Chapter Eighty-Two: Rekindling Old Ties III

Amy Ulysses watched the battle between the two in silence.

They shattered the earth beneath their feet and roared loud enough to tear the sky asunder.

This was a contest of demons, a slaughter between monsters. Whether it was the information broker, whose draconic transformation rendered him impervious to blades and bullets, or the killer who could freely dissolve into mist, each possessed a combat prowess that far surpassed Amy’s own. If it were a one-on-one fight, and disregarding weapons or other extraneous factors, even with his limited ability to foresee the future, the odds were that he would not be their match.

After all, their strength was on the verge of absolute dominance.

Yet now, as the weakest and most overlooked participant, he found himself confident in his chances of ultimate victory.

Because battle is not merely a matter of accumulated statistics. It’s about the mastery, application, and countering of abilities, the quality of one’s weaponry, the formulation and execution of tactics… Even luck, as elusive as it may be, can at times become the deciding factor between life and death—unless the disparity of level and experience is so great as to render all else moot, then until the fight is truly over, no one can claim victory with certainty.

Because he was not fighting alone.

After their ordeal in the Illdan Caverns, his combat intuition and experience had been greatly enhanced, and his swordsmanship had leapt from novice to master. Though his body’s physical attributes were unchanged, he was now like steel tempered a hundred times over—same material, but with a toughness and quality incomparable to before. It wasn’t an illusion—he had genuinely grown stronger.

And with the overwhelmingly powerful Mia on his side, defeating their enemies was not so difficult.

His earlier performance might not have been convincing—but then, situations like the one he’d just survived, brushing so close to death, held no terror for one who could foresee the approach of the end. If need be, even without the information broker to share the burden, he could have held on for quite some time, and perhaps even launched a ferocious counterattack.

Still, to secure victory, relying on his strength alone would be insufficient.

The power of the swordbearer was essential.

So, he shifted his gaze from the heated battlefield and fixed his eyes on the girl’s emerald-clear irises, asking in a low voice, “Do you have a plan?”

“Hmm…” The girl’s pale face showed no change in expression; she merely raised her delicate brows and replied, in her usual calm tone, with words that sent a chill down the spine, “Annihilate them.”

“That’s… just like you,” the Glorious One was momentarily at a loss for words. After a pause, he shook his head and continued, “Well, my life isn’t worth much anyway, so I’ll wager it as your companion—let’s use the same tactics as our first cooperation. Everything as before.”

By the way… what is a ‘gentleman’?

It was only after speaking that the boy wondered about this.

“Mm,” the swordbearer murmured in assent, “It’s a troublesome ability. I’m not confident.”

“But not without solution,” Amy returned his gaze to the battlefield. “If you amplify your pressure to the utmost, you should be able to disperse the mist that forms him.”

“A chance.” The girl paused briefly. “But… I’m not certain.”

“I’ll help create that opportunity,” the Glorious One said, patting her shoulder. “I’m counting on you.”

Timing was critical. Unlike the mindless creature within the Illdan Caverns, the killer possessed exceptional combat skill and cunning. Hoping to gather enough air pressure to blow away the mist that made up his body was unrealistic—she would need to control both the timing and intensity of her attack perfectly. Too long, and the tactic would fail; too weak, and all effort would be wasted.

There would only be one chance.

Mia understood this, and knew as well what risks the boy would have to take.

But she said nothing, only nodded in silence.

Action was more powerful than any words; it was the truest way to repay the trust he had placed in her.

“Then,” Amy Ulysses waved his hand in farewell, his voice deep and resonant as he echoed the girl’s earlier words, “—annihilate them.”

“Mm,” the swordbearer watched his retreating figure, her emerald eyes brightening for a fleeting moment, shining brilliantly in the pre-dawn gloom. “Annihilate them.”

The Glorious One gave no reply, only watched the battlefield, now so close at hand.

Though neither side possessed the means for a decisive victory, the battle did not falter. If anything, their ability to shrug off physical blows only made their clash more ferocious. Every two or three breaths, the killer’s mist form would be torn apart again, while the draconian information broker fared little better—his body, armored in black scales, was now covered with scars, and his monstrous form seemed ready to shatter under the killer’s relentless assault.

Should he intervene now?

The boy hesitated for a moment. Letting them injure each other was tempting, but… without Willy, the stalwart main tank, it would be difficult to safely restrain a killer who could turn to mist at will; not without dying several times in the attempt. On the other hand, teaming up with the information broker would eventually mean facing a troublesome high demon.

Both routes had their merits and drawbacks, but given his side’s actual circumstances, Amy made his choice easily.

He leapt into the fray!

Slash—slash—slash—slash—

Almost the instant he entered the battlefield, a storm of attacks crashed down upon him.

In a single moment, the Glorious One’s situation became perilous. The killer, with his undying body, unleashed a ferocity beyond Amy’s expectations; the very moment Amy stepped within reach, the killer abandoned his assault on the draconic opponent and brought his blades down like a radiant torrent.

Fast—too fast!

Strikes blurred into lines before his eyes, lines weaving into a deadly net. Amy had no time to react, only barely managing to bring his short sword, Darkblood, up to guard his chest, fending off the unending, relentless blows. In mere heartbeats, he could scarcely keep hold of his weapon.

Any longer, and he would die.

That much was certain, but the boy did not think of how to change the situation.

Because—

The information broker would not let this opportunity slip.

“Lips and teeth depend on each other”—this simple truth, handed down as a maxim by the ancients, was not lost on them. Amy and Willy were not truly friends, but in mutual exploitation, it sufficed to trust him as such. Besides… one who could see his own death had little to fear from betrayal.

He saw no sign of his own demise.

As expected, Willy, who once called himself an information broker, acted—yes, acted—he reached out and seized the killer’s twin blades in a tight grip.

A chance.

Without a word exchanged, without any prior understanding, the Glorious One seized upon the killer’s opening in an instant.

Strike!

Suppressing the numbness of his muscles, Darkblood flashed like a bolt of red-black lightning, piercing the dense, nearly tangible mist.

Wait… Mist?

—Mist form.

Almost as he realized this, the killing blades reappeared in a flash!

Damn.

Drained, the boy could not bring his sword up in time to parry; in that split second, he could only roll aside, the whistling wind grazing his scalp and sending a few strands of black hair drifting down.

On the other side, the draconic information broker looked none too pleased. He had not intervened to block the killer’s attack out of a desire to weaken a potential enemy, but rather because… he simply had not anticipated such a swift and sudden strike.

“Partial misting.”

His scale-covered face betrayed no expression, but Wilson knew he must look grim indeed.

Still so at ease?

Both the boy, rolling in the rubble, and the information broker thought the same thing. In all previous exchanges, the killer had never used this technique—always clumsily letting his mist body be dispersed, then reforming. Whether it was carelessness or deliberate concealment of strength, it was clear the enemy had not yet fought in earnest.

A truly terrifying foe.

Amy barely had time to steady himself before instinctively raising his blade to guard his chest. With a metallic crash, his not-so-sturdy body was driven deep into the rubble, leaving a human-shaped imprint, and blood spewed from his mouth in a ghastly mist.

Has he shifted his main target to me?

Out of the corner of his eye, Amy saw the information broker miss with another attack, and couldn’t help thinking so.

From a tactical standpoint, abandoning the hard-shelled, unkillable opponent to strike at Amy, the weaker and more vulnerable target, was the logical choice. But as the enemy’s enemy, Amy could only feel vexation.

Fortunately, this was not unexpected.

He had considered the possibility of drawing the killer’s focus the moment he joined the fight—though it was the last thing he wanted, he had to admit that, for the battle as a whole, it might yet prove advantageous.

Because it meant the other high-level demon on the field was now completely unrestrained.

So, while desperately fending off the killer’s relentless, wave-like attacks, Amy forced himself to spare some focus to shout to his unreliable temporary ally.

“Bind!”

No subject, no object—just a single word. To an outsider, it might seem meaningless, but Wilson instantly grasped Amy’s intent and activated his power in the next moment.

—Atmospheric Control.

Almost as soon as the ability was unleashed, the killer’s onslaught, as fierce as a storm, abruptly ceased. Then, his entire body, twin blades and all, dissolved into mist, which was drawn out and diluted to the utmost by the vacuum’s pull.

“What exactly are you planning?” The draconic information broker finally had a chance to speak, his jaw working. “I can’t hold him for long!”

“What?” With the vacuum barrier between them, Amy could only hear a muffled voice, so he shouted back just as loudly, “I can’t hear you!”

Fortunately, the breakdown in verbal communication did not completely preclude understanding between two rational minds. A moment later, the boy guessed at what his draconic counterpart was trying to convey. He held up three fingers, shaping his mouth carefully to enunciate, “Three seconds.”

The other gestured acknowledgement.

And so—

One, two, three—

Separated by the vacuum, both turned as one to look in the same direction: toward the swordbearer.

And their eyes widened.

—The wind had begun to blow.