Kaizoku Tensei: Transmigrated Into A Pirate Eroge
Chapter 31: [31] No Such Thing as a Fair Fight

Chapter 31: [31] No Such Thing as a Fair Fight

Hardy’s sword cleaved downward like a falling guillotine. The polished steel caught the morning light, casting fractured rainbows across the cobblestones as it descended toward Pierre’s skull.

Pierre didn’t retreat. He stepped forward and to the left, his pipe rising at a sharp angle. Metal rang against metal as the pipe caught the sword’s edge, deflecting the blade’s trajectory just enough to send it whistling past his right ear. The force of the deflection sent vibrations up both their arms, but Pierre was already moving.

Pierre’s left foot pivoted. His body rotated, slipping inside Hardy’s guard. The captain’s eyes widened. He’d braced for a clash of steel. Instead, his target simply wasn’t there.

Pierre’s pipe whipped horizontally toward Hardy’s ribs. The captain twisted backward, sucking in his gut as the rusted metal swept inches from his naval uniform. Hardy’s prosthetic leg snicked against the cobblestones as he adjusted his stance, the metallic sound sharp in the sudden silence.

"Stand still!" Hardy snarled, bringing his sword around in a vicious horizontal slash.

Pierre ducked low, the blade singing over his red hair. He rolled forward between Hardy’s legs, coming up behind the captain with his pipe already in motion. Hardy spun to face him, but the turn forced weight onto his prosthetic. Pierre caught the slight wince, the microscopic hesitation.

There.

The pipe struck out like a viper, targeting the junction where flesh met metal. Hardy jerked his leg back, but the movement threw him off balance. Pierre pressed the advantage, launching a series of quick jabs with the pipe—high, low, middle—each one forcing Hardy to shift his weight, to pivot, to rely on that mechanical limb.

"You fight like a coward!" Hardy roared, swinging his sword in wide arcs. "Face me properly!"

The blade missed Pierre by inches as he swayed backward, spine bending like a reed in wind. Hardy’s follow-up thrust came fast, but Pierre was already spinning away, forcing the captain to turn again, to plant that prosthetic foot on uneven stone.

Hardy’s jaw clenched as pain shot up his leg. Clever bastard.

"What’s wrong, Captain?" Pierre’s voice held no mockery, just clinical observation. "Leg bothering you?"

Hardy’s response was a thunderous overhead strike. Pierre sidestepped, but this time Hardy anticipated the movement. The captain’s left leg—the iron one—swept out in a devastating arc. The prosthetic caught Pierre across the thigh, sending him stumbling sideways.

White-hot agony shot up Pierre’s thigh. The impact felt like being hit with a steel beam. He rolled with the momentum, coming up in a crouch as Hardy advanced.

"Iron Leg technique," Hardy said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Lost the real one to pirates fifteen years ago. This replacement hits harder than bone ever could."

Hardy demonstrated, lifting his left leg and driving it down like a piledriver. The cobblestone beneath his foot cracked, spider-web fractures spreading outward from the impact point.

Pierre’s eyes tracked the damage. Powerful, but telegraphed. He lifts the whole leg for maximum force—leaves him vulnerable during the windup.

Hardy pressed forward, sword high, iron leg cocked for another strike. Pierre feinted left, then dove right as the prosthetic smashed down where he’d been standing. More cobblestones shattered under the impact.

As Hardy lifted his leg for another strike, Pierre moved. He slipped inside the captain’s reach and drove his pipe downward—not at Hardy, but at the cobblestones directly in front of where the prosthetic would land.

The rusted metal struck stone with a sharp crack. Fragments scattered as Pierre’s pipe punched through the already-weakened surface, creating a small crater surrounded by loose rubble.

Hardy’s iron leg came down hard, but instead of solid footing, it hit the uneven surface Pierre had created. The prosthetic wobbled, mechanical joints struggling to compensate for the unstable ground. Hardy’s balance wavered, his sword arm dropping as he fought to stay upright.

Pierre was already in motion. He stepped forward, pipe sweeping up in a tight arc toward Hardy’s exposed ribs. The captain managed to get his sword down in time, steel ringing against rust as he deflected the strike. But the effort cost him—his prosthetic slipped on the loose stones, and he staggered backward.

"Dirty fighting," Hardy spat, blood trickling from his lip where he’d bitten it during the stumble.

"I’m a criminal." Pierre spun the pipe in his hand, the motion casual, almost lazy. "And you’re a Navy Captain who expected a fair fight. What a dumbass."

Hardy’s face darkened. He raised his sword and iron leg simultaneously, preparing for a devastating combination. The blade would force Pierre to dodge one way while the prosthetic cut off his escape route.

Pierre saw it coming. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward into Hardy’s attack. The sword swept down as the iron leg swept across. Pierre dropped to one knee, letting both attacks pass over him, then sprang upward with his pipe extended.

The rusted metal caught Hardy under the chin. The captain’s head snapped back, his attack completely disrupted. Pierre followed through, driving his shoulder into Hardy’s midsection and sending both men tumbling across the cobblestones.

They rolled apart, both coming to their feet breathing hard. Hardy’s uniform was torn, dust coating his once-pristine jacket. Pierre’s shirt hung in tatters, revealing lean muscle beneath.

The crowd had pressed closer despite the danger, forming a loose circle around the combatants. Civilians who had spent months cowering before Hardy now watched their tormentor bleed. Some faces showed fear, others hope, but all showed fascination.

"You’re fast," Hardy admitted, wiping blood from his mouth. "But speed won’t save you forever."

"Neither will that leg." Pierre gestured at the prosthetic with his pipe. "How long before the pain gets too bad? How many more impacts before those joints start to give out?"

Hardy’s grip tightened on his sword. The red-haired criminal was reading him like an open book, exploiting every weakness, turning his own strength against him. It was infuriating.

"I’ll crush you!" Hardy raised his sword high, preparing for another overhead strike.

Pierre tensed, ready to dodge. But instead of bringing the blade down, Hardy pivoted and drove his iron leg straight down into the cobblestones between them.

The impact was a dull CRUMP. Stone exploded upward in a shower of fragments and dust. The prosthetic punched through the street’s surface, sending shock waves through the ground that Pierre felt in his bones.

But Hardy wasn’t done. He lifted his leg and drove it down again, then again, each impact shattering more stone and sending up more debris. Within seconds, a cloud of dust and pulverized rock filled the air between them.

The world dissolved into gray grit. Dust clogged his throat, stung his eyes until they streamed. He blinked, but it did nothing. The air was a churning wall of pulverized stone. Then, through the chaos, Hardy’s voice, everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Let’s see how well you fight blind!"

Heavy footsteps pounded across the broken ground. Hardy was charging through his own dust cloud, using the cover to close distance. Pierre tried to track the sound, but the echoes off surrounding buildings made locating Hardy impossible.

A shadow moved in the dust to his left. Pierre swung his pipe, but struck only air. Another shadow—this one to his right. He spun, pipe extended, but again found nothing.

Then Hardy burst from the cloud directly in front of him.

The captain had abandoned his sword. Instead, he came in low, arms spread wide for a grapple. His iron leg drove into the ground with each step, propelling him forward like a mechanical battering ram.

Pierre tried to sidestep, but Hardy anticipated the movement. Thick arms wrapped around Pierre’s torso, lifting him off the ground in a crushing bear hug.

"Now we fight like men!"