Chapter 82

Chapter 82: When Flower Bloom

Imran Akran gradually pushed the Neural Accelerator's output higher. 2.4, 2.7, 2.9…… And then 3.1.

'Not quite at the apex yet.'

Gauging the opponent's capabilities was over in an instant. Masters were those superhuman beings who could draw out outputs of 5.0 or higher. The young man before him, on the other hand, had a ceiling of 3.0.

Of course, he hadn't judged him by acceleration alone. Posture, breathing, swordsmanship—none of these could be expressed in numbers.

Tch, tchk, tchk—

The opponent's body was straining with tremors. Barely visible micro-spasms. His skin had reddened under the strain of excessive output. Without a doubt, he was not yet accustomed to this timeframe.

And yet, he had come this far.

He had torn apart Blutspheer with cunning, strangled the punitive forces, and in the meantime had swallowed up several thousand additional troops. Inwardly, Imran found it understandable that the Emperor's mood had soured.

But that was all.

Master Imran did not hesitate for a single moment. The necessary judgment was made. No matter how exceptional his abilities, he would die here.

All the chaos would be settled with a single stroke.

But then—

A crying sound was heard.

A small and frail cry.

A muffled trembling that pierced through the rain and reached him with uncanny clarity.

Without thinking, his eyes narrowed. Yet his expression did not crumble. He was a superhuman. He couldn't even remember the last time emotions had swayed him.

And yet, it was true that something slumbering deep within his consciousness had risen to the surface.

It was a newborn child.

The young man was holding such a fragile existence in his arms.

At first, a flicker of puzzlement crossed him, followed by a brief dwelling of displeasure—but in the end…… He acknowledged the other. This was not the desperate struggle of someone trying to survive alone. He was putting his life on the line to save another.

It should not be expressed with a hollow word like 'honor'.

Yes.

That was 'humanness'.

* * *

The fog was thick, and the rain still fell savagely. Amid it all, Calix carefully raised his left hand.

Crackle.

He tore at the hem of his battle-worn clothes, pulled it taut with his teeth, and stripped it into a long strip. Without taking his eyes off the enemy for even a moment, he bound the child tightly to his back. Not a single movement was rushed, and his fingertips were remarkably delicate.

In response, Imran Akran neither drew his sword nor came charging on horseback.

He simply waited.

The other was worthy of respect.

"May I ask your name."

"……"

The young man did not easily open his mouth. To give one's name was to acknowledge that one stood at the boundary between life and death.

"……Calix."

Upon hearing the answer he had sought, Imran gave a brief nod.

"A fine name."

With those words, his hand moved toward the scabbard.

Calix instinctively sensed that a collision was imminent. While rainwater struck the flat of the blade— thud, thud— he pushed through the tension that felt ready to snap at any moment and asked in return.

"……And your name?"

If this were to be his last moment, he had to hear the answer.

But Imran did not speak. He silently gave only a slight shake of his head. And soon, his grip closed around the hilt.

* * *

Calix swallowed. Inside his head, the Neural Accelerator's warnings rang without end.

[Hostile target's level is extremely high.]

[Combat Acceleration Active, 3.0x]

[Output Limit Exceeded]

[Warning: Risk of permanent physical damage.]

The heart's core spread energy throughout his body, but the muscles that had yet to adapt screamed in protest. His current output was a reckless move that was pushing his body far beyond its tolerable range.

But there was no other choice. The being before him was no mere soldier or knight. In reality, even the 3.0 output felt insufficient.

'The opponent is…… A Master.'

Clop, clop.

The enemy's Warhorse drew closer. Its steps were light—unbefitting of a battlefield.

Calix went to meet it. He lowered himself in the saddle and fixed his gaze beyond the blurred field of vision—focusing intently on the opponent's neural network. Within the cluster of pale white light, a single line was being drawn.

He saw the opponent's movements 'before they acted'—as though peering into the future. That was the power of bloodline, held by the descendants of Ashapel.

Shwick—

He saw it clearly.

"Ugh!"

And yet, he could not evade it.

A straight-line trajectory came at him, and he twisted his torso sharply, but it grazed his nape. Too late. He had been certain he'd dodged it, yet droplets of blood seeped through his skin.

'Why?'

The attacks that followed were the same. Even fixing his vision and calculating the predicted path was useless. It was only after receiving the second blow that Calix understood the reason.

'My sword is being pushed back.'

The incomplete Falling Fire crumbled without even managing to emit a spark. There was no flashy technique in the opponent's blade, no fierce emotion. Only a constant rhythm, a composed trajectory—yet within that simplicity lay an inviolable law.

It came like a wave, like wind, like flowing water.

There was no killing intent. Not even will or feeling could be sensed. No ambushes, and certainly no tricks. It simply came, just as it was, like the natural order of things.

Whoooosh!

Once again, crisis bore down. The flames conjured through energy buckled, and through the gap, Imran Akran's sword slid in.

With no means to meet steel with steel, the only option was to evade.

This time, barely managing to dodge with the aid of the Warhorse.

Thud!

The clever and loyal beast deliberately toppled itself to escape from the trajectory of the attack. But no opportunity was given to remount.

Slash—

Imran Akran, as if he had anticipated this all along, sprang from the saddle and pressed on with his next assault.

Clang!

Grrrrrk!

A downward slash aimed at the shoulder was deflected outward. The blade suffered damage from a single parrying motion. To make matters worse, the opponent had grown even faster after dismounting.

Shfft.

His left side was cut. The speed of his body's retreat was half a beat too slow. It was because the weight loaded onto his back had subtly thrown off his center of gravity. With every movement, a small warmth rippled like a tiny wave.

The armor had not done its job.

'I have to find a way through.'

Calix refused to give up until the very end.

The Warhorse, too, seemed to have read its master's will—the moment it rose to its feet, it lunged at the enemy. A loyalty that feared not death. At this, Imran Akran swept one hand through the air with an expressionless face.

Energy instantly converged in the empty space and dealt a powerful impact to the beast's body.

Boom!

Crash! Shhhhhrrrk!

A mounted horse weighing over a ton was flung several meters and buried itself in the mud. His Warhorse was unable to so much as twitch for some time. He had not swung a blade. He had simply flicked a hand, and it was sent flying.

Calix gritted his teeth.

Yet even the gap to express fury was not given. The sword strikes grew increasingly sharper, and connected in relentless succession. As though the opponent was testing him 'within a permitted range', he gradually raised his output. The blade that had once been deflectable now demanded a place to cut.

Sssssk.

A wound opened on his left forearm, and the tip of the blade grazed his thigh as well. His body screamed from within and without. Before he knew it, he was approaching his limit.

* * *

Calix steadied his breathing. Amid the smell of mud and blood and the residual heat of energy—even a single gulp of air felt precious.

That was how little room he had.

He tried to find answers inside his head, but the results were despairingly bleak each time. There was no sign of Draug. That presence, which had once shaken the battlefield, had vanished. Hoping for its intervention would be foolish.

The Antelopes? Or the resistance's aid? They would not be coming back. They must not come back. It would only be a pointless death.

His molars clenched of their own accord.

'Think, Calix. You have to find an answer. As you've always done until now.'

But this time was different. No solution was in sight.

Even predicting the opponent's blade before it came was too late. Cheap tricks naturally didn't work, Falling Fire had lost its meaning, and he couldn't even close the distance with the enemy.

'Should I make a gamble? Should I turn my back and run?'

For the first time in his life, that thought crossed his mind.

At that moment—shhh— the sound of the child's breathing reached him. The breath was faint, yet it came through more vividly than anything else. His eyes squeezed shut.

Logic crumbled. Not a single way existed.

So it had to be done.

It was not about calculating whether he could win. Saving the child. Every other reason had to be erased, and he had to focus on that single purpose alone.

Then, once again, the opponent's blade came flying.

Mid-range, a thrust aimed at the right side of the chest.

Shwick!

Calix had but one thought.

To survive.

'Everything else—I let go of it all.'

He would not try to evade perfectly. Nor would he block. He accepted the opponent's clear advantage and gave what had to be given. He held no attachment to what could not be had.

Shfft!

The area near his left wrist was cut deeply—but in exchange, he advanced one step toward the opponent.

Just one step.

But through this, he finally understood. Taking injury was not good. Even so, there were times when one had to forge stubbornly forward.

The rational question of what for was canceled out by emotion.

Naturally, it was for the sake of achieving the goal. It was resistance against the death that was drawing near. To the very last, he had to burn himself out.

'Any other reason…… Isn't needed.'

Calix saw the world through reason, and felt it through emotion. Now that his heart had found its perfect equilibrium, he was no longer swayed.

Unbowed before the merciless blade, his body and heart at last—

advanced as one.

[Bloodline Ability Change Detected]

[Ashapel's Instinct/Avatar of the Battlefield '3%' Increase, '40%' Achieved]

[2nd Awakening has begun.]

[Bloodline Ability: Heart's Eye Unlocked]

Calix offered no reaction whatsoever to the Neural Accelerator's alert. He only stepped forward in deep concentration.

His breathing ceased.

Sound, pain, even the thick stench of death—all of it vanished completely.

Yet he knew. He saw and felt it with the mind's eye. The being before him was preparing to swing its sword.

In that instant, through the blood-drenched expanse of his back, the child's warmth seeped in. That tiny breath bored deep into his heart. And so the sword in his hand became—a single means to protect the one precious to him.

The Heart's Eye opened.

It was not the same as the 'sixth sense' that detected subtle threats. It was different from Ranita's bloodline ability that read energy in color, or the one belonging to Ashapel Raimund that read the signals of an enemy's neural network in advance. If anything, it felt as though all three abilities had merged into one.

The opponent's blade cleaved the air. Energy converged around it and refused to permit the existence of all things within a particular space.

Calix accepted this as a matter of course. Time was fixed, so they were contending over space. The opponent was asserting his belief by swinging the sword. It was a demand—stand down at once.

No concession. No retreat.

Because he knew what the other aimed for, and how. Rather, he stepped one more pace forward and extended his blade.

Between the two, attacks crossed.

Shhkt!

Calix gave up one shoulder. Flesh came away and blood seeped out. He had not evaded it. No—'had not evaded' was the more accurate expression.

Give the bone, take the flesh. It had all gone according to plan. And in exchange, in a split-second counterattack, he succeeded. The tip of the blade shot out like a flash of light.

Craaaackle!

Dance of the Wilderness, Chapter One—Sand Serpent's Fang.

Fast, deep, and lethal thrust.

As a proper attack landed for the first time, Imran Akran twisted his torso to evade. He had evaded far too easily for someone who had accepted injury in exchange.

But the fact that he 'had evaded'—that was what mattered.

"……Ha."

The being who had reached a supreme realm clicked his tongue. His brow furrowed, and he fixed Calix with a gaze that seemed to say he could not comprehend it.

What had once been a test had become a fight.

But Calix did not stop there.

Keeping his breathing short, he swung his sword in swift succession. His movements were no longer the product of reason.

Receiving the signals that sensation delivered into the heart, the body moved together——

Whoooosh!

Red petals dyed the air.

It was a Falling Fire unlike any before—vivid and clear.