Subaru knew what Rivale could do and what he could not. The knowledge had cost her several deaths, each one a lesson carved into her memory with a blade made of pain and frustration. He could copy weapons. He could outmatch her speed, her strength. But he could not copy what he did not understand. A gun was beyond him because its inner workings were a mystery. A knife was simple, so he could wield it like a master.
There was one thing she had to try. One weapon that was simple in form but complex in concept. A weapon that did not rely on moving parts or chemical reactions or anything that could be easily observed and replicated.
She focused. Her mana surged, responding to her will, shaping itself around an image that had lived in her imagination since childhood. A blade of pure light. A handle of polished metal. A weapon that existed only in stories from a galaxy far, far away.
A lightsaber appeared in her hand.
The blade ignited with a sound that hummed through the clearing, a low thrum that vibrated in her chest. The light was bright, a pale blue that cast strange shadows across the trees. The handle felt warm in her grip, comfortable, as if it had been made for her.
Rivale watched. His expression did not change much. He did not step back in surprise. He did not gasp or shout or show any of the reactions Subaru had hoped for. Instead, he simply tilted his head, studying the blade with a curiosity that seemed almost academic.
"It is obvious that you do not belong to this world," he said. His voice was calm, conversational, as if they were discussing the food instead of preparing to fight. "Are there strong warriors in your world too?"
Subaru blinked. She had expected many things from this conversation. Questions about the weapon, yes. Confusion about its nature, certainly. But a discussion about her home world? That was not on the list.
"Not really," she said, keeping the lightsaber raised, ready. "People in my world are physically weaker than people here. Much weaker. But their intellectual prowess is very high. We do not have magic or mana, not in the way this world does. But we can create things with science and research. Things that would look like magic to someone who did not understand the principles behind them."
Rivale nodded slowly. His eyes never left the glowing blade. "Is that so?"
Subaru was stalling, and she knew it. But maybe stalling was not the worst strategy. Every second she talked was a second she was not dying.
"We have weapons which can destroy entire continents," she continued. "Actually, that is worse now that I think about it. I never really thought about it before, not like this. We built things that could end the world, and we just... accepted it. Like it was normal."
Rivale laughed. It was a quiet laugh, almost thoughtful. "Your world sounds strange."
"It is," Subaru said. "It really is."
Rivale raised his hand. Mana gathered around his palm, swirling and twisting, forming shapes that were not quite solid. Then a blade of light appeared in his grip. A lightsaber. The same length as hers. The same pale blue color. The same humming sound that filled the clearing.
Subaru's eyes widened. He copied it. He actually copied it.
But something was different. The way he held it. The way the light flickered along the blade. The way the hum seemed slightly off, the pitch wrong, the vibration uneven. He had created the shape, yes. He had replicated the appearance. But the weapon was not quite right. The internal mechanism, the focusing crystal, the power cell, the complex interplay of energy that made a lightsaber what it was, those were beyond him.
Still, it was close enough to kill her.
Rivale charged.
Their blades met. The sound was not the clang of metal but something else, a crackling hiss that hurt her ears and made her teeth ache. Light splashed across the clearing, blue and bright, as the two weapons pressed against each other.
Subaru pushed back, but Rivale was stronger. His blade forced hers aside, and he stepped into her guard, his free hand swinging toward her face. She ducked, barely, the wind from his fist brushing against her cheek. She spun away, bringing her lightsaber around in a wide arc aimed at his side.
He blocked it. His blade caught hers with a screech of energy, and he pushed again, harder this time. Subaru stumbled, her boots slipping in the dirt, her balance wavering.
They engaged in close combat. Rivale moved like water, flowing from one attack to the next, each strike faster than the last. Subaru blocked and parried and dodged, but she was being pushed back, step by step, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his assault.
He was folding her. There was no other word for it. Her lightsaber techniques, copied from shows and movies and the desperate imagination of a boy who had never held a real sword before, were no match for his centuries of experience. He read her movements before she made them. He anticipated her attacks and countered before she could commit. He was toying with her, and she knew it.
Rivale's blade swept toward her neck. Subaru dropped to the ground, the light passing over her head, close enough that she felt the heat on her skin. She rolled, came up, and barely managed to block his next strike, the impact jarring her arms, sending shocks through her shoulders.
She was not going to win this way. She was not going to win at all. The only question was how long she could survive.
Rivale pressed his advantage. His blade came from the left, then the right, then from above, each strike forcing her to give ground, each step backward bringing her closer to the tree line. Subaru's arms ached. Her breath came in short gasps. Sweat ran down her face and stung her eyes.
She barely managed to dodge his next strike. The blade passed so close to her side that it singed her dress, the cloth smoking where the energy had touched it. She stumbled, caught herself, and brought her lightsaber up just in time to block a blow that would have taken her head off.
Rivale grinned. He was enjoying this. The hunt. The chase. The slow destruction of an opponent who could not fight back.
Subaru's mind raced. She needed something else. Something he could not copy. Something that did not rely on weapons or speed or strength. Something that existed only in her imagination, a concept so strange that he could not grasp it.
But Rivale did not give her time to think. His blade came again, and again, and again, and she was too busy staying alive to do anything else.