Two Against One

Lowell stood at the entrance to the hall, looking at the silent, black figure on the throne.

He scratched his head, looking like he was about to be executed.

"... Really."

"Are you really going to fight?"

"Yes," Frieren nodded, "I'll go with you."

The two entered the empty hall one after the other.

Footsteps made a soft sound on the white stone slabs.

In the distance, the figure on the throne remained motionless.

Lowell stopped about twenty paces from the throne.

He raised his hand, stretched, and yawned lazily.

"Hey," he called out towards the throne, his voice echoing in the empty hall, "Hello? Excuse me? How are you? Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

The armor remained still.

"Tsk." Lowell clicked his tongue, turned to Frieren, and said in a conciliatory tone, "How about we go back? It doesn't seem to want to fight."

Frieren blinked.

"Since we're already here..."

"... Too."

Lowell sighed and turned back around.

The languid look on his face disappeared.

Although her brows were still slightly furrowed, her eyes had become calm.

He raised his right hand, his five fingers loosely clenched.

A faint humming sound emanated from the air.

In a battle between a warrior and a mage, distance is usually the deciding factor, and for a warrior of this strength, the distance to the hall is practically negligible.

He was covered in the same jet-black armor.

The next moment, a long sword, entirely black, materialized in his hand. The blade had no superfluous decorations; its lines were simple and smooth, and its edges gleamed with a cold, faint light.

The sword tip dipped to the ground.

"Then..."

He hadn't finished speaking.

The figure on the throne moved.

There was no movement to get up.

No power was charged up.

Without any warning, it simply vanished from the spot.

No, it didn't disappear.

It's fast.

It got so fast that it was almost out of sight.

It left behind only a blurry black afterimage and a sharp whistling sound as if the air was being torn apart.

The black longsword had already reached Lowell.

Target the throat directly.

Lowell's expression remained unchanged.

There was no blocking; the body simply leaned back slightly by a hair's breadth.

"Laugh--"

The sword's edge grazed his chin, the resulting wind pressure severing a few strands of his flowing black hair.

At the same time, Lowell's black sword moved upwards in a simple arc, aiming directly at the exposed ribcage of the clone, which had leaned slightly forward due to the strike.

The clone sheathed its sword.

The movements are equally concise.

There was no retreat, no parrying.

With a simple twist of his wrist, the black sword came to an abrupt halt at an impossible angle, then pressed down.

"Clang--!"

The two black swords clashed for the first time.

The sharp clang of metal clashing echoed through the hall, leaving a heavy reverberation.

Sparks flew at the point where the swords clashed.

Two enormous and terrifying forces collided, but no air blasts or shockwaves were produced.

All the power was perfectly contained within the sword, with not a single ounce leaking out.

The next moment.

They both moved at the same time.

There were no fancy sword moves, no complicated footwork.

Only the most basic and direct techniques: slashing, thrusting, parrying, and blocking.

But every sword strike was incredibly fast and incredibly precise.

The black sword traced countless intersecting paths in the air, its afterimages weaving into a net that enveloped the two of them.

The sounds of collisions were continuous, like a sudden rainstorm pounding on sheet metal.

"Clang! Clang! Clang clang--!"

Each collision produced only a short, sharp thud, which was immediately drowned out by the next.

There was no retreat.

There was no dodge.

Only the purest form of attack.

Every clash of swords is an attempt to find the slightest weakness in the opponent. Every change in angle is a test of the limits of the opponent's reaction.

The replica sword is steady and precise, each strike carrying the quality of being forged through countless trials.

Lowell's sword is casual and natural, yet it always appears in the most appropriate place at the most appropriate time.

Although the sword techniques are the same, the mindset seems to be different. Rather, it's as if the clone has no heart, so there will still be some differences.

Cracks began to appear on the white stone slab beneath their feet.

It wasn't crushed.

It was the aftershocks, which were extremely restrained yet still could not be completely eliminated, when the swords clashed, that silently caused the earthquake.

Spiderweb-like cracks slowly spread outwards from the two people.

Frieren stood ten paces outside the battle circle, her emerald eyes calmly observing the duel.

She didn't make a move because there wasn't an opportunity at the moment.

She just watched quietly.

The clone didn't attack her either, because it knew she was familiar with all his moves, and that she had no chance of killing a powerful mage when facing someone of equal strength.

Until--

The clone delivered a powerful downward slash, but Lowell deflected the force by dodging, and the blade grazed Lowell's shoulder before falling to the ground.

"Boom!"

The stone slab shattered, and rubble flew everywhere.

Lowell's black sword, using the momentum of his sideways spin, drew a sharp semi-circle, slashing towards the clone's slightly drooping nape as it cleaved downwards.

This sword strike was delivered from a tricky angle and at the perfect time.

The clone didn't have time to parry with its sword.

But it didn't block.

It didn't even look back.

His empty left hand reached backward with incredible speed.

With fingers spread, he precisely gripped the incoming sword blade.

Unarmed.

Lowell's eyes flickered slightly.

The sword's momentum continued.

"Clang--!"

It wasn't the sound of flesh being cut.

It was the roar of metal clashing.

The clone's left hand firmly gripped the blade of the black sword.

A burst of blinding sparks erupted where the palm touched the blade.

Its palms, at some unknown time, were covered with a layer of jet-black, flowing metallic luster, the same color as its armor.

Unharmed.

Immediately afterwards, it flicked its right wrist, which was holding the sword, and the black sword that had been slashing into the ground suddenly sprang up, slashing upwards towards Lowell's chest and abdomen, which were slightly tilted forward due to the slash.

The distance was too close, and the speed was too fast.

If Lowell wants to parry with his sword, he must let go.

Otherwise, it will definitely hit.

He loosened his grip on the sword.

With his right hand outstretched, he allowed the clone to grasp the black sword.

At the same time, raise your left hand.

Bring your index and middle fingers together, and a tiny, condensed dark light shines from the fingertips.

He lightly touched the blade of the sword that the clone was thrusting at him.

"Bite."

A crisp sound, like the gentle clinking of jade pieces.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment.

The next moment.

"Boom--!"

A ring-shaped, semi-transparent shockwave suddenly exploded outwards from the two people in the center!

The white stone slabs rolled and shattered layer by layer, turning into dust. Smoke and dust swept outwards like a tsunami, instantly engulfing most of the hall.

The distant rock walls trembled violently, and dust fell from the dome.

Frieren's long, silvery-white hair flew backward in the violent air currents, but she stood still, her feet firmly planted. A layer of honeycomb-shaped Defensive Magic had already been deployed, protecting her steadily behind her.

The smoke and dust settled slowly.

In the center of the hall, a shallow circular pit with a diameter of more than ten meters appeared.

Lowell stood at the edge of the pit, his left hand still in the forward-pointing position, the faint light at his fingertips slowly fading.

The clone stood on the other side of the pit, the black sword in its hand gone. On its left hand, covered in a metallic sheen, was a deep slash that stretched from the base of its thumb to its little finger. There was no blood, only the cross-section of the internal stone structure.

But it seemed completely unconcerned, simply raising its hand to look at the scar.

Then, put it down.

The hollow visor turned towards Lowell.

Lowell lowered his hand, rubbed his wrist, and his expression returned to its lazy demeanor.

"Wow, that's tough. As expected of me. But can it really perfectly replicate me? That shouldn't be possible," he muttered to himself.

At the same time, Frieren raised her staff and gently slashed it towards the clone.

"Whoosh--"

Seven magic circles appeared, and solid beams of Ordinary Attack Magic shot out.

Not simultaneously.

It's done in batches, in a rhythmic manner.

The first three lines form a triangular shape, blocking the clone's dodge space to the left, right, and top.

The last four beams seemed to possess a life of their own, tracing strange arcs and shooting from four tricky angles at the few extremely subtle points of stagnation in the flow of magic that might have appeared due to the previous exchange.

The clone neither dodged nor looked at the beams of light.

He simply raised his right hand, spread his five fingers, and made a loose fist in front of him.

"Buzz--"

Ripples appeared in the air.

The seven magical beams exploded simultaneously, as if they had struck an invisible wall, when they were still three feet away from its body.

Brilliant magical shards scattered and flew, illuminating its jet-black mask.

But they couldn't advance even an inch further.

Frieren blinked her emerald green eyes.

This doesn't seem surprising.

She lowered her hand, her fingertips tapping lightly again.

This time, there was no beam of light.

Only countless tiny, almost invisible pale blue specks of light, like startled fireflies, silently appeared around her and then drifted toward the clone.

The light spots moved very slowly and were very light, as if they had no weight.

The copy remained unchanged.

Let those points of light fall onto its armor and disappear.

Nothing happened.

There was no explosion, no restraint, not even the slightest fluctuation of magic.

It was truly just a few faint lights.

But the next second...

The replica's left hand, covered in a metallic sheen, suddenly had a thin layer of crystalline frost condense at the edge of the slash that was slowly repairing itself.

The frost spread rapidly, freezing his entire left palm into a solid block of ice in the blink of an eye.

Furthermore, the chill was creeping upwards along my forearm.

"An ice-parasitic magical tool," Frieren said softly, as if introducing a small gadget. "It's ice magic that automatically activates upon contact with magical energy. Very effortless, isn't it? I have many useful magical tools you don't know about."

The clone lowered its head and looked at its frozen left hand.

Then, it raised its right hand and grasped its left arm.

"Click."

A slight cracking sound.

The ice covering his left hand was crushed, and ice shards fell down in a flurry.

But the chill had already seeped in. The movement of its left hand visibly slowed down slightly.

Just then...

Lowell moved again.

He made a grasping motion with his right hand, and another black sword materialized.

But this time, he didn't rush forward.

He simply held the sword horizontally, its tip pointing at the clone.

Then, my wrist trembled very slightly.

"Call out--"

The black sword flew out of his hand.

It wasn't thrown.

The sword itself transformed into a pure black streak of light, tearing through the air and shooting directly at the replica of the Decent Door.

The speed is extremely fast.

The clone had just crushed the ice layer, its right hand still gripping its left arm.

Faced with this sudden sword strike, it only had time to turn its head to the right by a few inches.

"Laugh."

The black sword grazed the left side of its helmet, sending sparks flying.

A deep scratch was left on the helmet.

The sword's momentum didn't diminish; it plunged deep into the rock wall far behind, until the hilt was gone.

The clone slowly turned its head.

The scratch on the visor was clearly visible.

Its empty gaze fell on Lowell's face.

Lowell shrugged, looking innocent.

"Slip of the hand."

Before he could finish speaking...

The clone takes action again.

This time, it wasn't just an afterimage.

Its silhouette blurred for a moment.

The next moment, he appeared in front of Lowell.

He clenched his right fist and punched straight at the face.

There was no magical fluctuation, no sword light.

Only the purest, most compressed physical force.

Wherever the fist passed, the air exploded with an unbearable roar.

Lowell did not dodge.

He also raised his right hand and made a fist.

A head-on collision.

"Bang--!"

The dull thud of fists colliding was like two giant rocks colliding at extremely close range.

A visible ring of air exploded from where the two men's fists clashed, violently pushing the still-settling dust and smoke outwards once more.

The stone slab beneath their feet shattered completely, and the two of them sank half a foot at the same time.

Fine cracks appeared on the black armor of the clone's fist.

The skin on Lowell's fist had also cracked in several places, with beads of blood seeping out.

But he didn't even frown.

Without warning, his left knee rose and slammed into the clone's abdomen.

The clone also raises its knee.

"Bang!"

Another muffled thud.

The two used the momentum to pull back, creating a three-step distance between them.

Stand firm.

Lowell shook his bleeding right hand and looked at the clone opposite him.

"To be able to defend against it even in a two-on-one situation is a bit embarrassing."

"Hmm." Frieren nodded. "Then, be serious?"

"OK."

The two exchanged a glance but did not speak further.

The clone also looked down at the cracks on its gauntlets.

Then, it slowly raised its hands and clasped them together in front of its chest.

Click.

A soft click of a mechanism closing.

Its magnificent black armor, starting from the chest, was adorned with dark red patterns.

The lines, like living blood vessels, quickly spread throughout the body.

A magical surge, even larger and more violent than before, slowly awakened within its body.

Like a sleeping beast, it opened its eyes.

The air in the hall suddenly became thick and heavy.

Every breath was accompanied by a burning, stinging sensation.

The languid look on Lowell's face finally disappeared completely.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at the dark red patterns that had appeared on the clone's body.

"Oh?" he said softly, "He's really going to do it now."

Frieren took half a step forward, her emerald eyes reflecting an ominous red light.

She clasped her hands together in front of her, and a complex magic circle began to slowly rotate and form.