In every exchange of blows, I usually come out on top—my blades dancing to find their way past his single sword. Power or speed matter little when the difference in strength is so small at this moment; the skill in our swordsmanship shines through in each clash, where I almost always gain the upper hand.

His sword comes from my left with all his weight behind it; I slow the momentum with one blade and dodge the strike by stepping back. I try to hit him when I see him lose some balance from that forceful swing.

I create a Joyeuse as fast as my mind can think it, aiming to hurl it at the death knight as he tries to reposition. I have a perfect chance to land a solid blow, but I lose it to defend myself from the other two mages.

We clash swords again and I end up in the better position, but this time I don't try to hit him. Instead, I use my movement skill to close in on the two mages. The death knight charges after me as soon as he regains his balance.

Too late. I increase gravity around him as much as possible, slowing him to the point where I get the precious seconds needed to deal with the pests first. Three strikes each is all it takes to kill them; once I close in and catch them unprotected, everything becomes easy.

When I shatter their cores, I release the heightened gravity in one spot to save mana. The death knight charges at full speed, trying to slice me like tofu. Are his eyes… greener from anger, or is it my imagination? I shake my head to push that thought away. Without fear of what might happen, I move toward him, ready for a duel between swordsmen until only one remains standing.

His speed and strength have risen slightly since I defeated those last mages—it seems that controlling or directing them had weakened him a bit. That makes things harder. Before, I could land a strike after seven or eight exchanges; now I need at least twelve or thirteen to find an opening.

His lack of refined sword skill is compensated by the speed with which he blocks my attacks and the sheer force he uses to drive me back, denying me space to gain momentum for a cut.

Is he going into defensive mode? For a moment, his stance makes me think so. His massive sword now covers most of his openings, and he no longer leaps at me the instant I retreat from a clash.

Does he want a battle of attrition? That's not good. I can always drain his endurance with cuts or strikes to his bones, but if I can't land any, his stamina becomes infinite. As an undead, his endurance is nearly limitless unless damaged.

"You're a knight—defend your honor and attack me." My provocative words have no effect, for two reasons: first, because I speak in another language, and second, because they're configured this way. Some dungeon monsters at rank 3 should be able to speak, according to Camux's wife, though there are always exceptions.

I let out a weary sigh, and a smile of excitement forms on my face. "If that's how you want it." Without fear of challenges and full of confidence, I hurl myself at him.

My moves aim for his chest, striking near or at the same point repeatedly—a way to wear down his nearly broken armor and cause real harm.

Seeing him hold a defensive stance, I take the risk without hesitation, dodging his swing to get close, where I have the advantage. The death knight pulls his sword close to his body, using the massive blade as a shield against any strike, stepping back little by little to keep my cuts in sight.

I conjure two Joyeuse blades behind him, only for them to be stopped by a massive black wall conjured at his back. He's watching for all my tricks, and that wall as black as night confirms his defensive intent.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

I don't give up and keep moving. Sparks fly from our blades, the metallic sound echoing through the hall. My constructs try to break through his defense from every angle, his focus in avoiding my attacks nothing short of formidable.

He slipped—blocking poorly with his sword, forcing a bigger step back. My next cut targets his right leg; he drops his sword to block, falling for my feint, and my right blade slashes across the center of his chest.

I'm gradually getting used to his defensive patterns. He tends to overexpose himself when my strikes aim low left, and he seems uneasy when I target near his head from his right side.

I exploit these small gaps to chip away at his armor—what once took thirteen or fourteen swings to land a chest hit now takes only eight or nine. My knack for spotting weaknesses in opponents is coming through.

"Keep going—keep making me better." The thrill surges through me. I pour more mana into my armor, focusing nearly all the power into my arms and legs; I need more speed in movement and more force in cutting.

Sensing the boost in my body skill, he begins summoning spears around me to slow me down. I dodge by the barest margins, a few centimeters from being pierced.

Nearly two minutes into our reckless mana use, I'm finally close to the breakthrough. I dodge his sword—feeling it shear a few of my hairs—and thrust my blade like a rapier into the point I've been hammering. The armor begins to crack along the center, and finally it shatters.

A rush of excitement floods my mind—now I can inflict real damage with every strike. I see him swing his sword toward empty air. Has he lost his mind? That's my first thought—until he vanishes before my eyes, reappearing beside a spear at my left.

I have no time to use my charged steps, so I try to block the massive upward diagonal strike with my blades. Coming from below, the force overwhelms my arms and throws them back.

The sword's path continues, cutting from near my navel up to my right shoulder. The only blessing is that I managed to retreat enough for it to be just a surface wound—no internal organs damaged. I use my movement skill to get distance, and the pain finally reaches my mind, burning like fire all along the wound.

My armor absorbed part of the impact, luckily. I throw all I can into my Imra along with my Law of Life and Death to destroy his own laws. It takes me a few seconds to break them, during which he darts from side to side to avoid my grasp. I heal the wound as best I can and close back in on him.

"I'll go blow for blow if I must." I hear Glia's worried voice and ignore it for now. With his armor gone, I can deal equal or greater damage. As I thought, he too has realized the change in our situation and now charges without hesitation. Without his armor, he has little chance of turtling up without taking hits.

I need only four or five moves to land a strike; so far, his attacks haven't touched me thanks to my mastery, which lets me read him like an open book. The damage builds up. His power wanes, his speed falls, his reactions to my Joyeuse are slower. He's taking hits from every direction. He conjures a spear to drive into my head;

I duck just in time, hearing it impact several meters behind me. Then I feel it—a shift in the space around him, lasting just milliseconds. I realize—he's going to use his movement skill. I glance at the spear's location and use my own skill to close in.

Sure enough, the death knight appears where the spear had been. He hasn't noticed me. When he turns to look for me, it's too late—my left blade moves as fast as my body allows and pierces his core.

Sensing death near from all the accumulated damage and the final blow to his core, he desperately tries to take me with him—spears, spikes, spheres of darkness strike from every angle. In the chaos, my mind stays clear. I maneuver for the safest position near him to avoid being hit. At last, his barrage stops, and a final spear shoots toward my abdomen from behind.

I dodge by a hair and use his exhaustion to drive my right blade into his side, near where I'd stabbed before. Two things happen at once. First, the green in his eyes finally fades as he falls to his knees. Second, that last spear I dodged—there had been something strange about it—it's charged with mana. In that instant, it explodes just centimeters from me.

I react just in time to teleport—or so I think. Pain surges from my brain to every nerve. I try to stand, but my body collapses—I've lost half my left arm and leg. The blast caught me at the last second. Desperately, I try to erase his death or shadow affinities and laws with my Imra and my own laws. I have to heal myself at once.

"Maki, Maki." A voice calls me over and over until I finally react—it's Glia. "Maki, calm down, you've won. Look ahead." I see the green in his eyes gone, his body dissolving into black smoke. I can't believe it—until I hear the notification in my head, and joy sweeps through me, drowning out the pain.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.