The rules this ti were relatively clear, certainly not as complex as the last. But the simpler the challenge, the harder it often was to find a shortcut.
This Mysterious Realm was sowhat reminiscent of the one of possibilities he'd navigated with Jessica. Both used a central location as a starting point, from which one entered other spaces to complete tasks. The difference was stark, however: that trial had tested his intellect, whereas this one was a pure test of martial prowess.
Mulling this over, Jenkins shrugged off his backpack and the magic sword strapped to it, setting them on the ground. He then summoned the White Bone Holy Sword, its familiar weight settling in his hand. When facing a powerful, unknown foe, it was always best to rely on one's most trusted weapon.
Naturally, since passing through the fiery gateway ant engaging in a duel, Jenkins had no intention of charging in unprepared.
This was hardly a friendly match where sportsmanship was the priority. While Jenkins didn't carry any illicit substances to push past his limits, there was nothing wrong with tuning up his condition before heading in.
His soul and body had grown so powerful that most enhancent rituals now offered negligible benefits—better than nothing, perhaps, but barely. Still, crafting alchemical tools and imbuing his weapon with extra power were essential preparations.
He wasn't carrying many items in his pack, so he couldn't perform any overly complex rituals. His greatcoat was a Bestowal and needed no enhancent. The holy sword was a Bestowal as well, and drawing upon its nature of "Life and Death," Jenkins used his own blood to trace a ritualistic symbol for the "World Tree" onto the blade.
It did little to sharpen the blade, but the symbol allowed the sword to temporarily function as an amplifying focus for his spells, serving as a decent substitute for a proper staff.
Wielding a sword in one hand and a staff in the other was, after all, rather inconvenient.
He also enchanted the soles of his shoes for better grip and fashioned a few simple explosives from empty bottles, which he hung from his belt. While he still had so explosive talismans, such small and convenient items were finite, making the alchemical concoctions a necessary supplent.
With his preparations complete, Jenkins left the backpack and the magic sword behind. Walking onto the field with two blades might have looked impressive, but he wasn't soone who would sacrifice his life for re aesthetics.
He had no skill in dual-wielding, and among the combat experiences passed down by the [Hero] ability, not a single warrior—excluding spellcasters who could control weapons with their minds—ever used two swords at once. It seed to be an incredibly foolish practice.
Before he left, Jenkins made sure to warn the man in the black hunting gear not to touch his belongings. The man, naturally, couldn't be bothered to acknowledge him.
He chose the nearest fiery archway. As he stepped through it, he didn't erge on the other side but was instead transported into an unfamiliar space.
He was no longer on the lifeless, gravelly plain. This was a forest. The crisp air and the sunlight dappling through the canopy made Jenkins feel as if every cell in his body was singing with joy.
There were no paved roads, only a narrow path worn into the earth. Though the forest teed with life, the grisly scene around him—scattered body parts and crimson blood splattered across the grass and tree trunks—served as a stark reminder of the danger lurking within.
He followed the path, sword at the ready. With every step, the tallic tang of blood grew stronger, and the evidence of a savage fight beca more pronounced.
Before long, he erged from the trees into a clearing. The mont his foot touched the open ground, his surroundings transford.
The sunlight vanished in an instant, replaced by a blood-red glow that saturated the sky. The once-lush forest withered before his eyes, the trees twisting into skeletal shapes. A murder of crows descended from nowhere, perching on the dead branches, their black eyes fixed intently on the only living man in sight.
The grass in the clearing shriveled to dust as yellow sand swept over the ground. Piles of broken armor and mangled corpses littered the area. In the center of it all, a towering man encased in full plate armor and a heavy helm stood waiting for him.
He was caked in so much filth and dried blood that Jenkins couldn't make out the armor's original color or any of its engravings. The man stood well over two ters tall, making Jenkins question if he was even fully human.
"I'm here to..."
"There is no need. I already know why you have co."
The voice that rumbled from within the helm was muffled and heavy. He spoke an ancient tongue, one Jenkins could just barely comprehend, placing his opponent's era sowhere in the Sixteenth Epoch.
"Shall I begin, then?"
Jenkins asked, the question sounding odd even to his own ears.
So, without another word, he charged, sword first. He refrained from imdiately throwing the explosives at his belt. The setup had the air of a formal duel, and even though Jenkins had no intention of fighting fair, he felt compelled to make a show of it at the start, if only to probe his opponent's strength.
Jenkins's plan was sound, but the man in full plate armor proved to have even less regard for the code of combat. As Jenkins rushed forward, the warrior didn't reach for the massive, door-sized greatsword resting by his feet. Instead, his left hand slipped behind his back and produced a small, steel crossbow.
"Huh?"
The bolt, gleaming with a cold light, was aid squarely at him. With a flick of the man's finger, that chilling glint shot straight for Jenkins's forehead.
An ordinary bolt would have been of no concern to Jenkins now, but this man's crossbow and its ammunition radiated an aura as potent as a Numbered Item. Unsure of the consequences of a direct hit, he chose not to block it, instead dodging to the side. As he moved, he yelled in his clumsy ancient dialect:
"What's the aning of this? Using a crossbow?"
"The sa aning as those things you have hanging from your belt."
The warrior's muffled voice rumbled from his helt again. He gave Jenkins no ti to recover. Despite not visibly reloading the weapon, a relentless barrage of bolts flew from the crossbow as if it would never run dry.
Jenkins ducked and weaved between the piles of corpses and shattered armor. He noticed that anything the bolts struck—even the sandy ground—would simply vanish, as if an invisible shadow beast had taken a bite out of it.
"Upon impact, it teleports matter within a certain radius to another location?"
That was his initial theory on the bolt's properties.
He feinted a forward charge, then abruptly leaped back a step. As his enemy took aim again, Jenkins snatched one of the bottles from his belt and hurled it forward.
The bottle landed on the sand between them and erupted with a deafening roar, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that completely obscured their vision.
Jenkins hadn't intended the explosive as an attack, but rather as a ans to create a temporary window of opportunity under the cover of the dust cloud.
And it worked just as he'd planned. While the spray of sand and stone peppering the man's plate armor didn't force him to move, his eyes and senses were clearly still on a normal human level. Neither the crossbow nor its bolts possessed any auto-tracking ability.
Seizing the chance, he summoned his high-legged stool and soared into the air. He gave his opponent no opportunity to aim skyward, instead gripping his sword with both hands and plunging down toward the enemy below.
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