Chapter 84

A dull clang rings out. Fenrir just blocked Claire’s attack with Bloodfang’s hilt. “W-with the handle?!” “It’s no wonder you were able to win a Bushin Festival…but at the end of the day, your swordplay is still that of a child’s.” Fenrir spins Bloodfang to swat Claire’s sword away, then spins its pommel directly into her jaw. “Hurgh!” The blow itself is light. By immediately leaping backward, Claire is able to blunt its impact. However, it still leaves her with a cut on the inside of her mouth that dyes her lips red. Her stance crumples, and Fenrir moves in to follow up on the blow. Then, out of nowhere, he freezes. It’s unclear why, but there’s a sword lodged in his left shoulder. “Dang, you’re good. If you hadn’t stopped there, I would’ve nailed you right in the heart.” It’s Alexia. “I knew you were looking for an opening,” Fenrir replies, “but when did you get there…?” He lowers Bloodfang and backs away a step. There’s blood gushing from his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem bothered by that in the slightest. “Hrah!” With a sharp exhale, Fenrir lashes out with his blade. The blow is cutting, and it packs a tremendous amount of force. Alexia braces herself to parry the blow. Her movement isn’t fast by any definition of the word, and there’s barely any mana imbued in her sword. There’s no way she’ll be able to block the incoming attack. Bloodfang is poised to pulverize Alexia’s sword to bits. The moment before it can, though, Alexia pulls half a step back. By changing her sword’s angle, she’s able to redirect the force from Fenrir’s attack. “Impressive,” he comments. From there, she shifts directly into her counter. Using the smallest movements necessary and as little mana as possible, she thrusts straight at Fenrir’s vitals. Fenrir’s position is unsalvageable. He’s already committed to his swing, and by all accounts, there’s nothing he can do but wait for Alexia to run him through. However, he smashes his foreleg into the ground. The ground splinters from the incredible force of his stomp, and he rights his posture in a way no normal person could have ever pulled off. Alexia’s thrust slices through the air, leaving merely a thin slash across Fenrir’s cheek. Fenrir takes the opportunity to put a good bit of distance between them. “So…this is the swordplay of the mediocre,” he says. “The fighting style they mock you for when they compare you to Princess Iris…” “Hey, us mediocre dark knights are nothing to sneeze at.” “I would love to see what you could amount to in a hundred years. Swordsmanship is built on one’s accumulated experience. But that’s precisely why the gulf between you and me is so vast…” Fenrir closes his eyes. “Perhaps I’d best get serious for a moment here…” The air itself shifts. Unfathomable amounts of magic begin welling up within Fenrir. As it does, his hair goes white, his face grows deep wrinkles, and his limbs grow slender and withered. Finally, he opens his eyes back up. The cherubic boy has been replaced by an old man. “So that’s your true form, huh?” says Alexia. He looks like a feeble dotard, the kind who would blow away in the faintest breeze. However, Alexia and Claire know better than to underestimate him. Despite his feeble appearance, the raw pressure he’s exuding has just gone up considerably. Cold sweat trickles down their brows. “I remember now… The Devil of Midgar.” Claire picks up on Aurora’s quiet murmur. “The Devil of Midgar?” “Long ago, there was an assassin feared across all Midgar. He killed unceasingly in an avaricious quest to further his own strength. But he should have died of old age years ago…” “I had no idea anyone still remembered that name. You’re Aurora?” Fenrir asks, his voice now noticeably hoarser. “It would seem your Calamity Witch is the genuine article… Planning on using that girl as your vessel, are we?” “Aurora, what’s he talking about?” “Focus. He specializes in getting people distracted like that.” “But—” “Claire!!” “Huh?” Fenrir’s Bloodfang extends, stretching out long like a whip as it lashes at Claire’s neck. Claire stares dumbfounded at her onrushing death. A moment later, however, her pupils go violet. Over a hundred tendrils shoot out, swatting Bloodfang away before bearing down on Fenrir. “Heh-heh… That’s it—that’s the power I’m looking for.” Fenrir sways like a willow to dodge the ceaseless onslaught of red tendrils. They graze him time and time again, shredding his clothes to tatters but never managing to leave a scratch on his body. Then, out of nowhere, the bloody tendrils all burst and vanish. “Gah… My mana…” Claire drops to one knee, her eyes still violet and her breathing ragged. She’s down to just 36 mana left. “You’ve grown weak, Aurora. Or have I just grown strong?” “…It’s this body that’s weak, that’s all.” Bloodfang comes cleaving toward Claire. “Rrgh…” She manages to avoid taking a fatal wound, but what she doesn’t manage is to catch her fall. She goes tumbling across the ground. Her eyes fade from violet back to red. “How dare you do that to Claire!!” Alexia launches into an attack. Her movements are sharp and efficient. However, Fenrir is so much more than that. All Alexia sees is a red afterimage before her sword shatters to pieces. “No, no…” “Swordsmanship is built on one’s accumulated experience. It took me over a millennium to reach the pinnacle, and you haven’t even begun your journey.” Fenrir raises his sword overhead. “My…sword…” Seeing the broken shards of her sword brings back all those humiliating memories. She trained so, so hard so she never has to feel like that again—but no matter how much she practiced, that pinnacle of swordsmanship remained forever out of her grasp. Tears well up in her eyes. “It’s over.” Fenrir swings Bloodfang down. Then a sharp whizzing noise cuts through the air. Fenrir stops midswing and quickly backs away. With a shunk, a fountain pen buries itself in the ground. “Who are you?” Fenrir barks. “It’s you…,” Alexia manages. There stands Suzuki, looking just as shady and forgettable as ever. “Are you okay?” he asks her as he slowly strides over and plucks his pen back out of the ground. “Princess Alexia, over here!” Christina says as she urges Alexia to safety. “B-but I can still fight—” “Not with that amount of mana, you can’t.” At some point, Alexia’s readout has dropped below 100. She bites her lip and looks over at Suzuki. “Fenrir is too strong. He won’t stand a chance on his own.” “I don’t think Suzuki is going to go down easy.” There’s a serene look in Christina’s eyes as Suzuki faces off one-on-one against Fenrir. Fenrir stares Suzuki down. “I’ll ask you again. Who are you?” “I’m Suzuki, a first-year from the Midgar Academy for Dark Knights,” Suzuki replies, spinning his pen around in his palm. “Just a student, huh?” Out of nowhere, Fenrir swings Bloodfang. Its red blade extends like a whip and shaves a few hairs off Suzuki’s bangs. “You sure know a lot about spacing for a student.” “Spacing? What’s that?” Suzuki replies nonchalantly, then takes a step forward. That puts him squarely in Fenrir’s range. Fenrir narrows his eyes. Thoom. Suzuki’s footsteps echo with unnatural volume. Another footstep thunders out. A moment later, Bloodfang’s onslaught begins. With blistering speed, red afterimages rain down on Suzuki from every direction. Each stroke is elegant, and they culminate into a sort of dance that transfixes all who behold it. At the center of it all, Suzuki stands with his pens at the ready. He holds four in each hand, clutched between his fingers like claws. Their golden tips flash. Then the red sword dances, and the golden glints collide. Clang, clang, clang, they go, ringing out ad infinitum as the battle rages on. There in the fog, the red afterimages and golden glints are dancing as one. “That’s incredible…!” Alexia gasps. Fenrir has mastered the art of swordplay—no question of that. And the fact that Suzuki can keep up with him with nothing more than fountain pens means that she can’t even begin to fathom his strength, either. Those two could hold their own against the Midgar Kingdom Imperial Guard or the Velgalta Empire’s Seven Blades. They might even be stronger… “They’re too strong…,” Christina whispers. She’s right. Suzuki is far more powerful than a student has any right to be. “Just who is he?” Alexia asks. It’s a fair question. “I don’t know. But I can tell that he’s carrying a huge burden. He told me that he has a duty…one that he has to carry out, no matter what.” Alexia clenches her fists. “A duty… And the power to carry it out…” While she’s doing that, Christina goes over and helps Claire to her feet. “Are you okay?” “I-I’m not sure how, but yeah. And now Suzuki’s fighting,” she replies, her voice strained. “In a fight like that, we’d just be in the way. All we can do is watch him.” “I know…” Claire squeezes down tight on the magic circle on her right hand. Meanwhile, Fenrir and Suzuki’s duel in the fog rages on. Little by little, the tides of battle begin to shift. The red afterimages are starting to push the golden glints back, gradually forcing the flashing fountain pen tips back into the fog. The reason lies in the two combatants’ ranges. Not only is Fenrir’s Bloodfang far longer than the average sword, but Suzuki’s fountain pens are much shorter. As a result, Fenrir is able to attack without fear of reprisal, whereas Suzuki has to spend the whole time on the defensive. Fenrir’s voice echoes out amid their furious clash. “The fight’s decided. As a devotee of martial perfection, you should know that you’ll never be able to close that gap.” “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Suzuki plants his feet firmly, then leaps into the air. Once he does, he takes his fountain pens and hurls them straight at Fenrir. The eight pens become streaks of light as they zoom toward their target. “Your efforts are futile,” Fenrir spits. He falls back and uses Bloodfang to swat away the pens. A couple of them manage to nick him, but that’s the extent of the damage. Now that Suzuki’s thrown away his weapons, he’s helpless to fight back. Or so one would think. “What?” Up in the air, Suzuki brandishes another eight fountain pens. “Special Move: Golden Downpour.” Suzuki begins firing off one wave of pens after another. There are so many little streaks of light that they look like raindrops, and they all pour down directly on Fenrir. “You think you’re real clever, don’t you?” However, Fenrir’s talents are no less impressive. He dodges the pens with flowing movements, only using Bloodfang to parry the ones he knows he can’t evade. The golden rain falls to the floor without landing a single hit on Fenrir. Finally, the rain stops entirely. An unthinkably large number of pens lie embedded in the ground. Standing in the middle of it all is Fenrir. He’s not moving—or rather, he can’t move. “That’s checkmate.” Suzuki is standing right behind him. “The fountain pens were a decoy?” Fenrir asks. “They do say that the pen’s mightier than the sword.” Suzuki is holding a single pen to Fenrir’s throat. “You’ve got me there. I guess I screwed around a bit too much. It’s been so long since I had someone to play with, I just couldn’t help myself. Call it an old man’s bad habit if you—” “You go ahead and tell yourself that.” Uninterested in hearing Fenrir’s speech through to its end, Suzuki stabs the pen into him. It pierces Fenrir’s throat clean through and sends blood gushing everywhere. “Glagh… You youngsters are so impatient. Don’t you to know to listen when your elders are talking?” Fenrir’s eyes go wide, then flash red. A massive surge of magic bursts out, sending Suzuki flying. Fenrir’s neck wound knits itself back up like it was never there. “Playtime is over. Let’s start by dealing with the forgettable one…” Fenrir turns to look at Alexia and the others. There, he finds his first target—Christina. “Ah…” A shiver runs down her spine when faced with those scarlet eyes. The sheer weight of his glare is like nothing she’s ever felt before, and it feels like it’s going to crush her. “Good-bye, little lady.” A red slash comes carving down on her. That there is her death, and there’s nothing she can do but stare blankly at it. The moment before Bloodfang cleaves her in twain, however, another figure cuts in, hugging her tight and taking the blow in her place. Blood goes flying. “Suzuki… You—!” That figure is Suzuki. “All that matters is that you’re okay… Hurk!” He coughs up a tremendous amount of blood. “Suzuki! Suzuki, are you all right?! Why did you do that?” “I have something I need to apologize to you for…” Every word he says leaves his mouth redder. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. Right now, you need to focus on—” “No, it has to be now. Because the thing is…” “Huh?” “…I am not Suzuki.” Suzuki’s voice changes, growing so deep, it seems to rumble up from the depths of the abyss, and his pupils turn red. “He died. Now behold my true form…” The array of pens embedded in the ground all melt. After transforming into black slime, they envelop Suzuki’s body. “S-Suzuki…” Christina and the others shrink back at the bizarre sight. The black slime engulfing Suzuki undulates unnaturally as it peels back to reveal him. “My name is Shadow. I lurk in the darkness and hunt down shadows.” Dressed in a jet-black longcoat and a low-hanging hood, the man draws his ebony blade. “Shadow?!” Alexia cries in shock. “Shadow…” Christina is surprised as well, but when she looks up at Shadow, she can feel her heartbeat quicken. “Ah, Shadow. I was expecting you might show your face.” Fenrir looks completely unshaken. Magic swells within him as he squares off against Shadow. “So you disguised yourself as a student in hopes of catching me off guard, did you? You’re a dastardly one, I’ll give you that.” “Am I? I just wanted to put on a little show.” “Your lies ring hollow. No one would go to the lengths you did for a mere lark. If you think I’m senile enough to misread your intentions, then think again.” “…Oh?” “People lie when they have something to hide. But behind every lie lurks the truth.” “You’re not wrong.” “You went out of your way to disguise yourself as a student, to look for an opening, and to avoid fighting me head-on. What I see there is caution. You lied about doing it for fun to hide just how scared of me you are.” “Heh… Don’t make me laugh, old man.” “And if that’s the case, then it really is a shame. I’ve been wondering just how strong you are. An eternity of striving has led me to the pinnacle of martial prowess, and I must admit…I was looking forward to seeing if you could exceed my expectations.” Fenrir holds Bloodfang at the ready. Shadow nimbly raises his obsidian sword. “Care to try me, then?” “That was always the plan.” Fenrir brings his center of gravity down low, drawing Bloodfang all the way back and assuming a combat stance. “Don’t disappoint me, Shadow.” The white fog swirls, and Fenrir vanishes. “Ancient Hidden Sword Technique: Locust Shell.” Then he appears behind Shadow. He’s already followed through on his attack and has shifted to preparing himself for the inevitable counter. “So you evaded my blow,” he remarks with amusement. There’s a single slash running through Shadow’s longcoat—the aftermath of Fenrir’s slash. “I’ve faced quick swordplay more times than I can count,” Shadow says. He repairs his longcoat as he turns toward his foe. “But your swordplay…your swordplay is slow.” “You noticed after just one exchange, did you?” Fog swirls around Fenrir once more. “How fascinating.” Shadow quietly fixes his gaze on the flow of mana. Once again, Fenrir reappears after a moment, and once again, he cleaves a slice out of Shadow’s longcoat. This cut is deeper than the first. Fenrir assumes a defensive position behind Shadow’s back. “Again, you dodged it.” Shadow runs his hand over the gash in his coat to mend it. “You really are slow.” “Were you about to see through my Locust Shell?” “No. And I watched until the very last moment, too.” “Then how were you able to protect yourself?” “Simple. I pulled away the moment your sword hit me.” “Ah, the soft style. I’ve heard of this—this stance where one renders attacks against themselves powerless, much the way a willow tree does.” “I can’t say I ever learned it.” “What are you, then, a natural?” “Oh, nothing so pretentious as that.” “Then how?” “Practice.” “Ah… And therein lies the truth of the blade.” Fenrir stoops down low again and readies Bloodfang. “Then it’s time this old wolf taught you a lesson.” The fog swirls. “…I see.” Shadow swings his sword at a spot with no one in it. “Excellent work.” Then Fenrir vanishes. A moment later, he reappears behind Shadow. Blood trickles from Fenrir’s shoulder. He clutches at the fresh wound. “So you can see me.” “Nope. I just followed the flow of magic.” “Ah… Have you figured it out, then?” “Locust Shell is a magically formed afterimage. Then you pair that with a slow slash where you mute your presence to the absolute utmost.” “Right you are. By the time you see the Shell, I’ve already swung my sword. I’m impressed you were able to see through it. It would appear your talent is genuine.” Fenrir turns around and reassumes his stance. “We’re still going, then?” Shadow asks. “But of course. I’ve been waiting so, so long for this day. No pleasure compares to that of putting one’s practice to the test. Man cannot sword fight alone.” He extends Bloodfang. “Now bear witness, Shadow, to Locust Shell’s perfected form.” Fenrir swings his sword. However, Shadow dodges well before then. The white fog parts, and a deep gash runs across the ground. Then, a beat later, Bloodfang races across it, supple as a whip. Cause and effect seem to be reversed, and Fenrir’s talent causes the whole process to accelerate even more. That’s when Bloodfang multiplies. First one, then two, then three… Each time Fenrir swings his blade, another appears, until finally there are nine Bloodfangs in all. Fenrir laughs as he brandishes all nine. “This is the pinnacle of swordplay—Bloodfang Locust Shell.” The swords bear down on Shadow from every direction at once. “Intriguing…” Shadow exhales. “So every sword I see is an afterimage.” Then he closes his eyes like he’s given up. A moment later, the nine furious slashes send him flying every whichway. He gets tossed to the right, then the left, then up, then down…and at the end of it all, he gets brutally cast aside like a mutilated rag doll. “Shadow!” “Shadow, no!” Alexia and Christina scream. It’s a testament to just how savage the beating was. Fenrir lords over Shadow as the latter falls limp to the ground. One of Shadow’s fingers twitches. “…Had enough yet?” The question comes from Shadow. “So I couldn’t land even a single hit on you?” Fenrir replies. Their exchange makes no sense. It’s like they have the vanquished and the vanquisher reversed. Fenrir brings Bloodfang down on Shadow’s prone form. It slices him in half with ease, leaving a heavy scar on the ground. However, no blood spills from Shadow’s body. To the contrary, it fades away entirely. Fenrir heaves a defeated sigh. “An afterimage…” A voice comes from the fog. “I appreciate you letting me see your technique.” Thmp, thmp, thmp. Nine sets of footsteps ring out as nine Shadows stride forth. Fenrir gasps. “After just a single exchange…” Nine black swords extend outward, dragons dancing in the fog. “Excellent work.” There are notes of delight in Fenrir’s voice. “Hidden Technique: Atomic Locust Shell.” With that, the nine dragons devour Fenrir.