Ayato finally understood.
What Madiath hated so bitterly was the present age itself.
“Yes, that’s right. Right indeed. I will force change on this undefined era. If regular people and Genestella part ways and clash, the world will be forced to evolve. Whether the two sides will reconcile as equals once it’s all over, or whether one will subjugate the other, doesn’t matter to me. Either way, society will reach a decisive conclusion.”
Madiath spoke with a devil-may-care attitude, but he must have meant every word of it. For him, the outcome was unimportant.
It wasn’t even a wish, this desire of his—just pure tyranny.
“You think you have the right to decide that all by yourself?!”
In a single breath, Ayato closed the distance between them and lashed out with the Ser Veresta.
“When people say they were born into the wrong era,” Madiath bellowed, “it’s because they don’t have the power to change it. I had the power to change it, and the position, too. So there’s no reason not to make it happen!”
Instead of relying on his automatic defenses, Madiath parried Ayato’s attack with the Raksha-Nada itself.
As their blades locked together, the battle-ax and cross spear rushed at him from behind.
“It’s over!” Madiath declared, assured of his victory.
But Ayato parried the battle-ax approaching from overhead with the Ser Veresta in his right hand, and without even turning around, he used his left arm to swat away the tip of the cross spear about to pierce him from behind.
“How?!”
“I understand now. You’re not free. You’re bound by the past.”
As Ayato said this, Madiath’s expression gave way to rage.
No—this anger had likely always been seething inside him and was only now rising to the surface.
…Perhaps he had always been consumed by hatred and fury, long before he’d ever met Ayato or Haruka.
“Don’t assume to know me!” he fumed, lashing out with a three-step thrust like an oncoming thunderbolt.
Ayato, however, dodged the strike with a bare minimum of movement.
“Impossible! You saw through me?!”
No.
What Ayato had seen was the source of Madiath Mesa’s strength.
His anger.
For him, it was stronger, more intense, more powerful than any other emotion—and it was the basis of his bloodlust.
But in the Amagiri Shinmei style—as in a great many martial arts—the first thing one learned was this:
Never let your anger get the better of you.
“Hah!”
Ayato slashed diagonally to the right with the Ser Veresta.
Just like before, pieces of the Raksha-Nada came together, forming a blade in midair to catch the blow.
This time, however, the outcome was different.
The urm-manadite within the Ser Veresta shone even brighter than before and burned clean through the opposing blade.
“Ngh?!”
Madiath leaped backward to dodge the slash, but his expression now betrayed a hint of agitation alongside his fury.
It made perfect sense, if you stopped to think about it.
The Ser Veresta and the Raksha-Nada were Orga Luxes of the same rank, so under normal circumstances, it should have been impossible for mere fragments of the latter to block a strike from the former. The Raksha-Nada’s defense was effective only because it suddenly formed new blades in a space where none should exist—in effect, catching Ayato off guard. But if the wielder of the Ser Veresta knew from the beginning precisely when and where his attack would be blocked, there was no way that the strike could be deflected.
As though the Ser Veresta itself now understood this, it trembled in Ayato’s hand.
Perhaps, in its own way, it was proud to have proven itself a match for the Raksha-Nada.
“…Hah! I see, I see. I’ll admit it, I’m bound by the past… By Akari. That’s right. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to lose to you!”
Rushing forward with blinding speed, Madiath unleashed a simultaneous attack from three directions.
As expected, Ayato couldn’t handle all three of them, and he winced as the Raksha-Nada tore through his side.
“Ugh…!”
The truth was, Ayato may have seen through Madiath’s true nature and breached his automatic defenses, but he still hadn’t gained the upper hand. His foe’s formless fighting style was tremendously powerful—the real deal—and in physical terms, Madiath remained overwhelmingly superior.
But most of all, the wear and tear that Ayato had suffered throughout their encounter was proving too much. Madiath may have taken a fair amount of damage, too, but Ayato could barely keep himself standing. At this rate, he would probably pass out within minutes.
And yet—
“There’s still one advantage I have over you,” Ayato murmured with a faint smile as he coughed up blood.
“…?!”
“What you consider a burden, I see as connection…!”
That’s right.
There was no way he was about to lose to a man who saw his bonds with others as constraints holding him back.
Ayato had formed bonds with a great many people during his time here.
Saya, Claudia, Kirin, Sylvia, Eishirou, Lester, Irene, Priscilla, Flora, Ernesta, Camilla, Ardy, Rimcy, Ernest, Elliot, Xinglou, Hufeng, Minato, Yuzuhi, Helga, Kyouko… The list was endless.
For that reason alone, this city held a special place in his heart.
And above all else—
For a brief second, he glanced at the air-window showing the ongoing match.
Seeing his most valuable partner on the screen, he recalled what he had told her the other day.
“…So that’s why I’m going to finish this!”
“What nonsense…!”
As Ayato stepped forward, Madiath plunged the Raksha-Nada deep into his side, then pulled it out.
Madiath had been a step faster, recovering his battle stance before Ayato could swing his blade.
And yet—
“Amagiri Shinmei Style, First Technique—Twin Serpents!”
Ayato’s blade slipped past his foe’s weapon, carving a cross into his body.
“Wh-what…?”
Madiath watched, incredulous, as the Raksha-Nada fell from his hands.
The move Ayato had just used wasn’t one of the Amagiri Shinmei style’s ultimate or hidden techniques, but one of its most basic battle forms. One that he had practiced thousands, no, tens of thousands of times.
This, too, was a kind of bond—that between Ayato and his sword.