He swung his sword, and, with single-minded focus, he reached back to the strikes of his prime and brought them to life once more.
Swish.
Hugh’s sword slipped, once again, across the surface of Fiona’s Wind Defense Membrane.
But that sound was starting to change, deepening in tone and increasing in volume. His blade, which had been merely grazing her, began to bite.
But his blade wasn’t the only one to start finding its mark. Raven was inflicting just as many cuts across his body, if not more. Even without any knowledge of swordsmanship, anyone carefully observing their fight would know disaster was imminent for Hugh. Although the guild master was regaining his former glory, he knew victory was impossible.
I ain’t gonna last.
He couldn’t overcome the difference in their stamina levels with sheer improvisation. And the fact that such thoughts even intruded now, when his mind had been focused only on his sword, suggested the end was near...
I might not be able to win, but at least I can keep the princess out of the next fight!
An experienced fighter, Hugh had no trouble changing his objective. He knew his duel was only one piece of the larger battle unfolding around him. To either side, his comrades fought, but even this warehouse skirmish was only one part of a much larger imperial assault that encompassed the entire estate. Even if he couldn’t win, even if he couldn’t last until the end, he had to do what he could... For Hugh wasn’t just an ordinary swordsman. He was a guild master.
A wyvern’s wind defense membrane only deflects arrows ’n’ long-range magic attacks. Since it won’t completely deflect direct attacks with swords or spears, I know what I have to do!
Hugh steeled himself, and Fiona sensed the change. He took an aggressive step forward and deliberately thrust his left arm at the approaching blade. He managed to stop its movement for just a second—at the cost of his arm. An instant later, the limb severed under Raven’s force.
Inevitable, but expected. Simultaneously, Hugh slashed Fiona’s right arm off at the elbow with Galahad. Her arm, still gripping Raven, fell to the floor.
“Piercing Fire,” she shouted, firing a thicker, more powerful version of the spell at Hugh’s abdomen. It struck him point-blank.
“Ngh!”
Hugh McGlass collapsed, and the duel between the princess and the guild master came to an end.
Everyone fighting nearby, of course, saw Hugh fall.
“Casting magic immediately after her arm was lopped off? What incredible focus! I expected nothing less from our princess,” Hartmut murmured.
“But GuilMas’s sacrifice... Without her arm, she can’t fight anymore, can she?” Abel asked, panting.
“Abel, Abel... Have you forgotten the magics she can wield?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, perhaps you don’t know. Well, fire isn’t her only elemental affinity. She can use light magic as well.”
“No way...”
That was when they heard Fiona’s voice.
“Extra Heal,” Fiona called out.
Then, the bloody stump of her right arm began to regenerate.
“You can’t be serious...” Abel’s voice was hoarse.
“Magicians are truly terrifying,” Hartmut said with a slight smile and a small shake of his head, clearly glad she was on their side.
Abel exhaled deeply, then inhaled. He couldn’t afford distractions. He steadied his breathing, straightened his posture, and prepared to fight again. He raised his sword, taking an overhead stance.
“Kudos to you, adventurer,” Hartmut said earnestly. He knew how difficult it was to face a much more powerful opponent, to be cornered, to watch your allies fall around you while you stood and continued fighting. After all, it wasn’t like he’d sprung out of the ground already powerful.
Most can’t empathize with their opponents’ challenges. You either have to have had a similar experience, or possess extraordinary imagination... Otherwise, it’s impossible.
Abel had adopted an overhead stance to end this fight in a single strike. He was staking everything on just one blow, and his determination suggested he refused to accept anything less than victory.
Hartmut stepped forward with his left foot, bracing his right behind him, and held his sword level with his waist. In the Japanese style of swordsmanship, his stance would be called a waki-gamae or you-no-kamae. He, too, was staking everything on a single blow.
The two men approached each other with slow, shuffling steps.
And, at the same time, they lunged, one attacking from below, the other from above.
Their blades met, and blood splattered from Hartmut’s right shoulder—but it was Abel who collapsed, his abdomen slashed open by Hartmut’s sword...
“Haaa... Haaa...” Hartmut tried to calm himself, breathing heavily.
The fight had been close, and he’d only barely gotten off his final attack. But now, the results spoke for themselves. He slowly approached Abel, raising his sword.
“Abel, if I allow you to live, you will only become a threat to the Empire. Therefore, I must end your life.”
“Ngh...” Though Abel’s eyes remained sharp, his voice was weak. That was only natural, considering the gaping wound in his stomach.
“Farewell,” Hartmut murmured, bringing his sword down.
Klang!
At that moment, a silvery blur flashed, stopping Hartmut’s sword from finishing Abel off.
“Attacking the margrave’s estate? You have some nerve, imperial scum,” a woman’s voice said.
It belonged to the sword instructor of Lune’s knights. It belonged to...
“Sera...” Hartmut hissed, narrowing his eyes.
Hartmut retracted his sword and leaped backward, putting distance between himself and Sera.
Pointing her blade at Hartmut, Sera used her other hand to slip Abel a potion. He mustered his strength to pour half onto his wound and drink the rest. Finally, he could speak again.
“I was leading the new recruits on an outdoor training exercise,” Sera explained. “Hence why I’m late.”
“Oh, right...” Abel grunted, not knowing how to respond.