The Seven-Thousand-Year Prayer Page 5

  Most likely, the flesh-and-blood player in the real world also trained as a boxer. It would be hard to otherwise explain the perfect succession of those terrifyingly fast left punches (jabs), or the defensive maneuver of throwing his body back like water flowing (swaying), and the single-blow special attack of the right punch (a straight).

  The heavy weighting of “player skills”—abilities the flesh-and-blood player possessed in the real world—in full-dive VR games was said to have come about a few decades earlier. The tendency for players who did kendo or who excelled in memorization to do well in sword-and-sorcery VRMMO worlds was also carried over to the VR fighting game Brain Burst.

  But this so-called initial ability bonus was not large enough to upset the balance of the Accelerated World. One reason was that there were very few sporty Burst Linkers to begin with. Given the fact that Brain Burst was in the end a net fighting game, most of its players were children who liked games, i.e., the indoor type.

  Naturally, there were exceptions like kendo-team Takumu and track-and-field Chiyuri. But it wasn’t the case that the skills the flesh-and-blood player had learned were always reflected as is in the duel avatar. In fact, there were almost no such examples. Takumu’s Cyan Pile had been created with a pile rather than a sword, although he was a blue type, and Chiyuri’s Lime Bell was not a particularly high-speed-motion type. And Haruyuki himself, his obsession with first-person shooters would have been put to better use if he had been born a red type equipped with at least one gun rather than the empty-handed Silver Crow. This discrepancy itself was the second reason the initial bonus didn’t really affect the duel balance.

  Still, that said, very rarely, a duel avatar was generated reflecting the knowledge, experience, and abilities of the flesh-and-blood player as-is. Avatars like that were called…

  “Perfect Match,” Haruyuki murmured.

  Iron Pound nodded. “But,” he said, “that’s not the only reason you can’t beat me. At Great Wall, yeah? We’ve spent the last few years exhaustively researching the Armor of Catastrophe, so that the next time for sure, you wouldn’t be allowed to wreak whatever havoc you wanted and we could completely eliminate you from the Accelerated World.”

  “…Researching?”

  “Exactly. Unfortunately, because of the mutual nonaggression pact between the six major Legions, we couldn’t touch the fifth when he showed up north of Shinjuku six months ago. But the sixth…We’re not letting you get away. We were planning to wait until the bounty was officially announced, but running into you here like this, we have no reason to hold back on subjugating you.”

  As Iron Pound spoke his very composed words, Haruyuki stared at him coolly through his cracked visor. No matter how much of a Perfect Match boxing type he was, now that Haruyuki knew that, he had any number of ways to attack him. Or rather, the moment Pound acknowledged that he was a boxer, he essentially revealed he was only adept at close-range fighting, at best six meters—the length of one side of a boxing ring. No matter how fast he was within that distance, once Haruyuki maneuvered deep inside or outside that range, it would be a simple enough matter to negate those abilities.

  First, he would catch him. And then he would skewer him with his Incarnate sword and throw him off the edge of the building, and that would be the end of it.

  “Then I’ll show you that your research or whatever was absolutely useless.” Haruyuki quickly thrust his left hand forward. The palm, flanked by five open fingers, snapped backward. From the base of his wrist, a silver light shot out with a faint rasp. Wire Hook. Once the hook grabbed on, no avatar could get away from him.

  Originally, this had been the particular ability of Cherry Rook, the fifth Disaster. Like the first’s Flash Blink and the second’s Flame Breath, the Armor had copied it. Using it required him to be exceedingly synchronized with the Armor, but Haruyuki had reached that depth. Being able to use the powers of past Disasters could actually have been the greatest power of the sixth.

  Only moments earlier, Iron Pound had said they hadn’t touched the fifth, so they shouldn’t have even been aware of the existence of Wire Hook. There was no way he would be able to dodge at first sight a hook that was so small it was practically invisible, flying at a speed equivalent to that of a bullet—

  Claaang! The dry metallic noise echoed across the roof of Mori Tower.

  And then Haruyuki saw it. The ultimate capture technique, Wire Hook, wielded so powerfully against countless avatars including Silver Crow himself, had made a direct hit with Iron Pound’s rounded left shoulder and bounced off emptily.

  “—!!”

  By the time Haruyuki had swallowed his breath, the veteran boxer was already closing the distance between them in a terrifyingly fast charge. The two gloves readied in front of his chest began to shine a fresh blue.

  “Hammer Rave!!” This time, the technique name was shouted sharply.

  Countless fists covered his entire field of view. A storm of machine gun–like jabs launched from the left. In between, surging in from the right came straights, like rifle bullets and hatchet-like hooks. The total number was probably more than ten blows a second.

  Haruyuki didn’t even have the luxury of tightening his guard. Fierce blows slammed into every spot on his upper body, pushing him up several dozen centimeters into the air, chin and arms thrown clumsily upward. Unable to counter or even move, he was in a state of shock delay.

  Iron Pound slid in close to the reeling Haruyuki, drawing a blue afterimage in the air. He dropped down, and an even more concentrated overlay came to life in his right fist. Intuitively understanding that the finishing blow was on its way, Haruyuki frantically tried to command his metal wings. But they were much larger now, and the reaction time was the slightest bit duller. Just as he was finally able to generate some lift—

  A right uppercut like the main artillery of a battleship caught Haruyuki squarely on his totally exposed and defenseless jaw, carving out a blue arc as it plowed into him.

  The impact nearly knocked the brain right out of his head, and he rose up into the air, all four limbs splayed. Finally, he reached the pinnacle of the parabola and fell for a few seconds. Kawhud! His back hit the floor, and after bouncing once, he came to rest, arms and legs still shooting out at all angles.

  In the upper left of his field of view, his health gauge was dyed yellow, half of it whisked away all at once. Although he knew he had to stand up, the impact was too deep—his thoughts were filled with failure, and a desire to not admit the truth of the situation had pushed Haruyuki to the precipice of a zero fill state.

  Through the floor beneath his back, he heard sharp footsteps. And then a voice: “That’s the weak point for all of you. Doesn’t matter which one you are, something all you Chrome Disasters have in common.”

  “Weak point,” Haruyuki groaned, lifting his head to glare intently at Iron Pound, who stood two or so meters away, showering him with a cool gaze.

  “The performance of the Armor is definitely incredible,” the Perfect Match boxer started, sounding detached, a somehow pitying look popping up in the simple shape of his eye lenses. “And it looks like it’s eaten so far into you that you can even use the abilities of its former owners. But in the end, it’s still the power of something borrowed. It’s like a little kid without a license driving a super car with a thousand horsepower. You might be able to recklessly slam your foot down on the accelerator on a straight course and go as fast as possible, but you can’t take the corners properly. You’re wielding a power that’s not your own, so the most basic of all fighting basics…You don’t even see your opponent’s attributes anymore.”

  He raised his glove-shaped right hand, and with his thumb (his only free finger), he tapped his left shoulder—the very spot Haruyuki’s Wire Hook had bounced off.

  “I’m iron, which has the greatest piercing defense of even the metal colors. Even when I’m not enhanced with Incarnate, as if your little hook could stab me.”

  So that’s it. Haruyuki
finally became aware of his own mistake, his clenched fists creaking.

  Metal-color duel avatars, not belonging to the normal color wheel, were as rare as or rarer than Perfect Match avatars. The only ones Haruyuki knew of—in addition to his own Silver Crow—were Cobalt Blade and Manganese Blade, close associates of the Blue King, and whoever it was that had given birth to the Armor of Catastrophe in ancient times, crowned with the name Chrome. Which was basically equivalent to his having no experience fighting them.

  Thus, having enjoyed for such a long time the advantages of being a metal color, excellent at all kinds of defense, he hadn’t even imagined the disadvantages when that metal color was an enemy. If that wasn’t careless, then what was?

  But it wasn’t just that. When the Wire Hook bounced off Iron Pound, if it had been a technique he had generated himself and used for many years, he would have instinctively understood which opponents it wouldn’t work as well on. And during the fight with the fifth Disaster, aka Cherry Rook, six months earlier, Rook indeed hadn’t tried to use the Wire Hook on Haruyuki. That was probably because he knew it was likely to bounce off his metal-hued armor.

  The power of something…borrowed. Still flat on his back, Haruyuki had barely digested those words when Iron Pound spoke again, even more quietly.

  “After analyzing the Armor of Catastrophe and searching for a way to fight it, we came to a single conclusion. It’s not the power of numbers or a superstrong Incarnate technique that can defeat the Disaster, it’s just thoroughly polished basic techniques. Ever since, the Six Armors of Great Wall have spent an enormous amount of time refining our techniques, in order to bring our strongest basics into the domain where they exceed even the most powerful Incarnate. So that the next time, for sure, we would eliminate the curse gnawing at the heart of this world, without having to rely on the power of the kings.”

  Fshk! The air snapped. Pound had probably sent off a left jab into the air, but Haruyuki’s eyes couldn’t catch even the afterglow of the aura piercing the space.

  “All five Disasters who’ve shown up so far were dealt with by the kings themselves. Heading into the field, courting the risk of the sudden-death rule that comes with level nine, right? But there’s no greater disgrace for those of us who guard the king. This time for sure, we—no, my hand—will stop the Catastrophe. Sorry, but you’re outta here, Silver Crow. While you’re the newborn…and weakest Disaster.”

  Weakest.

  The instant the word resounded inside his helmet, a boiling storm of emotion whipped through Haruyuki’s entire body—before concentrating in a single point on his back.

  Kill. Kill, kill, absolutely kill!!

  The rage was dizzying. Rather than settling into the depths of the Armor, this energy took form, jetting out through a gap in his back; it felt like something being yanked out of him. And then stretching out behind him were countless long, sharp metal segments joined together—a tail. The emblematic organ of the sixth Disaster Haruyuki had himself severed with his own Incarnate at the end of the Hermes’ Cord race.

  The tapered knifelike tip of the tail stabbed into the floor, and using the reactive force from that alone, Haruyuki gradually pushed his body up, arms and legs still splayed. When he was finally standing again, he leaned forward, armor clanking. Gripping the longsword in his right hand, shaking the talons of his left, he howled like a beast.

  “Grar! Raaaar…Kill…Kiiiiilllll…” The bloodlust and rage racing through him became an inky black aura and shot outward, sending cracks radiating through the Demon City stage. His earlier reflections on his error also were sent flying off somewhere, and he tensed himself to slice out blindly.

  Iron Pound didn’t seem to even flinch when faced with this Haruyuki. He simply readied his fists peekaboo style. In the eye lenses that could be seen on the other side of those iron gloves was an unwavering resolution and confidence, and a hint of pity.

  I’ve seen those eyes somewhere before, Haruyuki thought, with what shred of rationality remained to him.

  It was…Right, when he had taken part in the battle to subjugate the fifth Chrome Disaster six months earlier. At the very end of the intense fighting, when the Red King Scarlet Rain was on the verge of eliminating her own parent, the fifth Chrome Disaster, with her Judgment Blow—she had had the same look in her eyes then. Cherry Rook, drowning in the Armor’s power and swallowed up by rage, existing only to attack and devour others…Niko had gone to free Haru from the curse that was this armor.

  The instant he became aware of this, Haruyuki raised the sword in his right hand up high and thrust it down at his feet as hard as he could. He peeled away one stiff finger at a time and let go of the hilt, and then let his arm fall away, an attempt to control the spasming violence sweeping through him.

  Abruptly, in the back of his mind, he heard a howl of annoyance.

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! TAKE UP YOUR SWORD. CUT DOWN YOUR ENEMY, RIP HIM APART, DEVOUR HIM SO THERE IS NOT A SHRED LEFT.

  The one speaking to him was the Beast living in the Armor of Catastrophe, a pseudo-intelligence that had spent an eternity inside the Armor, made up of the concentration of negative wills carved into the Disaster by its previous owners.

  All data in the Brain Burst central server—also known as the Main Visualizer—were supposedly stored and calculated in a form based on human memory. Thus, an object stained with a very strong emotion had something that could have been called an independent mind—this is what Haruyuki had been told before. But the Beast was much too dominant to be called a simple pseudo-intelligence. The instant the warped voice echoed in the back of his mind, Haruyuki’s own thoughts almost scattered once more, but he endured it intently.

  Shut up!! he shouted back with his heart. I can’t beat him if I just run around in a blind frenzy!! I— No matter what, I want to beat him, I have to beat him! I can’t lose to anyone who’d say there was anything more important than their friends’ lives!!

  A groan coated with irritation came back soon enough.

  GRAAR! IN THAT CASE, YOU NEED MY POWER MORE THAN EVER. YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A TINY, HELPLESS CROW.

  Yeah, I am. I admit it. But, like…I can’t master all the Armor’s powers right now. With his speed, unless I’m using techniques I’ve practiced and practiced, I can’t fight back. So just shut up and give me strength!! You don’t want to disappear here, either, do you?!

  This exchange was actually carried out in a relay of wordless thought in less than one-tenth of a second. And although the Beast howled unhappily once more, it apparently agreed with Haruyuki’s assertion, and surrendered part of its control over the avatar.

  Naturally, this didn’t mean Haruyuki’s own rage had vanished. But it was a little different from the earlier crimson inferno that threatened to indiscriminately burn anything and everything. It was more sharply honed, fluid like a pale plasma, seemingly filling his avatar to its extremities.

  With sharp talons stretched straight out, Haruyuki brought his hand neatly up in front of him and lowered his stance.

  Iron Pound, who had started to close the distance between them, narrowed his eye lenses slightly. Apparently trying to gauge Haruyuki’s intentions in throwing down his sword, the pugilist stopped his advance just barely in range for a left jab, and considered his enemy.

  Haruyuki didn’t move. He held his left hand in front, right behind, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out behind him. He simply focused his entire being on the fists of his opponent.

  Now that he had somehow managed to succeed in cooling his head, it seemed like dodging or a surprise attack using the pseudo-teleportation ability Flash Blink might work. But given that it was a special attack, he would absolutely have to utter the name of the technique. And after seeing his enemy’s super-high-speed punch, he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it in time if he did. Even if he got the initiative, once he revealed the technique, it wouldn’t work again.

  Though, since his special-attack gauge was essentially fully charged,
he could also use the wings on his back to hover just beyond his opponent’s reach and attack with the long-distance attacks Flame Breath or Laser Lance. However, his opponent already knew that the sixth Chrome Disaster was Silver Crow, so Haru had to assume Pound had naturally prepared some strategy against his flying ability. And he couldn’t forget about Green Grandé, standing off to the side, arms crossed, silent like a statue. If Haruyuki tried a unilateral attack from up in the sky, the Green King could activate that Incarnate technique Parsec Wall again.

  He needed to kill Iron Pound instantly while the king was silently watching. Even with the Disaster’s power, this was a very tall order, but he had no choice but to do it—he had to neutralize these two interfering with him, break into Midtown Tower, destroy the ISS kit main body, and if there were any members of the Acceleration Research Society nearby, he had to rip them to shreds; this was Haruyuki’s sole remaining reason for existing.

  “Come,” he said quietly, a thin, dark aura enveloping his body.

  In response, Iron Pound’s upper half swayed, and he began gracefully dancing about. With his nimble, rhythmic footwork, he steadily closed the distance between them.

  Just like he’d said before, the Incarnate jab released from the left fist with no movement and no command was Pound’s greatest weapon. The damage from one blow wasn’t all that bad, but because the blows came in rapid succession and left you essentially stunned, you couldn’t dodge the heavy-hitting right straight that followed.

  If this were a boxing match against a nimble out-boxer, Haruyuki would be advised to tighten his guard and close the distance while repelling the jabs. But this was not a six-meter ring; it was the large heliport on the roof of Mori Tower. There was too much space to retreat and come around from the side. Even if he did solidify his defenses, he wouldn’t find a chance to counter. His health gauge would only be carved away instead.