Chapter 348 - Looking Toward a Grand Ambition
—In a state of extreme concentration, the first thing to disappear is sound.
The clash of swords, everything, you can hear it but you don't listen. You perceive it, but it's outside your consciousness. It's a strange sensation that words can't describe.
When I enter that state, and I know it sounds arrogant, I'm pretty much invincible.
I can somehow... somehow... tell how my opponent will move, what they're thinking, and my avatar moves more freely than 'at will' can even begin to describe.
It's a state where I can shamelessly declare that I don't feel like I can lose.
However... even then, there are currently two people against whom I have no choice but to throw in the towel and admit, 'This is impossible, I can't win.'
The strongest, the Sword Queen, and my master, the Sword Saint. They were, without a doubt, my personal top two—or rather, they were.
Yes, were.
It's not that I was underestimating the countless other skilled players out there, but I had, for better or worse, categorized those two as being in a 'league of their own'.
I was just a newcomer who still didn't know anything, whose understanding was still shallow—and I was being thoroughly reminded of that fact day after day.
"Agh!?—Damn it...!"
My sword was sent flying by a ridiculously powerful strike reminiscent of the Sword Queen and the Sword Saint. Into my now-empty hands, I instantly summoned two crimson daggers, but—
"Too slow."
"—!"
A blade flashed like a gale, easily shattering them to pieces.
There was no time to be surprised, nor was I ignorant enough to be surprised by something of this level anymore.
However, once again, my opponent's movements had decisively exceeded my predictions, forcing me into a hasty retreat—and in that moment, I knew I had lost.
"————......, ..................Damn iiiiiit!! Dammit...!"
This was, in all sincerity, a full-power backstep with all my stats maxed out.
A pure white blade followed my high-speed maneuver as if it were nothing and was pressed neatly against my neck... and having racked up another defeat, I let my frustration out for all to see.
"Now then, how many wins in a row is that?"
"Ninety-nine."
"I see. Well then, let's go for one more to make it a nice round number."
"Assuming you're going to win...!"
As the blue-haired girl, Ri-na, who was watching from the side and acting as my 'analyst', announced my miserable battle record, the expressions on our faces as we continued to clash swords were a study in contrasts.
Namely, that of the ever-victorious strong and the ever-defeated weak—the skill gap between Irori (the Fourth) and me (the Seventh) was so vast it was honestly depressing...
"Hey, big bro. Instead of getting all depressed by yourself, maybe you should consider how Irorin feels having to pull out a new style against a newbie who's only been playing for a little over three months?"
"Hey, you in the peanut gallery, quiet down."
"That guy's more desperate than you think. He's the embodiment of a sore loser."
"Alright, fine. You're next."
Irori went to deal with Mi-na, who was acting as pure entertainment rather than support, and my momentous hundredth consecutive loss was postponed for a little while.
..............This is bad. I'm starting to assume I'm going to lose, too.
This sparring match, which started the day after that meeting for the purpose of adjusting my avatar control—I wonder when I'll ever be able to properly land a single hit...
"—So, you're still not going to use those 'threads'?"
"...I'm not. There's no point if I do."
As I lay sprawled out on the training ground floor, completely drained, Ri-na approached and we repeated the same exchange we'd had countless times.
As you'd expect, for me, [Trickster of Zenith] is basically a forbidden technique.
Whether it's PvP or PvE, I can't in good conscience count a power that presupposes my own death as a card in my hand.
Of course, in a situation like the Four Pillar War where a 'team victory is enough', I have no qualms about playing such a rule-breaking death card... but relying on it all the time would be wrong.
I'm confident that if I cast aside victory and challenged him recklessly like I did back then, I could probably hold my own against Irori even now—but that confidence doesn't translate into self-assurance.
Besides, you know—my partner is working hard, too.
"That's the spirit, Sora-chan. In that case, let's try adding ten more, shall we?"
"Hah... ugh, ghu...! Y-Yes...!"
Next to the area where Irori and I were engaged in our superhuman sword fight, a slightly different kind of spartan training was unfolding in a spot a little ways off.
My partner, with her eyes closed and sweat beading on her face, held both hands up to the air, surrounded by a multitude of flame swords.
And illuminated by those white-hot blades was the demon instructor, calmly watching over the girl.
In response to the unreasonable demand casually tacked onto a word of praise, Sora furrowed her brow as if wringing out every last bit of her strength to make it happen—
"Oh dear."
"She did her best."
As Ri-na and I watched, her knees buckled.
If I'd been beside her, I would have reflexively caught her... but there was no need for me to fly over, since her kind demon instructor was right there.
"Forty-seven—a new record. You did very well."
A shower of smiles and sweet words rained down on her as she was caught before she could fall.
Sora didn't even try to hide her wry smile at her 'teacher'—Hinayo-san—who relentlessly fired off a machine-gun volley of carrots and sticks. She was probably getting used to it by now.
It was simply because,
"But in a real battle, I'd say fifteen is your limit, wouldn't you? Let's aim for a nice round fifty for now and keep at it."
"Ah, yes..."
she had learned that after the carrot comes the stick, without a moment's delay.
"So, how long do you plan on lying there?"
"Ugh..."
And of course, I couldn't just relax and watch my partner forever either.
I shot a pleading look at my own demon instructor, whose shadow fell over me, silently begging for a little more rest, though I was ninety-nine percent sure my appeal would be denied.
"What's with that face? Get up. This will be my hundredth win."
"Hundredth match...!"
From the day the 'White Throne Subjugation' project officially began with that grand declaration.
While being pushed around by our all-too-reliable seniors in so many ways, we—Sora and I—spent our days in luxurious training, being worked to the bone without a shred of mercy.
"Yes, that's the way—now, let's add another ten. Be mindful of the trick I taught you."
"Get ready—I won't listen to any whining, disciple of the Sword Saint."
""...Yes.""
Steadily and surely, we accumulated strength and experience, aiming straight for 'that day'.