But he’s not a boulder... Orphen told himself, stepping forward to add impact to his blow. He’s walking on two legs. I can take him down!
The difference in their weight was rather stark, but Jack knew that Orphen wasn’t going to run, so he pulled back, fearful of contact. Two more hand strikes came at Orphen and he moved into Jack’s blind spot to dodge them, aiming at his enemy’s ankle with the edge of his boot—he aimed to sever the tendon with his counterattack, but Jack swerved once again like he was dancing, putting distance between them.
Orphen jumped out from inside Jack’s arms like a tornado was spitting him out, spinning in the air to change directions. His momentum put him a decent distance away from Jack in an instant. Jack didn’t chase him, going back into the same stance he’d taken earlier.
Orphen changed his stance. Half of it was the same, but he’d drawn his shortsword from its sheath and raised his back foot—he wasn’t attacking with his fists this time, so he didn’t need to be so low to the ground. He could build up some speed like this.
Jack struck forward with his right arm without hesitating. Orphen evaded the blow and attempted to hit Jack’s elbow with his blade, but Jack pulled it back faster. He was no match for the other man’s speed—Orphen told himself—unless he got his timing right.
He swung the blade sideways quickly, limiting the area available for his enemy to move. At the same time, Orphen drew two throwing daggers from a hidden pocket with his left hand. In a scooping motion, he threw one at Jack’s throat. Knowing he would dodge it, he threw the other one at Jack’s elbow.
It shouldn’t have been easy to dodge two daggers flying at him from different angles—one from above, one from below—but Jack repelled both daggers like he was swatting a fly. No...
It was only one dagger that fell to the ground. The moment Orphen noticed that, Jack flicked his wrist, throwing the other dagger back at him. Orphen didn’t dodge the blade as it glinted in the dark. He knew that if he dodged, Jack would be there to finish him off. He held his breath and readied himself, taking the blow with the chest of his combat uniform.
The bladeproof uniform repelled the dagger with only a scratch to the leather. Still, the sharpened blade had pierced his armor. Orphen ignored the pain and took another step forward. They were close enough for their toes to touch now.
They stood, directly facing each other. It was foolish to wait for his enemy to make the first move, but Jack was always going to be faster than him.
I’ll evade his first attack and finish things from super close range! He vowed, and...
An impact came.
For a moment, he had no idea what had happened. He felt something dark and heavy overwhelm all five of his senses like water cascading down over his head. He couldn’t breathe.
His instincts were commanding his body to do something—flee—twist—jump—it all pushed his sense of logic to the side so there was nothing for his mind to do in the moment. Feeling his body go flying, Orphen struggled against sleep. It wasn’t fatigue. An unimaginable amount of pain was closing the world off from him.
I was hit... The thought finally came to him when his back hit the ground and his senses returned. He must have reflexively tried to defend himself. He was still conscious. But the pain piercing through his stomach to his back, ignoring all his internal organs, was preventing him from breathing. Orphen screamed at himself like he was scooping up shattered fragments of something, Get up... Stand up!
For just an instant, the pain disappeared.
He grabbed at the ground, dragging himself upward. As he expected, Jack was stepping forward to finish him off.
He had no time to determine which parts of his body were still functioning. He dragged his feet, retreating as quickly as he could, but he’d forgotten that with Jack’s reach, he couldn’t escape the other man by retreating. He wouldn’t make it in time. Jack’s right fist connected with his gut.
There was no pain.
He thought maybe his sense of pain had gone flying with his body, but that wasn’t it.
The force of the blow sent him backward as Orphen realized the difference. That blow hadn’t punctured the armor of his combat uniform.
Holding his stomach, Orphen looked at Jack, confused. The man in the priest’s robes just stood there in the follow-through position of his attack. But his right fist had transformed.
“It seems that blow destroyed my fist.” He spoke like he was talking about someone else, smiling wryly as he lowered his arm. “To think I let my target into my range and screwed up the actual strike... It was my blunder. Or maybe your reflexes.”
“Got crushed, eh?” Orphen groaned, somehow getting back into a combat stance. The blow he’d taken hadn’t been fatal, but it had still dealt him some serious damage.
Jack switched to a stance with his left fist at his waist and said, “If I do not use truly perfect strikes, it destroys my body. But... I have only lost one fist. You took a blow to a vital area. You can no longer move like you have been.”
I know that. Orphen’s body wanted to collapse on the spot—it was crying out, bile rising in his throat, desperate to writhe on the ground and shut down completely. But Orphen stuffed all those impulses into the back of his mind, maintaining his fighting stance.
“What’s your reason...” Orphen squeezed his voice out, his lungs spasming with pain. He slowly, carefully asked his question. “What’s your reason for fighting so hard for the sanctuary? It doesn’t seem like you value your life at all.”
“One is to honor the death of my friend,” Jack answered, then lowered his voice. “Another is to find a place to fight, to meet the demon who crushed everything I believed in.”
“...You believed in something?” Orphen asked the one part he could pick out.
The man in the priest’s robes closed his eyes as if in prayer. “Once.”
“You despaired?”
“That’s right.”
“So now you’re an assassin.”
“This sin and punishment might love me.”
Orphen felt like he was hearing a confession—it was so out of place for the situation that he smiled wryly to himself. He also said, “No light reaches rock bottom. You have to climb and look up...and then there’s something.”
“And what’s that?” Maybe he was used to hearing such platitudes. Or maybe he was just bored of hearing his prey plead for his life. Jack didn’t sound at all interested in what Orphen had to say.
Orphen coughed and groaned. “Couldn’t say. How should I know? But there’s something there. Something.”
“You’re a privileged man to think so.”
“You think so...? Maybe...” He was exactly right, Orphen added to himself.
When this world obtained sorcery, it took on the annoying sickness of despair as well.
The unavoidable path of the gods attempting to destroy the world after obtaining life and bodies.
There was nothing anyone could hope for in such a world. Orphen knew that. He understood it.
But... He poured everything he had into his chance for a last strike: his senses, his remaining stamina, his self-restraint as he endured his pain. He’d lost his shortsword somewhere when he’d been struck earlier. He ran his eyes over the ground, but he didn’t spot it.
There’s gotta be something! Orphen screamed to himself, stepping forward.
He dragged his sluggish body toward yet another exchange of blows.
Jack didn’t move. He was just waiting with a sneer.
Orphen didn’t know the meaning of that smile—if he charged forward and one of them died, he’d never be able to ask about it. Combat reduced so many things to meaninglessness.
Still, I’m going to stop you—with a killing blow!
He didn’t have enough speed. His body hurt with every step he took; his concentration was in pieces. Orphen closed his eyes when he had half a step left to go. He knew his damaged reflexes wouldn’t be able to dodge anything. He had to entrust everything to instinct. He used every bit of fighting experience he had to predict Jack’s move.
He twisted not even half a step—and felt a gust blow past his face. It must have been Jack’s attack. After dodging it, Orphen opened his eyes. In a special stance with both fists together, he thrust his arms up at Jack’s chest.
I need to hit his heart with all my weight—
Could he taste blood in his mouth or was he just imagining it? His mouth was fine.