"Aaargh!"
With another leap from Number Four, four fresh wounds appeared on Mortas's arms and torso.
The Mantis Lord was in a wretched state, covered in countless blade wounds that kept seeping blood. The excessive blood loss had even begun to blur his vision.
"The bleeding won't stop. So she did coat those blades with something?"
After emergency wound treatment, bandages, and hemostatic medicine all proved useless, Mortas could only focus his efforts on dodging.
He tried to avoid taking any more wounds, but it did little good. His opponent was unquestionably faster.
Mortas swallowed another bottle of his treasured secret medicine and forced himself to stay alert.
He realized that his opponent did not seem eager to kill him. A little more force behind any strike would have been enough to cleave him in two, just like the mantises before him, yet she deliberately kept inflicting wounds that would not stop bleeding.
"Are you trying to toy with me? Or do you already think you've won?"
Mortas felt utterly humiliated, yet that very humiliation was now the only reason he remained alive.
But his anger soon dissipated. This was a fight to the death, and the Mantis Lord began considering his options again.
Mortas had not spent the entire battle simply taking a beating. During his few counterattacks, he had begun to understand the logic behind her movements.
Her body was built for speed and killing power. In a sense, she was just like him, only superior in every respect.
But to move that quickly, she could not possibly be fitted with heavy armor. His attacks could hurt her, provided they landed.
Her joints also seemed less than sturdy.
Several times, Mortas had tried to seize her joints and restrain her, only for the joint in question to detach before he could apply any force.
The detached joint slotted back into place a moment later, but that brief separation was real.
Was that to let her perform all those difficult maneuvers?
Or was it a precaution against someone grabbing those thin blades after they pierced their body and dragging her into close combat?
Mortas felt as though he had grasped something.
Whatever the reason, it told him at least one thing: her body was extremely fragile.
If he could just land a hit. One strike. Just one strike...
"Damn it. One hit is all I need to end this fight."
With his back against the wall of a clock tower, Mortas panted and held his Nail-Spear crosswise to guard against as many attacks as possible.
His eyes constantly swept his surroundings, hoping to catch that elusive figure.
But Number Four remained silent. Accompanied by a soundless melody, her terrifying insect-killing dance continued.
For a time, the only sound left in the square was the metallic scrape of Number Four's four blades striking one another.
Their battle had not stayed in one place. Fighting as they moved, they had long since left their original position.
The mantises who had survived the first assault had concealed themselves as soon as their lord began fighting. They, too, were searching for a chance to give him an advantage.
Yet every seemingly promising opening proved to be either bait laid by their opponent or a weakness she had exposed because she saw no need to defend it.
The roaming tin cans were doing the same, ready to spend the last of their lives creating an opportunity for Number Four to deliver a killing blow.
The mantises immediately responded.
The insect and machine in the square might have been locked in a stalemate, but in the shadows of buildings, in collapsed corridors, and atop heaps of corpses and parts, the mantises' hunt continued.
The square surrounding the clock tower had become a battlefield, filled with blood and scattered parts, with the clash of metal echoing all around it.
Yet both the Mantis Lord and Number Four kept their attention fixed on their opponent from beginning to end, undistracted by anything around them.
Number Four's lack of emotion might explain her focus, but what about Mortas?
Of course he grieved. He had watched those children grow up.
He had even personally presided over many of their coming-of-age ceremonies.
Far too many mantises had died in this battle. He would rather die himself than see his people suffer such terrible losses.
But he knew that what he needed to do now was find a way to tear apart the machine before him, not waste time on useless mourning.
"A hunter needs no home. Prey and a Nail-Spear are enough."
Mortas closed his eyes. Those were the first words he remembered from the day he had learned to hold a blade, before he had even learned to crawl.
His late father, the previous lord, teaching him with solemn earnestness. The expectant gazes of the elders around him.
But, Father...
Being a hunter should be a path chosen after careful thought, not a choice forced on us by desperation.
There is nothing noble about us.
That was why Mortas had chosen to swear allegiance to Lin Jin. He wanted his people to live better lives, or at least to have another choice.
Not to struggle merely to survive while pretending they were bound by a hunter's destiny.
"Looks like it's time to put everything on the line..."
For some reason, fragments of the past had surfaced again. By the time Mortas came back to himself, he was already attacking.
First, he deftly used each end of his Nail-Spear to block a blade, then drove a fierce kick into Number Four's waist, knocking her off balance.
Mortas attacked from an exceptionally tricky angle. His Nail-Spear wedged perfectly between her four blades, preventing the upper and lower pairs from covering one another.
And the result was exactly as Mortas had expected. Though Number Four had merely fallen backward, she could not even turn herself over.
What's wrong, music box? Has your spring jammed?
Mortas secretly rejoiced at the sight. Everything was going exactly as he had predicted.
The machine's four arms had clearly been designed to slash only forward. That was why she needed to move around so frequently.
Now Number Four flailed her arms wildly, trying to stand again.
But Mortas would never let this opportunity slip away.
"Yes. At the very least, give us a chance to choose."
Mortas murmured, seemingly unable to focus, yet his hands moved with even greater speed and force.
Watch closely, child. This is the secret art passed down to us since ancient times, the Twelve Methods of Life-Severing Hunt. You must master it if you want to become lord.
Isn't this too difficult? Are there really monsters out there that we'd need a technique like this to fight?
There are. Someday you'll meet one, child.
"I've finally mastered it, Father!"
Joints, eyes, skull, throat. Following the anatomical chart of a proportionally sized insect, he drove in one lethal thrust after another.
Had Number Four not been a machine, the pain of the first strike alone might have killed her. But Mortas's assault continued.
He had nearly bled dry, yet his mind grew ever clearer. Even the sharp blades Number Four drove into his body in retaliation failed to shake him.
"Let us be free! Let us truly choose our own fate!"
The final strike of the combination pierced the heart.
That location also happened to house Number Four's power core.
Unlike Number Seven's steam power, Number Four's core was a precision gear assembly. With gears of every size interconnected, a simple twist of a spring was enough to power her for a long time.
But that also made her easier to break.
As the Nail-Spear pierced and destroyed her core, the gears jammed and stopped moving. At last, the music-box doll playing her melody of slaughter fell still.
With that final thrust, Mortas collapsed as well. He had succeeded, mastering his father's final lesson on the brink of death.
He had also secured a bright future for his people.
Through a haze, Mortas saw his clansmen gathering around him, bringing out all kinds of medical supplies and treating his body.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's with those faces? You lot, I'm not planning to die yet..."
Mortas thought he was speaking, but all the mantises heard were incoherent murmurs.
For a moment, tears filled the eyes of these supposedly cold-blooded killers as they begged the Sunfire God for his favor, their words tumbling over one another. Even the last unbeliever chose to pray.
Amid the prayers of the insects around him, Mortas's eyes slowly closed. He did not want to close them, but he was simply too tired.
And through the haze, he saw that flame again.
"Oh, interesting."
The flame began to speak, not in words, but through light and heat.
"Well done, lad. You'll receive what you deserve, but you still have duties to fulfill. Go back."
An unknown amount of time passed before Mortas suddenly jolted awake.
Looking down, he found his wounds wrapped in more layers of bandages than he could count.
Beneath those bandages were copious amounts of hemostatic medicine and precious secret remedies that even he had been reluctant to use.
"My lord, are you all right now?"
He looked toward the voice. It was Quyin.
The former apprentice scout had now become an outstanding hunter.
The scars across his body testified to how difficult that journey had been, but he had endured and grown stronger.
Like the rest of his people, Quyin's wings could no longer lift his body. But that, too, was proof of his strength.
He was now a true hunter.
"You've already come this far?"
Thinking back to what he had just witnessed, Mortas realized he had received quite a windfall.
Many of the mantises around him who had been on the verge of death also began to wake, as though some unknown power had prolonged their lives.
Cries of "The Sunfire God has blessed us!" and "Thank the Sunfire God!" rose one after another.
At the sight, Mortas finally relaxed completely and let himself slump to the ground. "Ha. Thanks, Sunfire God."
Mortas voiced his gratitude half in jest, but unlike before, this time he meant it.
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