Dyrtose could no longer see Riven's face clearly. His vision blurred, his breathing ragged, his body on the verge of collapse. The mana inside him was dry, drained away by wounds that had shredded his flesh and bone. If only he had a sliver of mana left, he would have conjured a lightning spear and obliterated the carriage without hesitation.
So when Riven charged at him with his sword, Dyrtose simply waited.
Riven struck coldly, forcing down the fear shaking his chest. He steadied himself with a whisper in his mind: I can't lose to a man half-dead.
His blade cut in from the side, fast and steady. But as though Riven's movement was laid bare before him, Dyrtose tilted his sword just slightly, slipping into the path of the strike and stopping it.
Riven's body shuddered. His palms felt like they had been smashed by a hammer, the shock rattling his grip. Before he could tighten his hold, the sword slipped from his hands. In an instant, Dyrtose's blade flashed toward his neck.
"—!"
Riven stumbled back, barely avoiding the slash, almost tripping on a stone buried in the mud. He ducked low, snatched his fallen sword, and staggered away with pale face and ragged breath. The gleaming edge of death was still right there in front of him. His retreat was clumsy, humiliating, but his mind was racing, trying to comprehend what had just happened.
That brief exchange alone told Riven the truth: he had no chance of winning.
It wasn't about speed. It wasn't about strength. Riven could see plainly that Dyrtose was slower than him, his body barely upright. But in terms of technique, the man stood in an entirely different realm. Every swing, every thrust, every shift of his feet—sharp, precise, lethal.
'If I rush in again like that, I'll die…' Riven thought grimly. Only sheer luck had saved him from that first slash.
Yet one sliver of hope remained: the wounds. Sooner or later, Dyrtose's body would collapse under its own weight. All Riven needed to do was endure, breathe long enough until death claimed the man.
Dyrtose knew it too. His body wouldn't last. He felt the heat of blood spilling inside his body, dripping steadily to the earth. That was why his resolve had hardened, he would drag Ashtoria into death with him, no matter what.
At first, he had meant to kill Riven in a single blow. The boy's intent to kill was too obvious to him, too sharp to be ignored. Yet Riven had survived. If he had been in his normal state, that would have been impossible.
Riven hung back, keeping his distance, resisting the urge to charge recklessly. Dyrtose didn't waste his strength chasing him. He simply turned, dragging his steps, leaving a trail of blood as he moved toward the carriage.
'No…!' Riven cursed inwardly, teeth clenched. He couldn't allow the man to reach it. In desperation, he lunged again, pulling a dagger from his waist and hurling it.
The blade spun through the air, swift and true, but Dyrtose merely lifted his sword and knocked it aside without breaking stride. It was as if he could read Riven's every move without even looking.
Riven rushed in, swinging his sword, forcing the man to stop just long enough to parry. The clash of steel rang out, a harsh clang that echoed through the rain-soaked night.
He leaned in, cutting from the right. Dyrtose barely turned his wrist, his blade sliding up to deflect with effortless precision. Sparks scattered. The metallic shriek pierced Riven's ears. He stepped back immediately, retreating two steps, panting hard. He knew if he lingered a moment longer, he would be dead.
The moment he saw an opening, he surged forward again, thrusting straight for the chest. Dyrtose shifted his torso slightly, letting the tip glance past. Before the counterstroke came, Riven threw himself backward, retreating in a leap. It looked cowardly, as though he was too frightened to face his opponent head-on. But for him, it was survival.
Each time he advanced, he only aimed to scratch, to probe for openings, never to finish. But even that was a gamble with his life. In one clash, Dyrtose's sword nearly skewered his stomach. He survived only because instinct had forced his body to jump back.
One slash came so close it almost split his face. Riven staggered, retreating further before daring to rush back in with another cut, then retreating again. Over and over, the pattern repeated.
He knew how it looked—like a coward's fighting style, lunging from the outside, then fleeing in panic. But he also knew it was the only way. To chip away at the man's stamina, little by little.
"I let you live before…" the man's voice rasped, burning with fury, "why do you block my path now?!"
Riven did not answer at once. His eyes locked on the figure before him, reading every twitch, every shift. At last his lips parted, his tone flat.
"Do you regret sparing me?"
A growl rumbled from the man's throat.
His teeth ground together. The sharpness of his gaze, once piercing, was now drenched in blood and ruin. "I… made a mistake. I should have killed you then."
Strike after strike rang out. Each time Riven's blade came in, Dyrtose brushed it aside with a simple motion, countering with sharp thrusts. More than once, Riven escaped only by instinct or pure luck. One slash caught his left arm. The wound wasn't deep, but blood spilled hot, weakening his grip.
Riven clenched his teeth against the pain, cold sweat dripping from his brow. His heart thundered, his eyes unblinking. He knew a single misstep would see his neck severed from his body.
"Do not block my path!" the man roared again, his voice breaking in rage and agony.
"I will not let them die in vain!"
Riven gripped his sword tighter. His feet nearly slipped, his shoulder nicked by the force of a grazing strike. Yet he caught the words.
Them.
His companions.
Was this man truly the only one left?
"That woman… " he roared again.
"She is not human! She is... the REINCARNATION OF DESTRUCTION!
The cry came like a curse ripped from the pit of his throat. Each word spoken with unshakable conviction, burning with rage and vengeance.
And Riven saw it.
The man's body was failing fast.
His steps faltered. Even standing seemed a struggle, like an ancient tree waiting for the final wind to topple it.
He was truly dying.
Riven could feel it—if he lasted just a little longer, he could win.
But like a wounded beast still capable of mauling its prey, the man was not yet dead. And so long as he lived, he remained lethal.
"She's a madwoman… a bloodthirsty monster… who revels in suffering! The world will burn if she is allowed to live… she must die… SHE MUST DIE!"
Dyrtose's fury blazed. His eyes burned, his lips drawn tight with wrath. Every backward step Riven took was like mockery. He refused to waste more time. Raising his sword, faint sparks crawled along the blade.
When their swords met again, the current surged through the steel and into Riven's body. The shock ripped through him, muscles convulsing violently, his entire frame jerking as pain stabbed deep into his marrow. His thoughts scattered, torn from the world in an instant.
His grip nearly failed. His hands shook uncontrollably. He could not even raise his sword again.
And then, in that instant, Dyrtose's slash swept in from the side. The glowing blade carved through the air, driving straight for Riven's neck.
Riven heard only the hiss of steel, felt the cold edge of death grazing the skin of his throat. The world seemed to slow, dread spreading through his entire being.