24
Arakiya’s participation changed the face of the battle against the Hornet. Now worrying not only about his own death, but also Arakiya’s, Al felt like his head was going to explode from the massive surge of thoughts rising from within.
“I don’t know your quirks, I don’t know anything about you—how are we supposed to fight together?!”
“Just move in tandem…”
“You think I’m quick-witted enough for that?!”
Arakiya was a spirit eater; she could consume spirits and use them to manifest special powers. She was too special, in fact; Al had never done any “simulations” about how to work with someone like her. The way she fought on all fours, even using her teeth, made him think of some wild animal, but seeing a beautiful but underdeveloped girl like Arakiya do it had something sordid and erotic about it. The impression was only reinforced by the fact that their opponent was another beautiful woman, this one without arms.
“Would’ve liked to record this match, if I could’ve been a spectator watching from a safe distance,” Al said.
“Well! It’s an honor to get a compliment from you,” the Hornet replied. There was a broad smile on her face as she lashed out with her swords, the start of a combo move that saw Al avoid death by a hair; he’d seen the attack enough times over their dozens of rematches to have discovered a way to survive it.
He felt the impact through his entire arm, clutching his dagger as hard as he could to keep it from being wrenched out of his hand. It might not be much, but a weapon was a weapon. If he lost this thing, he could expect to lose his other arm shortly thereafter.
“Hrn! Dooona!” he cried as he stumbled backward under the blow; his incantation lofted several chunks of rock from the ground.
The Hornet calmly guarded against any attacks from the dead angles created by the stone, but she seemed annoyed by the little twig who’d stuck her nose into their battle. “You are troublesome,” she said with a snorting laugh, and then she jammed both of her blades into the flagstones. From there, she deftly dodged Arakiya’s flame-clad charge, and then the Empress poured her strength into her arms and began to spin—tearing up the floor.
With the ground beneath their feet suddenly giving way, Al and Arakiya were sucked into the storm of destruction. They each gave a short shout as they dropped from just in front of the drawbridge toward the lowest levels of the island. Al fell helplessly, but Arakiya kicked off a passing wall and grabbed him, stabilizing them.
“Gah! Th-thanks, kid. Ya saved me…”
“It is all right. But I haven’t saved you. That is yet to come.”
When they finally landed in the deepest depths of the island, Al and Arakiya squinted, trying to see beyond the dust cloud they’d kicked up.
What they saw was the Hornet, easily slicing through the eruption of dust. She rubbed her blades together, creating an earsplitting shriek of metal, and laughed. “Now we have a little more space for our fight. Oh, my sweet Al, I hope you’ll show me a good time.”
“…If I hit at your feet with a twig, there’s about a sixty percent chance that you’ll destroy the bridge.”
“ ? What did you say?” the Hornet asked, perplexed by Al’s words. The smile froze on her face. But Al wasn’t done talking to the confused Empress of the sword slaves.
“When the bridge comes down, the girl saves me a hundred percent of the time. She’s a loyal one. When I charge in the moment you start your little sword dance, my head gets crushed. If I just watch you, I get sliced up, and even if I try to run away, a little over seventy percent of the time, the girl and I turn out not to be on the same page.”
“ ”
“It’s all trial and error, seven hundred thirteen times. You’ve killed me seven hundred thirteen times tonight.”
“ ”
“Huh. Actually, if we count that first battle in the arena, I guess it’s seven hundred ninety-two times.”
The Hornet, struck dumb, could only listen to Al calmly explaining…something. Al was honestly impressed that she didn’t interrupt him or burst out laughing about how ridiculous he sounded. It suggested the Hornet understood that he wasn’t trying to threaten her and wasn’t out of his mind. That must mean…
“You can see it, too, can’t you? The god of death I’m stuck with.”
“…I can’t see anything at all, including what any of this babble means. I haven’t managed to kill you even once, Al, sweetie. But…” She paused, her eyes filling with bloodlust and desire. “Getting to kill you eight hundred times sounds like a dream come true to me.”
The Hornet leaned forward easily, her face flushing with excitement.
It was the first phase of her deadliest sword dance. It could lead to any of several patterns, but all of them ended in death. The only thing that could be done was not let her start in the first place. In order to protect himself, he had to…
“All right, sweetie, we’re done with all this worthless chitchat. Get ready.”
“It wasn’t worthless.”
“ ?”
“Everything I’ve done was to buy time.”
The Hornet frowned at that—but then Al saw the effect of his work.
“Wha…?” the Hornet rasped and fell to her knees. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her breathing grew noticeably quicker. But the faster and deeper she breathed, the more her life was eaten away.
The Empress of the sword slaves looked around with her reddened eyes, trying to understand what had happened. Al stood over her, and as he looked down, he understood that he found no pleasure in making another person kneel before him. Thinking of what he owed her for that battle against the demon beast four years before, he decided to fill her in.
“It’s poison,” he said.
“Ah… —ison…” The Hornet looked at him, her face a mask of disbelief and pain.
“Got the idea from an old movie. They say poison’s killed more people than any other weapon.”
“Poi…son…? When did I…take…?”
“I mixed it up right here. Here where they put the bodies.”
Shaking his head, Al explained to the Hornet that here in the deepest reaches of the island was where they kept the corpses. He’d mentioned this to Arakiya—the idea that certain spectators with particularly twisted tastes liked to buy the bodies of those who had lost their lives in especially spectacular fashion. They each had their reasons, whether it was because the fighter came from somewhere special or was uniquely beautiful, or so that the buyer could dissect a person’s most unusual skills. Any number of things.
Among the corpses collected for this purpose was the one Al wanted. Specifically…
“A bit back, I fought a guy, a shinobi, who had the Poison Hand. He must have been soaked in the stuff to the bitter end. I asked the young lady to burn him up for me.”
“H—”
“The poison carries on the wind. And you breathed it in.”
The Hornet pitched forward on the floor, her eyes bloodshot and wide. The way her body shivered and twitched made it look almost like the Empress of the sword slaves was begging forgiveness from Al and Arakiya. The Empress of the sword slaves, who had made so many kneel before her, now found herself in the reverse position.
“Sure glad that poison gas worked. And it took a lot of trial and error to get you right over this spot when the floor smashed in. Glad it went off without a hitch.”
“N-no… Wait. P-poison? You used…poison? On me? It’s not…fair…”
“Fair? You’re freakin’ joking, right? There’s no right or wrong when it comes to surviving on the sword-slave island. Or did you not even know that, rookie?”
The Hornet could call him whatever she wanted as she wept tears of blood, but Al was merciless. Though the Hornet had dominated the island with her prowess, bending it to her will, she had misunderstood something: It was not the strong who were the victors here. It was whoever won.
Inundate the opponent with poison gas, use a second fighter to corner them—it didn’t matter. If you won, you won.
“If the gas hadn’t worked, it would’ve been pretty tricky. Would’ve had to bring down the whole island, maybe, or crush you with the drawbridge… I probably didn’t even have ten more ideas up my sleeve. And no clue if any of ’em would’ve worked,” Al said softly.
“ hhh…” The Hornet, her eyes clouded by the bloodred tears, was afraid of him. She understood that this was no lie, this talk of ways of winning that he hadn’t tried. Even if the poison hadn’t been available, Al had still had ways of killing her.
The Hornet would never get to realize her dreams of entertaining herself with murderous contests. The moment she had chosen to fight Al to the death, that possibility had winked out of existence.
“ ” Chewing over that reality, the Hornet discovered her own sort of acceptance within the agony; whoever won, whoever survived, was stronger. It was a very Volakian way of acknowledging one’s defeat. And so finally, she crawled up to Al. “Al… Sweetie… Finish me…off…”
She begged him to finish what he had started with his own hand, to give her an end worthy of the Empress of the sword slaves. Al winced. And then…
“What, ya want me to at least deal the final blow? Hey, I get it, but…”
“Ah…”
“But you never know what someone might do if you get too close to them at the last moment. I’m gonna stand right here and wait for you to die.” With his teeth, Al freed the dirty rag that had been securing his dagger in his hand and got a little more distance from the Hornet. She’d used the last of her strength to crawl forward like a potato bug, but he had denied her request to be her executioner, and the despair of that fact gripped her afresh as he stepped away.
So the Empress of the sword slaves would not have the fitting end she desired—Al scratched his chin with his free hand as he contemplated the desolation this brought to her face, which had always before been full of self-assurance. Next, he scratched his head, turning a look of pity upon his acquaintance, who could no longer hear him.
“I told ya, Hornet. I said it’d be boring to fight me.”
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