Herto's blow, which seems to cut through not only space but also sound. The white blade swung with great speed in the night, aiming to cut off my entrails.

　As if in response to the blow, he thrusts the knife in his right arm into my neck with the shortest straight line and the fastest thrust.

　A genius must be killed with a single thrust. If I allow two strikes to breathe, I will surely be defeated. With this one thrust, I'll rip his head off and kill him. The silver color shimmers slightly.

　At the same time, I place the knife in my left hand in the path of Heldt's white blade. I don't think I can prevent it. But you can either deflect it or let it go. At worst, if I can correct its trajectory, so much the better. Meanwhile, I'll kill him.

　That's just one breath away. I knew that if I exhaled, this battle would be over. Would I make the move I was supposed to make in time or not? Sweat trickled down his neck.

　--And then, with a snap!

　During the moment of attack and defense, I could definitely hear it. A strange mixture of two sounds.

　One was the sound of iron exceeding its strength and announcing its own death. I realized that the knife in my left hand had been snapped, unable to change the trajectory of the white blade or even deflect it.

　I had been worried. After a series of attacks and defenses, the knife's blade had been severely damaged. I knew that it could have died at any moment. But here it is.

　No, no. The knife would have snapped even if it had been the first blow if it had been met with Heldt's full force. So far, it had only been a test.

　One more thing to go with that sound. This one is simpler. My left wrist, which I'd put every last ounce of effort into, along with the knife, was flicked by a flash of white light and snapped. No more feeling. Instead, I felt a hot, burning sensation in my chest.

　I had a premonition. An intuitive, unorthodox, premonition.

　At this rate, the blade reaching out from my hand would never cut through the skin of Heldt's neck. Before that, my own body will be cut in two, and I'll die with my emotions burning.

　That's not good. If I don't shift my trajectory even a little, I'm dead. Deliver it, in time! Just in time, when I should have been desperate to cut it out. Deliver. Deliver. Deliver.

　Between the two, Heldt's golden eyes shone like a fierce beast.

　In the fading night...

　In the fading night, Caria watched the two sides battle it out with a look of ecstasy on her face. 　

　In her hand was a silver long sword. Originally, it was supposed to be wielded at the moment of crisis in Lugis.

　But that was no longer necessary. No, it was no longer something for Kalia to wield. Her large silver eyes fluttered. Her white cheeks were even tinged with vermilion at the sight before her.

　Lugis's silver blade, Held Stanley's white blade. The weapons of the two males cut through the night as if they were drawing a melody. Rougis' condition was not good. In fact, it seems as if his head will be cut off before he can even say, "Oh!

　But even so, Kalia couldn't suppress the feeling of joy that welled up from deep within her chest. The expression that should have always been in place has collapsed, and for this moment, she is letting her emotions take over.

　That man, Lugis, is standing at the side of the heraldry people and wielding his blade. He is wielding his bravery with his will in his heart. He is guided by his own fingertips.

　Oh, what could be more joyous than this? Kalia's heel twitched numbly. Lugis is fighting for himself, so to speak, as he sees fit. That sorcerer Fialat is probably watching this fight somewhere. But this fight is not for you, it's for me.

　Kalia's heart is palpitating. Things have gone well, too well. It's not a good idea to end up in a duel with Held Stanley. In the worst case, I thought about cutting off Heldt's head from behind.

　But that was no longer necessary. There was no sign of Kalia's long sword being wielded. That man, Lugis, was doing his best, his life's work, his sword dance.

　Oh, the tip of his sword was still inexperienced when he stood alongside Heldt like this. His footsteps may be dexterous, but they are not those of a strong man. What covers his body is mediocrity itself. I don't think you can survive against that genius. But even so... How can I look at him, feel his determination, and trample on it? All I can do is show him my deepest respect.



　You can see that both Lugis and Heldt have moved into a final attack. Lugis's left arm was snapped, and the knife in his right hand seemed unlikely to reach Heldt's neck.

　Kalia had put all her decisions in her heart. If Lugis were to die here, then he would have to share his fate. It is my duty to bring him to this battlefield. The utmost respect and sincerity for Lugis.

　--But, yes. I hope...

　In the meantime... Kalia narrowed her eyes. Even though she didn't want to look away for a moment. The sunlight was trying to block her eyes.

　The battlefield was about to welcome the morning.

　The warmth of the sun on my back.

　I felt the warmth of the sunlight on my back. I waited for the light, for the glimmer. Just in time.

　The sun had sliced through the night and was finally ready to show its majesty. I stood with my back to the sun.

　My golden eyes dazzle in the sunlight. I saw its eyes narrow reflexively. The momentum of the white blade that was supposed to cleave my body stopped. It slashed at his side, but not at his organs.

　Right hand, the silver of the knife. Reach for it. The day will never come when I can take this hero's head off except here. If I don't kill him with this thrust, he'll surely rise again. Here, here, I must kill him.

　The distance between the two of them was completely close, and the knife drew a trajectory that seemed to be sucked into Heldt's neck.

　--The sound and feel of flesh being gouged was born in my hand. Oh, d*mn it.

　It was like a lie. My knife, in one unmistakable moment, would have been the shortest distance.

　And he, Held Stanley... Forcing his body to drive, he twisted his upper body to change the point of the blade from his neck to his shoulder. The knife in his shoulder glistened as it was bathed in his blood.

　This is it, this incredible speed of reaction. I can feel the tension in my lungs leaking out. This is the difference between me and him. The difference between genius and mediocrity? I'm sure there's no way around it. Fate had told me it would be thrust into his neck. And yet...

　With a twist of his shoulder, Heldt flicked the knife away. He held his sword high in the air. There's nothing left for us to do.

　One more move. One more move. Something to bridge the gap between the mediocre me and the genius Heldt. My chest, my body, is burning. Even though I was about to die, my guts were still boiling.

"A short farewell, Lugis, my favorite opponent.

　As Heldt spoke these words, he swung his white blade down on my skull, which could no longer even retreat. The sunlight glinted off the blade.

　--Oh, I wish... In my hand. One more swing. Yes, if only I had another sword.

　Oh!

　Fialat's sobs of sorrow mixed with the wind and flew through the air.

　The repeated battle for his life. With each swing of the blade, Fialaat's heart felt like it was being torn apart. Again. He's pushing himself again. Trying to reach something that Lugis, with all his might, could not. Just give up. You can run. That's fine with me. There should be days when you can pursue happiness in plain sight. But why?

　Fialat himself knew he couldn't do that. He resigned himself to the fact that he could never reach the geniuses, and spent his days looking down. Clenching his teeth, he still had to keep his eyes down.

　Lugis could not accept that. Fialaert knew this painfully from the act in the underground temple. He's an ordinary man like me, and yet he's willing to risk his life to reach out to you. Oh, that's the ideal. My ideal.

　That's why Fiorato La Volgograd decided to make him golden. And yet, at this moment, Lugis is about to fall from his hand.

　I hate it. I don't want to admit it. I don't want to admit that. I don't have that kind of integrity.



　But that doesn't mean I can't help Lugis here with a weapon in my hand. There was nothing Fialaat could do at this moment. There was nothing that Fialaat could do here and now.

　So, with tears welling up in his eyes, Fialaat spun a lyric.

　It is not sorcery. Fialaat could not use magic against this city at this moment. So it's just a word. They're just words of prayer. They may not mean anything. But you have to believe they mean something.

　Unmistakable. I am the one who put the sword in him. I'm the one who cast him.

　--I wish you happiness in my hands.

　In front of Heldt, who was about to swing the sword down, Fialat's words shook the space slightly.