System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 269: The Shattered Glass Maze
Under the blood-red moon, the two Witchers faced each other in the open ground before the villa doors, three yards apart.
Roy crouched low with his back bowed, his weight light on the balls of his feet as he circled counterclockwise. The point of the Lady of the Lake’s Sword followed the black shadow without wavering.
This time the enemy seemed to possess a measure of intelligence. It no longer threw itself forward without thought. Instead, it circled the Witcher in imitation, its sword grip, the rhythm of its steps, the posture of its body, all startlingly identical to his own.
The two figures standing opposite each other looked like a reflection and the body outside the mirror.
Roy stared at the other self, and a sense of absurdity rose in him.
So this was O’Dimm’s final gift for him? He was curious how much of his abilities this Duplicate had actually mastered. Had it copied everything, like a doppler?
Heat beaded on his brow and in his palms.
The next instant, Roy tightened his grip on the hilt with his right hand, while his left slashed an orange equilateral triangle through the air. A pillar of scarlet flame burst from the Sign’s circle and washed over the black shape.
The shadow moved almost at the same moment, answering with an Igni Sign of its own.
“Fwoosh!”
Both streams of fire struck true. Two sharp pops followed as the Quen shields protecting them shattered in turn. Roy stepped off to one side, shook free a scorched lock of black hair at his temple, then crashed into the shadow like a cannon shot.
The Witcher had seized the initiative.
Perhaps the shadow’s wit was not yet fully formed, its reaction lagged by a hair. Aerondight in the Witcher’s hand swept first in a silver arc from low to high, slashing for the shadow’s chest.
A burst of sparks flew in the air. The shadow blocked the incoming longsword with swift, graceful precision. The strength behind its blade matched Roy’s exactly.
But Roy changed his move first. Twisting his wrist, he ran Aerondight tight along the black blade’s spine and slid it upward in one smooth motion, shearing off the enemy’s right ear in an instant.
It scattered into the air and became black smoke.
Pain distracted most men.
But the shadow felt none. Its movements did not hesitate in the slightest. An Aard blasted the Witcher back just as the force of his attack ran out, then the shadow lunged forward, driving its sword in a thrust aimed at his throat.
Roy pivoted on the toes of his left foot and spun like a top. Aerondight rode the turn and slapped the black blade aside, then shifted from a deflection into a thrust, aiming straight for the enemy’s chest.
“Clang!”
The black sword locked against the silver blade. The two became entangled, turning slowly clockwise.
A waterfall of sparks poured from the grinding edges, like a steel millstone in motion.
“Clang!”
The blades split apart. The two figures crossed again at speed, trading dozens of blows, parries, dodges, and collisions.
There were no fancy feints, every strike was meant to kill, every thrust aimed for a vital point.
Metal screeched and crashed in a relentless chain, joined by sharp air-bursts that rasped at the ear.
The Witcher twisted away once more from a slash hurled by the shadow, then snarled and stabbed viciously for its throat. The black sword drew a half-circle in the enemy’s hand, knocked the strike aside, and cut for his belly.
Roy had no choice but to leap back and drag in a rough breath.
Sweat ran in shining streams down his face, jaw, and neck. His black hair was soaked through, steam rising from him.
After barely a minute of fighting, the drain on his stamina was already beyond reason.
The Duplicate O’Dimm had made not only possessed the same physical qualities as Roy, it had inherited his combat instincts, his reactions in the moment, even small habits in how he moved. Because of that, it could read every one of the Witcher’s attacks with ease.
Of course, Roy had also seen through the thing’s sword patterns.
The two were like old foes who had crossed blades hundreds, thousands of times. The fight only grew fiercer, yet neither could do anything to the other, and the deadlock deepened.
That was the situation he had wanted least. Little time remained. He had to end this fast.
The thought flashed through him. The Witcher clenched his teeth, gave up on defense entirely, lowered his body, and drove straight into the shadow’s reach. His sword point trembled and stabbed diagonally downward.
The other failed to avoid that desperate thrust, its right abdomen pierced through, but it did not retreat. Instead it chose wound for wound and drove its own blade through Roy’s thigh.