(Paul POV)
Ghislaine and I sprinted through the streets of Millishion, weaving between startled pedestrians as we made our way back to the inn. My mind raced just as fast as my feet. If the Water God was really after me, then the longer we stayed here, the greater the risk to everyone.
We skidded to a stop at the entrance of the inn, practically kicking the door open.
Inside, Shierra and Vierra, who had been casually lounging near the table, jumped up at the sudden intrusion. Their expression stiffened in alarm as they saw me.
"Paul? Ghislaine? What's wrong?" Shierra asked, her usual playful demeanor absent.
"No time to explain! Pack your things—get the others moving now!" I barked.
Vierra immediately turned and dashed toward the other rooms, shouting orders to gather our belongings. Ghislaine followed after her, likely making sure things stayed organized.
Then Lilia stepped forward, her expression calm but serious. "Paul, there's a problem."
I clenched my fists. "What is it?"
Lilia took a deep breath, then delivered the worst possible news I could have heard at that moment.
"Earlier today, knights from the Millis Church came to escort Zenith and Norn."
My body froze as a cold chill ran down my spine.
"What?" My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"Lady Claire sent them. They claimed she wanted to have a discussion with them at the Great Church of Millishion."
My grip on my sword tightened so hard I thought the leather might tear.
That damn hag! I should have known she wouldn't stop after I warned her.
I turned on my heel. "I'm going after them."
"Paul—" Lilia started, but I was already moving.
I didn't have time for the streets. The crowd would slow me down. No, I needed to move fast. My instincts kicked in, and before I knew it, I jumped onto a nearby wooden stall and then leaped to the roof of the inn.
A startled gasp from below told me people had noticed, but I didn't care.
I took off at full speed, my Touki-enhanced body carrying me across the rooftops like a shadow cutting through the sky. The wind roared past my ears as I pushed myself harder, my breath coming in controlled bursts.
The city of Millishion spread out beneath me, a maze of people and stone structures. But up here, nothing slowed me down. I leaped from rooftop to rooftop, using my momentum to propel myself over gaps that would have sent a normal person plummeting to the streets below.
I didn't even bother concealing my presence. I needed to get to the Great Church now.
In my mind, all I could see was Zenith and Norn—unsuspecting, walking into whatever twisted plan Claire had for them.
I grit my teeth.
No. I won't let her control them. I won't let her take them from me.
The towering silhouette of the Great Church came into view ahead.
I pushed harder.
The rooftops blurred past as I closed in on my destination. The towering structure of the Great Church of Millishion loomed ahead, its grand architecture standing as a testament to the Millis Church's influence.
But I didn't give a damn about its beauty. My focus was locked on two figures walking toward the entrance, escorted by a pair of knights in the blue and gold colors of the Church.
I made it just in time.
With one final leap, I propelled myself off the rooftop, angling my descent toward them. The moment my boots touched the cobblestone road, I pushed forward with explosive speed.
The knights barely had time to react before I was on them.
*SHING!*
My sword flashed as I slashed across the first knight's chest, sending him flying back with a cry of pain. His armor absorbed most of the blow, but I didn't hold back enough to make it gentle. He crashed onto the ground, groaning in agony.
The second knight turned, but he was too slow.
I sidestepped his attempt to block and struck his sword hand with the flat of my blade, forcing him to drop his weapon. Before he could recover, I slammed the hilt of my sword into his gut, knocking the air out of his lungs and sending him to his knees.
Both were down. Not dead—just incapacitated. I didn't have the luxury to waste time on them.
Then Zenith gasped. "Paul?"
Norn, gripping her mother's sleeve, hesitated before whispering, "Dad?"
Before I could assure them we needed to go, a chilling presence made my instincts scream.
Approaching us was an older woman, maybe in her late 50s, with white hair and piercing blue eyes. Her gaze flicked to the fallen knights before settling on me.
Even though she wore a sword at her hip, she looked like an ordinary grumpy old lady. But my instincts told me the truth.
This has to be the Water God, the one that Kagami warned me about.
I quickly stepped in front of Zenith and Norn, shielding them. "Get behind me."
The old lady hummed. "So that slimy something I just killed was one of your spies? No wonder the cardinal was so paranoid."
Spy? Shit. Did she seriously just kill Kagami? He didn't even tell me where Rudy was!
My stomach churned. This was bad. This was worse than bad.
I quickly went into a stance and readied myself.
"Oho," she said in an impressed tone. "Are you really about to face off against an old lady?"
"Looks can deceive," I replied. "I know you're anything but defenseless."
She smirked. "Impressive. Your instincts must be sharp."
I lunged. Not a full strike—just a probing attack.
*SHNK!*
Her sword was unsheathed in a blur and flicked up in an instant. Effortless. Precise. My blade was deflected away with minimal movement like she barely needed to try.
Before I could recover, she twisted her wrist—a counter!
I barely dodged. The tip of her sword grazed my sleeve as I leaped back, my heart pounding.
That sword swing was fast! Too fast!
She stepped forward. "If you won't come to me, I'll come to you."
I steadied my breathing. My arms felt like lead, and my muscles screamed from exertion. But I couldn't afford to stop. Not yet. Not when Zenith and Norn were behind me. Not when I had already come this far.
The old woman—no, the Water God—watched me with an almost amused expression. Not mockery, but something close to mild curiosity. Like she was measuring me, seeing how long I would last.
I clenched my teeth. I had to push harder.
I launched forward, sword cutting a sharp arc through the air.
*CLANG!*
She deflected the blow with a flick of her wrist, redirecting my momentum. I twisted mid-step, bringing my sword up in a diagonal slash—fast, relentless.
*SHNK!*
She parried again. My blade barely missed her cheek, but she didn't even flinch. Instead, she stepped in, her free hand darting out like a viper.
I barely ducked in time as her fingers swiped past my face. If that had connected—
No time to think. I retaliated, dropping low and sweeping my leg at her ankle.
She leapt over it effortlessly.
But that was what I wanted.
Using the momentum, I rolled to my feet and pivoted, slashing upward in a rising arc.
For the first time, her expression shifted—just a little.
She twisted at the last moment, my sword grazing the fabric of her robe. I had barely missed her.
Damn it!
I pressed forward, trying to keep up the pressure. I struck again. Again. Again. My blade flashed like a whirlwind, an unpredictable storm of steel.
She deflected every blow. Each movement was impossibly smooth, like water flowing through cracks, never resisting—only redirecting.
Then she attacked.
A flick of her wrist.
I barely raised my sword in time—
*CLANG!*
The impact sent vibrations through my arms. My feet skidded back, heels scraping against the cobblestone.
She advanced.
Another strike—this one faster.
I parried, but her next attack was already coming.
I ducked. Spun. Tried to counter.
She was faster.
*SHNK!*
A sharp pain tore through my shoulder as her blade nicked me. Blood splattered onto the ground.
I ignored it, stepping in with a wild thrust.
She pivoted around me, dodging effortlessly. Then—
*WHAM!*
A kick to my ribs.
I stumbled but caught myself, twisting my body to retaliate with a reverse slash.
Her sword was already there, stopping me mid-motion.
Her strength was deceptive. She looked frail, but the force behind her blade was like an unmovable wall.
"Still standing?" she mused.
I spat blood and tightened my grip. "Not for much longer if I don't end this now."
I had one more trick left.
With a desperate cry, I launched forward one last time—
Her sword blurred.
*CRACK!*
A devastating blow struck the side of my head.
My vision swam. The world tilted. I collapsed to the ground, unable to move.
She loomed over me, sword still in hand. "What a waste. You were quite formidable."
Pain flooded my skull, my vision swimming in a disorienting haze. The world around me blurred, the towering form of the Water God wavering like a mirage. My ears rang, and my limbs screamed in protest, yet through the fog of agony, I heard them.
"Dad!" Norn's voice—high, trembling, desperate.
"Paul! Please!" Zenith's voice—frantic, breaking.
That sound alone anchored me. That was all I needed.
I forced my body to move, muscles sluggish but responding. My fingers curled around my sword's hilt, pressing against the cool metal as I planted one foot on the ground, then another. I rose slowly, like a corpse defying its grave, my breath ragged, my body coated in sweat and blood.
The Water God's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "I take it back. I am the one who underestimated you. If it wasn't for that impressive Touki of yours, the top of your head would be flying off. To think I only gave you a cut."
I exhaled sharply, forcing my mind to focus. I was getting tired of this old hag's blabbering. If she wanted to talk, she should have picked a better time. Right now, I was done listening. I needed a way to kill her, and I needed it now.
Through the haze clouding my mind, an idea formed. She expected technique. She expected precision. The problem was that everything I had thrown at her came from the three main sword styles.
The problem lies in her training to counter everything from those styles to the best f her ability, even the unpredictable ones that are harder to counter unless someone of the same rank uses them.
I readied my stance, abandoning all formality.
The Water God thrived on precision, on redirecting controlled attacks with minimal effort. But what if I gave her nothing to redirect? No measured strikes, no predictable forms—just raw, unrelenting force.
My grip tightened, not for balance, but for destruction. This stance had no name, no school. It was the stance of a desperate man willing to break himself to break his opponent. Something that my opponent can't read.
Water God's brows furrowed. "What is that?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I struck. Simple as that, but with every once of Touki control I could muster.
My blade came crashing down, a forceful cleave meant to break, not cut. She moved to parry—
*CLANG!*
Her sword shuddered. She had tried to deflect it, but the sheer weight of my swing forced her arms down. She stepped back, resetting her stance, but I was already bringing my sword back for another strike.
*CLANG!*
Another. *CLANG!* And another. *CLANG!* She stumbled slightly, her balance wavering. This wasn't a battle of skill anymore. It was a battle of sheer brute force.
Her sword no longer glided effortlessly. It trembled under my blows. It no longer danced; it barely held. She couldn't redirect me—there was nothing graceful about my swings. They were meant to crush.
My relentless attacks continued, our sword's edges leaving sparks from all the metal crashing against each other.
Her stationary stance became loose as she slowly slid her feet back from my attacks.
I took that to my advantage and got into a little bit of distance from her.
Straining every muscle in my legs, I dashed out straight at her, lunging my sword back to swing it at her.
She was holding her sword, ready to redirect my attack again, but I faked a stumble at the last moment when I was close enough to her.
Her eyes flickered with surprise, just for an instant, but then they shun with realization from my reformed footing—it was too late.
I twisted my wrist and lunged, my blade piercing through her left shoulder.
A gasp left her lips, her entire body jerking in shock. But I wasn't done. I pressed down, forcing the tip of my sword deeper, cutting through muscle and sinew. Blood splattered onto the cobblestone, painting the ground crimson.
She grits her teeth, trying to lift her sword, but she can't manage her usual finesse with only one arm.
Her breathing hitched. For the first time, her movements faltered—not out of exhaustion, but from something more primal. She was losing, and she knew it.
With a sharp inhale, she made a desperate maneuver—sliding her blade along mine, aiming for my face in a frantic bid to turn the tide. It was fast, but it wasn't precise. It wasn't measured. It was rushed.
I caught it—with my teeth.
Her eyes widened in horror.
I could hear the faint gasps of Zenith and Norn, but they were distant now. All I saw was her.
She tried to yank the sword away, but I clenched down harder, my jaw aching from the force. I wasn't letting go.
She moved to retreat, but I grabbed her wrist with my left hand, keeping her locked in place. My right hand never stopped—it kept pushing my sword deeper, grinding through bone, tearing through flesh. More blood gushed out, staining my clothes and splattering against my face.
Her breathing grew ragged. Her struggles weakened.
My eyes locked onto hers, burning with unrelenting fury.
"Yuh… nebah… shudda… threhhhen'd tuh kill… my fam'ly…"
With one final, merciless push, my sword plunged straight through her chest, slicing through her heart.
A smile formed on her face, something I didn't expect to see on her.
"T-Tricky... bastard. Congratulations... Urgh."
Was she using her final moments to show recognition for me? She recognized me as a fellow swordsman, yet all I could see was the woman who tried to kill me in front of my family, which prevented me from returning that respect.
In the end, her body jolted violently, her mouth opening as if to speak—but no words came. Her sword slipped from her fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone. Her legs gave out, her body crumpling as the last vestiges of life faded from her eyes.
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