Chapter 209

He created for himself a sword that, far more than his steel prosthetic leg, or his left arm with the elbow smashed up, was directly connected to his physical body. 1582, the tenth year of Tenshou. Takeda Katsuyori and his retainers, driven into a corner by the Oda following the betrayal of Oyamada Nobushige, were about to meet their final battle at Mount Tenmokuzan’s Seiunji Temple. However, the Oda army had already gone around their destination of Mt. Tenmokuzan, and Katsuyori was forced to double back. Among the remaining retainers, numbering less than fifty at that point, was a general by the name of Tsuchiya Souzou Masatsune who was responsible for the rear guard during the retreat. The rear guard laid in wait for the Oda army on a narrow cliff path along the Nikkawa River, barely wide enough for one person at a time. Tsuchiya Souzou was said to have kept fighting with one hand. Grabbing the wisteria vines that covered the cliff in one hand, he mowed down the enemy army pressing in with the katana in his other and kicked them down to the Nikkawa River flowing below. The legends said the enemy numbered over a thousand—he thus earned the name One-Handed Slayer of a Thousand. Killing just one person with quite literally only one hand. How easy of a feat was it for a deviant visitor? “What did…I tell you?! Crossing swords till the end is what it’s all about!” Soujirou slashed him. It was unmistakably a sword attack. Using the longsword Antel’s Force Arts wedged between them in midair, Rosclay barely defended himself. “Why…why’re you fighting?! Soujirou the Willow-Sword!” He could wield any and every sword better than anyone. He was fighting with the cross section of his own arm, which should have been agonizing and painful with each slash, and yet if anything, it was faster and stronger than a fully healthy arm. Slash. Block. Slash. Sword clash. The strongest swordsmen across two different worlds finally contended against each other in a battle of their utmost limits. “Is fighting really so fun?!” “Sure is! Nothing but fun!” If he could just pick up the Blasting Blade. If he could just hold out until Krafnir’s insects came to reinforce him. If he could just demolish Soujirou with sniper fire and Word Arts. Too fast, too close for Rosclay to think about anything extra—his absolute limits. The bone blade ripped apart his silver armor, gouging his innards while his silver blade cut into flesh and severed Soujirou’s ribs. Rosclay continued to fight, swallowing back blood and gritting his teeth as he did. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. Rosclay the Absolute… He continued to recite it to himself like a curse. …needs to always remain a champion. No matter how much pain he endured, he couldn’t fall to his knees. No matter how wounded he was, he couldn’t die. No matter how tough the battle, he needed to keep on winning. With his powers of concentration facing down death, time seemed frozen. …Why did something like this… No matter how many sacrifices were necessary…even if it meant betraying the people and assassinating the Queen herself, all of the threats across the horizon needed to be defeated by a champion. With that, a future where no one would see a need for champions was bound to come someday. He had needed a gift for when that day came, that would leave something concrete behind. With Iska, he— “—Ah.” Red. “Don’t go dwelling on useless crap—” The bone blades had pierced through Rosclay’s stomach. His small intestine and some other internal organ were caught by the blade and spilled out from his back. “—in the middle of a battle to the death!” The longsword in his hand was still aimed straight ahead at his opponent’s face. In the final move, he had been slow to react. He hadn’t been able to knock Soujirou down. Rosclay wobbled and took three steps back. He had lost. Even exhausting all of his strength couldn’t bring victory within reach, and he had lost. A defeat there was no excuse for. He had done everything he could. “…Hah-hah, ah-hah-hah-hah-hah…” Even though he had lost, he found himself laughing as all his tension came undone. He had kept it up for so long that he had even believed it was in fact an intractable part of himself, yet it took but an instant for all the nerves to unwind. He could tell his life was trickling down. Just as it did for any ordinary minia. Just as it had been for Oslow the Indominable, Rosclay the Absolute, too, would die. My internal organs and arteries have been torn apart. Still, for me, none of that is important… His diaphragm, lungs, throat, and face. Those were all he needed. Rosclay used his sword to hold up his body as it threatened to give out. “People of Aureatia.” It was a normal voice, with no technology assisting him, but it silenced the screams and cries in the venue. With his ambition left unfulfilled, Rosclay the Absolute was going to die. However, he had no intent on just simply dying there. He would set up his final attack. “There is nothing…to mourn. Since I…from the beginning… I was no hero. H-how…however, I have one final wish…! Please, I ask you to find them—do not let my fight here be in vain.” Rosclay the Absolute had used absolutely everything he could in order to achieve his goal. Surely he was able to use his own death as well. “A hero. A real hero, the title I fell short of. Please, find them… Please continue with the Sixways Exhibition! Until the end! Until one, final person remains…!” Even if the path would be accompanied by innumerable sacrifices. When the champion died, all the monsters were going to be dragged along with him. He was convinced that the winner, Soujirou, must have collapsed at that point. However, Rosclay wouldn’t do the same. He was an absolute champion. He smiled with his blood-covered face. With his sword supporting him, he stood straight up. His vision, and his pain, began to dissipate. Grief, shouting, applause. The only thing in his sense until the end was the all-too-familiar sound of applause. Match ten. Winner, Soujirou the Willow-Sword.