"Half a day. My plan from the start was to only hold out for half a day."
Krang spoke just before the fight. It was the first time Matthew had heard it.
As soon as Matthew heard those words, he glanced outside. The sun hadn't set yet. It wasn't even close to dusk.
'Do we have to hold out until evening?'
He predicted it wouldn't be easy.
But.
Whip.
With a slight twist of his wrist, the tip of the whip danced forward as if it were alive.
The opponent didn't even look at it, striking near the handle of the whip with his elbow, not the tip.
With just a tap, the force carried through the whip dissipated, and it slackened. The opponent had precisely cut off the point where the energy transferred.
Matthew felt as if his momentum had been abruptly severed, but he clenched his teeth and gathered his strength.
He swung his arm wide, launching the weight at the end of the whip forward as if shooting it.
Whip.
The whip sliced through the air.
In the meantime, Encrid swung his sword.
From above, it came down in a vertical slash, like a bolt of lightning.
The force contained within it could be felt by Matthew.
'If he blocks it, there'll be an opening.'
Even for a Junior-Knight, it was unavoidable.
The opponent struck just above the ricasso of Encrid's sword, pushing it aside.
Rather than fighting force with force, he deflected Encrid's power to the side with skillful precision.
Encrid's body was momentarily thrown off balance to one side. Having exerted all his strength, his posture faltered for an instant.
But even while off-balance, he spun on the spot, thrusting forward with an unpredictable stab, a technique honed after toppling Asia.
It was a thrust known as the 'Moment'.
Whip.
The opponent dodged it as casually as a child might avoid a thrown stone, twisting his waist to evade.
His evasion was so natural, it seemed effortless.
Encrid sheathed his first sword, Ember, and gripped Silver with both hands, swinging, thrusting, slashing, and changing his position multiple times.
Matthew too swung his whip several times, even as his momentum kept faltering.
Their companion, wielding a trident, also lunged whenever there was an opening.
Even though she was injured, she was certainly skilled.
Yet the opponent didn't even bother to properly avoid the trident.
He dodged it just like he swatted away an annoying fly—either turning his body to avoid it when it was about to hit, or striking it away with his sword to divert its path.
Matthew's whip was no more of a threat.
Only Encrid was holding the line. That's why Matthew despaired.
'Hold out against an opponent like this until evening?'
Impossible.
It wouldn't be surprising if Encrid collapsed any moment.
A blade grazed Encrid's cheek.
Blood trickled from the slight wound, scattering into the air. Without concern for the cut, Encrid threw himself sideways, slashing horizontally.
Whip.
Though the strike seemed as if it could tear the very air apart, the opponent simply stepped back lightly. Encrid's blade passed through the space where he had just stood. The opponent moved without a sound, not even a footstep, as he evaded. Watching it filled Matthew with a sense of futility.
It was a wall. A different existence. A different level of talent. Even their very origins were different.
To hold out against someone like this?
'Impossible.'
Despair and anguish filled his heart. The strength drained from his hand, the hand holding the whip.
He couldn't stop his spirit from collapsing.
Swinging his whip felt like hitting a cliff over and over. No matter how long he struck it, he knew it wouldn't crumble. It was the most obvious thing.
How could a whip ever hope to bring down the cliff that stood before him?
In the midst of it all, their companion, wielding the trident, was fatally wounded.
Despite Encrid fighting ferociously, slashing and charging forward, their companion was still struck.
The opponent had thrown a single dagger backward, and it found the gap in her defense, slicing through her neck. The precision of that throw was terrifying, enough to raise goosebumps.
Blood gushed, flowing freely. Their companion clutched her neck, and Krang, who had been watching, came over to tightly bind it with cloth.
Matthew vaguely heard him say:
"Hold on."
There's no time to look back. It's just a thought that's been gnawing at his mind for a while now.
'Does this even have any meaning?'
If saving Krang gives it meaning, then that's enough. If holding out for that is what it takes, he would do it. But even that's not possible.
He can't hold them off any longer, and Krang will die. Should he have just let him run away till the end?
No, Krang, his Lord, had said that would only kill the person inside first.
It was at that moment, as the dark paint spread across his heart.
"Ha!"
Boom!
A thunderous sound erupted with a yell. It was so loud that his ears rang. Both the battle cry and the explosion that followed were deafening enough to abuse his eardrums.
A yell filled with such momentum, and a clash with such force.
Matthew saw the one locked in battle, blood dripping from his side as their swords clashed.
He caught sight of the back of a head with black hair. A broad back came into view. Unlike himself, this figure hadn't lost any momentum.
"I've got you."
The man said.
"You let yourself get caught."
His opponent responded.
The words came from the man with curly brown hair, clumped together and falling over his forehead.
It was only then that Matthew saw the enemy's face clearly.
"Let's keep going."
Then Encrid spoke, and something was in his voice.
At some point, their positions had changed. It was due to Encrid's relentless attacks.
Because of that, Matthew could now see Encrid's face, and as soon as he did, a lump formed in his throat. From his toes up to his entire body, his hairs stood on end.
Matthew knew.
There was no way they could hold out until evening.
It was impossible for Encrid to defeat the newly arrived opponent.
As proof, blood was pouring from Encrid's side, his cheek was scratched, and the protective gear on his left forearm was tattered, cut at some point.
And yet—
'He smiles.'
Encrid was smiling. Even as their swords clashed, even as his momentum was cut off over and over, he smiled like that.
Seeing that, the black paint of despair that had covered Matthew's heart began to fade.
Somewhere, sunlight broke through, and a white light crossed through the black paint.
Strength returned to Matthew's arm.
He lifted his whip and swung it again.
Several more exchanges followed.
During that time, Matthew dodged three thrown daggers.
If luck hadn't been on his side, he wouldn't have avoided them. Matthew admitted this.
Even those three daggers only had this much force because Encrid had interfered.
If he had been alone, there was no way he could have blocked them.
The fourth dagger, which he couldn't avoid, lodged in his thigh.
'I thought for sure he'd aim for my neck in one go.'
He was already restricting Matthew's mobility, targeting that before anything else, knowing Matthew was a far inferior opponent.
'No, that's also because of Encrid.'
Because of Encrid, the dagger went into his leg and not his neck.
Matthew retreated. At this point, he was only going to be a hindrance.
Krang, who had been behind him, came up and supported him by slipping his arm under Matthew's armpit.
"Don't get too close."
"I know that much. He's going to lose, isn't he?"
"He's holding on."
"Then why is he smiling?"
"…I don't know."
Even Krang's eyes sparkled as he spoke. Matthew had barely managed to hold on because of something Encrid had shown him.
Yet it was still far too early for the sun to set.
"When is the support coming?"
Matthew asked. It was his duty to protect Krang. But before that, or perhaps even beyond that, a different desire naturally arose within him.
'I can't let that man die here.'"
Encrid must be saved.
Matthew had steeled himself to throw his own body into harm's way if necessary.
The reason? He didn't know. It was just that a surge of exhilaration filled his entire being.
The only thought running through his mind was that Encrid was not someone who should die here.
"If that guy has any sense, he'll come a little sooner."
Krang said, pulling up a chair and seating Matthew on it. Then, he examined the wound on Matthew's thigh.
Krang wasn't an ordinary human either. Tending to injuries in a situation like this.
Matthew's gaze naturally turned toward their companion, the one who had suffered a fatal wound to the neck.
"She won't die."
Krang said. If they held out just a bit longer, that might be true.
Both of them turned their attention to the fight unfolding before them.
It was a battle too fierce for anyone to easily intervene in.
On one side was someone who, like a puppet devoid of emotion, cut down the momentum with every swing of their sword.
The other was like a wild stallion, charging with explosive energy, never holding back.
* * *
The momentum kept breaking. No matter what he did, the flow didn't connect.
This wasn't just a level above Asia—it was definitely on par with Rem.
Or perhaps not? He didn't know. This wasn't the time for such thoughts.
He slashed vertically, then horizontally, stabbed, twisted, and mixed in the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.
It was a feint. He pretended to be out of breath, drawing the opponent in, and they closed the distance without hesitation.
That's when he thrust Ember forward.
It was the 'Will of the Moment', a technique perfected through the battle with Asia, pushed to its limit.
The thrust was like lightning. In an instant, it reached its target.
He combined the first lessons he had learned about thrusting from his days as a soldier with everything he had learned about speed up until now.
Even so, it was blocked. And blocked in such a simple way that it was almost absurd.
Ping. Tiding.
With a casual flick of the wrist, the opponent used a shortsword to divert the tip of Ember, letting it glide harmlessly along the side of the blade.
It was a display of precision, part of the opponent's Fluid Sword Technique.
Encrid let go of Ember mid-air and dashed forward, gripping Silver. He launched himself like an arrow.
As fast as the opponent closed the distance, Encrid charged forward just as quickly.
The gap between them shrank. He had discarded his sword and entered close-quarters combat.
But before he could reach, the opponent had already retreated, disappearing backward with a quick movement.
The momentum was abruptly cut off.
Encrid ignored it.
He kicked back with his foot, sending the falling blade of Ember into the air, where he caught it before it hit the ground. At the same time, he reached out and snatched Silver from the air before it fell.
The opponent, who had been watching, was suddenly right in front of him, thrusting a sword forward.
This was an enemy specialized in exploiting openings, always disrupting the flow and only fighting on their own terms.
Despite that, Encrid held on.
Normally, a person would be fed up with this kind of fight. They'd complain about the unfairness of it. They'd express their frustration.
But Encrid did none of that.
'This is the first time.'
It was new. Different. All of it brought him joy and excitement.
"I'll kill you, and then I'll kill Asia."
The man spoke as if he were discussing what to have for dinner—mashed potatoes and roasted duck.
His tone was casual. Just a statement of facts. If this man killed him, the same day would repeat. But if he killed Asia...
Would the day still repeat?
"I'm not going to lose any more than I already have."
Encrid responded.
No. Krang's words carried determination.
Would the worry of repeating this day be a reason to let the present slip away in vain?
'I don't know.'
He didn't want to know anything right now. All that mattered was swinging his sword.
In this moment, that was enough.
"Hah!"
With a battle cry mixed with joy and exhilaration.
He fought, reveling in the clash, with his sword and himself, his opponent and his sword, attack and defense, swordsmanship and martial arts filling his mind. In that moment, joy overflowed.
Encrid could feel the condensed experience from all the repeated days coming together as one.
His body moved before he could think.
It felt as though a God was guiding his limbs.
On top of that, he could see his opponent's next move.
The opponent was going to lift their sword to the upper right side and prepare for a thrust. He was already gripping his sword with both hands, lifting it.
Seeing this, Encrid's left foot stepped forward, pushing into the space to claim it.
Encrid twisted his body from the waist and swung his sword.
Not aiming for the head, but for the forearm.
It didn't seem different from what he had done so far, but for the first time, he had stolen the timing.
It was a strike half a beat faster.
Compared to a moment ago, it could be described as an ordinary speed and trajectory. Yet, the sword made contact.
Pak!
The sword cut through the opponent's forearm guard. Blood spurted. The opponent quickly extended their left arm to block and retreated.
"…Hmph."
The opponent was surprised but didn't make a fuss. His reaction was simply, 'My arm's been cut. I see.'
Then, they continued the fight.
Encrid didn't even have time to relish the elation. His opponent was the epitome of emotionlessness, like unseasoned chicken breast.
Dry and bland, he wielded emotionlessness as his weapon.
No joy, no competitiveness.
So what now?
He just swung his sword. And so did Encrid.
If it worked once, it could work twice.
But not immediately.
The half-beat faster strike had only succeeded once.
In battle, timing is always relative.
The only reason Encrid had been able to slip into his opponent's timing earlier was because his body had moved instinctively.
Can't do it again? That's fine too.
Encrid pretended to charge forward, then stepped off the wall instead of the ground.
He mimicked Asia's light-footed movements.
The opponent swung his sword, as if waiting for this moment. A diagonal slash that seemed to vanish into the air as it lunged.
It was exactly half a beat faster than before.
Though Encrid expected it, the opening was difficult to block, and the blade pushed toward his head.
Encrid quickly pulled his sword back to block it. If he didn't, he'd be dead.
Thud!
He blocked it, but now his right wrist was completely twisted.
He tried to deflect the force, but that failed too. The impact sent his body flying backward.
With a 'thud', he hit the ground back first, rolling before getting back on his feet.
"Ugh."
And then he coughed up blood. His organs had been damaged from blocking the previous strike.
It was a slash imbued with 'Will'.
Encrid hadn't realized it, but it was a technique designed to transmit shock directly to the opponent's body through their block.
His legs trembled, and for a moment, his vision blurred.
His body, pushed past its limits, refused to obey.
Encrid blinked a few times.
And then, someone stepped in front of him.
"If you're going to kill someone, start with me. But in exchange, you let the others live. I think my life is worth at least that much."
It was Krang.
Encrid tried to stand, but he realized that his ribs were broken.
"Lord!"
Matthew shouted. Encrid finally stood and spoke.
"Who gave you permission?"
Their opponent had come here to kill Krang.
"You still have unfinished business with me, don't you?"
Encrid once again prepared himself for death. He also resigned himself to another repeat of this day.
Was this another wall?
If so, he would simply overcome it.
But it wasn't a wall. At least, something had twisted, something had changed. This was definitely not the same day as before.
Their opponent raised his sword indifferently. Whether it was Krang, Encrid, or Matthew standing between them, the enemy intended to keep slashing through, again and again.
At that moment, a chilling sixth sense kicked in.
From behind.
Something came flying fast.
Boom!
A loud explosion rang out. A large object smashed through the broken window, crashing through the window frame itself as it barreled into the room.
In an instant, it closed the distance, launching itself in front of Encrid.
It immediately swung something down toward the Knight who had been disrupting his flow.
Through his fading vision, Encrid saw what the newcomer was holding.
A blade, longer and thicker than a typical sword.
The setting sun had begun to cast an orange glow through the window, illuminating the figure that had shattered it with their body.
Encrid recognized who had arrived and spoke.
"I'm saved."