I charged forward without a word and swung my blade in a horizontal arc.
She met the edge of my blade with her own, parrying it with an upward, scooping motion. High-pitched metallic screeches rang out as layers of sparks showered between us.
My full-power strike missed its mark, cutting through nothing but empty air.
“You have mimicked it perfectly. I would expect no less.”
With those words, she accelerated, lunging forward with a piercing thrust. The blow was aimed straight for my forehead; I managed to pull my sword back just in time. I blocked while leaping backward, but the sheer impact sent me flying.
As I landed, I cast a quick glance at my blade. A large crack spiderwebbed across the spot where her thrust had connected. It was forged to be incredibly hard, but that seemed to mean nothing against the Hero's Sword.
I flooded the blade with miasma, mending the damage.
(This is bad...)
A few moments into the fight, I was forced to admit I was at a disadvantage. The Former Hero was terrifyingly strong. There were several instances where I simply couldn't track her immense sword speed. I was struggling just to defend myself; I couldn't even find an opening to counter.
I didn't have the breathing room to weave magic. The moment I diverted my focus toward a spell, my swordplay suffered. Against any other opponent, it would have been a negligible lapse, but against her, that tiny opening was fatal. A string of near-misses followed, each one nearly cutting my life short.
Even when I tried to back away, she refused to give me space. She stayed glued to my range, never letting me establish the distance I needed to gain an advantage. The moment she sensed me preparing to teleport, she would either disrupt the spell or simply sprint to where I was about to appear.
Even when I managed to take to the sky and rain down a barrage of magic, she batted every spell aside with her slashes.
She was evolving with every stroke of her blade. Her strength increased in direct proportion to the effort I exerted. She truly was the living embodiment of absurd justice. An entity harboring the Will of the World was not just for show.
(She has no openings. How do I break through?)
I weighed my options while keeping a sharp eye on her movements. I kept my guard up, readying both sword and magic. I pushed my concentration past its limits to maintain that dual focus.
“If you won't come to me, then I shall come to you.”
She closed the gap instantly. Her movement mimicked teleportation, but in truth, it was a simple dash—a high-speed approach fueled by nothing but raw physical prowess.
Dropping into a low stance, she prepared to sweep her blade. Realizing I couldn't dodge, I unleashed a defense-type Forbidden Art. However, the Thorn Shield was sliced through like paper before it could even fully manifest. The attack landed before the spell could stabilize, preventing it from offering any real protection. It was a feat that defied all logic.
The slash that shattered the Thorn Shield carried through, lunging upward toward me. I slid my sword into its path at the absolute last second. My blade groaned under the staggering weight of the blow. Another crack formed, and it was about to snap in two.
Sensing that this stalemate would only last a heartbeat, I vented the miasma within my body like a burst of mist. Faced with this irregular technique at point-blank range, she knocked my sword away and then, with a single slash, blew the miasma into nothingness.
“...What?”
My shock lasted only a heartbeat before a relentless barrage of consecutive strikes descended upon me. She pressed her advantage without an ounce of mercy, and I was forced into a grim, stifling silence.