Duel (3)

“Upper right diagonal cut.”

What stance I used, I don’t know.

I moved purely on instinct.

Just like,

the day I killed Burt, my first kill.

An overpowering will to live moved my body—I would not die here.

With Sword Energy infused, my kitchen knife slashed the hazy shadow whip.

Jjang!

I heard the blade breaking and wiped the blood from my eye as fast as I could.

What had been a formless shadow now took shape and scattered in fragments.

Beyond that, I saw Pab, holding a broken sword with a panicked expression.

His weapon suddenly destroyed.

The weight shifting, his body wobbled.

‘Now!’

I bent my torso low and relaxed all the muscles in my body.

My toes pointed at the target.

I imagined the thinnest line possible,

and cut through the air along that line.

The kitchen knife moved.

It was perfect.

Since I grasped mana, this might have been my most beautiful quick sword.

But Pab wasn’t ordinary.

He realized my line of attack and twisted his whole body to dodge.

Distance opened between us.

And I met the natural limit of a kitchen knife—not really even a weapon.

It’s short.

Pab’s body moved away from the slash I aimed.

If only I had a regular arming sword.

As disappointment mixed with desperation,

a thought popped into my head.

‘Should I let go?’

What if I threw this kitchen knife that was already moving along its arc?

Would I reach him as he escaped?

Just as this ridiculous thought flitted through my mind—

Tick, tick.

I heard a sound.

And then I saw it.

Like someone had overlaid his body with a sheet of translucent graph paper:

a faint grid pattern.

Ti—ck.

I understood at once.

A feeling I never had, even after firing hundreds or thousands of arrows.

‘Internal Clock!’

At last, Hunting Time was activated.

Damn it.

It never worked with the bow, but

‘It had to be the kitchen knife, huh?!’

But there was no time to celebrate or be surprised.

I still couldn’t see well through the blood.

Sensing Internal Clock and predicting Pab’s movement,

I released the kitchen knife loaded with power.

… Thok!

A third of the blade disappeared.

It struck exactly where I aimed.

Even as Pab was twisting awkwardly to change his stance,

when the kitchen knife buried in his thigh, he finally dropped to one knee.

I wasted no time and kicked his wrist.

Clatter.

At last, his weapon spun off across the ground.

“…!!”

Disarmed, Pab glared up at me.

He still hadn’t given up despite losing his weapon and bleeding, his eyes gripping a buckler instead of a sword.

“What are you waiting for? Come at me.”

He yanked my kitchen knife out of his thigh and leveled it at me.

Blood poured from the stabbed hole—a lot more than I expected. Gurgle.

“Come, outsider!”

His desperate shout rang hollow.

Because, in truth, the duel was as good as won for me.

‘Of course, it’s not officially over yet.’

To end a formal duel, two conditions must be met.

First, one combatant must concede defeat.

Second, a combatant must become unable to fight, meaning unconsciousness or death.

Maybe that was why.

The mediator, looking flustered, glanced between Pab and me,

but didn’t declare the duel finished.

Maybe he wanted to honor Pab’s wishes—

or maybe he just can’t accept that the Duchy’s forces lost to an outsider.

‘Idiots.’

If this keeps up, Pab will die from blood loss, or at best be crippled.

Wiping the blood from my forehead, I spoke to Pab.

“Just say you yield. I’ve won.”

A moment ago, I was fighting to kill him to save myself.

If he didn’t die, I would.

But now, by luck, the match had gone my way.

Useless killing was best avoided,

and it was smart to protect my image when I could.

Even if they hated me, the reality is, I’m now a soldier of the Duchy.

Letting him live invites less trouble than killing him.

‘Of course, remembering how close I came to dying ties my stomach in knots, but I’m not about to make myself the villain for the sake of a better mood.’

And besides, Jeros said he “beat them up” in his duel, not that he “killed them.”

But Fav—prompted by fury—shouted back:

“Not yet! I’m not leaving alive or dead until it’s over!”

Duel winners have the right to decide the loser’s fate, so

Pab was convinced I’d kill him even if he conceded.

Still, wouldn’t it be better to yield and beg than die fighting?

Looks like I’ll have to knock him out.

Whack!

I kicked snow into his face to blind him for a moment,

then darted quickly to the side.

Even sitting down, Pab’s eyes still tracked me, and he tried to react.

But the swipe he made from the ground was weak and sloppy.

Swish!

Taking advantage of my momentum, I easily knocked his attack aside—thwack!

Then, in one motion, I soccer-kicked him in the back of the head.

Thud!

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