Chapter 101

Thump.

His pulse hammered. Whether its source was the wound just carved into him or the sword clenched in his grip, he couldn't say for certain.

Ethan bit down on his lower lip and stole a glance at his own condition.

The cracks he'd spotted before hadn't been his imagination—hairline fractures shimmered across the blade in his grip, while blood gushed from the gash in thick, lurching pulses.

Within seconds, it had soaked clean through his clothes.

The bleeding… won't stop.

Ethan's breath shook at the sight of the wound gaping red and raw, but he snapped back to focus and looked ahead.

His narrowed gaze landed on the blue formula tile—the one he'd been aiming to reach.

A dark blue ice crystal jutted from its surface like a driven spike.

The tip buried in the ground was oozing dark blue liquid in a steady, spreading pool.

Tssszzz….

The liquid stained the white tiles as it crept outward, erasing the formula inscribed on the floor.

Ethan watched the scene unfold, then pushed himself upright and shifted his gaze to where Mikhail stood.

Mikhail was frozen in place with his left hand still extended, head bowed—standing like he might topple at any moment.

Drip.

It happened in an instant. Ethan felt a droplet of blood roll from his left shoulder and strike the floor.

Mikhail's fingertip ground around like the hand of a clock and locked onto Ethan's position.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

A row of dark blue ice crystals erupted behind Mikhail and hurtled toward Ethan in unison.

The movement was serpentine—like predators chasing down prey.

Ethan threw himself sideways, barely dodging the incoming barrage.

CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!

The crystals followed his trajectory by a razor-thin margin, punching into the floor one after another.

But one refused to give up. It clung to his trail with relentless persistence. Ethan gritted his teeth and swung his sword at it.

SHATTER!

The crystal burst into tiny fragments—

But the shrapnel kept its forward momentum, surging toward him like a current.

Cuts like driven rain carved into Ethan's cheeks, his neck, the backs of his hands.

The blood that fell from his body hit the ground once more, and Mikhail's fingertip moved again.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Ethan dodged the relentless volley and gripped the vibrating sword tighter.

His body, acutely aware of the danger, was reacting in ways it never had before.

Pain stretched thick and heavy, ringing alarms he'd never heard, driving his mind into sharper focus.

His pulse hammered without pause, honing every sense to a razor's edge.

Dragging this out won't end well. Think. Find a way to seize control. Find the gap that breaks through Mikhail's defenses.

The breath he drew in that instant was cold as dawn air.

Ethan cooled his head and retraced what had just happened.

The opponent. The situation. Everything that had led to this point… If he mapped out the structure of the problem before him, a thread to turn the tide would reveal itself.

[—Ethan. Listen carefully.]

He'd been reaching back through the moments when it hit him.

Mikhail's voice—sounding as though every word had been packed down and pressed tight—surged to the front of his mind.

Ethan listened to the echo, still ringing as clear as if he'd just heard it.

[First—figure out what the enemy's top priority is. What it goes for before anything else.]

Ethan blinked as though answering the voice in his head, then followed the instruction and called up every piece of information he had.

Most of the fight had been a scramble just to survive the onslaught.

But there were moments that had drawn a telling reaction.

First. Striking at the golem's core.

The instant the fight began, when he'd aimed for the core—

Mikhail had swept that massive arm around and swatted the blade away at startling speed and force, just before it could connect.

Second. Moving to activate a floor formula.

When he'd leapt toward a tile that would give him an advantage—

Mikhail had shot him out of the air, then destroyed the tile for good measure.

Third. Dropping blood on the tiles.

The moment blood from his wound hit the floor—

Mikhail had locked onto the position and spawned dark blue crystals to track his every move.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

—Exactly like right now.

CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!

Ethan sprinted deeper into the ruin site, weaving through the attack.

Blood scattered across the floor from his evasion. Dark blue crystals were already forming in response—

But instead of pulling back to a safe distance, Ethan charged straight at Mikhail.

Mikhail was right. Once you identify the priorities, you can spot something to exploit as a weakness.

The crystals' razor-sharp tips pivoted instantly to target the attacker, but Ethan didn't slow down.

He fixed his eyes solely on the core glowing in Mikhail's chest and swung.

CLAAANG!

The cracks across the blade flared like a signal flare of defiance.

Mikhail abandoned the spell he'd been about to fire, whipping his arm around to deflect the incoming strike.

Ethan skidded backward from the impact and swept his surroundings. A blue formula glowed a short distance to his left.

Click.

Ethan drew the spare sword Mikhail had lent him.

He hurled the second blade at Mikhail, then launched himself toward the floor formula.

CLAAANG!

Instead of pursuing, Mikhail swung hard and batted the thrown sword aside.

In that window, Ethan landed on the tile and activated the formula.

A blue barrier rippled outward and wrapped itself around the ground beneath his feet.

CRASH-CRASH-CRASH!

The ice crystals that had been tracking him a beat behind slammed into the activated barrier and shattered on contact.

Ethan stared at the dark blue mana dripping down to the floor, then rose to his feet.

The second voice echoed in his ears as he turned toward Mikhail.

[Second—once you know that, find the opening it creates.]

Inside the barrier, the blood-tracking seemed to halt.

Mikhail stood motionless, faint lights flickering across his body.

Ethan recalled what those pulses meant.

Any moment now, the golem would shift from attack mode to defense.

He tightened his grip on the sword and drew a deep breath.

A method to exploit the information he'd just gained and the tools at his disposal to create an opening—it existed. Clearly.

TAP!

Ethan broke into a dead sprint toward Mikhail.

The blade angled for the core, and Mikhail swung his arm wide once more.

But this time, Ethan didn't angle his blade to parry.

He let the sword catch against Mikhail's hand, seized the hilt with both fists, and drove the edge deep into the back of the ice-covered hand.

CRUNCH!

A sharp, splitting crack rang out as the thick ice cratered inward.

Ethan wrenched the blade free and pulled the Red Sun Metal from his pocket.

The diamond-shaped crystal blazed as though fresh from a furnace.

[Not a fan of hot things.]

Ethan jammed the Red Sun Metal into the gouged-out cavity and kicked off, launching himself backward.

HISSSSSS—

A groan-like rasp and the searing hiss of something burning flooded the open space.

In that window, Ethan scanned the floor and found a red formula glowing nearby.

He kicked off instantly, sailed toward the formula, and landed squarely on top of it.

KEEEEEN!

A crimson glow bloomed beneath his feet as the activation tone rang out.

Ethan felt the power flowing up through the hand he'd pressed to the floor—sharpening his senses, amplifying his strength, bolstering his mana—and locked his gaze on his opponent.

"Hff… haah."

Mikhail's left hand hung limp at his side, trailing dense clouds of steam, but even so his right hand was lurching and grinding forward, trying to mount a response.

[Last—when the perfect opening comes, show no mercy. Put everything you have into the cut.]

Then this was it. The perfect opening. Ethan locked his grip on the sword and readied himself.

He pushed a breath deep into the furthest reaches of his chest, loaded every ounce of strength into the muscles of his legs, and launched forward.

SHRIIIEK!

His body hung above Mikhail's head for a single suspended instant.

Ethan raised the sword high.

He steadied his breathing. Channeled everything into the fingers wrapped around the hilt. Fixed his downward gaze on the target and held it there, unblinking.

…What should have been an instant stretched dozens of times longer.

Mikhail was looking up at him.

Beneath the freeze that encased his body and seemed to have frozen his emotions with it, his face was utterly blank—not a flicker of anything to be read.

But in that moment, Ethan remembered.

The voice that had sworn—no matter what—to keep its promise.

The fingertips that had curled so tight they'd dug into flesh, even as they recited the method for his own defeat.

The face that had smiled with perfect calm while sealing itself inside a fathomless cold.

Mikhail. That was your resolve all along.

Ethan clenched his molars and tightened his grip until his knuckles screamed.

Above those lifeless, dark blue eyes, the pulsing blade rose like a single thread of light.

Ethan expelled a ragged, foaming breath and brought it down.

CRASH-CRACK-CRACK!

The blade tore through solid ice as it descended.

With every inch it fell, the fragments scattering along the sword's path shattered in a brilliant cascade of silver—

Too luminous to be ice. More supple and gentle than anything sharp.

Slivers of something were spilling from Mikhail's chest, drifting and fluttering through the air.

"What…"

The word trembled out of Ethan—

And the sword locked in his white-knuckled grip began to shudder, then sing with the sound of something breaking apart.

CRACK. CRK.

The blade shed the fractures carved across its surface as though casting off an old skin—and erupted in a blinding radiance.

FLASH!

The sword in Ethan's hand transformed in a single breath.

A blade that stretched pure white and flawlessly smooth, as if freshly reforged. A fuller that shimmered with a faint aura of mana. The guard had deepened to a rich, dark hue, lending the weapon an air far more venerable than before.

"……"

Ethan landed with his back to Mikhail and stood rooted in place, chest heaving.

The situation had blindsided him so completely that the pounding of his heart swelled until it filled his ears.

His lips moved, releasing a question no one was there to hear.

"When you said my sword would be fine… this is what you meant?"

CRRRK.

A grinding, crumbling sound from behind him. Ethan whipped his head around.

Mikhail was turning to face him, a massive wound carved across his chest, every joint grinding and creaking with the motion.

"Hff… ah."

The voice that seeped out from beneath the curtain of dark blue hair was no longer human.

Ethan stared blankly at the scene for a moment—then bit down on his lip and took a step toward Mikhail.

"Mikhail, are you oka—!"

His stride cut short. He froze in place.

Mikhail drew his dangling left hand toward his own body and closed it around the core in his chest.

One ragged breath—and Mikhail ripped the glowing blue core free.

CRUNCH!

The golem's core tore loose with a brutal, wrenching sound.

Mikhail hurled the severed core straight ahead.

The blue crystal rocketed toward Ethan's face in a dead-straight line.

Ethan's eyes flew wide, and he seized his sword.

SHATTER!

A stark, hollow ring shot upward into the air.

"……"

Ethan stood motionless and watched the scene reveal itself mere inches away.

The blue core that had been hurtling toward him darkened to black, then began to pour downward like sand.

Sssshhhh—

Once the golem's core had dissolved into nothing, all that remained was unbroken silence—without a single thing left to stand between them.

Mikhail lowered the hand he'd flung forward, slowly.

Then, just barely, he found Ethan's eyes—

And on a face drained of every last drop of color, he managed a faint smile.