Chapter 234: The Non-Human

It can be said without much modesty that Kraft rarely expects surprises in close-quarters combat, though this range naturally excludes entities with significant disparities in size and physical capacity.

Excluding unconventional methods, he is the experienced type among pragmatists who possesses his own understanding—leaving open the possibility that over-activation of mental senses might produce illusions.

Judging an opponent's general posture and state from partial movements, then predicting their next move, has already formed a complex and advanced system of conditioned reflexes for anyone with sufficient knowledge and reaction ability.

This is the confidence that allows Kraft to close in and attempt to control the opponent. Judging by the opponent's previous performance, calling this an exchange of blows would be too much of an honor.

Similar to the stereotypes formed during previous encounters, those who manufacture supernatural phenomena through various means often display a heavy reliance on such abilities, to the point of neglecting more practical things—such as how a tripwire plus a few crossbows might not be less lethal, or how "magic" cannot defeat old fists in close quarters.

But precisely because of this, upon noticing movements that fit neither combat experience nor anatomy, Kraft's first reaction was to let go.

Strangeness implies danger; it implies the possibility of paying a price for new experiences.

When grasping that arm, what was felt was withered and slender, like a person suffering from extreme malnutrition; no subcutaneous fat could be felt, as if all energy-storing substances had been diverted for other uses, literally burned to ash.

At first, Kraft thought he had grabbed the forearm, because more than one bone was rotating in parallel within the muscle bundles, likely the ulna and radius.

I had prepared to dislocate the elbow joint, but the rotation seemed far from reaching its limit, twisting another half-turn with excessive flexibility, exceeding the range of motion. Afterwards, between the elbow and wrist joints, in the area that could bend even if not fully fractured, there appeared an unimaginable curvature.

There were no signs that the man who had just died on the sword had any guards nearby; in fact, they had become separated in the chaos and were engaged in a fight with the arriving cultivators.

When realizing that I had actually managed to buy enough time to use this lethal "spell" again, I saw the final scene of the night in the gradually brightening pale light.

After a few deep breaths, I confirmed that no suspicious struggle was transmitting along the blade, allowing me to declare the opponent completely dead in the medical sense.

That took far longer than the battle itself; no one even knew how many living people of our side were scattered in this splendid rainy night, nor how many of the enemy remained.

It was probably a dagger or short knife, since long weapons are hard to call an advantage rather than a burden for untrained people.

This was a deep enough cut, severing half the muscle; the limb first tilted toward the healthy side due to the imbalance of the intact portion, twisting away from Kraft, then the pain exploded a step later, stripping away the possibility of exerting force.

This made the image of the limb, which had been conceived in the mind, unimaginable as it detached from that mental form, presenting a twisted posture akin to the movement of some multi-jointed creature.

The force applied was uncomfortable; the power "hung" on the blade edge only an instant after contact, so the cutting direction was not straight. However, it was enough; tissues that had not yet surpassed human limitations in strength parted before the steel.

"By the way, take the corpse back. Your people... there is still that one body; it might make it easier for Green to explain and secure more support."

And that thing raised its bony lower limbs, with a stone light source embedded in one of its slender palms.

"We must return to Higu Manor; at least there I can handle it for you." Kraft wanted to wipe the water from his face, but realizing there was not a single clean spot on his entire body, he lowered his hand.

We gathered eight people and found one who still had breath beside a horse that had fallen from an arrow.

In a flash of sharp reflection, the fleeting figure was revealed: light-averse, sunken eye sockets; cheeks collapsed and wrinkled; the left shoulder's clothing torn, exposing a withered, emaciated torso with many ribs, snake-like. A normal, smooth, superficial wound still oozing blood stretched from the left arm to the chest.

Then a question arose.

In the outstretched, hanging palm, the bright light extinguished with consciousness; a patch of irrelevant grass was snapped at the waist, swept away and scattered.

The dying voice, the unfinished last words, the simple emotions of belief, unwillingness, and intent came to an end. Perhaps these were the parts of the performance closest to being human.

"No..."

I raised my hand, trying to resist this thing that was neither human nor non-human reflected in the blade, fearing it even more than the blade itself.

Thus, no one noticed me there, letting me lie from the opening to the closing.

A stifling, damp wind flowed around, so viscous it was hard to breathe.

The steel sword cleanly severed the main supply channel to the thinking organ.

The remaining biggest difficulty turned out to be how to find everyone.

The horses were either dead or fled; only two remained. We were trapped in this awkward place with no village ahead and no inn behind; returning to Dunling tonight was likely impossible.

Not everyone could endure that degree of pain; I made a reasonable but fatal reaction—venting frustration with a loud shout, letting the held weapon fall to who-knows-where.

But the matter had not yet completely ended.

The core figure of the attack, the culprit responsible for the martyrdom of several Inquisition cultivators, had already fallen.

Then, the fellow relying on physiological advantages would crash into us on his own.

Temporarily breaking free from restraint must have given the opponent confidence; he raised the dropped dagger again and swung it forward, hoping to completely eliminate the biggest obstacle blocking the escape route.

Since the posture could not be predicted, treat it as a tentacle with no angle restrictions; respond as one would to a whip attack, avoiding the front as much as possible and leaving the sharp edge to the sweeping fan-shaped trajectory.

Slowly withdrawing the sword, Kraft tried to discern the direction from which fighting sounds still came, then rushed toward the fragmented battlefield gathering in the tall grass.

That unfortunate, or rather very lucky, fellow hadn't had time to dismount; his leg was pinned, and while a suspected upper limb fracture was present, he might also have suffered a cranial injury upon landing, losing consciousness without making a sound.

The "spell" had still completed part of its function; fortunately, no one remained able to control it.

The only thing known was that when everything neared its end and no more standing attackers could be found, the rain had finally begun to ease.

The long sword, still bearing mud spots and bloodstains, had only the blade edge gleaming like a mirror from repeated swinging and cutting.

Kraft gave an evaluation in his heart, immediately adjusted his mindset, abandoned the plan to preserve the "shattered" remains, and raised the blade to meet the attack.

The cultivator side, whether in quality or equipment, was superior; even with fewer numbers, they could barely hold on, resulting in dragging the fight until Kraft arrived to deliver the decisive blow.

【Blindness】

Several people worked together to move the horse; Kraft used local materials, employing two sword scabbards as splints to create a temporary fixation for him. For the moment, conditions were limited to this; further treatment required a more suitable environment.

The environment with extremely high visibility had dismembered the battle into unrelated small fragments.

An unexpected strike landed on the flat of the hastily raised sword; the force was not great, but that was all; what was truly lethal was the short blade that bypassed the defense via the limb's abnormal curvature and sliced past the neck.

Following the slash, Kraft reversed the blade to cut open the opponent's wrist, then delivered a thrusting stab to the fallen body, pinning it dead to the ground.