"Shadow Spear!"
"…"
"Heh, you've got some skill… But even if you can dodge once, how will you handle an attack that falls like rain?"
"…So noisy."
"Heh. Using the flexibility of your whip-blade, your sharp perception, and that precise moment of strengthening it with Originium Arts… you carved a gap through my Shadow Rain. Impressive. Then come a little closer."
"…"
Zofia stood in place, breathing heavily.
Her arm and leg guards were covered in scratches.
Some of the gashes were so deep that faint traces of blood could be seen beneath her pale skin.
An attack as dense as falling rain was never going to be something Zofia could block so easily.
"You really are looking down on me!"
Zofia glared at Arthur, who held his black spear yet remained standing calmly in place.
She had to admit it. This blond Phidia man before her possessed extraordinary strength. Even without relying on equipment, he was able to suppress her.
But that only raised a troubling question.
If that was the case, why had Arthur relied so heavily on sponsor-provided equipment in his previous matches?
With his ability, he should have been able to win effortlessly even without them.
And if he truly enjoyed crushing others through superior gear, then why, in this match, had he voluntarily given up such a massive advantage in equipment and supplies?
Zofia held her breath. Then, with a sudden push of her feet, she charged forward.
Before the match, she had studied recordings of Arthur's fights and concluded that the only way to defeat him was through close combat.
And her judgment was correct.
"Arthur" could not employ techniques that did not align with his identity.
It was true that the Black Snake's memories contained a vast amount of combat knowledge, and its techniques were far from lacking.
But that only meant it knew a wide range of skills. It did not mean those skills truly belonged to it.
On this land, true masters forged fighting styles that suited their own nature. Ursus warriors relied on brute strength, Felines favored agility and ambush, Sarkaz wielded sorcery, and Sankta were gifted marksmen.
The Black Snake had never been a master of close combat.
It had dabbled in many techniques, but none of them truly fit its nature.
Studying them was not meaningless, but the cost and return were completely disproportionate.
In simple terms, the Black Snake possessed a broad skill set, but most of those skills could not be developed further, or had strict limitations.
They also came with conditions.
A technique designed for Ursus could not simply be used by a Phidia with the same effect.
Even with these limitations, the body it controlled was still stronger than the vast majority of people on this land.
It just could not compare to those who had carved out entirely new paths with their own hands.
And as a Phidia from Kazimierz, Arthur Pendragon could not use techniques that did not fit his identity.
In other words, in theory, close combat was indeed one of Arthur's weaknesses.
That was, of course, assuming the Black Snake did not want to expose anything unusual about him.
___
'What a miscalculation. If I had known this girl was this fierce, I wouldn't have thrown away all that equipment and supplies… really shot myself in the foot.'
The Black Snake muttered in dissatisfaction within Arthur's body.
"Haha, now this is a fight worth having."
Arthur wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
Just moments ago, he had tried to rely on the agility of his Phidia body to sidestep the relentless assault of the blond Kuranta girl.
But the whip-blade in her hand had suddenly changed direction midair, lashing hard into Arthur's abdomen.
Even through the light armor protecting his chest, the force had struck deep enough to slightly injure his internal organs, leaving a faint, metallic sweetness rising in his throat.
As for why Arthur didn't simply wrap himself into a ball of shadows, or slip fully into them to play dirty…
This was a knight tournament, not a fight to the death.
Spectacle still mattered.
And Arthur himself carried a considerable idol image to maintain.
'…Still, it's fine. Her strength hasn't exceeded my expectations. I can take this.'
"…"
Unlike Arthur, who still had the energy to talk and even deliver lines, Zofia could barely speak.
Even her left hand, gripping the whip-blade, had begun to tremble.
Yet she did not hesitate.
'The next exchange will decide everything.'
She had only one chance left.
Her stamina and injuries would not allow her to continue any longer.
"…"
Arthur, too, fell silent.
A few flashy lines here and there could enhance his charm, but silence, at times, added depth to his persona.
Constant theatrics alone would never win true loyalty.
'Let's end this with a brilliant final strike.'
Even with blood lingering at the corner of his lips, Arthur's hair and smile remained perfectly in place.
For an idol, showing an unsightly side was unacceptable.
Suddenly, Zofia moved.
She was already within three meters of Arthur as she charged forward.
Her whip-blade was less than a meter from his chest.
At the same moment, Arthur's shadow had already enveloped her. His smile faded slightly as the shadow spear in his right hand shot forward.
If Zofia dodged this strike, Arthur could create distance again, and her defeat would be inevitable.
After all, her condition was far worse than his.
But Zofia did not retreat.
On the contrary, she thrust out her right hand, attempting to block the incoming shadow spear.
A flicker of surprise passed through Arthur's eyes as she continued her charge without slowing.
To the young and headstrong Zofia, a duel between knights was sacred and not something one could shrink away from.
If victory could be won at the cost of an arm, then to her, still holding firmly to traditional ideals, it was worth it.
But reality was far harsher than ideals.
In an instant, the shadows surged outward, swallowing the light across the entire arena.
The audience suddenly lost all sight of the stage.
Zofia, too, was plunged into momentary blindness, losing track of Arthur completely.
All she could feel was that the shadow spear, which should have pierced through her right hand, suddenly shifted, grazing her skin instead.
Her whip-blade struck nothing but air.
A pair of soft hands came to rest on her shoulders.
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
Arthur switched off the microphone.