Awakening the Great Chapter 72

Chapter 72: Fireworks

Calix surveys the situation, his gaze sweeping across the opposite side of the gorge. His warhorse was heaving ragged breaths. From the aftermath of the previous battle, the mana stones embedded in the barding had overheated.

The man before him, however, was different.

Seated atop a horse brimming with vitality, he trembled finely across his entire body. Naturally, it was not from nerves. As the neural accelerator's output rose—

Tzz-tzz-tzz-tzz.

His silhouette fractured into fine, overlapping slices.

'I can't run. I have to fight.'

The answer was clear.

Calix's neural accelerator output lagged behind, if only marginally. If he fled now, he would be unable to react in ti—his back would be shredded before he could turn.

[Maintaining Reality Acceleration 2.6x]

[Critical threshold reached]

[Warning! Use of Combat Boost may cause physical damage to the user.]

Moreover, the Combat Boost function had been effectively locked since the mont it hit '2.6'. But when it must be used, it must be used. Calix drew his sword without hesitation.

In that sa instant, his core surged like a beast.

[Releasing Mana]

[Combat Boost activated, 2.7x]

The man still appeared to be trembling.

One more.

[…'2.8'x reached]

Though he had only raised it two steps as before, an incomparably greater strain bore down on his body. The sensation of every layer of skin tissue being crushed.

What followed was psychological shock.

'I need to push it higher.'

The man's trembling had not lessened.

It was still not enough.

['2.9'x reached]

[Physical tolerance exceeded]

[Physical Recovery, extre manifestation]

[Warning: Risk of fatal bodily damage]

The pressure swelled and his breathing cut short in sharp bursts. Beyond the point of his skin and muscle tissue being crushed, his very bones began to ache. The fundantal limits of his endurance were being tested.

Yet with a mounted duel ahead, the gap in output would be forcibly bridged. The battle beca a war of attrition for it—but in return, his opponent's movents ca into clear focus.

Not perfectly equal, but they now stood on a similar footing.

Right at that mont, the knight's horse stepped slightly forward. That single simple movent shifted the flow of the air. Both sides' mana collided in the open space between them.

Crack-crack-crack.

Bart Lescar's refined energy briefly seized the upper hand—before the dusky golden mana was pushed back to its original position by an overwhelming flood of quantity.

And soon, his lips parted. Just as Calix had gauged his opponent's abilities, Lescar too had recognized his.

"Bart Lescar, Vice-captain of the Blutspheer."

"……."

"I would like to hear your na."

Calix gave no answer. Instead, he slowly raised his sword, sparks dancing along the blade. That was answer enough.

* * *

The vegetation holds its breath. The residual mana, having clashed in the open clearing, twisted the currents of wind. The two warriors mounted their horses and charged toward one another.

Calix moved first.

Whoosh.

Flas erupted along the path carved by his blade. Falling Fire—the finest strike Calix could draw forth. In the instant his warhorse's hooves tore through the ground, fire enveloped his body and hurled itself at the enemy.

But in that mont, Lescar's form shattered and distorted as though breaking apart. An afterimage flickered. It was clearly a single motion, yet to Calix's eyes it appeared divided into three. And then, through the gaps of the fully blooming flas, a blade tip ca threading in.

Scrrch! Fwush!

He angled the lower portion of his sword upward to deflect the incoming strike, but the blade tip grazed his forearm and blood seeped through. The armor shearing clean away was problem enough, but the technical disparity struck him far more deeply.

'Even reading the movent through the neural network in advance, I still took a hit. If not for my sixth sense, I would have been badly wounded.'

Calix swallowed a silent grimace the instant after the first exchange. The gap was greater than expected. It was not a simple difference in speed.

Seasoned technique. Refined mana.

The thrust using a curved blade—a saber—was sharper than he could have imagined. And his use of mana was different as well. If Calix's Falling Fire was the thod of pouring out unstable mana in a torrent, Lescar's was a ans of cutting through it in a single, straight line.

The flas had not spread wide—nor did they need to. Condensed into a single current, a single line, they had torn through his mana entirely.

'The opponent is a cut above. Qualitatively far superior.'

Calix acknowledged Bart Lescar's skill. But he did not accept defeat. Huu— as he exhaled, a scorching current flowed from deep within his lungs. He had the vast mana of his core to draw from.

If quality is lacking, then quantity wins.

Swoooosh!

The mont his blazing red sword traced an arc through the air, blades of fla shot outward along separate trajectories. The high line: a thin, wide sweeping slash. The middle line: a swift upward strike. The low line: sent horizontally with full force behind it.

If Wind's Scar could be divided and wielded, then an incomplete Falling Fire was equally possible.

Kaboom!

And then, sword t sword. A screech of grinding tal rang out in every direction. The collision of mana burst like a thunderclap condensed into a single instant, and the earth beneath their warhorses' hooves crumbled under the heat.

Lescar slashed a half-beat faster, and Calix blocked a half-beat slower. Or the reverse unfolded. With every exchange of breath, wounds accumulated, and the neural accelerator sounded its warning ceaselessly.

And so, amid flas scattering like dancing petals—two swordsn drove their warhorses' shadows against each other and exchanged a fierce, relentless series of blows.

[Bloodline ability change detected]

[Niborian Mounted Swordsmanship witnessed]

[Ashapel's Instinct/Avatar of the Battlefield '3%' increase, currently '35%']

In the midst of it all, Calix's neural accelerator reported a rise in bloodline ability—but there was no room to be pleased.

Given the opponent he faced, he could not slow his attacks for even a single mont.

Bart Lescar could not help but feel admiration. At first, he had thought the man rely spirited for a rcenary. He had not shown courtesy, but he was willing to burn himself to cinders if it ant fighting—that much was plain.

But with each exchange of blades, his thoughts shifted.

'The mana shows no sign of dwindling. How can this be…….'

The naless hare drew out Falling Fire as though scooping water from the sea. Even administering high-concentration body-enhancing compounds would fall short of this.

'Is it a physical gift? There are those said to be loved by mana—very rare, but they exist.'

And for that reason, he could not permit it. The young man before him possessed not only physical ability but talent for swordsmanship as well.

His clumsy mounted technique was gradually growing more practiced. The process of blocking his strikes and returning them was beginning to feel, sohow, familiar.

It did not take long to reach a conclusion. Mounted combat was an entirely different manner of fighting from combat on foot. Which ant—he was copying him during the fight itself.

Bart Lescar. Himself.

And so—

'He must be killed here. A pity, but he cannot be allowed to leave.'

In a sense, it was an obvious judgnt. The naless hare was not rely a seedling just beginning to sprout—he was already extending his branches.

The threat had to be extinguished.

Whoosh.

Without warning, the warhorse's direction shifted ever so slightly. Lescar tid his movent to Calix's attack and leaned his upper body backward.

Shweeee!

His chest was grazed, and the surface of his iron armor was shorn away. But in exchange, a window for a counterattack opened. He pulled back the torso he had arched away, adding the horse's rotational force, and swept the blade upward from below.

Spinning Reverse Fire.

As his warhorse's hooves traced a semicircular path, refined flas surged toward Calix's jaw.

"Ah……!"

Even a gasp of despair ca too late. The blade, curving along its arc, claid a point in space and ti. Such was the nature of a battle fought with life on the line. The process was fierce—but the outco was decided in a single instant.

And at the sa ti, the unexpected sotis occurred.

Crrrunch!

Before Calix could even register it, his warhorse twisted of its own accord and drove into the ground. The target: the flank of the horse Lescar was mounted on. It charged in at a precise angle and slamd into the point just above the thigh, where the tendons crossed.

Thud!

The unpredictable impact caused Lescar's warhorse to lose its footing. And with it, the surging blade's trajectory warped ever so slightly.

Fwush!

Instead of driving through his jaw, the blade tip skimd past the side of his cheek and left only a shallow burn.

"What……."

Calix looks down at the horse's head. It had been a mont of absolute peril, yet he had issued no particular command. Only that he could tell the creature's choice had not been made from simple survival instinct.

Hiiiiigh—Crash!

But there was no ti for sentint. The horses' legs beca entangled, and the balance of both riders crumbled along with them.

He sprang free as though launching himself, rolled across the dry earth, and rose to his feet. Likewise, Lescar leapt from his horse and reset his stance.

With that, the mounted duel was over.

From here on, it was a fight on the ground.

* * *

Buuuu!

The imperial forces converged on a single point in response to the horn signal. From above the gorge, they had clearly locked onto a definite target.

"Orders have co down! Assemble at the northern gorge!"

"Infantry, form two lines! Moving at double pace!"

The knights and soldiers picked up their montum, as though intent on putting a full stop to the long pursuit, and pressed forward. Moonlight spilled across armor, longswords, and spear tips.

And a short while later.

BOOM!

An explosion rang out, and the earth shook. The entire rocky mountain was heaving. The soldiers pressed on with bewildered expressions, and soon reached the clearing above the gorge.

"That……. What is that?"

They ca face to face with a harrowing sight and fell into collective silence.

The breath of the mountain had been cut short.

Tree bark burned and burst in patches across the area, and the spring shoots had turned to ash and drifted through the air. The residual heat from Falling Fire had seeped down to the bedrock, and steam rose from the ground that had once held the spring rains.

Thick smoke. The sll of incomplete combustion.

And at the center of it all, two swordsn were locked in combat.

Crack! Kaboom!

Flas surged and spread through the entire space. Mana scattered across earth and sky, rendering the torches aningless.

The night was bright.

"What in the world is going on……."

Even after watching for so ti, there was no way to tell who was winning, or even who was attacking. Sound reached them, but form appeared and vanished in turns. In the gaps between successive thunderclaps, only a blazing red blade revealed itself for a handful of monts.

"……Is this the work of a person?"

A single remark, muttered without thinking, carried wide on the air of the battlefield. No one voiced it aloud, but neither did anyone deny it.

This was not a place for them to step in.

It was instinct—not as soldiers, but as living beings. Yet they were creatures who lived and died by orders.

"Advance. The target will be in a state of exhaustion."

"But the Vice-captain is still—"

"That is an order!"

The senior knight's shout rang out like a clap of thunder. The knights moved toward the clearing first, and the soldiers followed with spears in hand. Hundreds of torches converged on a single person.

Crrrk!

Calix, too, read the imperial forces' movent. The path into the clearing was winding in shape. A cavalry charge would be impossible, but it would be empty words to call this a good situation.

'The blade has nearly all lted away. It won't hold much longer.'

The weapon was not the only problem.

His vision was blurring, and blood flowed from wounds across his limbs. Inside his lungs, mana heated to scorching temperatures was flowing backward. Fortunately, his output was holding at '2.9', but even that had its limits.

[Warning, maintaining excessive output state for extended duration.]

[Risk of permanent physical damage]

[Evacuate the battlefield imdiately.]

The mana was overflowing—but his body could not endure it.

Bart Lescar, by contrast, appeared relatively unscathed. Blood flowed from his forearm, but his breathing was steady. He cauterized the wounded area with his blade, then raised his sword once more.

'I've drawn too much attention. I can't receive outside help.'

Calix felt the crisis close in.

He could not hold out indefinitely. Even now, knights and escort soldiers were closing in. Ti was not on his side.

'I need a way through.'

He boldly eliminated the impossible options. Rejoining the Antelopes imdiately was out of the question. Then he would have to break through the encirclent alone.

'Crisis becos opportunity. I'll target the mont the troops rge. A little further north from here, there's supposed to be a side path.'

Had the one-on-one situation continued, he would not have dared to even consider turning his back—but his plan was to seize a hostage and use them as a ans of escape. Of course, the odds were still against him. But variables were always made by the side that was desperate.

Just then, things that should not have been visible beca visible.

"……!"

Beyond his retinas, the colors of mana stones shimred. Behind the imperial encirclent, familiar presences ca into view. First: two murky violet hues. They carried a distinctly rcenary quality—unmistakably different from those of knights.

"……Royce, Gregor."

"Do you have leisure to pay attention elsewhere?"

Kaboom!

Calix blocks Bart Lescar's blade and clenches his back teeth. Through the gaps in Falling Fire, blue and green flickered one after another. It was probably Hadiya, Volga, or the dwarf Basim mixed in as well. The Antelopes were few in number—they had brought only eight at most.

'Fools.'

Without realizing it, his brow knits together, and the sigh that escapes is laced with self-deprecation. He had not sent a signal, and yet they had turned back.

Why?

Strangely, sothing stirred in a corner of his chest—but the result was that the operational frawork had collapsed.

There was one thing that prevented him from holding to the original plan. They could not read the battlefield the way Calix did. They would not grasp the full situation, and if they moved poorly, there was a real risk of becoming isolated in the heart of enemy territory.

"……Damn it."

So he reconsidered from the beginning.

Calix raises his sword once more. He had overused Falling Fire, and the blade was cracked and burning red throughout.

Tick, tick.

Delicate fracturing sounds rang from within the tal. It would shatter soon. The number of swings he had left was, at best, two or three.

'There is always a way through. Think, Calix. Think. What needs to be done?'

Battle cries advancing from every direction, the encirclent narrowing by the mont. Bart Lescar pressed him with an air of ease.

And right at that mont.

Rumble.

A tremor rose from beneath the earth. Not a simple vibration. Flowing along the ground……a viscous mana.

Calix feels his heart hamring violently. Not because he has pushed too hard. Nor because his core had reacted. Sothing that had existed long before even that. Divinity was seething with fury. It railed at the body's owner, demanding to know why it had still not taken notice.

But before he could even feel bewildernt, a strange sound rang out from the distance.

Squelch.

A dull, wet burst. Not the sound of treading on soil or sand—the sound of piercing through flesh and crushing bone. It crawled along the ground, and even the wind fled in terror.

At first, he doubted it. But the second sound that reached him had a death scream woven through it.

Guaaaargh!

One of the lights illuminating the outer periter went out.

"……What is that?"

Before the knights could make sense of it, another.

This ti, there was not even a scream.

"Everyone hold formation! Fix the torch angles! To the southeast—"

In that instant, the earth lurched. As though sothing were rising through it, the soil twisted and chunks of stone lifted free. And then, black tendrils erupted upward.

Before the victim could cry out, whoosh—they were seized by the legs. Dragged down into a hole filled with shadow. It resembled a shapeless mouth. No teeth, no tongue—nothing but darkness within.

Shlup.

One after another, a knight was swallowed whole. Companions drew their swords belatedly, but half of them had already vanished. No remains, no blood left behind.

"……Battle stations!"

"Close ranks!"

Then the torches went out, human voices were smothered, and mana scattered. From within the thick darkness, black ichor surged forward like a wave.

The wicked presence, at last, revealed itself.

Squish.

Squish.

Squish.

It walked, using the ichor as its carpet. It moved its legs—flesh clinging and fused to them—and simply walked. Its form was incomplete, yet more whole than before. A face with flesh and fat lted away. Rounded cavities that could not be called eyes opened, and twelve gazes swept through the space.

"Uugh!"

"Fall back, fall back!"

Soone retched without warning, and another staggered. The warhorses frothed at the mouth and thrashed. Even seasoned knights were seized by the urge to flee.

Yet the presence continued to advance. Like an irresistible tide, it parted the elite knights and set foot at the center of the clearing.

And then.

[Cal-ix.]

The mont it uttered the na, the current of mana warped. Soldiers who covered their ears vomited blood, and so among the knights swung their swords at their own allies.

At that, Calix slowly drew the corner of his mouth upward.

"……Draug."

The enemy of one's enemy is an ally.

A variable capable of turning the tide of battle—had co rolling in, whole.