That 224: Fang

"——woah!?!"

The fact that I managed to avoid the first strike without being hit was nothing short of miraculous.

I blocked the attack with my sheathed sword and reflexively used [Skill Inspection].

Job:???

Level:???

Skills: [Hungerform] [???? (Advanced)] [??? I] [???? (Powerful)] [???] [???] [???? (Powerful)] [??? I] [??? I]

"——?"

The momentary glimpse I caught was clearly an abnormal display—even I could tell that.

It felt like staring at a glitched game screen.

The only skill I could read, [Hungerform], wasn't listed in my own data.

Holding the sword still sheathed in my hand,

"W-what the hell is this all of a sudden!?"

Though I doubted it would make sense, I still asked anyway.

"Chatter comes only—after the needle pierces the heart!"

Ah, it seems like this is more of a problem before any communication can even begin.

Sparks flew twice beneath the dim light.

What are you afraid of? The opponent's weapon, of course.

This person fights using fingernails sharpened like the fake claws worn by a gyaru girl.

That thing, soaked in someone's blood, looks like it's coated in pitch-black nail polish.

At this point, I realized I was in serious trouble.

I'm utterly frustrated by my own lack of imagination and poor preparation—yet right now, the sword and scabbard are tightly bound together with a special cord, and I don't have time to untie them one by one.

Apparently, thanks to the power of "Skill," I was able to defend myself far faster than I had anticipated. The sword felt as light as a feather, and my body was even lighter—truly, I had become a superhero.

But the problem was, this man in front of me seemed to have slightly better physical ability than I did.

If I ran away in this situation, I'd likely be sliced open from behind.

It's not like a minor scratch would be a problem—I could always use my *Healing Magic* later. But—

My instincts scream at me:

One hit from that thing, and it's all over.

I block the relentless black claws with the scabbard of my blade.

After what felt like several minutes of this back-and-forth—

'Gotcha!'

*Patatatat*—something warm and wet splashed across my face, a few droplets of red liquid splattering onto my glasses.

"——C-C-C-C-C-C-C-CHHHHHHHH! T-That! The glass panel's—!"

Realizing it was his blood, I was overcome by an indescribable terror.

What exactly had he just tried to do to me?

—If even the blood or saliva of these creatures got into my eyes or an open wound, even a powerful 'player' like me would be finished.

I'm reminded of Yeku-san's words.

I think it was information about "zombies," if I recall correctly...

Something about it—it's like the image of those walking corpses is overlapping with this one right in front of me.

After all, look at this person—they're riddled with wounds, yet seem completely fine.

That means...

If I hadn't been wearing my glasses just now, would I have already lost?

Even worse, perhaps...

Perhaps I had been mutated into something completely equal to this guy.

"Wha—? Are you scared?"

I grit my teeth and respond.

"Shaking from nerves!"

Despite being a novice in combat, I instinctively understood.

In a one-on-one fight to the death—emotion matters. If you're underestimated, you're done.

"If you surrender now, you still have a chance. Right now, my allies are rushing to my aid—"

That was when he spoke.

From behind the man facing him, a girl leapt forward like a cat.

She drove a knife into each of the strange man's ears, one on either side.

"Die! Die!"

"Ugh—?!"

It should have surely reached his brain.

A wound that should kill even a "zombie."

"Damn it, you're already—... doesn't matter anymore!"

Yet he brushed aside Misogi-chan as if nothing had happened.

Misogi-chan was thrown like a doll and slammed into the wall.

An ordinary person would have died from such a blow, but... astonishingly, she was still full of energy. Rolling across the ground scattered with glass, her whole body covered in wounds, she got back up and shouted,

"You! If you're a 'player,' pull yourself together! Cut off that thing's head!"

I took a few steps back, realizing with a jolt that I'd completely wasted the opening Myogin-chan had so carefully created for me.

The sword still remained in its sheath.

I had to untie the cord.

For a moment, I truly thought about doing it.

But for some reason, my hand wouldn't move.

I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

The man known as Kotō Ryouba stood before me, his body sprouting knives like some bizarre, grotesque creature, glaring at me with cold intensity.

'As for the vessel—same as before, though.'

With a cruel smile playing at his lips.

"Your heart's different now. Like a refrigerator stuffed with rotting flesh."

Still, it was no good.

I couldn't fight.

No matter what, I couldn't draw my blade.

I couldn't turn it toward the enemy.

My heart pounded wildly, and dizziness swamped me.

Looking back later, I might have been suffering from some kind of panic disorder.

It's like when someone involved in a car accident can no longer even grip something resembling a steering wheel.

I am.

Teeth.

I've lost my teeth.

Even to myself, it seems I accepted that rather quickly.

In a way, it might have been better that I'd already lost all memory of what came before. That's why I could so easily let go of everything I'd built up until then.

First, I simply tossed aside my grandfather's heirloom, carelessly to the side.

"——? What...?"

Ryoma tilted his face, bewildered, as if seeing something utterly insane.

I took a small, deep breath, and declared:

"If you have no fangs... then I'll fight you without fangs of my own."