sound.

But if I could erase it, I could also make it appear where I wanted.

The black Argos fixed its aim on the left.

It stepped forward, and the illusion that had stopped and taken a defensive stance with the spirit sword to match the incoming fist—was erased by that fist.

Immediately after, the black Argos unleashed a backfist with its other arm and blew away the illusion on the right.

Its expression of shock lasted only an instant.

However, my sword was ready.

The scattered illusions gathered into the spirit sword, and at the same time that I revealed myself, I unleashed a full-power thrust aimed at the black Argos’s heart.

The strike, which released the magical power it was clad in, sent the black Argos flying.

Its defense had not been in time, so how much damage had it taken from receiving my all-out strike directly?

Its huge body flew away, snapped a tree, and fell as though it had been slammed back-first into the ground.

However, it stood up as though nothing had happened.

There was certainly a trace of that earlier blow on its chest, but it was obvious that it was nowhere near a fatal wound.

Faced with the black Argos leisurely walking toward me, I let out a deep sigh.

(So it isn’t magic resistance. It’s simply too hard.)

The fortunate thing was that its interference with the spirit sword was small, about the same as the gray Argos’s.

The black Argos continued walking defenselessly.

“Surely that wasn’t your full strength?”

It stopped in front of me and said that as if to say, “What a disappointment.”

Yes, I understood your power well now.

With this, I could use my trump card without hesitation.

I pulled up my sleeve, placed my own arm against the spirit sword, and drew it across.

Fresh blood dripped down the blade—and the sword pulsed.

“Wake up, Lowes. Devour ruin.”

Immediately after I spoke the keyword, patterns like blood vessels surfaced on the spirit sword.

I released the magical power I had continued pouring into it for many years, forcibly awakening a fragment of its true power.

A pale-blue glowing blade formed, and through both hands gripping it, vitality circulated through my withered body.

My activated body regained its youth, and power reminiscent of my prime surged through my entire body.

“It’s over, monster.”

I closed the distance instantly and went to take its legs, but it dodged.

The line of blood remaining on its ankle was proof that my attack power had broken through its defense.

I pursued the retreating black Argos and aimed for its leg again—or so I made it appear, then slashed away the incoming fist.

Because it reacted at the last possible moment, I could not cut that hand in two, but a clear slash wound was left on its fist.

I let out one breath, closed the distance, and fought even more aggressively.

Perhaps understanding the danger of exchanging blows, the black Argos responded by dodging or parrying my slashes, but I was not so senile that I would keep allowing it to do that.

It had been skillfully avoiding deep wounds, but I was certainly injuring both of its black arms and shaving away its offensive ability.

The slashes it failed to fully dodge gradually increased the amount of blood flowing from its legs, showing that its regenerative ability was not keeping up.

If this continued, victory was certain.

However, this state would end once the magical power stored in the spirit sword ran out.

Since there was a time limit, I needed to settle this quickly.

Without letting up in my assault, without even giving it room to attack, I crushed every preliminary movement I noticed and cornered it using the terrain.

I thought I had driven it to the brink of death many times.

But the black Argos overcame every single one of them.

(It isn’t just a monster. It’s definitely a warrior who has survived countless battlefields.)

Even after being shown this much of a difference, there was no sign that it would break.

Its fighting spirit still did not waver, and the voice I heard from time to time was rousing it.

I did not know what it was saying.

Surely, among the humans I had killed on some battlefield, one of them had been this thing’s comrade-in-arms.

Two hundred years—I did not know when that story felt like it had happened to this thing.

But I had no intention of answering that grudge.

The exchange of offense and defense had lasted only a few minutes.

The black Argos, bleeding from its entire body, had still not given up.

So I would end it now.

“Hate me. That’s what war is.”

I stepped forward at maximum speed.

The black Argos took a stance to meet me with astonishing reaction speed.

Apparently, it also intended to decide things here.

But “I have no intention of playing along,” I thought, slamming on the brakes with my right foot, then swinging my sword at the foot it had planted on the ground.

It had fallen for the feint—or so it seemed to think, and perhaps in panic, it leapt back.

Seeing that, my right foot, which had stopped me abruptly, left the ground.

The low attack had merely been a preliminary movement.

Whether it hit or not did not matter.

The real attack was to step deeply forward as if chasing the black Argos that had jumped backward, then use the centrifugal force from my sword swing as it was, kick off the ground, and unleash a spinning slash in midair.

It seemed to have brought its arms up to defend, but the trajectory of the spirit sword tore through flesh, severed bone, and then cut off its head.

The spirit sword was drawn into its arm and tore through flesh—then stopped at the bone.

At the same time, my hands fell away from the spirit sword as if peeling off it, and my body dropped to the ground like a dead branch.

“…Getting old is the worst.”

My body had reached its limit before the time limit.

I regretted not rushing the match sooner, thinking that if I had just had one more second…

If I had gone in prepared to take it down with me from the start, I could have decided the match before my lifespan ran out.

“Ah, how uncool.”

My muttered voice was far too thin.

So this was to be my end.

Surprisingly enough, I was petty too.