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The time spent waiting for an opening was often drawn out in manga.

But in reality, it could end in a flash.

Part of it was my lack of patience, but since my opponent had taken a defensive stance, it was inevitable that things turned out this way.

So I took the initiative, but the way it parried my heavy blows and firmly absorbed my flurries was impressive—no half-baked creature could manage that kind of skill.

Even so, those exchanges weren’t meaningless.

Because after leaping at the Emperor and giving it no chance to breathe under my barrage, I discovered one of its strengths.

(A terrifying reaction speed—this thing is definitely moving after it sees my attacks.)

It felt like the absurdity of a fighting game: “Saw the light jab, easy invincible reversal.”

I had confirmed that my power and speed were superior, but it compensated with reaction speed, keeping itself safe while slipping in counters just enough to stop me from pressing through.

My fists now carried slight cuts, proof that saber really could injure me.

If I took a proper slash, it would be dangerous; I never thought I’d be forced to dodge in a straight fight.

(Heh, a pig with a weapon versus a monster without one… at this rate, who can tell which of us was once human?)

I laughed inwardly and relished the fight.

After the strength contest, I tried feints and tactics, but they were all meaningless against that reaction speed.

When I rushed in, it coolly slipped sabers in at the right moments to interrupt me.

It sounded like a dead end, but I had one more advantage.

Stamina. More than anything, the Emperor’s saber and shield were huge and heavy.

If it kept fighting while carrying that weight, it was obvious which one of us would tire first.

No matter how much I pressed the attack, I had the stamina to run for a whole day, so this wasn’t a problem.

Even if I went all out, the more I did, the more its endurance would wear down, bringing the end faster.

I hadn’t landed a decisive blow yet, but the situation was in my favor.

So I didn’t let up.

Perhaps sensing it too, the Emperor started to show impatience.

Specifically, it tried to swap offense and defense, repeatedly attempting to change position.

(Of course I won’t allow that! Now then—will you bow to my power and speed, or will you collapse from exhaustion! I’ll at least let you choose!)

I kept up the assault, not even allowing a reset, until finally, the Emperor lashed out with an attack meant for mutual destruction.

I saw it as my chance.

Its strike cut across my chest, but my right hook slipped past the shield and smashed into its head.

A red line was carved across my chest, blood trickling down my stomach—but the wound was shallow. I traced it with my thumb, then licked off the blood.

The bleeding stopped quickly, and the wound would soon close.

Showing that off, I laughed.

This was the final piece—my regeneration narrowed its options even further.

I pressed the attack again.

Before the head damage could clear, I would finish it.

Even while wary of the saber, I ground away at its stamina through the shield.

Defense might prevent direct wounds, but eventually the arms holding that shield would reach their limit.

And if it came forward willing to trade, regeneration made it my win.

If it stayed on the defensive, exhaustion made it my win.

(So, what will you do!? Show me your answer, ruler of the orcs!)

Since I outsped it, countering was its best option for landing a fatal blow.

Naturally I knew that, and it knew I knew, so neither of us rushed into a reckless gamble.

That’s why my trick worked perfectly.

While fighting to always stay close, I closed the gap further—and the moment the Emperor went to attack, my tail snagged its left leg from the shield’s blind spot.

I meant to topple it and strike, but it jammed the tower shield into the ground, forcibly righting itself while thrusting the saber.

With its aim at my neck, I couldn’t press in, so I dodged and chopped at its outstretched arm, but my awkward position kept it from being effective.

Even so, I wasn’t letting it reset. The instant it pulled the saber back, I kicked the tower shield it had braced in the ground.

Knocked back slightly, it couldn’t slash at my follow-through leg. Landing with a bitter grimace, it was hit again by my relentless blows.

The Emperor retreated step by step; for every step it lost, I pressed forward, maintaining my range, refusing to let it shake me off, my full physical ability clinging tight.

(If I’ve pushed this far, it can’t keep holding back. Soon, it’ll come at me with everything.)

I pressed without pause, forcing it into a position where it had no choice but to act.

To win after drawing out all it had—that was how much this foe was worth.

(Every fight makes me stronger. Sorry, but with this monster’s body of mine, I’ll make you my sustenance.)

It was the choice only a worthy foe could inspire.

I already saw my path to victory, but if it overturned it, I’d simply surpass that too.

If a fine meal was transformed into the finest, all the better.

Even now, while withstanding my onslaught, it sought a way to strike back—proving it still believed it had a chance.

I couldn’t help but look forward: “What will you try next?”

The longer it dragged on, the worse for it—so it had to make a move soon. And as I guessed, during a flurry softened by my own expectations, it acted.

The tower shield flicked my arm upward.

At the same time, it slashed from behind the blind. The target was my leg.

A red line was carved into my ankle, but unfortunately for it, that saber’s reach made that the limit.

It wasn’t enough to slow me. On the contrary, the price of that one strike was that my fist hammered into the tower shield, breaking its stance, and my follow-up roundhouse blasted its body through the shield.

But maybe that was its plan—reducing the damage by flying back itself, then regaining distance to reset.

Now I had to find a way past that saber to close in again.

Which meant, in terms of maneuvering, I’d lost.

Trading minor damage for that gain was more than worth it.

(Very rational! For a monster, that’s an awfully rational decision! Is it experience? Or does it just have that much combat sense?)

I nearly burst out laughing with delight.

The wound on my leg would close soon enough, so I let it recover too.

Drawing this out to gain more experience wasn’t bad—in fact, it was best.

I decided not to rush the finish, and to hide that decision, I circled at a steady distance as if raising my guard.

But perhaps sensing it couldn’t win by defense, it suddenly hurled aside the shield. Holding the saber in both hands, it shifted into a quiet, flowing movement like a martial dance, blade swinging as it dropped into a stance.

That was not a motion a monster should take.

It was unmistakably martial arts—and I knew that stance.

(…Wait. Why are you using that stance? No, that can’t be! Unless—)

I looked around, found what I sought, and ignored my enemy to move there.

I snatched up one of the poles holding a brazier, spilling fire onto the ground to light it, then used the pole to write words large enough for it to see.

“Teiha Bujin-ryū”

That flowing series of motions it had taken on—those came from a video parody based on a famous manga in the Empire.

It started as a “Since I had the chance, I made it practical” joke series. But eventually the real dojo that inspired the manga cooperated, and the videos continued until it had become truly practical.

Having watched in real time, I couldn’t mistake it.

Every male student had probably mimicked that stance once—and now it was recreated before me.

There was no doubt. This was the same as me—a Genetically Enhanced Soldier.

Maybe realizing that I understood, it froze in that stance, staring blankly at the words I had written.

But that didn’t end the fight.

“GUAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

That laugh was madness—its bloodshot eyes glared, its saber-wielding steps pounded forward with nothing but hostility.

(So… you hate the Empire, huh?)

That much I could understand.

I accepted that the battle couldn’t be avoided.

But I was wrong.

The clear killing intent it turned on me—I didn’t understand what it meant.

Its massive body strode straight at me, grinning with madness, then pounced as if it couldn’t restrain itself anymore.

Its style was nothing like before, and I reflexively leapt back.

With hands planted on the ground, it looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, drool dripping unchecked from its mouth.

What had driven it this far into madness?

Was there something I couldn’t comprehend?

As I stepped back from its ferocity, it laughed and shouted:

“Yoh, yag! Mizgueda! Zan, ninmeh!”