Pre-War Preparations (II)

Cato Sicarius trusted his prosthetic limb.

In both flexibility and stability, it was superior to the left hand that had been eaten. As for the durability granted by its materials, there was no need to mention it. It surpassed his original flesh-and-blood hand in almost every respect. There was only one thing about it that Sicarius found somewhat unsatisfactory.

—Phantom pain.

Several years had already passed, yet it still hurt.

At first, it was numbness and itching, but it quickly developed into pain so intense it nearly drove him mad. The dense nerves that no longer existed would convulse wildly within his body's imagined memory, making his flesh burn hot and feverish. It was as though countless red-hot wires had been thrust deep into his wrist, desperately trying to turn that metal back into the flesh it had once been.

But, honestly speaking, Sicarius could endure that pain perfectly well. He simply could not accept its existence—was his will truly so weak?

On countless nights, he had gritted his teeth and searched his heart with that question, yet never once had he received an answer.

But now, he seemed to have found a solution.

"Ready."

His opponent gave him a friendly warning, yet the movements of his hands were so vicious that one might suspect he truly harbored murderous intent. Several sharp sounds rang out, and over the next two seconds, the longsword unleashed a succession of complex, indescribable changes in form. Its purpose was singular: to get around Sicarius's shield.

To accomplish that, his opponent had to deceive him in the truest sense. In other words, amid this terrifying, airtight assault, his opponent first had to expose an opening.

And that was an exceedingly dangerous thing to do. Leaving aside how obvious even a deliberately stiff movement would appear