Johan

Many people speak of an euphoria that comes with realizing your goals. Often, my teammates would shout to the heavens and pump their fists in exhilaration when achieving a monumental win. This was a hypothetical feeling for me, one of those things in life you were supposed to understand but never experience. Relief, excitement, thrill—none of those feelings truly make sense for me.

Even right now, having killed God, all that came to me was a quiet sense of satisfaction.

Ah…nearly there. Just a few more steps and my perfect life will be here.

Two things remained before my ultimate goal—to utilize the God Sphere and to deal with Fedal the Hero. It was so both pleasing and infuriating to see that this Carr was the real one. His will was stronger, which made him a fitting person to be my by side, yet that very will made him unsuitable for it. It matters not. Capturing him and letting Nameless take his memories about the night of the Blood Moon will be enough. He will break through occasionally, but weekly appointments should keep him docile and loyal.

“JOOOHAAAAAAAAAAN!’

I have always loved this about you. Keeping those around me on their knees keeps me satisfied, but this is a higher form of pleasure. Seeing you so ferociously trying to take me down, desperately chasing after my back, willing to kill for the sake of catching up…there is nothing better than shutting down that ambition. You really are the greatest, Carr. Which is why you are the only one even allowed to be beside me.

Carr’s blade came forward in a thrust, but this time he had chosen a curious approach: an angled flèche. How interesting. Learned something from our last bout, have you? Usually you flèche forward with your arm extended full straight forward, to maximize your reach—a straight line is the fastest path towards your goal, after all. Yet this time he approaches me with his arm to the outside line and tip angled in. Furious rush, but this way less of his blade is exposed to a parry. In a fencing match, this would increase my chances of scoring a double or even a single light. Here, it means he is more concerned about hurting me than staying alive. Ah, Carr!

For a moment, thoughts flashed back in my head—of us two practicing, laughing together. Those truly were the happiest days of my life. Fencing with you is truly my greatest desire. It shall come to pass once more. From the corner of my eye something else seemed more urgent, however. Your flèche shall be of use, Carr.

Carr had expected me to stay at a close distance after an attempted parry in order to riposte him. There, he hoped to fight me at a close distance, negating my stats advantage. You would really hope for that, wouldn’t you?

My parry came as he expected—but there was no riposte for him to dodge. As such, he merely flèched past me, running in anticipation from a riposte that never came. He had been awaiting the time to close in, and when it never came, merely dashed past me toward safety, having to effortfully step over God’s body to avoid tripping as he did so. It would have been a wise move against anyone. Even against me.

Just not now.

“Fire!”

Here my casting of [Fire] took effect, my blade making contact with the piste and erecting a wall of fire separating Carr from myself and the others. My fire was mightier than most—it even burned atop and even beneath the water surface. Carr would not be able to go through it now.

“JOHAN! LET ME OUT!” Carr shouted from the other side. “YOU COWARD!”

It would soon be time for that, but not yet. There were other matters to address now.

“I believe we have an unfinished match to settle.” My words were calm and yet my steel wasn’t. It was time for retribution. “Fiend With The Rapier!”

Valle of Cresna had stepped onto the piste, flanked on either side by Fedal the Hero and Max of Relampago. Soon, and Valder the Royal Bastard appeared beside them as well. The traitor’s sister and the false Katherine were nowhere to be seen—had they run away? It mattered not.

“Have you come here to declare your surrender in Cresna’s war of independence?” Valle asked, voice booming. “Very well! I shall accept it, Johan. Kneel by my feet, beg for my royal forgiveness and I shall knight you as protector of Arcadia.”

“There will be no war, Valle.”

The Executioner stepped forward. “You may not be Emperor if there is a King in the Terra Inglesa, Johan.”

Many answers came to mind. It would be possible to rule an Empire with vassal kings, for one. But such a hypothetical mattered little, for such a scenario would never come to pass. There was a much easier solution right now. “Such war depends on the Terra Inglesa putting aside its cultural differences and rallying behind a single man. Do you truly believe that would come to pass?”

“It is because I believe it,” the Executioner said, drawing his sword, “that I stand here as Valder, the First Knight of King Valle.”

“Is that so? Well, there is one solution to that, surely—if Valle dies here, the rebellion shall end before it even started.” Once Valle’s duel and treasonous declaration had been broadcast, things had become troublesome, though it was all still manageable. Valle of Cresna’s decapitated head would put out the flames of rebellion quickly and bring the Terra Inglesa under my rule through fear. The people have witnessed me kill their God. Let them see me kill their king. “Let us get on with it, then. Referee! Would you care to do the honours? It would be unfair to have multiple people fight me at once, after all.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Fedal cried out. “You just killed God and you expect us to line up and fight you one by one?”

“I am fully confident I can fight every single one of you at once. Yet, I would like to take the pleasure of each fight one by one.” Him, especially. The Fiend With The Rapier needed his death to be a focus of the broadcast, not something lost in the chaos. It wasn’t as though I needed the advantage. Our last encounter showed I can handle multiple of those losers at once already. This was just for, as the Fiend himself would have put it, for the show. “Well, referee? Surely you would not allow such unfairness to take place before your eyes, yes?”

He was visibly torn and it was obvious why. God fell by my hand. Nothing makes sense to you anymore, does it? But you still have a duty to fulfill. Say it. Give me the chance to show my power to them all. You know many people are watching this duel with Roger’s invention—reject my request and you damn the idea of fairness forever. Francisco isn’t dead yet, either. Surely his request that you see to fairness will stand?

“You—you violated the duel between Carr and Francisco,” the Referee said. “You must be punished, not rewarded for your treachery.”

“Then let God strike me down!” Here my arms opened wide and my eyes looked the sky, awaiting the divine punishment that was to follow. “I have broken the Rules and thus God should strike me down! Ah, but he is indisposed right now, yes? Then perhaps you should consider the Rules your new God will implement soon, Referee.”

How I wish I could have seen the man’s thoughts here. Yet it was not to be. It was enough to see his pained expression as he said, through gritted teeth, “It shall be done. One at a time.”

Fedal the Hero opened his mouth as if to protest, but Max of Relampago stepped forward.

The Referee

Fairness had to be obeyed—yet, my powers were linked with the World’s Architect saved for a limited set. Without Francisco, there was preciously little I could do to punish Johan. Francisco…are you still alive? His limp body twitched slightly, but it was hard to know if that was truly a sign of life. Could Architects really die? I frankly did not know. Never before had someone had their God Sphere stolen like that.

“It is a pity you lost the match, Max,” Johan said, in a jovial tone. “Still, you performed your duty admirably and I have no complaints about your loyalty. Come to my side, and waste not your life.”

“Would if I could, Johan,” Max replied, smiling. “You know, I can’t really hate you like those guys can. Can’t really wrap my mind around the things they say you did. Can’t really believe you actually did them. But…even so, it’s true, eh? Killed your whole old team…and tried to turn people into copies of them.”

“Did you not say earlier that you owed me your life for saving your country during the war while you were learning fencing on Earth?”

“I did, and I stand by it,” Max replied promptly. “You saved my country and the people who live in it. For this, you can have my life if you wish. I will be eternally grateful for it.” His gentle tone sounded genuine, but his quick en garde stance betrayed something else. “Yet you tried to turn Gilder into someone else. And for that I will have your life, Johan.”

“You would sacrifice your life for your country’s saviour, yet you would kill that saviour because of Gilder?” Johan shook his head. “I do not believe I could understand that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Max whispered softly. “Monsters can’t understand what it’s like to love someone, eh?”

A sudden concern appeared in my mind. Johan is wilfully broadcasting everything to the public. They know of his atrocities now—and he has not yet been crowned Emperor. Why is he doing this? Does he not care? The God Sphere in his hand gave me pause.

But Max did not allow me to consider the thought for long, for he lunged at Johan’s arm immediately. It was a short lunge, and Johan took half a step backward to counter it. Johan is faster and stronger than me with his stats, Max considered. But I will have something else. My strategy. No matter how fast he is, he can’t—he won’t—ignore my strategies. High or low, he can only guard one of those.

“Johan, today we’ll find out who the stronger fencer is.” Last time they had fenced, back in university, Max was unfortunately injured during a collision between the two and needed to withdraw from the match.

Let’s see…high or low. What is Johan more likely to block first? No, let’s flip it around. What would be the worse punish? If I went for his foot and he punished me high, it could be the end. But if I go high and he punishes me, it will be a flesh wound at worst. That’s the setup then…let’s watch his reaction and go from there.

Max stepped forward and squatted down, as if hinting at an attack to the foot. Johan bent his knees slightly in response. If I had gone for it, he would have defended against it. Max stepped backward at his top speed and Johan followed him effortlessly. Again, he feinted toward the foot, and again Johan’s knees bent in response, readying himself to squat down and perhaps parry 8 against him.

It’s really obvious that I will go for an arm shot right now. But because it’s me, because I have made a habit of doing something outrageous so often…Johan won’t be able to ignore the possibility of a low line shot. Start by attacking his arm, then let’s study whether his reflexes are too fast for a deep shot or not.

With a sudden acceleration Max dove forward and squatted down for a split-second. He was already standing back up again before Johan even started to drop his knees in response—a feint this fast wouldn’t have affected anyone else. But Johan’s reflexes were fast enough that even a quick drop was enough to provoke a reaction. Your high line is open now, Johan!

The arm shot connected, and Max made contact with Johan’s arm. He can bleed! he thought, victoriously. Yet the thought was short-lived, as he watched his own sword be sent flying upwards. How? Max wondered. I didn’t feel the beat on my blade. Why is it going so far backwards?

Then, he saw the blade’s trajectory continue, spinning mid-air and an arm attached to it. His arm.

“Last time we fenced,” Johan said calmly, “was no accident. It was the wisest way of making sure I win, so I injured you in the collision. This is no different.”

Max fell to his knees, cursing in pain and grabbing his bicep—everything below his elbow had been cut off by Johan’s blade.

“Be reasonable, my good man. Your game is one of very thin margins—those are acceptable in a duel for points, but to the death? Ah, I fear not. My Swordsmanship is high enough that a double-hit means you will barely wound me while you will lose your arm. But be proud, Max. You are now among the very few people who have drawn blood from me.”

“Allow me to take over, then,” Valle said, stepping forward. “It is my turn.”

“I—I can still fight,” Max roared. “I still have my left arm. That’s all I need! Just—just let me find my sword.”

Valle shook his head and put his hand on his shoulder. “Stay alive for now, Max. Let me have this. This is a battle of rulers now.”

I want to act tough, Max thought, but with a wound this bad I don’t…I can’t do anything. I can barely walk. Shit. I don’t want to quit here. I barely—I barely got started! But he bit his lip and kept those thoughts from leaking. Even now, even in pain, even desperate, Max was still a supremely pragmatic fencer. To prolong this would be a problem for my team, he considered. Then, with cold certainty, he said, “I—I will leave it up to you.”

“You haven’t lost yet,” Valle said. It wasn’t a kindness, he was merely stating the truth. “We are just subbing you out right now. This is a battle to the death. As long as you are alive, you can come back.”

He will become strong still, that one, I thought. It seemed unreasonable, to expect a man without an arm to become stronger in the feature. Yet something told me it would be possible. But that was a concern for the future, for Valle of Cresna stood across from Johan the Pretender. The rebellions King and the treasonous Emperor-to-be stand across from each other now. This is their second duel. But can Valle repeat this first miracle?

It seemed unlikely. His injuries from his first duel against Johan were still present, and his injuries acquired in his duel against the Executioner were still severe. What could he do in that state? It seemed as though Johan shared my mindset.

“It is most kind of you to present yourself in this weakened and disgraced state,” Johan said coldly. “Fiend with the rapier. Today I shall have my revenge. Drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness and I might refrain from torturing you before your execution.”

“Ah, but my lord!” Valle took a deep bow. “You already torture me every time your royal mouth opens!”

“Fear not. You will have no such worries soon.” Johan took a step forward. “For your hearing you shall lose first…damaged to the point not of complete deafness, but where you will hear a buzzing sound for the rest of your life, so that even in your most private moments you will feel my presence around you. Then it will be your arms, so that your fencing will be taken from you. Your skin shall come next, so that the people who once adored you may gaze upon their flayed hero and behold—”

Valle’s rapier nearly reached Johan. That the Pretender had higher stats went without saying, yet his surprise was such that he found himself nearly captured by his blade. “Pity, that,” Valle said, slowly. “I need to wound you twice to trigger my Legendary Skill, you understand?”

“You will never accomplish it.”

There was no elegant fencing strategy here. Before Valle could be allowed another move, Johan dashed forward with his Swordsmanship and meant to strike with the intention of killing. Valle had expected this, and used Walking to step onto the man’s blade. Johan had no intention of allowing the move to come to completion, and brought his sword upwards to send Valle sending flying backwards. Up in the air and upside-down, Valle used his own Swordsmanship as he came clashing down—aiming at the piste.

Let us see if you can avoid what happened last time, Johan!

But the piste was intact upon contact with the sword.

“I had it reinforced with a special material,” Johan said dryly. “So that your tricks won’t work twice.”

“Pity, that,” Valle said, through a heavy breath. My wounds have reopened again, he realized. This time he didn’t have Levelling Spheres to counter his injuries and Johan was no longer underestimating him. If I continue to fight, we will die. What do we do? Consider it.

Johan’s blade came at him and it took all his strength to block the attack—it wasn’t a parry, merely a desperate parry. Johan wasn’t attempting to take his blade in an encirclement, he meant to merely overpower him with pure Swordsmanship powered strikes now. Think…what can we do from this position?

“First shall be your eyes,” Johan said coldly.

Johan’s blade beat Valle’s aside and went for his eyes with a slashing motion—an unnatural motion for an epee, but natural enough for someone with his magic who could turn even a stick into the sharpest of blades. It was a strange motion, one hardly suited for proper fencing, coming from below and to the side in an upward diagonal strike. For a moment, it seemed as though it was enough to blind him, but the Champion of Cresna responded by lowering his head and nearly headbutting the blade, using his own forehead to push the blade away from his eyes.

It was a mad move, but fortunately it had been a cutting move rather than a thrust and epees are hardly slashing weapons to begin with. The blade curved when brought forward in a slicing motion, the tip of the blade lagging behind so that the blade was shaped nearly like a boomerang at the time of impact, and the small area used for the slice bounced off Valle’s head and allowed him to keep his eyes.

Still, even with that grazing move, the Swordsmanship powered strike was severe, and Valle lost a lot of blood. No fatal strike, he thought, it didn’t even touch my skull. It’s shallow. It just hurts. But I know that Godslayer wounds do not heal, and I need my eyes if I want any chance of beating him.

Johan had come to the same conclusion. His eyes are troublesome. His Legendary Skill has to go first, he thought. But if he insists on blocking with his life, he can die before he unleashes his skill as well.

Blood was dripping toward his eyes now, and every few moments Valle needed to wipe the blood off so his left eye could still see ahead of him. There has to be a way…let’s consider what I can do.

Carr was trapped behind the fire. Even now, they could still hear Carr’s screams of anguish at being kept from this fight. They couldn’t leave without him. They also couldn’t just leave without seriously damaging the morale of his newfound rebellion. People were watching and they needed to see them deal some serious damage to Johan at the very least. To see a spectacle that would give them the chance to do something.

What do I have at my disposal? My own life? No, that’s not enough. Valder’s, then? No…Valder, myself, Carr, Fedal and Max. I will need everything.

“A ray of light is enough,” Valle muttered. Then, more confidently, he shouted, “Because I am Valle of Cresna, the King of the Terra Inglesa! You fight us when wounded after that ferocious match and think yourself stronger? You make me sick, my lord.”

“This isn’t a fair duel,” Johan acknowledged. “I am merely the man who is going to become Emperor…and thus, it is my duty to put down rebellions such as this.”

“Your duty, is it now?” Valle asked slowly. His wounds were severe enough that he needed his rapier pressed against the ground like a cane to even stand. “Allow me to tell you, then, a king’s duty!” Here he used the last of his strength to stand up properly, the tip of his rapier pointed to the sky. “To gather the dust among the stars, to grasp that cluster of starlight with his own hands, and to pave a road with it for those who follow him! Today is the start of that road, Johan. Our rebellion shall not end today.”

I am a king. The thought seemed oddly natural to him. He had expected the title to feel unnatural on his shoulders, yet it fit like an outfit he was always meant to wear. I need to act like one. “Referee, we are using a substitution once more.” If Johan is using the Referee to fight us one at a time, we can use the Referee to keep him from attacking us while we switch.

It was a wise move, and it gave me position some dignity back. For this, I appreciated Valle of Cresna. “As no rule for substitutions was agreed prior to the start of the match, I shall allow an unlimited amount,” I said dryly. Johan looked at me furiously, but I merely shrugged at this. Do not expect me to play along with your plan, Johan.

“Max,” Valle said slowly, “did you mean what you said earlier about still being able to fight?”

It’s taking all the Restoration I have to even just stop the bleeding, Max thought. My vision is getting blurry. I want to die. “Tell me when, and I will be your sword, Valle.”

“Good.” Valle nodded. “Valder, you pledged your sword and your life to me, did you not?”

The Executioner was watching Valle’s speech with his arms crossed, but here he uncrossed them and nodded solemnly. “From this day until my last.”

“You are my first knight and the Terra Inglesa is witnessing this duel.” He leaned forward. “Follow my orders to the bitter end and I shall create a victorious path for us. You have my word.”

The unspoken was clear enough. Valder held great influence not only in Portna, but other areas of the Terra Inglesa that were politically and geographically closer to it over Cresna. Showing unwavering loyalty right now was vital for obtaining their support. You have been a king for less than an hour, Valle of Cresna, Valder thought. Yet you already show the willingness to use your first knight to protect our land. Should I be thankful for your iron will? Or should I fear your eagerness?

“Do not underestimate my hatred for Johan,” Valder said slowly. “He murdered my father, nearly murdered my sister and even burned my homeland—Portna would have been destroyed if not for me. For years I fought to keep him off the throne. I will not complain about a chance to kill him.”

“I shall give you an order, then.”

The Executioner readied himself. “I do not trust you as a man, Valle of Cresna. Your actions are reckless and I fear you may have misled my sister down a dark road. And yet, if the road she chooses is one leading towards death…then so is mine.”

“Speak plainly, Valder,” said Valle. “There is uncertainty in your words—what do you want from me?”

“Only this,” he replied slowly, “what do you command of your first knight, my king?”

Valle appeared to struggle to even stand at that point. He again used his rapier nearly as a cane, yet held his head high, projecting an image more regal than you would have expected from a nearly dying man. From that stance, he nodded in my direction. “Make him bleed,” he said.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

This was not an official match and for once my concerns were not with fairness. Francisco was at Johan’s feet, bleeding, nearly dead, and the God Sphere had been removed from his chest. I have never seen a God have his sphere stolen! Johan, you…what are you going to do with that? There were countless possibilities. But only one thing was clear for me: even now, impartiality was king. Is this truly my decision? Or am I held by some Rule above even my authority, above even my own understanding? Or is it just that I don’t know what to do right now?

Johan appeared unbothered by this development. “Valder, you are the least troublesome of them all. Your stats aren’t that high and your knowledge of fencing is nonexistent. You can’t challenge me in either domain. You are just a remnant of the past that should have done the world a favour and killed himself after the Emperor’s death. You lost to Carr and Valle already—don’t waste my time.”

Valder did not respond to him with words.

Instead, he dashed toward Johan, longsword held high and above his head. Your stats are weaker than mine and you don’t even know fencing. What do you expect to accomplish? Johan thought, a smirk creeping across his face. The Executioner had a trick in mind, surely, and it was only a matter of watching for it. Johan’s reflexes were sharp enough to handle anything. And surely enough, his trick came.

When he was only a step away from reaching Johan, his fated enemy, The Executioner switched his longsword to his left hand, and brought it down in one single swing. Was that it? A feint to switch to his other hand? It took no effort for Johan’s Swordsmanship to not only complete his swing faster, but to go even further and beyond.

The Executioner’s entire left hand was sliced off, flying to the side still holding his sword, much like what had happened to Max moments earlier. Godslayer’s wounds would never heal—his hand was gone forever now, and no amount of magic would return it. “This is why you could never stop me from becoming Emperor, Vald—”

Valder’s right hand dashed forward and grabbed Johan’s neck. He meant to use his hand as bait, I realized, in shock. By allowing Johan to cut his left hand off, he had brought his hand out of the way, and obtained the right distance to seize his neck with his right hand. When did he decide this? Did this madman throw away his limbs in a split second? His grip tightened and I could see Johan’s life starting to drop, however slightly. Here he made an effort to step back, but the man lifted him off the ground to prevent him from using his superior speed. Then, Johan’s next attempt was to bring his sword, Godslayer, against the man—angles made this action difficult, however, and twice as he raised Johan the Pretender above the ground by his neck. Bastard, Johan thought angrily. “Even a bad angle is enough when you have Swordsmanship as high as me, Royal Bastard!” Johan cried out.

His hand would never be able to be reattached—such was Godslayer’s curse. The man should have been going through unbearable pain at the moment. Yet, so little was his hesitation, that before Johan’s blade could come down he punched him with his bloodied stump. Johan’s head snapped backwards, and before that motion could be allowed to complete, the Executioner pulled him forward by the neck again and repeated the punch.

Valder is copying Carr’s strategy in his own way, I realized in awe. By dragging the fight into close range, Johan’s advantage in stats was greatly reduced. He had no idea how to do that with swordplay, and thus chose this route. This is no longer a duel. This is mere violence. But there were no rules against it.

“My name is Valder the Sun Wolf!” he cried out. Johan’s head again whipped backwards, and again he pulled him back and punched him. “You killed my father. You persecuted my sister. You burned my lands. You threaten my king. I am your Executioner!”

It wasn’t magic that allowed the Executioner—no, the Sun Wolf!—to ignore his pain. It wasn’t training, nor was it something about his royal blood that allowed him to perform the feat. It was something much more feral, something that resided in the heart of every human.

It was pure hatred.

For everything you have done—you—shall—pay! The Sun Wolf had dreamed of this moment for years. Johan could likely have used some of his Swordsmanship to fight off the grappling, were he sound of mind. But he was going through a shock that he hadn’t felt in years. Right now, Johan felt mortal, and he could not comprehend it. Moments before he was experiencing his greatest triumph, having fatally wounded Francisco. Yet now he was being pummelled—not by Carr. Not by Fedal the Hero. Not even by the Fiend With The Rapier.

By some nobody.

By some useless royal bastard who had already been defeated once today.

His shock dulled his actions. *He—he dares—*Johan’s thought was cut short by another punch. He wasn’t even allowed the time to complete his outrage, and the shock of every punch caused his thought to reset every time. *This—this abominable—*Another punch. *His numbers aren’t high—he doesn’t even know how to—*Another strike, this sending Johan’s neck whipping so far backwards that the next punch connected with his nose—and broke it, despite his HP barrier. HIS STATS ARE LOW! HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO FENCE! HOW DARE HE ATTACK ME LIKE THIS?

You don’t often think of the Executioner’s build. Tall, intimidating, muscular—things that would have made him a ferocious man anywhere else. This world’s Swordsmanship made you forget about those things, those facets of reality that made his very existence a threat. Looking at him now, I realized why that was at times rather foolish.

Johan’s dignified stance melted away. No longer was he seeking an elegant strike in response, his blade lacking in the leverage and angle to thrust at the Executioner in any meaningful way. Instead, he desperately pulled his knees close to his chest and extended both his legs in a desperate Swordsmanship powered kick. It wasn’t an action Johan had much practice with, but the sheer might of his stats was enough to cause much damage. Valder’s ribs are broken, I realized immediately. He is done. A glimpse into his mind showed such severe pain I forced myself out of it for my own sake. It was more pain than I could bear to even witness inside his head.

And yet he didn’t let go of Johan.

Instead, he pulled him forward once more, and again struck him with his bloodied stump. “MY NAME IS VALDER!” Another strike. “I AM THE SUN WOLF!’ His broken ribs punctured his lungs, but blood could not keep his cursing of the Pretender. “YOU KILLED MY FATHER!” The punch drew more blood from Johan’s bloody nose. “YOU BURNED MY LANDS!” His punch caused his own arm to shake, his deformed stump having been so damaged by his own punches had torn away the flesh in his wrist, exposing the bone from his forearm. “YOU PERSECUTED MY SISTER!” Another punch came, and even his bone started to shatter from the impact. “YOU THREATEN MY KING!” His HP prevented the bone from breaking, but they did not emerge from it unscratched, the sides shattering until the bone had been nearly sharpened into a blade. “I AM YOUR EXECUTIONER!”

His last attack was a punch—but it felt more like a thrust, his very bones having been crafted by his hatred into a sword. The bone blade stabbed Johan through the skull, his mighty HP stopping the strike just before his brain.

Were his bones just a little longer, I thought, if only his reach was a bit…more. That would have killed him.

But it was not enough.

Johan’s HP kept him alive, and he used this moment of primal survival to scratch at the Sun Wolf’s face, using his Swordsmanship to claw at his face and his legs to kick the side of his head. STAY AWAY FROM ME! YOU RABID DOG! He kicked the side of Valder’s head once more. His grip loosened, and Johan smirked in relief.

Yet Valder did not let go. NO! Johan thought desperately. Stay…stay away from me! Another barrage of bone-sword thrusts was unleashed, this time aiming at Johan’s torso, at anything he could grab a hold of. Johan cried out in desperate pain after the first strike, and by the third strike he was kicking aimlessly and desperately at the Sun Wolf. He never should have allowed him to get him in that position—here, his advantages were limited. But his strength was such that he could have avoided it easily if he had been more careful. Johan had never expected someone to throw away their arm as an attack. STAY AWAY FROM ME!

His last, desperate kick was finally enough. It forced Valder to let go, and now there was enough distance between the two of them for him to use his Swordsmanship properly. There was no fencing technique behind those strikes, merely a furious magical powered strike that connected with Valder’s chest and sent him flying backwards and through the stands.

“How—how dare you,” Johan spat out. His white clothes were now dirtied in a mix of the Sun Wolf’s and his own blood, and his voice sounded strange, his broken nose still troubling him. “That’s why—that’s why—that’s why you’re dead, you useless piece of shit!”

From the stands, the rubble began to move. It can’t be, I thought. But reason had gone out the window once Francisco was defeated. Even then, this felt like it should not have happened. Some more rubble was tossed to the side, and a man stood up. “Stop,” Johan cried out. “S—stay down!”

“My name is Valder,” he whispered, so softly only me, the Almighty Referee, could even hear him. “I am the Sun Wolf.” He took a step forward. “You killed my father.” Another stumble, his longsword now a cane. “You burned my lands.” Here he abruptly coughed up blood. “You…persecuted…my…”

And here, he finally collapsed.