Chapter 216 - Standing Side-by-Side
“—Goldow, what’s the situation?”
Having left the rear to his junior, Irori was racing toward the base, creating a path of ice with the freezing effect of his Anima, [Frostblade Shirosou]—one of its earliest unique abilities. He sent a call to the [General Commander], who had been silent for some time.
Barring a major emergency, he would usually get some kind of response within three seconds… but three seconds passed, then five, ten, twenty. There was no reply.
“…I see.”
In other words—it was highly likely that the other side was already in the midst of a major emergency.
“I took too long… Hah!!”
The time for worrying about exhaustion was over. He simultaneously unleashed the full power of his drawn blue blade and discarded the option of conserving energy, firing up all of his mobility skills at once.
However, he hadn't invested as many points into agility as a specialized build. Unlike a certain crazy junior of his, he couldn’t reach absurd speeds. Furthermore…
“—Tch, what terrible timing…!”
Ahead of him appeared the Northern Faction’s blue ‘pillar’ and a large crowd of players engaged in a flashy battle around it.
Even from a distance, he could see that his allies from Istia were putting up a good fight against an enemy that outnumbered them by at least two to one, but they were the ones being pushed back… which inevitably meant…
“—! Whoa, it’s the [Sword Protector]!”
“Someone dangerous is here!!”
“We just need to stall him, right!?”
“Break the front line! Forget winning, focus on delaying him!!”
“Get the healers on him! Maintain the line in that group fight, even if it kills you!!”
It was unavoidable; he was going to get tangled up with their surplus forces.
Breaking through wouldn’t be a problem, but… in his current haste, Irori couldn’t hide a wry smile at the ‘anti-Sword Protector’ formation that had been thrown together in an instant to block his path.
They weren’t a threat—but they weren’t easy opponents either.
While not as focused on PvP as the Eastern Faction, their opponents were still the elite of the North and South, the very players who had made it into the Four Pillar War.
It wasn't just their individual combat prowess, but the cleverness of their coordination—and above all, their ability to handle superior opponents that made them so troublesome.
Even if they couldn’t win, they could stall him. When they dedicated themselves to that role, even non-rankers could become formidable enemies.
“—…”
He hesitated for a moment and discarded the choice.
Even if he broke through this place in a single breath, returning to the base exhausted would mean facing the [Heavy Tank] and the [Sword Queen]—two superior opponents.
That would be meaningless. If he arrived only to be instantly cut down, he wouldn’t be reinforcements; he’d be a pathetic gawker. He wouldn't be able to face his ‘Master,’ who was watching this war, and more importantly, if he made such a fool of himself, he wouldn't be able to face him—
“Heh… haha!”
Is that what matters most to me now? More than looking pathetic in front of my Master?
—A former competitor who doesn't hate losing? No way.
The words Chibisu had shot back at him the other day flashed through his mind. I see—while not infallible, it seems a ‘girl's insight’ is nothing to scoff at.
He was a former athlete, but he had always thought himself immune to that kind of nature… Perhaps he just hadn't met one yet.
A rival who made losing feel so frustrating.
In that case, all the more reason. More than ever before—
“I can’t afford to look pathetic… Hah!!”
They were a formidable group of elites—it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t even let them stall him.
His blade tore through the air with a sharp ring as he slammed his spirit and fighting will into his planted foot.
He estimated over twenty enemies. Compared to the legend of the [Sword Saint] cutting down fifty, it was a bit lacking as a display of martial might… but he wouldn't be picky.
There were enemies. There was fighting spirit. Thus, the only result demanded of him, a man bearing a rank, was singular.
“—I’m coming through.”
Annihilation was his only option.
Activating [Extended Step]—a single stride that warped logic consumed a dozen meters of distance, throwing his avatar into the heart of the enemy formation.
Suddenly finding their carefully constructed formation infiltrated, the group panicked—or so one would think, but of course, they didn’t. This was, after all, an ‘anti-Sword Protector’ formation.
His [Extended Step], now one of his signature moves, was naturally well-known. Their response to the anticipated stride was immediate, the front-liners instantly shifting into an encirclement and tightening their wall—
“Two.”
“Gah—!”
“Dammit—!”
If I could be stopped by a move like that, he wouldn't permit himself the arrogant demeanor of the strong. He cut down two in a single breath, and with the return stroke, he parried the swarm of enemy weapons all at once.
While they were a small percentage of the whole, healers did exist. Arcadia had healing magic, but resurrection magic had yet to be confirmed.
Therefore, no matter how many there were—
“Three.”
“Tch—!”
If he took their heads one by one, the end would come.
Stepping over the avatars dissolving into motes of light, he headed for the rear guard positioned behind the front-line players. While it didn’t matter if he took them down in one hit, the presence of a healer directly impacted not only their numerical strength but also their morale.
If he wiped them out, the enemy would lose their footing. That’s why—by targeting them, he could control the movements of the others.
Breaking the encirclement and locking onto his target was a fatal move for them. Even if it was a trap, the front line had no choice but to chase him directly to protect their rear guard.
One step, two steps—after advancing, a quick turn would give the attacker, who controlled the timing of the engagement, the absolute advantage.
“Four, five, six… seven!”
Cutting down his pursuers in quick succession, he had now taken out about half of the front line.
At this rate, he’d be able to break through this place in just a few minutes—
“Gah! He’s still so stro—ngh!”
“What…?”
—Thunk. A ‘spear’ suddenly flew in and pierced the abdomen of the player who had cried out, his face contorted in a grimace.
…No, it wasn't just the spear that had flown in.
“—Yo, senpai. Need a hand?”
A figure of white and blue appeared in the blink of an eye.
The hooded youth flashed a smile from his partially visible mouth, grabbing the crimson spear as he offered the lighthearted remark.
“…I don’t need your help. Also—”
“Ah, wai—stop—!?”
With a soft tap, Irori ignored the impaled player’s plea for mercy and lopped off his head, then turned a sidelong glance at his ‘junior.’
“If you’re going to chat, at least finish them off first.”
“What the hell, man? I was gonna save him for buffs.”
As the two engaged in their rather grim conversation, the surrounding players from the North and South began to back away slowly, their faces twitching at the sight of the reinforcements who had appeared in a literal flash.
“He’s here…”
“The Acrobat…”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Um, two combat-oriented rankers is a bit much.”
“I-I suggest a strategic retreat…!”
They hadn’t lost their will to fight—rather, they had sensed that their remaining lifespan wouldn’t change much whether they retreated or advanced, so it couldn't be helped.
Of the countless people watching around the world, few would laugh and call them “pathetic”—so what would be directed at them instead?
Probably just a single phrase from their respective countries meaning “condolences.”
“Where’s Hinayo?”
“A little behind. She’ll catch up soon.”
“A gentleman should escort a lady properly.”
“Lately, I've started to think that being too much of a pretty boy can be a problem…”
“That's a good attitude to have. If you ever intend to make a move on our Master, I'll accept your challenge for a duel anytime.”
“Dude, you know I'm not into that.”
“Even if you’re not, I’m an honorary member of the ‘Sword Saint Fan Club.’ I even have the No. 0 card.”
“So what… Wait, what’s that? I’m actually a little jealous???”
“Pretty cool, right? You can’t have it. We’ve talked enough. You take half.”
“You got it—five seconds it is.”
“Then I’ll take three.”
Exchanging playful words, the seventh and ninth rankers bumped fists.
In the next instant, a crimson phosphorescence erupted, again and again—never stopping until the end, it painted and dyed the battlefield in its color.
The audience, hyped by the rankers teaming up: "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu‼"
The author, hyped by the protagonist and their favorite character teaming up: "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu‼"