Sapp's attention remained locked on the spear. Even though his flesh had been scorched, the damage wasn't as severe as it appeared on the surface.
Clang.
Once again, the thrust was parried by the bronze-colored scales.
After tasting the sting of Wayland's initial attack, Sapp had grown wary. Scales now covered not just his arms, but his entire face, transforming him into something that resembled a grotesque, armored lizardman.
'How hideous.'
Wayland's brow furrowed, but his movements didn't falter. The spear became a blur, lunging toward Sapp's eyes with lethal velocity.
The transformation had granted Sapp incredible durability, but at a cost--his movements were becoming noticeably sluggish.
He tracked the spear clumsily, always a heartbeat behind. By the time he moved to shield his eyes, the spear was already driving toward his heart. When his defense shifted to protect his chest, Wayland's blade was already striking at his lower vitals.
As Wayland continued to test for a weakness at high speed, a series of startled shouts erupted from the other team members in the distance. It sounded as though they had encountered enemies of their own.
"Elena?"
Wayland took a half-step back, using the momentary gap to call out.
A few moments later, Elena's voice crackled through his headset. Her breathing was irregular, and the background noise suggested she was in the middle of a struggle.
"I'm fine... we've encountered a few hostiles," she gasped. "We probably won't be able to back you up for a bit. Be careful!"
"Understood."
Wayland turned his focus back to Sapp. His relentless assault had yet to leave even a scratch on those scales.
If he didn't find a way to breach that defense soon, the battle would inevitably turn against him.
Until now, Wayland had relied on his superior speed to maintain the advantage. But that speed wasn't a product of his physical conditioning; it was a constant drain on his magical energy through reinforcement.
Sapp didn't feel like a magus. He fought like a knight.
Given the antiquity of the ruins, that made perfect sense. Magic, in its modern sense, likely wasn't his forte.
But in terms of raw combat potential, Sapp far outclassed him.
With his overwhelming defense and strength, Sapp could simply wait for Wayland's mana to run dry.
As Wayland considered his options, Sapp made his move. He abandoned his defensive posture and stopped trying to block the spear.
A fluid, water-like magical energy began to seep from between his scales. Within seconds, the gaps were filled with a viscous black substance, making him look like a piece of shattered porcelain that had been crudely repaired with wet clay.
The lizardman had effectively turned into a featureless, pitch-black mass before Wayland's eyes.
Pfff.
For the first time, Wayland's spear-tip sank into a gap between the scales. But before he could celebrate, the weapon felt as though it had been plunged into a vat of industrial-strength adhesive. He yanked on the shaft, but it remained firmly embedded.
Without a second's hesitation, Wayland abandoned the spear and leaped back.
Sapp stood his ground, making no move to pursue.
A guttural, triumphant chuckle escaped his throat--a sound full of mocking satisfaction.
'...'
'Brother, the times have changed.'
Wayland shook his head. He understood Sapp's pride. In the age of knights two thousand years ago, losing one's primary weapon was often a death sentence. In that era, warriors relied on legendary, named blades of incredible power.
The three great swords of the lake, for instance.
Excalibur, Galatine, and Arondight.
Wayland prepared to dissipate the projected spear, but his eyes narrowed.
The spearhead was still buried in that viscous substance, and it hadn't been corroded. While he had 'lost' the weapon, a significant portion of it was still firmly inside Sapp's defensive layer.
Wayland took a deep breath and began to run.
His body became a streak of pale yellow light in the mist, his speed pushing far beyond the limits of his reinforcement. Fine, needle-like lacerations split the skin of his face, and droplets of blood were instantly whipped away by the wind.
The distance between Wayland and Sapp was barely three meters.
Sapp caught only a glimpse of movement before he realized that dozens of spectral spears were suddenly protruding from his body.
By the time he blinked, Wayland was back in his original position. If not for the forest of spears embedded in his flesh, Sapp might have believed the youth hadn't moved at all.
Wayland raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the hall.
It was as if a massive cache of dynamite had been detonated. Fire and dust gouted upward, the brilliance of the blast momentarily pushing back the oppressive mist.
Wayland lunged forward once more, his right hand already gripping a newly projected spear.
The gale-force winds generated by his charge tore through the smoke, revealing the figure within.
The spear drove forward with a singular, focused intent.
It looked unremarkable, yet a heavy, profound sense of power seemed to flow through the shaft.
Magical energy flooded the weapon.
The spear seemed to expand, its presence swelling like a massive python. The tip shimmered with a frost-cold light, and as Elemental fires began to consume the weapon, the shaft itself seemed to wither.
Wayland finally caught a clear view of Sapp's state.
Under the influence of the explosive magic, the previous spears had unleashed their full power against the surface of the scales. The thick layer of black substance had been stripped away, and many of the scales had been shattered. It seemed the interior of his defense wasn't nearly as resilient as the exterior.
Even so, the armor had absorbed the brunt of the damage.
With a sickening sound of grinding bone and shifting flesh, the scales began to reform, the muscle tissue beneath them proliferating at an unnatural rate.
At this rate, he would be fully restored in less than thirty seconds.
But in that exact moment, the spearpoint--carrying the full weight of Wayland's magical energy--collided with Sapp's chest. It punched through the heart without a trace of resistance, the blade erupting from his back.
A geyser of blood erupted from the gaping wound.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]