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Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 9 - Chapter 4




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Chapter 4: The Hour of Harvest 

In the room at the bottom floor of the central tower, the two glared at one another as the ringing of clanging armor filled the room. Deep breaths echoed all around them, probably from fear at the knowledge that they were surrounded by soldiers ten times their numbers. Or perhaps because they sensed something from the soldier smiling composedly in front of Moore. 

Moore found his name to be familiar, though. 

Mikoshiba? I’ve heard that somewhere before... 

Moore clearly recalled an exchange he had in the capital with Saitou, Shardina’s aide. 

Right... This is the man who killed Sir Gaius... 

Moore fixed his gaze on the man smirking in front of him. On the surface, he only looked like an inconspicuous, well-built young man. His smile looked as friendly and natural as anyone’s. But Moore didn’t miss the dangerous light glinting in the depths of his dark eyes. That light... It was his hatred for the O’ltormea Empire. 

He’s hiding his true intentions... I see. Yes, this man is a threat to the Empire... 

Moore had heard countless rumors about this man from Saitou. The most dangerous beasts concealed their fangs purposefully. And in the case of this particular beast, those hidden fangs were oozing with venom. A lethal venom called craftiness... 

I’ve heard more of him than I’d care to know. A careful man that leaves no room for oversight... For a man like him to take to the frontlines, no matter how advantageous it might be... 

Moore jerked his chin at his subordinates, gesturing for them to go up the stairs. It was a slight sign, but these men served under Moore for a long time and realized his intentions. Several soldiers hurried up the stairs. 

Good... If I can just buy us time, I can prevent the worst case scenario. 

The central tower’s warehouse had a large number of things they couldn’t allow to fall to the enemy’s hands. Watching them leave, Moore nodded lightly and turned to Ryoma, who was still smiling and making no signs of moving. 

He looks composed... Is he staying still for a reason? No matter. I need to stall for time, anyway. 

O’ltormea was known even across the sea as the great hegemony at the heart of the western continent, and this man was the sole person to have escaped their grasp. A mere otherworlder, a person even inferior to a slave, was able to slay the court thaumaturgist of this country, Gaius Valkland. An escaped criminal, who dragged the Empire’s name through the mud. 

Publicly, Gaius’s death was regarded as an accident. They couldn’t afford to make known to the general public the fact that a chief vassal of the Empire was murdered in the Emperor’s castle and that his killer got away. By the Emperor’s orders, the events of what happened were not allowed to leak from the castle. Thanks to that, the Empire retained its dignity. 

But the more they tried to hide the truth, the more likely it was to eventually come out. The common citizen might not have learned of it, but those working in professions relating to the government likely heard a rumor or two. It wasn’t spoken of loudly, out of respect for the country’s dignity, but Ryoma Mikoshiba was a bitter rival for the Empire. 

Looking around, Moore clicked his tongue in displeasure. 

This is bad... Everyone’s caught up in his pace. 

They all surely hated this man, who had driven the Empire into crisis. But seeing the knights stiffen around him, he saw them murmur in what was a mix of awe and terror. To them, Ryoma was the most hated existence imaginable. All the troubles the Empire has gone through recently began when O’ltormea’s strategist and court thaumaturgist, Gaius, was murdered. 

The root of all their current troubles stood before them. But as a warrior and a fellow man, Moore couldn’t help but acknowledge Ryoma’s might, somewhere in his heart. He’d escaped the capital’s guarded borders on his own and shook off Shardina’s persistent pursuit to escape the country. 

A country and an individual. The former was incomparably stronger than the latter, a difference of night and day. And despite this, the man before them escaped the O’ltormea Empire’s fangs. Even if he was their enemy, O’ltormea’s knights couldn’t help but admit his achievements. They couldn’t help but admire the strength he had and they lacked, even if he was on the other side of this war... 

I don’t have a choice. My only hope is to focus on buying time... 

This was a choice that would move things from the worst possible conclusion to the second worst conclusion. Moore didn’t have the chance to hope to achieve more than that given the situation. Realizing how the others would react, Moore bitterly parted his lips. 

“I see... You’re as interesting as the rumors make you out to be. You drew the Empire’s attention to the frontlines so you could burn down our warehouses, killing the expedition force without ever fighting them...” 

He tried to speak calmly so as to feign composure, but it seemed it was a wasted effort. All the gazes in the room fixed on Moore. Ryoma, however, didn’t bat an eyelash, his smile as relaxed as before. Seeing that confirmed to Moore that his earlier suspicions were true. 

I can’t blame the knights. Even I didn’t notice until it came to this. 

Feeling his knights’ dumbfounded gazes on him, Moore focused on keeping his failing resolve intact. True, he had his suspicions, but halfway through his words, Moore felt pressure bear down on him like a tightening noose. 

They believed they could use their vast army to one-sidedly invade Xarooda, but all it took was this to completely overturn that confidence. The soldiers were understandably unnerved. They believed their country to be in a position of unwavering superiority, but now they felt as if they were fools dancing on thin ice the whole time. 

What a man. He calculated all of this... Wait, but that means the bandit attacks on the villages... That was his doing? 

The pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place in Moore’s mind, forming a whole picture. The towns around Fort Notis were attacked all at once, forcing him to send out his men, only to be attacked just as the garrison was at its thinnest. It was all too unfortunate of a development for Moore. So unfortunate that it couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. 

But how did they get into the country? The borders with Helnesgoula and Xarooda are heavily guarded... Wait, no... It can’t be, did he...? 

Only one option came to mind, but it was far too difficult a path to tread. Realistically speaking, it was impossible to have guards all across the vast borderlines spanning all the way across Helnesgoula and Xarooda. There were no satellites or radios in this world, after all. The highways connecting the towns were spread across and along the entirety of the continent, and keeping them secured was much more feasible. 

But if one were to leave the highways, and enter the vast forests and mountains located off the road, any national borders become vague. Even if a country were to demarcate a borderline along the map, there’s no one to actually keep those borders guarded. 

Only the highways’ important points and the cities were actively guarded. So if one were to try to go off the beaten path and cross the forests and mountains, it was theoretically possible to enter any country. Some of those who make their living through fighting, like mercenaries and adventurers, and those who operate in secret like bandits and those belonging to the underworld, often choose to do so. 

But moving a military force off the highways was another matter altogether. Not only was maintaining a supply line difficult, but marching speed became a major problem. The lack of a paved road makes it impossible to march at satisfactory speeds. And even if one chose to brave the dangers involved in marching an army across a pathless road, it would be impossible to completely mask their presence. 

No spy, no matter how poor they were at their job, would fail to notice them. And the larger the army, the likelier they were to be discovered. And one had to bolster their ranks if they were to march through land infested with monsters. 

On top of that, maps were hard to come by. Scouting was a duty that fell upon the country’s administration, and the land’s topography was a closely guarded military secret. With that in mind, having a reliable map of the frontier regions was unlikely, to say nothing of a rival country’s territory. 

One had to bring many troops to ensure safe passage, but they’d need to minimize their numbers to ensure they wouldn’t be spotted. These two conflicting conditions were both equally important. 

And so, while crossing borders by going off the highways wasn’t unprecedented in this world, tactically speaking it was like relying on a gamble paying off to succeed. It was the equivalent of clinging to a miracle. 

But that miracle had been made a reality right here. In the worst possible way for the O’ltormea Empire... 

“So it was all your part of your plan...?” Moore asked. 

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, though, it took quite a bit of work,” Ryoma shrugged. 

Moore quickly realized what Ryoma meant by that. 

“The bandit attacks were scattered in a wide area around Fort Notis. You split up your forces into small units that crossed the border and started attacking towns and villages.” 

“Yeah. The important part was to not draw attention to ourselves ever since we left Memphis. The rest was picking routes that the Xaroodian knights and some of General Belares’s irregulars were familiar with. It was a huge gamble, but it worked out.” 

Incidentally, the routes the Xaroodian knights used happened to be the same road Ryoma took when escaping Shardina after killing Gaius. The same forest strip, to the north of the Notis plains. Ryoma didn’t imagine that bit of experience would end up being helpful now. 

“Belares’s irregulars? The Crimson Moon Brigade...” 

Private forces organized by the deceased General Belares. They were effectively nothing more than bands of former bandits, and they were still as ruthless and unforgiving as they were before reforming. The names of those bandit groups were quite detested by the people of eastern O’ltormea. 

“I guess they were ordered ahead of time to familiarize themselves with O’ltormea’s topography. I simply made use of that.” 

“The ends justify the means, is that it?” 

“Yep. Even criminals have their uses. And if I can use them to edge out that win...” Ryoma trailed off, that calm smile still on his lips. 

Ryoma knew full well that the Crimson Moon Brigade were a band of truly vicious criminals. He’d crossed blades with them once when he was making his escape from O’ltormea. Had Ryoma not saved Laura and Sara from them back then, they’d have lost their chastity. 

These bandits were the polar opposite of Ryoma’s personal sense of justice. Ryoma very much hated them, enough so to want to kill every last one of them... But he wasn’t going to let that emotion overcome him if it cost him an opportunity to win. 

What is this man... How?! 

That didn’t mean he was going to forgive them for their actions. He simply put up with them for as long as they were of use to him. Sensing Ryoma’s emotions from his gaze, Moore swallowed nervously. A knight or a warrior wouldn’t come up with such a plan. This was something an aged politician or a diplomat might think of. His iron will struck terror into Moore’s heart. 

I can’t let him walk away from here alive... This man poses too much of a threat to the Empire. 

Even in this disadvantageous position, Moore knew he had a chance of walking away the victor. Assuming he made full use of his thaumaturgic sword’s power and was willing to sacrifice the lives of the soldiers around him, that is... 

But Moore chose to fight rather than run. 

I’ve bought more than enough time... Now to settle this. 

“Fight me one on one, Mikoshiba!” Moore suddenly declared. 

Everyone present looked at Moore in shock. It was clear to everyone how this encounter would conclude. So in that case, if there was any chance of turning things around, it was through a battle between the two generals. 

But this was just Moore’s interest at work. Logically speaking, Ryoma had no reason to accept his challenge. Moore was confident, however, that Ryoma would never turn him down. If he was one to reject this proposition, Ryoma never would have shown his face here to begin with. 

And that means that whatever he’s planning doesn’t matter. 

Fighting spirit ran through Moore’s limbs. Excitement raced through his heart. His muscles bulked up and the blood pumped violently through his veins. His Muladhara chakra began racing, surging prana into his body. 

Moore silently stilled his breathing, taking control of the flow of prana. In accordance with his will, the second and third chakras, Svadhishthana and Manipura, also went into operation. 

I’m ready... I will kill you... Even if I have to die to do it! 

Moore gripped his sword. And as if the weapon picked up on its master’s will, the seal etched onto the sword lit up in a bluish glow. 

 

Black smoke billowed from the granary as it burned. The smell of the charred provisions inside filled the air. The sound of clashing swords, of death and screams, echoed all around. 

This was a slaughter that had produced countless casualties. 

Laura stood unflinchingly on that battlefield, her gaze fixed on the central tower illuminated by the crackling flames. 

“Laura, how are things going on your side?” A chime-like voice accompanied by the clatter of clanging armor reaches her ears. 

That voice was too fair to be on this battlefield. Laura replied to those words without turning to face the one who’d spoken them. 

“Everything went smoothly. Thanks to Master Ryoma stalling Moore, the warehouses are all burning as planned. Assuming they try to extinguish them now, the fire’s too fierce to stop. Even if Moore were to use his thaumaturgical sword and its power to manipulate water...” 

Cinders rose from the burning warehouses in front of them. This was the result of all the oil they’d carried with the convoy they brought in. Perhaps this situation was salvageable right when it started, but with the fire having spread so far, nothing could be done to stop it by now. 

Of course, if the fort’s commander, Moore, were to take command, there might have been a glimmer of a chance to turn the situation around. But Ryoma was stalling him, making that development highly unlikely. 

“And how did things go on your side?” Laura asked. 

“No problems in particular,” Sara replied, gripping a bloodied iron sword. “Mostly since they thought we were on their side... The sudden fire threw the chain of command into a state of chaos, so taking care of the O’ltormean soldiers was simple.” 

“I see. Looks like you got away unscathed... I’m glad you’re safe,” Laura nodded, throwing a glance in her direction. 

She could get a grasp on the situation just from the tone of her sister’s voice, but had Laura truly been worried, she would have regarded Sara differently. Sara didn’t show any displeasure at her sister’s attitude, however, and simply stood beside her. 

Sara felt the same way. They had once been betrayed by their trusted vassals and sold into slavery. The one who saved them, who granted them their freedom and human dignity, was this young man. For the Malfist sisters, nothing mattered more than his life. Indeed, they would cast aside their own lives if it meant saving his... 

“By now, Master Ryoma is probably...” 

Sensing the faint tinge of sorrow in Sara’s voice, Laura turned to her sister again. 

“He’s likely fighting Moore one-on-one right now, yes?” She asked. 

Laura had no way of knowing for certain, of course. Their last war council hadn’t delved that far into what might happen. But Greg Moore had vast military fame, and if Ryoma could claim his head, the merits he would get at the conclusion of this war would be even greater. 

That prospect was too appealing for Ryoma to pass up, as he was actively seeking to increase his own power and the Wortenia Peninsula’s footing. He was lacking in money, resources and authority. Given his personality, he was not about to let this chance to gain more of all of those things at once pass him by. 

“I knew it... Shouldn’t we go and help him?” Sara said, her voice thick with sorrow and concern. 

Strong though Moore may have been, he could still be defeated, given superior numbers. But Laura simply shook her head silently. 

“He doesn’t need our help... He wouldn’t accept that match if he didn’t think he had a good chance of winning. You know that as well as I do, Sara.” 

Ryoma had gathered a great deal of information using Simone and the Igasaki clan, and that information indicated that Ryoma was weaker than Greg Moore. 

After all, Moore was capable of opening his chakras up to the fourth and strongest one — the Anahata chakra. Even though Ryoma did learn to wield martial thaumaturgy, Moore had lived through countless battles and was seen as superior to Ryoma, both as a practitioner of thaumaturgy and as a warrior. 

And on top of that, there was the matter of the power housed in Moore’s thaumaturgical sword. Even with Ryoma’s unique constitution as an otherworlder, that wouldn’t be enough to overturn the overwhelming advantage Moore possessed in terms of experience and equipment. 

Sara was right to be concerned. Laura understood this perfectly well. But even so, she didn’t doubt Ryoma would win in the end. No... She desperately clung to that belief. 

“We only need to fulfill our roles down to the letter.” She forced out those words, from the bottom of her heart. 

There was no way she wouldn’t be concerned for him. Laura knew, after all, that there were no absolutes when it came to battle. It wasn’t a matter of trusting him or not; it was the simple emotion of wanting to be at a loved one’s side. 

But at the same time, she knew they had important roles to fill. Much as she worried for her master, she knew she had to validate his trust. And her voice was heavy with the conflict between those two opposing emotions. 

“We launched a surprise attack, and their chain of command is a shambles. But given time, the situation will quiet down, and allowing the O’ltormean soldiers to get away alive is too dangerous. So put aside your unnecessary concerns and focus on your tasks.” 

Laura looked at her, her eyes emanating an iron will. But Sara noticed the way her shoulders shivered, ever so slightly. 

Laura... 

There was a lot Sara wanted to say. But she picked up on Laura’s feelings, turned her eyes to the central tower again, and left silently to fulfill her role. 

 

At the same time Laura and Sara were having that conversation, the battle between Ryoma and Moore had concluded its prelude. The two men stood with their gazes locked on one another as the battle approached its climax. 

A faint, silvery light shone over Ryoma’s face. In his hands was a battlefield katana, boasting a blade thicker than any hatchet the Igasaki clan’s smiths had ever forged. It was named Kikoku — a katana forged by a master craftsman, and capable of matching even the most fabled of Japanese katanas. 

Ryoma lightly licked his dry lips, holding the katana under his arm as if to conceal it behind his large frame. 

Moore, the Flying Slash... 

The man he faced had two aliases, and that was the second of them. Thinking back on it, Ryoma was filled with excitement. If he was to take the safest plan possible, he should have had the Helnesgoulan soldiers at his back charge in and attack the enemy. 

But that would be lacking in tact, not to mention style. 

Both methods would result in him claiming Moore’s life, but the method he chose would determine his reward. 

I can’t get enough of this buzz... It’s like my spine’s tingling nonstop... 

Settling matches in a one-on-one fashion like this was rare on the battlefield. As such, Moore’s suggestion was a windfall for Ryoma. The air whirling about Moore’s body was very much a match for Ryoma’s grandfather, Koichiro: the scent of a strong, powerful warrior. 

And indeed, Greg Moore’s might with the broadsword echoed as far as the neighboring kingdoms. Slaying such a glorious warrior would be an immeasurable accomplishment. He would be able to set more conditions before Lupis to further develop the Wortenia Peninsula, and his own name would be revered across the continent. 

In that regard, this match was a priceless opportunity. But even putting that calculated reason aside, Ryoma was elated from the bottom of his heart. 

“Ooooooooooh!” 

Moore raised his voice in a battle cry, swinging the broadsword over his head. The sheer vigor of his shout rattled the air in the room. The abundant prana coursing through Moore’s body activated the thaumaturgical seal etched onto the sword’s blade. 


There were still ten meters of distance between the two, but Moore stayed still, swinging the blade down. The next moment, an invisible crescent was fired along that slash’s trajectory, towards Ryoma. 

Ryoma drew his blade at once, as if in reaction to the attack. A shockwave ran along Ryoma’s hands, and a splatter of blood billowed out of one of his shoulders. 

“Kuh...!” 

Had the katana not curbed the shockwave, Ryoma’s arm likely would have been severed along the shoulder. A dull pain emanated from Ryoma’s left shoulder, but the fighting spirit in his eyes hadn’t withered in the slightest. 

So that’s the strength of a thaumaturgical sword of water. Ryoma whispered to himself, seeing the water droplets running across the blade. I would never have known to block it if I hadn’t researched it ahead of time. 

It wasn’t unlike a water cutter used for industrial purposes. Ryoma had seen one once, on a TV show. It operated by firing a jet of highly-pressurized water through a small hole, and it was used to cut through metal. Ryoma didn’t know the exact details, of course, but this sword likely operated on a similar principle. 

Except this time there was no machinery in place, and Moore’s sword didn’t have any innate ability to compress water. He wasn’t carrying a water tank, either. The only things at play here were Moore’s prana and the applied thaumaturgy on the blade; nothing more. That made it a very user-friendly method of attack. 

It launches a fast jet of water in accordance with the swing... Which means it has the same force it would have had if he’d sent the blade flying at me. 

A flying blade of water... In conceptual terms, it was no different from a slash attack, but the force behind this attack was massive. It allowed Moore to attack one-sidedly while keeping his distance. And unlike verbal thaumaturgy, he didn’t need a chant to activate this attack. 

On the battlefield, where every split second could mean the difference between life and death, this was an overwhelming advantage. Not only did it increase the reach of his blade, but if he were to slash horizontally, this attack would prove a menace when fighting groups of enemies. 

This wasn’t to say this technique didn’t have its flaws, though. The water blade itself was blindingly quick, but the fact that it relied on Moore’s swing meant that the opponent could predict the timing and trajectory with which the attack would be unleashed. Correctly swinging one’s arms and fixing one’s legs on the ground would enable any opponent to potentially block the attack. 

It’s a tricky weapon to go up against, yeah... But it’s fired along the sword’s trajectory, and I can handle that... So not yet. I can shake this off without martial thaumaturgy, at least for now. 

Glancing quickly behind him, Ryoma lifted his katana up to a mid-level posture and braced himself for the next attack. Holding it behind him wouldn’t allow him to react to the rapid water blade in time. 

The water slash should be most effective when the target is within a radius of 20 meters from his body. 

This was an estimate, but Ryoma was confident it was accurate. This was because the slash that had cut into his shoulder bounced off from the surrounding Helnesgoulan soldiers’ armor. This was proof that the pressure and speed applied to the water was being diminished according to the laws of nature. 

Compared to the water cutters in Ryoma’s world, its range was long, but if this was really a fantasy world that ignored the laws of physics, Moore’s slash wouldn’t have been weakened; it would have cut into the soldiers. 

In this regard, the fact that the water slash was made solely out of water was a problem. If the water contained any powdered abrasive compounds or rock it would have been more lethal, but ordinary water didn’t have much cutting potential. It might have been powerful enough to cut through human flesh, but not through thick steel armor. The fact that the katana’s blade didn’t even bend from clashing with the water slash was proof of this. 

The blade wasn’t entirely unharmed, though. Noticing a nick in the blade, Ryoma clicked his tongue and read Moore’s state of mind. 

He’s wary of my range. He’s probably trying to keep me in check with his thaumaturgical sword’s long-range attack. 

Ryoma glared at Moore, looking out for any movements he made. True to Ryoma’s predictions, Moore clicked his tongue at having his first attack blocked, but raised his sword overhead again. And then, he swung it down, unleashing another water slash at Ryoma. 

One slash. And then a second. And a third. A flurry of consecutive attacks assailed Ryoma, not sparing him a moment to breathe. Moore went from an overhead splitting slash, to a right side slash, and then to a left side slash. The blade whistled through the air. 

And as Ryoma blocked one water slash after another, he felt a premonition sneaking in. 

Is this the same as before? No, these slashes are too monotonous... 

If all he was doing was swinging downwards, it was easy to pick up on the rhythm of his swings and avoid them. Why was he doing so deliberately? The answer to that doubt soon became apparent. 

The moment the sword swung down a third time, Moore kept the blade down and then swung it upwards in a cross slash. Had Ryoma been unprepared for it, it would have likely slashed him across his defenseless flank. 

Ryoma cut down the successive water blades with his katana and vigilantly went back to a middle-level posture. 

He went from a vertical slash to a horizontal one. Right. So that’s what he was aiming for. 

He repeated a sequence of monotonous attacks to condition Ryoma and then suddenly broke his timing to unleash a different attack. Had Ryoma been the slightest bit careless, he would have died. 

The two glared at each other. The surrounding O’ltormean and Helnesgoulan knights swallowed nervously as they looked over the duel. 

If I stay on the defensive like this, I’ll never beat him. Was he a worse match for me than I thought? 

Ryoma needed to close the distance between him and Moore if he was to win. Conversely, Moore only needed to keep up his barrage of long-range water slashes until Ryoma’s stance inevitably broke. And his final attack likely wouldn’t be a slash, but rather... 

He’s probably aiming for the fastest kill... No, maybe that’s where my chance is. 

The option that flashed in Ryoma’s mind was the fastest possible attack for a sword, and he predicted Moore would gamble everything on that. But the next moment, Moore betrayed Ryoma’s expectations; rather than focusing on ranged combat, he sprinted forward and closed the distance between them. 

Moore’s third chakra, the Manipura chakra, revolved rapidly, granting his body superhuman strength and agility. It was the speed of a raging animal. And in the blank of an eye, sparks flew between the two combatants and a shrill metallic screech rang out. 

For a moment, Ryoma’s massive form soared through the air. His body was thrown backwards as it attempted to repel Moore’s bullet-like momentum. 

Shit, that was close. He kept my attention fixed on his long range attack so he could close the distance... Not bad. 

Ryoma smirked indomitably as a streak of blood ran down his cheek. The iron-like taste of blood filled his mouth. The moment Moore closed the distance, he unleashed a water slash which brushed against Ryoma’s face. Then, using the long-range attack to keep him in check, Moore closed the distance at once and brought the battle to a melee. 

This was a reckless combat style for a verbal thaumaturgist, who needed time to chant. And on top of that, Moore’s blade left a mark on Ryoma’s katana. A deep nick was visible on the razor-sharp blade. 

I can’t completely control Kikoku yet, so he’s got the edge in terms of his weapon’s prowess... If we keep clashing like this, the blade will snap. 

Kikoku was a war katana given to him by the Igasaki clan; a weapon unrivaled in its craftsmanship. But unlike Moore’s thaumaturgical sword, it didn’t have the graces of endowed thaumaturgy applied to it. 

Or, put more precisely, this katana wouldn’t exhibit its true powers until it acknowledged Ryoma Mikoshiba as its master. 

In other words, Kikoku, as it was at that point in time, wasn’t any different from an ordinary katana in terms of durability. Its blade could be nicked, and depending on the situation, it could snap. 

It was better than an ordinary weapon, in that placing it in its sheath would cause it to naturally mend itself. But still, it could break. And that couldn’t be said for Moore’s thaumaturgical sword. Blood splatter would do nothing to dull the blade, and being charged with its wielder’s prana made its durability skyrocket. 

Ryoma could use thaumaturgy, but Moore far eclipsed him in terms of experience with martial thaumaturgy. And this clash made Moore realize Ryoma’s blade didn’t have any endowed thaumaturgy applied to it. 

That’s fine. The weak have their own way of fighting. I just have to adjust my tactics to account for my weaknesses. 

There was the difference in the abilities of their weapons, and Ryoma sensed a clear disparity in their thaumaturgy skills when they clashed. In terms of who was stronger, Ryoma was no match for Moore. 

But while a stronger person was more likely to win, it didn’t mean that the weaker person was bound to lose. 

Ambushing someone in their sleep, attacking in large numbers, taking one’s family hostage, using poison... So long as they weren’t burdened by ethics and the weight of their reputation, it was perfectly possible for the weak to overcome those stronger than them. 

And even if one wasn’t that desperate, so long as they didn’t give up, a way to win could always present itself. That was something Ryoma’s grandfather had taught him since infanthood, and that was why he never backed away from a fight. 

The moment he realizes the difference in our weapons and martial thaumaturgy, he’s going to become arrogant and attack me at once. He should be getting angry right about now. The next attack should decide this... 

In a few seconds, the decisive moment would come. And that would grant Ryoma his chance. 

 

The sounds of clashing blades echoed around them as their intense duel continued. After several moments of thrusting against each other, the two interlocked shadows both jumped back. 

They’d repeated these exchanges several times over already. Both were breathing heavily, their shoulders rising and falling with every gasp. 

“You’re tougher than I thought...” Moore whispered, as Ryoma once again vigilantly raised his katana in a middle-level posture. 

His thaumaturgical sword’s water slashes failed to perform as well as he had hoped, and even after turning to melee combat he failed to defeat Ryoma. 

I never imagined tactics like this. So that’s this man’s... an otherworlder’s fighting style. 

Moore was operating under a major misunderstanding, but even with all his long career behind him, this was Moore’s first time locking blades with an otherworlder in one-on-one combat. Moore’s fighting style was the very incarnation of toughness. He augmented his well-built body with martial thaumaturgy and pummeled his opponent to defeat. A simple, straightforward fighting style he was familiar with. 

Most knights in this world employed this straightforward fighting style which made use of muscle strength to its absolute maximum. Ryoma’s style, by comparison, did make use of his innate strength, but also had the flexibility to use the opponent’s own strength against them. It was both tough and soft all at once. 

Ryoma didn’t prefer one over the other, because for him, the objective in battle was to slay his opponents. When the need called it, he relied on toughness to block blows. But then other times he relaxed his body, and used softness to overwhelm. 

By mixing those styles together, he made use of the ebb and flow of his body’s power; using the soft to oppose the tough. And this was a first for Moore, who had been used to fighting opponents that used the same tactics he did. 

By its very nature, the soft style required sensing the flow of the opponent’s power and controlling it, and this required a great deal of technique and concentration. It required one to remain perfectly focused on their one opponent, and very few people could pull this off in the unique environment of a battlefield. Even Ryoma’s teacher, Koichiro, would likely struggle to do the same. 

Of course, Moore didn’t know any of this, but he could vividly tell based on experience that Ryoma’s fighting style was unlike anything he’d known before. 

But so be it. It doesn’t change what I have to do. 

To obtain victory, Moore gathered information little by little, examining it methodically to win. 

Do I use the water slash to whittle down his stamina? No, he can even block a flurry of those. It’d scratch away at him, but it won’t be a fatal blow. That’s just a waste of prana. 

Of course, even a scratch counted as damage. A large amount of small injuries can lead to more bleeding, which would result in a drop in stamina. But delivering each of those scratches with the water slash would consume a considerable amount of prana. 

In both trade and combat, cost effectiveness was crucial. The returns had to match the investment one put into every action. Moore’s gaze turned to the blade in his hands for a moment. Endowed thaumaturgy didn’t require chanting, making it more convenient, but it wasn’t a perfect or ideal power. 

The amount of prana it consumed was a major problem when it came to combat. Even a seasoned warrior like Moore, capable of operating his third chakra at full force, couldn’t ignore how much prana it consumed. On top of keeping three chakras constantly operating, he also needed to charge his sword with prana. Moore would eventually exhaust his great reserves of prana. Even the most efficient car would be rendered useless without gasoline. 

Then, do I settle this with a melee battle? 

Moore had to deny that idea immediately. 

No, if he stays on the defensive like this, I won’t be able to deal a finishing blow. Even a melee battle would draw this out for too long. And if this battle lingers, I’ll lose when my prana runs out. 

In terms of overall strength Moore was superior to Ryoma, but that appraisal wasn’t absolute when it came to the limited conditions of a one-on-one duel. Moore’s superiority stemmed from his greater mastery of martial thaumaturgy. That meant that once he would exhaust his prana, Moore would go back to being nothing more than an ordinary knight. 

Of course, that didn’t mean Moore was terribly weak in that condition. But if he couldn’t slay Ryoma with that power on his side, he naturally wouldn’t be able to do so without it. 

Moore was currently facing a carnivorous beast that was a mix of human intellect, animalistic strength and an iron will. Showing him the slightest opening would spur this beast to lunge at him and tear his windpipe to shreds. 

In terms of pure technique, he’s probably stronger... 

Moore was using martial thaumaturgy; Ryoma, by comparison, wasn’t. It was a bitter truth, but Moore had to admit it. A fight meant facing up to reality. But that reality was something only the two of them, the participants of this duel, could see at the moment. 

“““Ooooh! Victory to Sir Moore! Glory to O’ltormea!””” 

The O’ltormean knights’ cheering rang in Moore’s ears. The duel looked as if Moore was one-sidedly raining blows on Ryoma, and it filled the soldiers with burning morale. And unlike Ryoma, Moore was unharmed. Everyone was confident Moore was winning. 

Tch. You goddamned idiots, no one asked you to do this... Moore swore under his breath, sneaking a glance around. 

Normally, this cheering should have pleased him and spurred him onward. But contrary to how it may have looked, he was at a loss with how to handle this situation, and their oblivious cheering only served to annoy him. And worse yet, the unpleasant sensation in his bad leg was growing little by little, and this weighed down on his heart. 

Stepping on it feels weird... Him blocking my flurry probably did it... I knew I should have let it heal longer... 

The way one plants their feet is crucial for delivering a flurry of blows, but he couldn’t manage it now. It was the slightest sense of discomfort, an echo of an injury that could never quite heal, but it was always roosting somewhere in his body. Constantly tormenting him in the smallest of ways. To compensate for that, he had to break away from his usual form, but that only made him lose balance and made the pain that much greater. 

So I’ll need to go for a melee battle after all... It’s the only way. 

He’d denied this option before, but realized he didn’t have an alternative. 

In that case... 

He still had a final ace he’d kept in his sleeve. Using it meant Moore would pay a steep price, and once he used this ace, it would not be usable again. But Moore had decided. Even when reinforced by martial thaumaturgy, swinging the broadsword required that he plant his feet on the ground firmly. 

Just a little longer... Hold on, just a little longer... 

Regarding his throbbing leg with one more glance, Moore raised his broadsword overhead. The bloodlust he let off turned keen, like a blade. The blade swung over his head lit up at once, like a lamp. 

“Diiiiiiiiiiie, Mikoshibaaaaaa!” Moore roared in a battlecry. 

At that very moment, his fourth, strongest chakra started rotating at full speed. He’d pretended to prepare for a prolonged battle, only to bet it all on this blow. 

First blow, a diagonal slash along the shoulder from above. 

Martial thaumaturgy reinforced his body, and that boon extended to his reflexes and the speed of his thoughts. A single moment became drawn out, lasting many times longer than it actually did. 

Moore’s blade slashed down from its upper left position, and as it traveled to the right, Moore charged it with vast amounts of prana, forming a water blade that was larger than anything he’d produced thus far. The broadsword swung down, extending longer than its blade’s length. 

Second blow, a right sweep. 

Next, the blade jumped up, unleashing another water slash into Ryoma’s right flank. 

Tch... he blocked it. 

The katana in Ryoma’s hands blocked the water slashes with its thick blade. Had everything gone as it had until now, this would have been the end of Moore’s offensive. But this time was different. He had a third attack pattern, one he hadn’t shown so far. He couldn’t use it frequently, but Moore’s broadsword was capable of more than just swinging down. It could launch three consecutive attacks. 

By its very nature, a broadsword’s weight and length made it so that it was difficult to deflect its blow when swung. On top of that, Moore’s broadsword was made uniquely according to his specifications. It boasted a length of nearly 1.5 meters, and was almost twice as thick as a standard broadsword used for fighting on the battlefield. 

Its weight exceeded ten kilograms. And while that wasn’t too heavy if one only wanted to lift it, it was an entirely different story when it came to swinging it around as a weapon. By comparison, a typical one-handed sword weighs an average of 1.5 kilograms. A two-handed broadsword is double that, ranging from three to five kilograms. Moore’s broadsword weighed roughly three times more than a standard one. 

On top of that, swinging a broadsword around applied centrifugal force, which increased its weight several times over. Wielding it required a great deal of diligent effort. Simply to use this one weapon, Moore needed to temper his body to perfection and master martial thaumaturgy. And even with all that, wielding it wasn’t a simple task. 

Moore’s eyes fixed on Ryoma’s exhausted figure. It seemed as if the effort of blocking that flurry of water slashes finally overcame him. 

You let down your guard, you idiot! 

Moore had taken the time to condition Ryoma. All the swings and sweeps he’d shown Ryoma so far were to set up a situation where Moore could launch a fatal surprise attack. 

Take this! 

The broadsword dug into Moore’s hands, its weight increased by the centrifugal force. Moore opposed the law of inertia, straining every muscle in his body to stop the sword’s circular swing. This reckless feat tore muscles and snapped tendons. The strain to his footing was particularly hard. 

But Moore withstood that pain. He clenched his teeth so hard the taste of blood spread in his mouth. This was the quickest of Moore’s techniques. A thrust that hit the enemy with all the power and strength his body could muster. 

Terminus... Thrust! 

He gambled everything he had on this moment. With that emotion in heart, he directed all the prana in his body to the Anahata chakra and squatted down to concentrate all his strength. 

But the next moment, the two of them crossed paths, a strange metallic sound rang out, and red sparks flew through the air. In that one moment, the two shadows sprinted through the distance of several dozen meters. Silence hung over the square. 

What...? 

Something flowed down Moore’s neck. Something with an eerie, vividly familiar sort of warmth... His respiratory duct and esophagus had been slashed open. Something warm bubbled up in the back of Moore’s throat, and red blood leaked from between his lips. Moore fell backwards, all the strength draining from his body. 

He... He used... martial thaumaturgy... 

Moore saw what Ryoma did. A feat that could not be explained unless he had used martial thaumaturgy. He closed the distance between them with superhuman speed, thrusting his katana with all his might to skim along the bottom of the longsword, push against it, and slash at Moore’s neck. 

At that moment, Moore understood what Ryoma had been going for. He realized the meaning behind the composed smile on Ryoma’s lips as he looked down at Moore’s expiring form... 

“Your Highness... Forgive m—” 

As his consciousness faded, Moore uttered his final words. Words of apology to Shardina, who was fighting on Xarooda’s lands. Words that lamented his failure. 

Knowing full well that his apology served to do nothing but satisfy himself... 



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