kscans

Chapter 216 - Standing Side-by-Side

“Goldow, what’s the situation?”

As he ran, having left his junior to handle things, Irori created a path of ice using the freezing effect of his Anima, [Frostblade Shirosou], an ability from its earliest stages. He hurried toward the base and sent a call to the [General Commander], who had been silent for some time.

Unless there was a major emergency, he would usually respond within three seconds… but three seconds, five, ten, twenty passed. There was no reply.

“…I see.”

That meant—it was highly likely that the other side had already entered a major emergency.

“I took too long… dammit!!”

He was past the point of worrying about conserving energy. Simultaneously unleashing the full power of his drawn blue blade, he discarded the option of holding back and ignited all of his mobility-related skills.

However, his stats weren't specialized in agility. He couldn't produce the ridiculous speeds of his absurd junior. In addition…

“Tch, bad timing…!”

Appearing in his path was the Northern Faction's blue ‘pillar’ and a large group of players engaged in a flashy battle around it. Although they were putting up a good fight against an enemy force more than twice their size, it was his allied unit from Istia that was being pushed back… which inevitably meant…

“—! Whoa, it's [Sword Protector]!”

“Someone dangerous is here!!”

“We just need to stall him, right!?”

“Break the front line! Forget winning, focus on delaying him!!”

“Healers, focus! You guys hold that line even if it kills you!!”

…that getting tangled up with their surplus forces was unavoidable.

Breaking through wouldn’t be a problem, but… now that he was in a hurry, Irori couldn't hide his bitter smile at the ‘anti-Sword Protector’ formation that had instantly formed in his path.

It wasn't a threat—but they weren't easy opponents either.

While not on the same level as the PvP-focused Eastern Faction, they were still the elites of the North and South who had made it to the Four Pillar War.

It wasn't just their individual combat prowess, but the cleverness of their coordination—and above all, their ability to deal with stronger opponents that made them so troublesome.

Even if they couldn't win, they could stall. When they dedicated themselves to that role, they became formidable enemies, even if they weren't rankers.

“…”

He hesitated for a moment, then discarded an option.

Even if he broke through here in one go, arriving at the base exhausted meant he would be facing [Heavy Tank] and the [Sword Queen]—two opponents stronger than him.

That would be meaningless. If he were to be taken out the moment he arrived, he wouldn't be reinforcement, but a foolish onlooker. He wouldn’t be able to face his ‘master’, and more importantly, he wouldn’t be able to face him—

“…Hah… haha!”

Was that what was most important to him now? More so than looking pathetic in front of his ‘master’?

A former competitor can’t stand to lose, can they?

The words Chibisu had thrown at him the other day crossed his mind. Heh… so it seems a ‘woman’s eye’ is not to be underestimated, even if it isn't all-seeing.

Although he was a former athlete, he had always thought he was immune to that kind of nature… but perhaps he had just never met one before.

A rival he would truly hate to lose to.

In that case, all the more reason. Now, more than ever—

“I can’t show them a pathetic sight… Hah!!”

A gathering of formidable elites—it didn't matter. He wouldn't even let them stall him.

His blade sliced through the air with a loud crack, and he poured his spirit and fighting will into his advancing legs.

He estimated there were about twenty enemies. It was a bit short of the fifty-man-slaying legend his [Sword Saint] had left behind, but he wouldn't be picky.

There are enemies, there is fighting spirit, and thus, the result demanded of him, a ranker, is but one.

“I’m coming through.”

Only devastation.

Activating [Enbu]—a single ‘step’ that warped logic swallowed dozens of meters, throwing his avatar into the heart of the enemy formation.

Suddenly finding him inside their carefully constructed formation, the group panicked—or not, of course. This was, after all, an ‘anti-Sword Protector’ formation.

The performance of [Enbu], which had become one of his signature moves, was naturally well-known. Their reaction to the predicted ‘step’ was immediate. The front-line troops instantly shifted to an encirclement, closing their wall in on him.

“Two.”

“Gah—”

“Dammit—”

If he could be stopped by something of that level, he wouldn't allow himself the arrogant demeanor of a powerhouse. He cut down two in a single breath, then with a returning stroke, batted away the weapons of the enemies swarming him.

While there were healers, proportionally few, and though healing magic exists in Arcadia, resurrection magic has not been confirmed.

In that case, no matter how many there were—

“Three.”

“Tch—”

—if he took them down one by one, it would eventually end.

Stepping over the dissolving avatars, he headed for the rear guard positioned behind the front-line players. While it didn't matter if he could take them down in one hit, the presence of healers affected not just their numerical strength but also their morale.

If he wiped them out, the enemy would lose their footing. And that's why—if he aimed for ‘them’, he could also control the movements of ‘those guys’.

For them, being broken through and targeted was a fatal error. Even if it was a trap, the front line had no choice but to pursue him straight on to protect their rear guard.

One step, two steps—after advancing, he reversed course. The absolute advantage lay with the attacker who controlled the timing of the engagement.

“Four, five, six… seven!”

He cut down the pursuers one after another, and with that, about half of the front line was gone.

At this rate, he could break through this place in just a few minutes—

“Daaamn!! He's so stro—”

“Tch… what?”

—Thwack. A ‘spear’ suddenly flew in and pierced the stomach of a player whose face was contorted in a scream.

…No, it wasn't just a spear that had flown in.

“Yo, senpai. Need a hand?”

In the blink of an eye, a white-and-blue figure appeared. The hooded young man, a smile visible on his lips, grabbed his crimson long spear and cracked a joke.

“…Don't need it. And also—”

“Ah, wait, sto—!?”

With a soft tap, Irori ignored the impaled player’s pleas for mercy and finished him off, then shot his ‘junior’ a half-lidded glare.

“If you're going to chat, finish them off first.”

“What’d you do that for? I was saving him as a buff dispenser.”

The players of the North and South, surrounding the two who were now engaged in an utterly absurd conversation, took shuffling steps backward, their faces twitching at the sight of the reinforcements that had appeared in the blink of an eye.

“He’s here…”

“Acrobat-san…”

“Uh, no way.”

“You know, two martial-type rankers is a bit much.”

“I, uh, recommend 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 was an understandable reaction.

Among the countless spectators watching around the world, few would likely laugh at their state and call them “pathetic”—so what would be directed at them instead?

Probably just a single phrase, meaning “my condolences” in their respective countries.

“What happened to Hinayo?”

“A little behind. She’ll catch up soon.”

“A gentleman should properly escort a lady.”

“Lately, I've started to think that looking too good might not be the best idea…”

“That’s a good mindset—if you ever intend to make a move on our master, I’ll accept your challenge for a duel anytime.”

“Hey, I told you I’m not into that kind of thing.”

“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’re not getting it. We’ve chatted enough. You take half.”

“Roger that. Five seconds, then.”

“Then I’ll take three.”

Exchanging playful words, the seventh and ninth rankers bumped fists.

In the next moment, a continuous torrent of crimson phosphorescence erupted—and without stopping until the very end, it painted and stained the battlefield.