Chapter 107: The Snake and the Frog, but Who is the Snake and Who is the Frog?
"Why?"
The realization that the arm and the body had been separated. Accompanied by a hollow sensation, like a biscuit being snapped into two pieces, the flesh was reborn. After all, a scene where blood sprayed toward the sky like a fountain was impossible not to notice.
Immediately following that was a fresh sense of balance, cheated by a torso missing its right arm; Jester gasped for air, mouth wide open. The moon was in the sky. Why could he see the round moon in the sky? Because Jester's entire body was falling backward.
"Why?"
Then, why everything else? The thoughts of a few seconds ago were forgotten in an instant; Jester's body suddenly rallied, flipping his form within a second to flee. Fortunately, his retreating back was slightly further than the swinging blade; thanks to that, no vitals were hit, though his back gained another burn as if splashed with strong acid.
It didn't matter; it was irrelevant. The flesh was merely a replenishable consumable. As long as he escaped this human, his arm would be perfectly restored within seconds, he would make a comeback, and then that human would have merely performed a futile effort.
In that case, why? It hurt. Pain—excruciating pain—kept interrupting Jester's breathing. Dark red waste fluid kept splashing onto the weeds, like an ordinary human.
"........."
Ever since being acknowledged by Van-Fem, Jester, as a subordinate he didn't manage much, hadn't tasted this kind of pain for over a hundred years. It wasn't a dull pain numbed by a layer of membrane because it was meaningless to a Dead Apostle. It was a sharp sword piercing directly into the soul.
The soul realized that something vital had been sliced away and would never return, and thus began to tremble helplessly. Sorrowful pain as if torn apart, agonizing pain as if shredded, excruciating pain as if sucked dry, bitter pain as if churned, residual pain as if minced! Even mixing flesh, blood, brain, heart, liver, and lungs together wouldn't equal a fraction of the current suffering!
Consequently, the once fierce vermilion eyes were forced to become clear. Jester's body swayed; if the person facing him gave a gentle push, he would fall to the ground, unable to move.
"Why............ has my arm not restored?"
The lost cross-section hung emptily from his right shoulder, showing no sign of regeneration. Only his blood as a Dead Apostle continued to drain, unending. It was as if it were saying that what is lost does not return—"this is the original truth of the world."
"This isn't the Church's standard armament. What did you do... to the Black Keys? Even top-tier Executors wouldn't possess a Sanctified Armament with such an absolute effect, because those people at the Church can't make many of them! .........Wait, is this actually a Sanctified Armament?"
The youth raised his head upon hearing this. The red-haired youth answered honestly: "[Harpe The Immortal-Slaying Saber]."
Immediately following, he slowly raised the sword.
"'Refraction of Longevity'.........? A concept that can forcibly stop even a curse of time reversal... why is it in your hands? Hey, hey, that's not logically reasonable! You might as well tell me I've encountered the Burial Agency. Besides, what you're holding shouldn't be 'Refraction of Longevity' unless you can also transfer the effect between weapons............"
Special Sanctified Armaments that are difficult even for the Holy Church to create, requiring a great cost to produce similar effects, and can only be equipped by an extremely small number of people. However, the ordinary-looking Black Keys in this man's hands, which appeared identical to any other model, were already on the same level as the Conceptual Armament series like "Cremation Rite."
He had created one casually.
Jester was dumbfounded; when the human started walking again, he began to step back. This was natural. If a pair of swords couldn't be broken through even with both arms intact, the outcome was predictable with only one arm. If he maintained this state, the result of the battle would be decided in just a few moves without any suspense.
Although Jester's mind and body were filled with pain, his instinct for judging the difference in combat power was still functioning. He was still consciously thinking about how to stay alive. Though to an outsider—it looked like an innocent human who, after seeing a demon, was constantly trying to move away but didn't dare turn his back to run.
With one step back, his appearance began to change. Into the image of a boy. With two steps back, his face began to change. Into another doll-related appearance. Backwards, continuing backwards, his features and height were constantly restructured, until finally—Jester converted back into the werewolf. Only the empty right arm remained as before.
"No, why won't it restore even like this!?"
Jester moved from rage and daze to a desperate roar. I've operated the switch! How can you not give me the restoration!
It wasn't that Jester didn't want to fight, but rather that only by restoring his arm would he have the ability to scrap with the human in front of him for a move or two. But no matter how he tried to make the wound before him recover, the lost arm remained quietly lying on the mud, completely unmoved by him.
Then doesn't that mean he can't fight at all!? But the human, as if unaware of this, was still closing in on him.
"Don't come over for a moment," Jester requested with a smile, trying his best to remain composed. "Just wait a second. You wouldn't want to do something as despicable as taking advantage of someone's peril, right? You're a 'just' human, aren't you?"
At the same time, he worked hard to flip through his memories, trying to find out where exactly things had gone wrong. The problem lay in the two Black Keys that could not possibly exist in this world. After he was wounded, they stripped Jester of all possibility of a comeback. For Jester, who was forbidden from healing, his most important supernatural ability, [Six Hearted Revolver], was as good as non-existent.
In fact... he didn't even have the right to resurrect. Jester's hair stood on end; if he were hit in the head by these two swords, he would truly meet death. Theoretically, he just had to not be hit, but... Jester had inexplicably lost in the contest of melee combat, so he was hit in the limbs once.
And then, there was no then.
The person in front of Jester was also a monster. A relentless series of methods that countered Jester in reverse. Incredible front-line combat capability. Combat wisdom that controlled the flow of battle. He could kill him just by landing a hit, which caused a sense of intense and urgent crisis to rise within Jester.
How could there be an ordinary human in the world so malicious toward Dead Apostles? To Jester, his existence was like a passing typhoon.
"So, do you intend to stop killing people in the future?" Shirou asked quietly.
Jester met this with silence. Before he could decide whether to preserve his dignity as a Dead Apostle or lie temporarily to stall for time, Shirou had already made a move. From the very beginning, he hadn't given him time to answer.
He crouched down and began to sprint toward Jester. Jester's smile froze. Subsequently, the most effective action he took was—pushing off with both feet and immediately moving in the opposite direction of his original stance. That is to say, he turned his back to Shirou and began a large-strided sprint.
"Who would fight a guy like you to the death! It's completely meaningless!"
The shadows of the two barely overlapped for just an instant, and thus the little finger, ring finger, and middle finger of the left hand were sliced off; the simple lumps of meat were no longer recognized as body parts. He roared and screamed without lingering, fleeing into the distance regardless of his image. Jester desperately let the distance between them grow larger and larger.
Shirou watched coldly as the other party moved further and further away. Even if one could use technique to bridge the gap in physical levels in melee combat, the difference in pure movement speed was difficult to compensate for.
The Dead Apostle was right about one thing. He was much faster.
The instant he suddenly sensed an intense chill from behind, Jester didn't look back; he reached his hand behind to block. Consequently, his remaining left hand was immediately impaled by a blade, muscles twisting—in exchange, his head was not hit by the thrown Black Key.
"...I blocked it. Thank God, I blocked it!"
He laughed unnaturally, leaving the hospital battlefield and retreating elsewhere. While hiding in the shadows of buildings and continuing to endure the burning sensation of "pain"—something unheard of—the Dead Apostle failed to notice...
A silhouette had given up the chase, and instead, starting from directly below the hospital, was jumping up to the hospital roof step by step via the various balconies. In his vision, he could still see Jester.
The remaining Black Key became thin and long when gripped tightly. It was a genuine arrow that would cause even an immortal Dead Apostle to die. Shirou stood on the hospital roof. In his hand, he grasped the elegant bow frame, the arc of death aimed at Jester.
It was an interesting thought. The thought that if he didn't let Shirou engage in melee, he could escape.
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