I sprinted at full speed toward Cradle, and as I approached, he narrowed his eyes and glared at me.

"Matt..."

Turning to face me, Cradle pointed his sword directly at me.

"So, you didn’t drink that liquor after all..."

"Hmm? What do you mean by that?"

I questioned Cradle’s words, and he gave a self-deprecating laugh.

"That liquor was spiked with a drug that renders you immobile for a while. It supposedly saps your strength for three to four days, and it takes more than a week to fully recover."

I furrowed my brows at his explanation.

"Why would you do something like that? Was it for this day?"

When I asked, Cradle shrugged and laughed.

"...Because I didn’t want to fight you, Matt. Even though I resolved to cut down anyone for revenge, I didn’t want to kill you. But with your skill, I couldn’t afford to hold back."

"Confident, aren’t you? You think you can beat me?"

I smirked at his words.

Cradle exhaled a laugh and shook his head.

"I don’t intend to fight you. If I tried to defeat you, that man would surely escape in the meantime. But if you insist on fighting me, then you’ll have to kill him first."

Cradle turned back to face the king.

The king pursed his lips tightly, glared at Cradle, and then sat cross-legged on the ground.

"Fine! I will wait here until your battle is settled! But don’t think I’ll go down without a fight, even if you win, you brat!"

The king’s roar rang out, and the surrounding soldiers hastily urged him to flee. However, the king refused to budge.

I pointed Torbezhino’s sword at Cradle and spoke.

"Now we can fight without holding back. But I’ll warn you—if Rain or Bardict shows up while we’re at it, even you might be in trouble."

Hearing that, Cradle gave a wry smile and shook his head again.

"Rain broke several bones in that last battle, and I gave Bardict spiked liquor."

With those words, Cradle turned to face me and readied his sword.

"It’s just you now."

With Cradle’s declaration, our swords aimed at each other’s faces. By coincidence, both of us were armed with a single longsword.

Cradle was clad in light armor, while I wore mere cloth. Beyond that, our conditions were equal. The sword Torbezhino had given me was likely on par with Cradle’s weapon.

I tightened my grip on my sword and began closing the distance between us.

I knew Cradle’s fighting style well. Even his serious movements had been revealed during the battle with Rain.

Because of that, there was no need for hesitation or to cautiously size him up.

As I closed the gap between us, Cradle raised an eyebrow and gave me a sardonic smile.

"Don’t underestiMatte me, Matt. No—let’s call you Tyrant Matt. And I know the tyrant’s greatest weakness better than anyone."

With those words, Cradle moved to my right, the hand holding my sword.

From his position diagonally in front of me, it would be difficult to land an effective blow with my current stance and reach.

I adjusted my footing to face Cradle directly.

But his sword was already swinging toward mine.

I deflected Cradle’s sword with brute force and followed his movements as he tried to circle behind me.

Each time I tried to turn toward him, Cradle struck preemptively, interrupting my motion. As I parried his blows and continued to pursue him, Cradle spoke in short bursts between strikes.

"Frustratingly enough, you’re stronger and faster than me. And that absurd combat intuition of yours—especially your sense of distance—makes you an untouchable veteran. I don’t know where you learned to fight like this, but someday, you’ll become a true tyrant, one that no one can control."

As he spoke, Cradle skillfully swung his sword while gliding around my side.

He then aimed a strike at the guard of my sword, hooking his blade against it.

Though I held my sword tightly and avoided losing it, the force pulled my arm, disrupting my balance.

Seeing the opening, Cradle swiftly extended his leg.

Off balance and leaning forward, his powerful kick struck me in the side, sending me tumbling to the ground.

Damn it.

Rolling further to avoid any follow-up, I held my sword vertically and turned to face him.

But Cradle made no move to pursue, standing in place with his sword poised, completely alert.

"...People often get deceived by your physical ability and combat sense, but you can’t handle a sword. It’s not that you lack the technique—you’re simply unable to use one."

Cradle spoke these strange words, narrowing his eyes as he gazed at me.

"Are you trying to say I’m bad at swordsmanship?"

When I asked, Cradle stared at me, as if probing for something, before speaking again.

"Most swordsmen and gladiators grew up swinging sticks around as kids, pretending to be heroes or knights from legends. It’s how they naturally learn to wield a sword. Proper swordsmanship is something you add on later."

With that, Cradle spun his sword like a performer.

"...Whether you grew up in a martial artist’s home or something, you probably never had that childhood of playing with sticks. That’s why, as long as I don’t let you close enough for hand-to-hand combat, you don’t stand a chance."

He began moving toward my right hand once more.

I see. His plan was to keep his distance and toy with me, exploiting his reach advantage to gradually wear me down.

Though our weapons were identical in reach, I specialized in close combat while Cradle was an all-rounder. There was no reason for him to fight on my terms.

"...Cradle. I’ll throw your words right back at you."

"Huh?"

Cradle responded reflexively, his tone casual, as I grinned and spoke.

"Don’t underestimate me, Cradle. No—let’s call you ‘Jumbo Cradle.’ And I know your greatest weakness better than anyone."

Cradle furrowed his brows and blinked at me in confusion.

"Who the hell is Jumbo Cradle?"

Author's Note

The final showdown spans two chapters... Even the author didn’t see this coming...