Hard Carried by My Sword Chapter 195

A Master-level spearman, huh.

Leon’s golden eyes widened as he studied Dayton. The aura that the veteran knight exuded was that of an iron wall: a domain of control and a flawless defense with no gaps that sealed off every approach. In war, as in martial arts, defense often has the advantage. However, Dayton’s defense wasn’t the usual “stay one move ahead of your opponent.” It was absolute.

A spear already had greater reach than a sword, making the first strike difficult. Dayton’s art magnified that strength; his defense was so powerful that he could attack with its extension.

Not striking first was the logical choice for Leon, yet Dayton was not backing down at all. Having already asured Leon and Karen’s ability, the knight made it clear that his goal was not victory, but to buy ti.

I guess I have no choice but to make the first move.

Karen’s tricks would an nothing against a Master in a perfect stance. The initiative had to be Leon’s.

Sword and spear. The debate over superiority was still unsettled. However, there was one thing swordsn and spearn alike reluctantly agreed upon.

El-Cid explained the truth in a calm voice.

—If it’s bare weapons without Aura, the spearman holds at least a two-move advantage. Unless, of course, the swordsman has a shield.

At that, Leon smiled faintly. Then, in less than a fraction of a beat, he smoothed his expression and stepped toward Dayton.

It was just an instant. The world bled into black and white under the pressure of his hyper-accelerated nerves. Dayton’s spear tip flashed like lightning, stabbing forward. Air resistance ant nothing. The thrust broke the sound barrier again and again, aid straight at his heart.

Sword and spear collided in an explosive blast. The ground cracked, and both n slid half a step back before advancing again.

The one to press the attack was Dayton. Leon’s blade glowed with a ter of Aura, but Dayton’s spear was wreathed in its own. And a thrust was far more efficient than a slash—his speed and reach outpaced Leon’s.

Thrust after thrust after thrust. Parry, block, dodge, counterthrust.

Dayton’s offense from a defensive stance was a contradiction. He didn’t move more than half a step from where he had begun, yet he still managed to drive Leon back.

He has no intention of pushing in. He really is just stalling.

After exchanging a hundred attacks in just monts, Leon grasped his intent. He had shown openings again and again, but Dayton never exploited them while keeping his guard tilted toward Karen’s direction. He devoted himself wholly to defense.

It seed wise, but it was no more than a stopgap. It was a path that led inevitably to defeat.

In that case...

Leon stepped back twice and called, “Karen.”

“Yup.”

Watching from the side, Karen finally lowered her hands to her waist. Daggers, rope, poison—she was ready for anything. Seeing that, Dayton’s gaze grew heavier.

It’s a hard day for an old man.

In his pri, he would have t this mont with burning will. Age had cooled that fire long ago. If not for the son he’d sired late in life, and if that boy had only been born healthy, he would have long since retired to peace. Now, he stood against an Assassin Master he had never before encountered, and a Swordmaster barely in his twenties.

If only they weren’t enemies... I would have loved to sit and enjoy a drink with them.

Regret flickered in him. He took no joy in this choice, but he had chosen according to his priorities. He had to save his son, even if it ant sacrificing the honor, wealth, and station of a lifeti.

There were lines a man should never cross. Dayton had crossed them, and now, he was too far gone to turn back. Karen read his eyes and asked a sharp question.

“Do you regret it?”

She had seen that look countless tis in the slums—in those who longed to escape the whirlpool of malice but rotted in the dark all the sa. Dayton was no different.

“I already told you. It’s too late for .”

“It’s not. That’s just an excuse you keep telling yourself.”

“Perhaps. But...” Dayton sighed heavily, spear leveled. “If regret lies at the end of either choice, then I will follow what my heart desires.”

No more words were going to follow that. Karen fell silent. He hadn’t stumbled into this blindly. He had chosen, knowing he would lose everything. That left only one response, and that was to face him as an enemy and put a stop to his plan.

The brief verbal exchange ended. Finally, Leon moved.

“Sun Sword, Crimson Lotus: Prominence.”

Power erupted explosively from within Leon’s body, pouring into his blade. Flas nearly twenty ters long surged forth, moving with his hand like a sword of fire that dwarfed even the reach of a spear.

A blazing arc descended from above. Even Dayton’s face hardened, sensing its destructive might.

Blue lightning crackled and sparked along the surface of his spear. Dayton el Blanc was an Aura Master of the Lightning attribute, fad for a secret spear art said to split thunder itself with a single swing. Now, his true strength revealed itself.

“Twelve Forms of Flash Lightning, Lightning Spear, First Form: Advancing Thunder.”

From Dayton’s grip, lightning surged and struck the descending blade of fire midway, shattering its montum. The sword strike that seed ready to tear the earth apart halted in place. The principle was breaking an attack’s flow before it fully ford, a feat only possible if one’s speed utterly surpassed the enemy’s.

El-Cid chuckled and said, —Lightning against fire? Now that’s an interesting matchup!

Leon had the edge in raw power, but Dayton led in speed. Strength against speed, sword against spear—yet another layer of difficulty entered the clash. Luckily, this battle was not Leon’s alone.

Karen, who had read Dayton’s strength from the first exchange, pressed her hands together, weaving seals as her technique took form.

“Shadow Control, Third Form: Sixfold Phantom.“

Six shadowy figures, identical to her own, burst forward. Dayton could not focus only on Leon.

They rushed low across the ground, skimming like blades of darkness. The shadow clones were more fragile compared to her true self, but each carried a single strike equal to the original’s force. If one landed a blow akin to her “Parasite in the Lion’s Belly,” even an Aura Master could fall in an instant.

Dayton spun his spear in dazzling arcs and unleashed his second move.

“Twelve Forms of Flash Lightning, Lightning Spear, Seventh Form: Swift Thunderstorm.”

Along the path of his spear, shockwaves detonated. The art reached supersonic speeds, yet Dayton’s mastery kept the force under control, the secret technique of House Blanc. His storm sealed a ten-ter radius around him.

The six shadow clones, charging from all sides, faltered under the pressure. Even Leon’s flas dimd for a mont under the storm’s force.

Leon pierced into the few seconds’ gap. He transmuted even the fire of Prominence into starlight and drove it through Dayton’s wall of storms.

“Alkaid.”

A single flash. The swirling shockwaves split apart. At that mont, Karen crossed her hands.

“Projection, First Form: Viper Rush.”

The six clones rushing Dayton silently shattered—not destroyed but transford into a hundred shadow daggers raining down. Dayton spun his spear in haste, batting away more than half. The rest struck ho, bouncing from his body as his Aura flared outward.

Karen, however, had even prepared for this. One dagger, hidden sharper and stronger than the rest, slipped through and sank into Dayton’s abdon.

He ripped it free instantly and stemd the bleeding, but it was too late.

“Is this... poison...?” Dayton stamred.

“Mixed in the Titan Mountains itself,” Karen confird.

The old knight gave a bitter laugh, forcing his Aura to burn the venom away. It kept his organs from rotting entirely, but at a cost. Lightning was no easy elent. Scorching away the poison cost him blood and left his nerves frayed; his lower body grew sluggish, as though dulled.

Vicious. I’ve never faced venom like this.

He had endured infamous toxins before, but nothing of this degree. Born from the depths of the Titan Mountains, it could kill even an Aura Master in minutes, rotting half the body unless countered.

Suppressing a groan, Dayton hefted his spear once more.

I don’t know how long I can last.

There was no chance of victory. That, he had known from the start. His aging body was sinking like a ship with holes in its hull. Yet still, he fought—fought to save the only son he had.

Another spark sounded.

***

—Sir! The ritual is weakening rapidly!

—Half the mana stones we set up as a power source are depleted! In three hours, control over the Winter Serpent will collapse completely!

—Give us orders, sir!

—Sir, we must hurry!

Rupert slamd his fists on the table and roared at the voices ringing in his head.

“Shut your mouths! I’m trying to think!”

The Winter Serpent was manageable in its early stage, but the more it grew, the harder it beca to control. To keep it confined within the lake, Rupert had dispatched the Evil Order’s underlings all over Ladoga, assigning each of them to maintain parts of the ritual array.

“Why has it co to this!? When did it all go wrong!?”

He had no idea what had been happening in the last couple of weeks. News of the trio skulking around the lake had only reached him recently. He had no idea how they had goaded the Serpent into yearning to leave the lake.

By the ti Rupert grasped the gravity of the situation, the beast had already begun to ignore his commands. Now, it behaved as though his voice was nothing more than a dog barking in the distance.

The ritual net across Ladoga was keeping the Winter Serpent from leaving the lake, but that was only for now. Even that, too, was a matter of ti.

“Dayton... While that old man keeps them busy, I’ll have to slip away. Even without the serpent, there are plenty of other ans at my disposal.”

Three unidentified Masters. The mont Dayton admitted their strength, Rupert had abandoned any thought of fighting. Even with the serpent as his hound, the odds would be no better than even. Naturally, with it now on the verge of being set loose, gambling on combat was suicide.

A promise to Dayton? Why keep a bargain with a dying relic? If their sche had failed, that was the old fool’s incompetence.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Rupert ransacked the room, stuffing what he could into bags. He had disguised himself as Ladoga’s head butler, but a proper investigation would uncover countless loose threads.

He had to hurry. He shoved everything into a necklace enchanted with spatial magic, like Leon’s bracelet, straightened his clothes as best he could, and rushed for the door. Well, he tried to, at least.

—Sir! Flee! Quickly, ru—

Ominously, the link with one of his subordinates snapped. Rupert had no ti to question it. Confusion hit, and then another connection cut. One by one, his links disappeared—one, two, three—vanishing by the minute. A cold dread ran down his spine. All this could only an one thing.

“I-I have to run. Right now...!”

Overco by terror, Rupert bolted from the room. A maid passing by tried to greet him, but he shoved her aside and sprinted on.

His coat, always buttoned to the last, now flapped half-open. He couldn’t care less. All he could hear in his head were the voices of cultists, calling out to him as they died one by one.

“Hahh...! Huff...! Huff...!”

Like a madman, he ran until he reached the walls at last. He had even forged papers with the lord’s seal; leaving through the gate at night would be no issue. He finally breathed in relief.

Then, a thud sounded. Then, another. Then, another.

“How cold-hearted. Not once do you look back as your comrades’ heads rolled across the ground. How many more must I throw before you finally turn around?”

They were polite, almost formal words. Yet the voice carried no warmth at all—only a chill that froze the blood of any who heard it.

Rupert’s instincts scread: Do not turn around. If you’re going to die, then die without looking back. That would surely be the easier end.

The voice, not paying any mind to Rupert’s own internal turmoil, moved anyway.

“So be it,” said a silver-haired, golden-eyed girl who stepped into his path in the blink of an eye. “I’ll grant you one small chance to lighten your sins.”

At so point, a massive golden warhamr had appeared in her hands. The Holy Iron Breaker.

No high-ranking mber of the Evil Order could fail to recognize that weapon. Rupert’s eyes bulged in horror.

“Y-you’re...!”

People often called them inquisitors, but that was a lie. Not a single heretic ever survived their ‘inquiries.’ Since when had ‘interrogation’ beco synonymous with ‘execution’?

The Holy Iron Inquisitors. And the hamr of their vice-commander, the Saintess herself, had already crushed tens of thousands of heretics.

“Cursed instrunt of the goddess’s execution... the White-Haired Witch!”

“So you know ? Good. Then this will be quick,” Elahan said and smiled sweetly. “If you tell the truth, I’ll end it in a single blow.”

In that smile of hers, however, was not a trace of rcy.