The sorcerers who had been hit by the kobolds’ initial volley of arrows still lay on the ground, but as far as Wyatt was concerned the only people in that dried riverbed were himself and Gaius Beldarus.
Gaius had been watching the situation unfold behind Wyatt, but now turned back to meet the knight’s gaze. Furrowing his brows, Gaius appeared to be in deep thought, and after a moment he took his own stance. He held his blade directly in front of himself, the point angled upward, in what was known as the “receiving stance,” one of the most defensive postures.
I never thought I’d see this... The Black Rose of Igris, preparing to cross swords with me, one-on-one...!
The man hadn’t flinched even when he was outnumbered ten to one. He’d survived the hell of the Five-Year War. And now, that very same man was not only deigning to face him—he was on the defensive. He was acknowledging Wyatt as a threat.
Wyatt was so moved, he felt as though he could cry. Even though most of his admiration had turned to hatred, it was still an honor to be treated as an equal by a warrior like this—the greatest compliment he’d ever received in his life.
This wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Wyatt shook his head to clear his thoughts before raising his sword overhead, taking the roof stance. He charged forward and began his attack with a powerful downward slash angled diagonally. He wanted to avoid having to go on the defensive as much as possible. His Sword Eater was made of sturdy mythril ore augmented by a strengthening sigil, so it would likely survive the brunt of Gaius’s strength; whether Wyatt could continue to hold on to his sword in the face of Gaius’s assaults was another matter.
Gaius angled his sword to deflect the blow. Sparks flew as the two blades clashed and scraped against one another. Gaius broke away by wrenching his sword upward before quickly pointing the double-edged tip of his sword forward and thrusting.
Instead of parrying, Wyatt attempted a counterattack of his own, locking them in another bind. However, Gaius’s faussar had a much wider, flatter blade, and with a twist of his wrist, he broke the lock, his sword now under Wyatt’s. For a split second, the cutting edge of that broad sword was aimed squarely at Wyatt’s ribs—
The knight realized his mistake just in time to leap backward. Too close...! I can’t rely on the usual techniques against that oversized meat cleaver!
All this time, he’d thought the Black Rose of Igris had earned his reputation through sheer strength and his massive size. After their brief clash, though, he knew that impression was wrong. Gaius Beldarus had skill to match that strength—and that was what made him a monster.
＊
They must have exchanged over thirty blows. Wyatt’s armor was damaged in several places, and he’d suffered more than a few injuries. Blood poured from a cut on his cheek, and his breath was ragged and labored. Gaius, on the other hand, stood tall, as calm as ever. There wasn’t a single scratch on him.
Wyatt was only just barely able to keep pace. He’d gotten close to landing a blow a few times, so close, but he could never reach Gaius. There was one technique he hadn’t yet tried—but should he use it now? How much longer should he try to hold out? No, if he waited any longer, he would die before an opportunity presented itself.
How can anyone be that strong?! Every time I strike or block, it feels like he could rip my arms off!
“You... You’re so skilled...!” Wyatt’s words started out halted and strangled, but before long, he was screaming. “Your name is known far and wide for what you’ve accomplished on the battlefield! You became a baron! You were nobility!”
“Hm?” Gaius looked confused, but nothing in the man’s posture changed.
“How could you forsake all of that?! All that a warrior aspires to be?! All that those of us who live by the sword could ever dream of?! All that glory, in exchange for what?! Pretending to be a farmer or a lumberjack out here?! In the middle of nowhere?! And when you do take up your sword again, it’s to protect some kobolds?! You’re even willing to accept the fate of a criminal for them?! For a pack of lowly, worthless monsters?!”
Gaius listened calmly, and when his answer came, it was delivered as though he was saying the most natural thing in the world.
“Of course. I made a promise to a friend.”
“A ‘friend’...Don’t tell me you mean one of those dogs...?”
“I do. Is there something wrong with that?”
Wyatt’s face twitched, and he exploded.
“Everything’s wrong! You’re the hero of the Five-Year War! Even if you don’t care about ranks or titles, you’re still a hero—heroes have responsibilities to uphold! A duty to those following in your footsteps! And what you’ve done—spitting on everything we live and die for—it’s an insult! An insult to everyone who strives for what you had! No, it’s sacrilege! You’ve desecrated that honor, those riches, that rank! All the while, we’ve been striving, clawing, fighting to reach such heights! We’ve dirtied our hands—no, we had no choice but to dirty our hands just for the chance at such glory! And you’ve cursed us! Denied our very existence! That’s it! You can’t get away with this!”
Wyatt himself hardly knew what he was saying—the words poured out of him through no will of his own. But it was precisely because the words came so readily that he knew they were true: this was the true form of that black sludge that had overtaken his heart.
Gaius, on the other hand, merely tilted his head, brows furrowed.
“I apologize. I don’t quite understand—this is all a little too complicated for me...”