Left, upward, right, then downward again, his path changed the instant the wind caught him.
Bang——!
Another ice javelin fell.
Whoosh——!
Ilya changed direction again.
Bang——!
Another javelin fell.
Bang—bang—bang——!
Ilya never stopped moving.
Left. Right. Up. Down. Each burst of wind sent him hurtling in another direction, changing his momentum before the chains could catch up, while ice javelins continued raining down on Aleksei whenever Ilya found even the smallest opening.
"...."
The constant shifts in wind pressure wreaked havoc on his ears, blood beginning to trickle from them.
Whoosh——!
He moved again.
The Whiteout had become his battlefield. There was no need to plant his feet or properly turn his body before changing direction, allowing him to slip between the chains in ways ordinary footwork could never reproduce.
Another chain came from behind.
Ilya caught it.
"Got you..."
The chain pulled.
Ilya shot forward with it, released his grip, and let the wind carry him upward as another barrage of ice javelins materialized overhead.
They rained down upon Aleksei one after another, forcing the Distortion to raise his chains defensively while Ilya continued circling him.
——Ilya!
"Yeah. I’m right here! You goddamn bastard!"
Aleksei had enough.
His greatsword moved.
———!
The enormous blade swept toward Ilya, and even before it reached him, the force behind the swing tore through the Whiteout.
Ilya saw it coming, yet rather than retreating, a grin spread across his face as frost glinted in his eyes.
"Niflheim."
The snow moved.
Boom——!
Everything Ilya had accumulated came crashing down at once.
The avalanche slammed into the greatsword from above, forcing the weapon downward before it could ever reach him.
Snow burst throughout the hall as the blade crashed into the floor, and Ilya seized the opening, riding the wind over Aleksei’s shoulder.
Bang——!
It struck.
Ilya was already gone.
The elders could only stare in shock.
"What in the world...?"
They had spent their entire lives watching swordsmen move through aura, studying footwork refined across generations and techniques capable of carrying a knight across a battlefield in an instant.
Yet whatever Ilya was doing looked nothing like any movement technique they knew, because there was no aura reinforcing his legs and no recognizable footwork behind the abrupt changes in direction.
Valentin’s grip tightened around his sword.
"That boy is a wizard," he said, drawing his blade as he stepped forward. "Are you all going to cower behind a wizard?!"
"...."
That was enough.
"Like hell I will."
Volnograd moved first.
Vysota followed immediately, then Morozsk and the remaining elders rushed in after them, their aura spread outward as they entered the Whiteout.
Ilya caught sight of them through the snow and adjusted his attacks, redirecting them around their advance.
Clang——!
An elder intercepted one chain.
Bang——!
An ice javelin struck another.
Whoosh——!
And Ilya flew through the opening between them.
"The boy’s moving faster than us..."
"Is that aura?"
"No." Volnograd deflected another chain and looked upward just in time to see Ilya shoot past him. "I don’t sense any."
"Then how the hell is he moving like that?"
Whoosh——!
Ilya passed overhead. "Less talking."
Volnograd’s brow twitched. "You insolent little—"
"Eyes forward."
A chain came for his head.
Volnograd cursed and struck it aside, while Ilya twisted through the Whiteout and sent another javelin crashing down upon Aleksei.
With the elders finally joining him, the pressure shifted all at once, swords and magic attacking from different angles as the Distortion found itself unable to focus on any single opponent.
Aleksei was being pushed back.
From behind, Anastasiya stood wrapped in bandages, one hand gripping her injured arm as she watched the battle before her.
She had spent her entire life surrounded by swordsmen, yet the skill her father and the elders now displayed was on a level she had rarely had the opportunity to witness.
"What is this..."
Their movements flowed into one another, each man attacking the moment another withdrew and covering whatever opening the others left behind.
These were swordsmen who had spent decades fighting on the Northern Frontier, and watching them made Anastasiya painfully aware of just how far she still had to go.
"Too slow, Father."
...And somehow, Ilya was keeping up with them.
Anastasiya’s grip on her arm tightened as Ilya shot past Valentin.
He moved among the seven veteran swordsmen without falling behind or disrupting their rhythm, matching their advance with magic he had apparently taught himself in complete secrecy.
"...."
For once, Anastasiya had nothing to say.
"...."
Crackle——!
An ice sword materialized in Ilya’s hand.
Only now, as Anastasiya took a proper look at him, did she realize just how terrible his condition had become.
Ice covered much of his body, blood ran from wounds that had opened under his bandages, and even his ears were bleeding from the pressure of repeatedly throwing himself through the air, leaving him a grotesque mess of frost, blood, and reopened wounds.
Yet his expression remained as indifferent as ever.
Whoosh——!
Ilya shot forward.
The elders moved with him, their swords forcing Aleksei’s chains apart one after another until Valentin opened the final path through the Distortion’s defenses. Ilya flew through that opening, his ice sword already raised as the wind carried him directly toward Aleksei.
Slash——!
He struck.
The ice blade tore across Aleksei, and the Distortion staggered backward before finally collapsing under the combined assault.
The chains that had filled the hall moments earlier collapsed with him, crashing lifelessly against the floor one after another until the hall suddenly fell silent.
"...."
Aleksei had fallen.
That horrible Distortion, the same monster that had nearly killed her and had forced even the elders onto the defensive earlier, now lay motionless before them.
It had taken the combined strength of some of the greatest swordsmen in the North to bring him down.
And somehow, Ilya had stood among them until the very end.
It was only then that a thought occurred to Anastasiya.
Just who had really been holding back during their duel earlier?
If he had been free to use magic against her...
"...."
...Could she even keep up?
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