The Craving Blade must have sensed my excitement; it let out a high-pitched howl. I clasped it tighter, trying to get a better read on what it was trying to get across, when its emotions became waves that assaulted my brain, begging me to go ever faster.
All right, I get it, so calm down! You’re having fun too, huh...
Very good. I was in the same boat. The first clash had told the Craving Blade and me the exact same thing, and that was just about the best news that it had ever heard.
The sword’s edge was incredible, even without the influence of my own magic. A regular, blunt sword would’ve snapped right down the middle upon the first strike. The edge on this thing, the brutal bite of it, dire enough to rive an ancestral weapon down to the fuller, was a sense memory that wouldn’t fade for a long, long time.
The enemy in front of me had a fine magic sword of his own—or a time-tested blade which had been packed to the gills with spells. I was pretty damn sure that the magically forged sword before me had premium enchantments engraved into the hilt and had received a powerful blessing through quite the intricate ritual. I didn’t have the insight to pin down which spells had been used, but judging by its power, it must have had some sort of conceptual binding put on it. The Craving Blade would have crushed the sword, enchantments and all, if only a half-hearted magical ward was placed on it.
In short, my opponent was a swordsman with a weapon I could only call an heirloom, incredibly tough armor, and skills honed through the fires of real battle. His own capabilities were in the realm of “absurd,” allowing him to slaughter all his allies single-handedly if he so chose.
It really pained me to see this. If this were a place where we could give our names and openly show one another our skills—what a bout this could have been! I would’ve been able to strike him with my sword to show him what my capabilities were, and I would’ve been able to gush over his build. He would never understand just how frustrating it was to not be able to take him on with everything I had, with each second being worth its weight in gold.
I was fighting a worthy opponent who had sacrificed his subordinates to block my path for a battle where we’d resolved to win or die. What self-respecting hot-blooded lover of the fray wouldn’t pop off about it? I wouldn’t be able to call myself a man unless I hit back with my head held high.
“Ngh! Why do you laugh?!” he said.
“Oh... Excuse me. I wasn’t laughing at you. Pray forgive me.”
“Enough jokes! You’ve been laughing for a long damn while now!”
The past three years of maniacal focus on refining my swordsmanship had meant that I’d let a strange smile slip past my usual facade. I had decided I’d match his absurd strength with my own, but it appeared that I’d shown my dissatisfaction with the impossibility of a proper fight with him.
At any rate, I was running out of time. A bleeding man couldn’t waste a drop. The situation was serious enough that I couldn’t just stand around gabbing. I’d have to apologize to this swordsman: I wouldn’t be able to give him a fair fight. I was happy to take any of his anger later. I’d allow him to heap on whatever abuse he wanted, but I would be taking the win home with me today.
As I showed my intent to go on the offensive, he too gripped his sword tight and charged at me. He moved with such quick and easy steps that you’d be forgiven for forgetting he was wearing heavy armor. He brought his blade to bear for a horizontal sweep, but...he ended up striking thin air.
“What?!” he exclaimed.
I’d given a wordless request to the Craving Blade to change its form. Now it was the same size as Schutzwolfe—a size that I had gotten used to ever since I first received her. The Craving Blade showed its mad love through violence. As long as it remained a sword, then it would gladly answer my command and change shape at will.
Seeing a zweihander shrink to the size of a regular sword in the blink of an eye was more than enough to throw off the pace of a well-sighted swordsman. His sword, which should have connected with the Craving Blade, instead swung at nothing; his body was packed with momentum from a full-power strike and couldn’t be halted. Before the end of his swing, just before his hand passed me by, I forced my Enchanting Artistry to get my fingers to dance and do a half spin of my sword in my palm. Just as my pommel came to face my enemy, I grabbed at the bladed end which came my way. In my half-sword stance, I lowered my center of gravity and forced my body forward in a single breath. The unexpected inertia from hitting nothing had left my foe unable to strike back. Ready to tumble, I put all my energy into my body and rammed my pommel into his left armpit.
“Gurgh!”
The movable parts of your armor couldn’t perfectly protect you. Chain mail and under armor could offset damage, but there was no way to stay mobile and fully protected. There were spells which maintained the toughness of your armor while rendering them flexible, but areas like these needed to be less protected if you wanted to move.
I felt my hilt bite deep into his flesh, sticking into his joints, crushing his soft cartilage and critically damaging his ribs. The feedback was heavy, telling me I’d done some serious harm.
The knight fell to the ground in pain, and his sword clattered out from his hand. He wasn’t capable of fighting with just the one hand, but I kicked the sword out of the way to prevent him from struggling. However, he was a knight to his core. Despite one arm being out of commission, his fighting spirit hadn’t been dampened. With his working right hand, he scrambled to unsheathe the dagger at his waist as he tried to pull himself to his feet. I inwardly praised his martial spirit, but I showed no mercy as I stabbed my sword through the base of his hand.
“ARRRGHHH!”
The metal struck halfway through his wrist, cutting through bone and tendon alike. Now he couldn’t get his dagger or slug at me. I wouldn’t allow him to struggle either. I kicked at the struggling knight and got him down onto the ground. With most of his subordinates defeated now, I reassembled my Hands and pulled some rope from my waist pouch.
“Grh! You bastard... How dare you shame me like this. Kill me now!”
Oh yeah, I thought, I still hadn’t cut out his tongue and he had enough energy to wail at me. Very good, very good. I wouldn’t steal away his right to moan about his loss. However, I couldn’t let him get the wrong idea. The only people who got to choose how they died were the truly mighty warriors who deserved it and the beneficiaries of the tremendous mercy of their opponent; a cool death was a privilege, not a right. It was important not to forget that.
“You, who are without mercy, now beg for it? How utterly arrogant of you. You must have known there was no honor in this battle.”
Although I wished for a heart-racing battle with him, I didn’t particularly want him to have the sort of death that could be romanticized in song. I needed to ask him things first, after all.