My student betrayed all of my expectations, and she soon fell in love with a young man when she traveled east. I know the hearts of men were fickle, and when I spied upon him, I deemed him to be untrustworthy.

Yet I did not interfere, for I was merely a spectator and perhaps, only a guardian on my student’s journey. I left her a warning to never reveal her powers to others easily at the start of the journey's beginning, but alas, the follies of youth are akin to hidden traps.

My student, she suffered heartbreak as she was betrayed by her first love and chased away. With her abilities and strength, she could have retaliated, but she chose to leave.

She has a gentle heart, even for beings like us that dwell in darkness.

But I am not as forgiving.

-???

“The next contestant, Airen, disciple of Neäir!” The announcer was none other than Paden of the Six Swords. It had taken a mere half of a day for the Amphitheater of Blades to fill up to the brim, and the very next day, the competition had kicked off.

“Good luck out there.” ‘Neäir’ gave Airen a pat on the shoulder as he eyed the opponent already on the podium. It was a young male that had come from the lands far east, beyond the Dew Plains. His attire seemed to be spun from a delicate and smooth fabric, very much unlike the rough leather and cotton attire most apparent in the Red Slate Republic.

“His clothing reminds me of an old friend.” Neäir smiled as he sized up Airen’s opponent.

“Look at this crowd, how am I supposed to get away with not being recognized here?” Airen gestured around the gigantic arena, many of whom had eyes on the other entrance.

“Who would dare cause a scene in an event like this hosted by one of the Divine Beings?” Neäir shrugged. “Plus, my name was mentioned as your teacher, so if anything, they would come to me first. But alas, you probably wouldn’t go if I don’t do something, right Airen?”

“Our agreement was one of mutual benefits.” AIren interjected. “Before I had the Night Sculptor’s Mask, and now you are the one using it. You’ve taken away that benefit, so it is only fair that you give me something else.”

“You already have an illusion spell casted upon you by the most talented wizard in the world. The few that can see past it are either those that stand at the peak of the world, or those that already have seen you for who you are.” Neäir rolled his eyes. “Are you getting cold feet now, Airen?”

“I’ve been paraded in front of an entire country as a child.” Airen snorted and started to make his way towards the stairs that descended into the arena. “Keep your promises, Fiel.”

“I always make good on my promises, even if it is centuries after the initial promise is made.” Neäir smiled and waved him off.

“I am Shemol from Acropthis, a small country of scholars from the east.” The man had mannerisms that were uncommon in this part of the world, and he greeted Airen by touching two fingers to his right shoulder and giving a bow. “I hope to learn many things from you, stranger from a distant land.”

“Airen.” Deciding to be curt, Airen simply stated his name and gave a polite bow.

“Shemol and Airen, are you both ready?” Padan looked at the two of them for confirmation.

“Yes.” Shemol slid an extremely thin and brittle-looking blade out from its sheath at his waist. Airen had initially thought it was a rapier that he had wielded, but on closer inspection, the blade was closer to that of an extremely long spear tip, forming a cross-like structure.

“Grant me a blade that will strike down my foes with a single hit.” Airen chanted quietly. A small rift opened next to his hand and a thin pale-purple dagger appeared.

“Number Four-Hundred and Twenty, The First Fang. The original dagger created from the fang of one of a Primal Python. The poison is so corrosive it could burn through metal, and it will inflict a slow and debilitating death to anything living.

“...Really?” Airen frowned. This weapon was way too dangerous to be used in a match where you can’t kill the opponent.

.Sadly the poison has since been used up and has been replaced with a paralyzing toxin. Airen could see Fieluri’s smirking face as the voice seemed to add on an extra bit of info.

“Since the two of you are ready, then… let us begin!”

“May the better of us prevail.” Shemol flourished his blade before slowly walking towards Airen, his blade held at an angle across his body.

“Fuu…” Airen slowly let out his breath and took in another as he let his opponent approach, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in anticipation.

A glint of steel was the only signal as Shemol suddenly shifted his stance and slashed at Airen’s forehead. A less experienced man would not have expected the sudden change in angle and distance, but Fieluri’s training was a hellish regiment designed to forge experience through death.

Wielding the dagger in a reverse grip, Airen ducked beneath the blade and slashed at Shemol’s wrist. However it was like slashing at sand, and Airen’s jagged blade met no resistance. Shemol had retreated, and he stared at Airen as if looking at an enigma.

“Someone as young as you could see through my Cutting Gale?” Shemol smiled, bemused at the sudden change of events. “Young hero, are you one of the Six Swords?”

“No, I just happened to have a very good teacher.” Airen replied, glancing over at the stands where Neäir sat. The crowd clearly heard his words and several pairs of eyes turned into the direction Airen was looking, but since it was a general direction, not many knew who exactly he was looking at.

“A notable existence.” Shemol nodded in the direction of the VIP stands before setting his sights back on Airen again.

Their conversation transformed from one of words to one of singing blades, accompanied with the applause of the crowd.

Airen ducked and parried his opponent's blade, occasionally lashing out at him. However, his opponent had the advantage of reach, as well as the strange form of his cross-shaped blade that allowed him to parry all manner of attacks by twisting the hilt.

It looked like they were fighting to a standstill, but in reality, Shemol’s weapon gave him the slightest of edges.

A sudden premonition hit Airen as his opponent withdrew his blade and took a step back and took on a new stance, with the blade held high in the air. Struck with a feeling of intense dread, Airen darted to the side as the blade came down, tearing a deep crevasse in the ground where he was standing prior.

Deciding against giving his opponent any reprieve or chance to use more techniques, Airen moved in against his enemy, a trail of thin light emitting from the tip of his dagger. If his opponent was surprised at Airen’s strikes that suddenly increased in speed, the only sign was a thin trail of sweat down the side of his face as he parried jab after jab.

However, it seemed like Airen would never get to use Flash of Divine Steal as his opponent seemed to be unable to keep up with Airen’s attacks. At the height of the Flash Stance, Airen managed to barely nick his opponent, but a mere nick was all it took.

His opponent's movements seemed to slow, and Airen easily managed to disarm his opponent in the next strike.

“Victor! Airen!” Paden quickly announced as Shemol toppled over from the poison. “A poisoned blade is as dangerous as any spell, can even topple the mightiest of enemies!”

As Airen left amidst the barely audible applause, he glanced to the side to see Shemol being carried out by a team of healers.

“My, my. It seems the audience doesn’t appreciate the use of poison at all.” Neäir chuckled as Airen returned to his seat. “Quite the judgemental buffoons, are they not?”

“Everyone is afraid of poison, even those that utilize it.” Airen shrugged. “It has a negative connotation to it.”

“Ridiculous!” Neäir snorted. “It is a natural substance and medicine is the same as poison, merely in smaller quantities!”

“Well, care to explain it to those around us?” Airen smiled, gesturing to the entire arena.

“Hmph.” Neäir rolled his eyes. “One disciple isn’t even enough to comprehend my teachings, and you want me to teach the rest of these barbarians? Tsk.”

“If they want a show, I will give one to them.” Neäir’s face twisted into a mocking smile.

There were several more notable fights until Neäir would take the stage, and Airen took notes on their fighting styles and techniques. However, to his surprise, a good seventy-five percent of the stances and strikes were ones he had already seen before in the memories of the Archive.

“Why so surprised? There’s only so many ways that one can swing a sword.” Neäir yawned as he saw Airen’s look. “There are very few that come up with an ‘original’ way or stance wielding a sword that is actually worth something in battle.”

“Oh that’s a new one.” Neäir pointed to the battlefield where a woman wielding a large flamberge used a technique that caused flames to blossom at the weapon’s hilt and snaked down the blade. Whenever she struck, the flame would whip about in circles, causing a cyclone of flame to form around the hilt, and slowly revolve up the blade.

“It’s a fanciful way of imbuing one’s blade with flames, I suppose.” Neäir seemed to have pulled out a black book out of nowhere, and was starting to write in it. “An interesting way of increasing the width of one’s weapon. The flames would soften the flesh or armor beneath before crushing… I suppose I will need to experiment the difference between this and a mere red-hot molten blade enchantment to see how well it performs in practicality.”

“But yes, where was I? Right. The only ‘new’ things you, but most importantly, I- will see would be the results from a cumulatiation of knowledge and shifting of paradigms. New techniques borne out of necessity against the current times.” Neäir finished.

“The best item for creating a new ability is still a touch of madness.” He added, almost as an afterthought. “There is a deep darkness that one has to grasp, a certain road of mental paths taken in one’s mind to build an unimaginable conclusion and leads to a desire unlike any other.”

“That is how you create something like none the world has witnessed, a s⎼” Neäir was cut off as they announced his name as one of the next participants.

“Well, you’re still too young to understand. Maybe one day.” Neäir waved a hand in dismissal lazily. “This next battle will cement you as my disciple, Airen, so watch and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

“On the left, we have Morvus, an A-ranked duelist from the League of Adventurers. His exploits are many, including discovering the Coven of Anhira, student of one of the Four Princes, and wielder of the mighty blade, Gormalt!”

As Padan announced the man’s appearance, several cheers ran out through the crowd as a handsome fellow stepped out into the ring. His few pieces of metallic armor seemed to catch and distort the midday light, making his appearance even more splendid. At his side was an estoc with a jeweled hilt, which he raised in a salute to the crowd.

“On the right, we have a man of many mysteries that I respect greatly! Neäir!” In contrast to his opponent’s cheers, Neäir’s name only received polite applause. However, as soon as he stepped out into the ring, it was met with absolute silence.

Airen could only sigh as he realized Fieluri was doing exactly what he had hoped she wouldn’t. Neäir’s appearance was already shocking enough but when it was amplified with magic, it was enough to stun the crowd into silence.

There is no such thing as perfection in appearances, since everything exists in the eye of the beholder. But Fieluri’s spell was powerful enough to distort the mind of every individual in the packed arena, changing his appearance in their eyes ever so slightly to make his appearance pleasing to the eye. There were a few which were not targeted by the spell but otherwise the entire coliseum were seeing Neäir in a brighter light.

As Neäir stepped out into the arena, he merely brushed his hair and smiled facing the audience, and the crowd went wild.

“Ahem, if the two of you are ready, then may the more skilled win!”

“It is my pleasure to be your opponent.” Morvus politely nodded at Neäir as he brandished his weapon.

“You’re not worthy to be my opponent, but I shall humor you. Even a fool can serve as an example, I suppose.” Neäir reached out with a hand and a rift opened and deposited a simple-looking sheathe and longsword for him to wield. At Neäir’s arrogance, his opponent frowned but he did not get a word in as he continued to speak.

“Blooming.” Neäir waved his sword around listlessly. To the audience it looked like it was a flourish like a casual wave of the blade to test its weight, but Morvus suddenly flinched and rolled to the side. In the space he stood, there were deep grooved cuts in the ground.

“Oh, a good sense of danger. Still not as good as Airen’s though.” Neäir listlessly swung his sword again. “Blooming.”

This time, Morvus’s sword seemed to glow brilliantly as he held it in front of him, intent on taking the strike head on. A sound of tearing metal ran out, as the spectral slashes slipped through and left gaping marks on the man’s armor.

“Come on now. I’ll give you a free shot.” Neäir taunted. “It’ll be boring if you just lost to a basic attack like that!”

Basic attack? In what world? Morvus cursed under his breath. That casual swing of the blade was strong enough to send slicing winds at him, and he was several meters away. He could not see through the technique, and that fear of the unknown made him shiver. However he was still a notable combatant, and nevertheless agreed somewhat with Neäir, it would be pitiful and a disgrace to his image if he was just to surrender now.

“Disillusion.” The word seemed to trigger something in Gormalt. The jewels on the weapon seemed to shimmer and pop out of their sockets, each one forming a small phantasmic dagger that shot towards his opponent.

“Ald. Rÿd. Exor.” Near murmured in the same lazy voice as before. A distortion in space flew down from the hilt of his sword, traveling down the blade before darting towards the incoming projectiles.

“What manner of magic is this?” Morvus watched in shock as the projectiles halted in midair for a split second, before a tiny pitch black circle that looked like a black hole appeared, swallowing space and light,whisking away the projectiles before winking out of existence.

“Who knows. It’s boring to hold back, so consider yourself lucky. It’s time to put an end to this.” Neäir put his weapon back in its sheath. Airen recognized the stance of the Flash Stance just a moment too late as Neäir drew the blade in one smooth movement out of the sheath.

The sound of four blades sliding out of their sheathes was the last thing heard before a loud ring ran out through the arena. Two of the Six Swords, Minerva and Jaela had intervened. They had drawn their blades and darted into the arena.

“Sir Neäir, please be lenient in your blows and allow your opponents to surrender.” Jaela cautioned. “What use is there playing with your opponents after proving you are the better?”

“Ah, my apologies. I thought he would have been a bit more competent.” Neäir shrugged as he released the stance. “But there was nothing to worry about. As long as he didn’t struggle, that slash would have merely grazed him and splintered his sword.”

Merely? The only thing that Morvus saw was a wave of destructive black light as the slash had bent space, however he didn’t dare to question that Neäir could stop or predict where the attack was headed.

“Winner. Neäir!” The hushed crowd soon broke into applause as they woke up out of their stupefied stupor.

“At a loss for words?” Neäir smirked as he returned to his seat. “Did you really think that what I’ve taught you would be so simple?”

“No. But this is the first time you’ve actually shown me what I’m supposed to be working towards.” Airen grumbled. “How did you manage to get Blooming and Flash Stance to strike so far away without the use of magic?”

“Questions, questions, and ever more questions!” Neäir sighed. “Techniques and spells are always influenced by the user, so why do you seem so surprised? And whoever said I did not use magic?”

“So the fact that you gave me skills that are able to utilize magic…” Airen made a leap in logic and mused aloud.

“There are many types of magic.” Neäir rolled his eyes like a sparkling clear image of FIeluri. “You may be an incompetend dimwit in the magic that exists on this side of the Eiloong Continent, but human hearts always find a way.”

“That was something one of your kind said to me once.” Neäir looked enigmatically into the distance. “Still, your heart isn’t close to being tempered enough for a majority of the things I can teach you.”

“Ah, but it is good to be able to let loose!” Neäir yawned, ignoring Airen’s gaze and looks. “Airen, go fetch me some food and drinks! That’ll be your payment for me demonstrating that I am indeed your teacher.”

“Brother Neäir is as impressive as always.” A soft and familiar voice came from behind their seats, and Airen angled his neck to see Cordellia behind them.

“This must be the first time that I have seen the master and disciple together.” Cordellia laughed, hiding her mouth with a fan. “Both of you were splendid out there.”

“Good afternoon, Cordellia.” Airen greeted politely.

“It seems like you managed to get your hands on a ticket as well.” Neäir replied without turning around. “Did you do it before or after you heard that we were coming?”

“After.” If there was any indication of surprise at the sudden question, it was well hidden behind Cordellia’s facade. “There are many legends about Lord Neäir, so I came to witness how the others would react to your presence.”

“And did you find it wanting?” Neäir smiled and gestured around the VIP seats with a wine glass.

“Your reputation and actions precedes you.” Cordellia smiled and gave a polite bow. “There are many that wishes to speak with you, and I have taken the initiative to take their names for you.”

"You can deal with them as you see fit. I have no interest in meeting with any of them." Neäir yawned. "Unless they have something of notable interest and wish to open a transaction."

"I'm sure by this point you are aware of the things I am searching for, yes?" Neäir tilted his head to Cordellia.

"Brother Neäir has very refined tastes." Cordellia flattered. "I will be sure to mention anything of note. Is it safe for me to assume that Brother Neäir will be causing an upset at this tournament?"

"Hmm…" Neäir trailed a finger against the rim of his glass, a common habit that Fieluri often did while musing on something. His next words caused a shiver to run through Airen's spine.

"Maybe I'll claim the title of Sword Emperor for myself." Neäir said jokingly, but his words seem to have quieted the surrounding area.

"But… Sword Emperor, King of Blades, Sword Saint, all these titles are utterly boorish." Neäir yawned. "You'd think they would come up with something new, but I suppose this is the eightieth or so Sword Emperor."

"But I suppose in any era, anyone that can claim the title from the prior is someone of note." Neäir grudgingly admitted, and the surroundings seemed to come alive again. There were few that would so brazenly challenge one of the named Divine Beings of the past century, and those that did were either Divine Beings in their own right, or madmen.

"Brother Neäir is truly knowledgeable." Cordellia smiled, dispersing the tension in the surrounding atmosphere, but there were still many that looked at Neäir with curious eyes. “I am sure that there are many that come to you in search of answers.”

“Oh, if you only knew.” Neäir chuckled and stood up. “Why don’t you join me and Airen since you’ve come all this way? Here, take my chair.”

“I appreciate the gesture but I can’t possibly take your seat.” Cordellia interjected.

“No need to worry.” Neäir clapped his hands together and the two recliners shifted apart to the left and right, leaving just enough room for another seat. The movement was so subtle that even Airen, who was seated atop of the one on the right, had not felt anything.

“Hmm… I suppose if I were to bring out Ilfalyi, it’d be too obvious.” Neäir mused for a second before coming to a decision. “I’ll just go with the usual then…”

“Neäir pointed a finger to the sky, and a pitch black rift appeared. In a slow and overly-dramatic manner, the armchair that Airen saw Fieluri seated on most plopped down between the seats.

“Now, there won’t be a problem with seats then, is there?” Neäir gestured to the open seat. After a brief moment of consideration, Cordellia tactfully sat down on Neäir’s former recliner.

“And now we wait until one of us is called.” Neäir yawned and returned to his book, only occasionally peeking up to see what transpired in the battle arena. And he had reason to be bored- after all, it was going to be half an hour until either of the two would be called up.

The midday sun soon turned into the dusk sky and braziers that were laid out in the colosseum soon came to life. There would be no end to this tournament until a winner was declared.

And it was a good learning experience for Airen.

The next to be called up was none other than Airen, and his opponent was a familiar face.

“To think we would meet here today…” The one-armed man that looked like a decayed corpse stared at Airen. “Airen… was it?”

“Malcath.” Airen recalled the pale man's name that accompanied Cairo. "We both have strange fortunes to cross paths here."

"I don't believe in fate." Malcath pulled back his hood, revealing ashen hair. His missing arm was covered with a small cape, hiding the stump that was his shoulder. "I saw you come down from that section of the seats and your sword work. I understand how Cairo lost to you now."

"You humor me. My skill is nothing to boast about." Airen deflected the compliment. "I am only here because I was fortunate enough to associate with someone beyond my normal means."

"Is that so…?" Malcath turned towards the VIP seats, as if he was surveying for someone. After a few seconds, he turned back towards Airen and shook his head.

"No good. I can't see anything from here." Malcath scowled.

"Are you looking for someone?" Airen asked, but before he got a reply, the bloodthirsty audience started to jeer and shout for the duel to begin.

"They're barbarians, the lot of them." Malcath scowled as he leisurely drew his longsword with his one and only hand. "Even though I stand here not as a gladiator, this crowd never changes. This, I did not miss."

"So why did you come back here to participate in this tournament?" Airen asked.

"It would be a lie if I said a small part of me does not seek for that recognition and glory." Malcath swung his longsword with extreme ease in a few practice swings. "But today I come here on my own terms."

"I am Malcath, an exile of the Heavenly Sonata from the Church of Ecclisa." Malcath introduced himself with a swordsman's flourish. "I have no quarrel with you, but I have a goal I must achieve."

"Must be nice." Airen shrugged as black rift deposited a curved blade into his hands. "Everyone comes here with such higher aspirations, and here I am due to some higher being's will."

"Enough words." To the onlookers, it seemed to them that Malcath had disappeared and reappeared in front of Airen.

Airen quickly raised his sword to block Malcath's strike.

"Your student fights well. Better than many of his age." Cordellia commented to Neäir as she watched the fight play out.

"His aptitude is average at most." Neäir replied lazily as he continued to read his chosen book, showing no interest in the fight. "It is not his fault, since one does not choose their talents at birth, or lack thereof."

"You are quite harsh on him." Cordellia feigned disinterest at the dance of blades as she turned to Neäir. "Is this part of the master's teachings as well?"

"The world is cruel and full of suffering." Neäir glanced over at Cordellia before replying nonchalantly. "But even so, we still find reasons to keep on living, no?"

"Brother Neäir sees right through me." Cordellia laughed in a self-mocking tone. "I have always wondered why Sir Neäir would take note of someone like me."

"Because that disciple of mine and I willed it to be so." Neäir dismissed. "A debt of gratitude is the most binding, even more than strength.."

"It looks like it'll end soon." Neäir interrupted the conversation and finally looked up.

“You remind me of some of the young heroes I’ve taught before I became a gladiator.” In the lull that occured after another exchange of blades, it was Malcath that broke the silence. “You cannot possibly be older than sixteen years of age, and yet your blade work is comparable to one of my best students, titled Valkyrie.”

“I am no hero.” Airen shook his head as he slowly breathed out. He was only able to keep up with Malcath if he was using the Flash Stance. “If anything, someone like you who is one-armed and can wield a sword so well is more worthy of the title of hero.”

“I’ve walked a long road and given up any chance at that title long ago.” Malcath smiled, his face revealing just the tiniest traces of self-mockery. “But let’s put this to an end. It pains me to do this, but I must reach the apex of this tournament… even if I must sacrifice it all!”

Malcath suddenly bent his knees in a manner like one was ready to start sprinting. One would think he was preparing to run forward if not for the dimly glowing white light that was gathering on the man’s body and blade. It was clearly an enchantment of sorts, and feeling a sense of impending dread, AIren quickly readied himself.

And as if on cue- Malcath… vanished.

“Between heaven and earth lies an indomitable will.” Airen could barely hear the words in the wind that sounded like a long lost prayer. “Goddess guide me, as I chase for daybreak.”

Almost due to pure instinct, Airen turned around and raised his weapon just in time for Malcath’s blurred figure to reappear to his right to deliver a powerful twisting blow. Before AIren could even react, his figure disappeared once more.

Airen quickly ducked as the next lightning-fast strike flew over his head, visible only as a momentary glint of steel. Malcath’s speed had been elevated to heights that Airen could barely achieve with his Flash Stance, and it was only his blade swings, not his body.

The next breaknecking strike was a hammering overhead crushing blow that Airen barely managed to parry by twisting his knees, but it unbalanced him, giving Malcath the chance he needed.

The next gleam of steel was accompanied by the sound of metal as Airen’s weapon flew out of his hand as Malcath reappeared behind him. Before he vanished once again, he delivered a solid kick to Airen’s shin, forcing him to trip backwards.

At that moment, Airen knew the battle was lost, and Malcath seemed to have sensed it as well. Malcath had stopped flitting about with lightning speed, reappearing a few meters in front of him with his thin longsword in a fencing pose.

“This is my loss.” Airen held up an open palm to signal his defeat, and Malcath nodded at him. He had given Airen the option to admit defeat gracefully, and Airen respectfully took it.

“You were unfortunate to come across me as your opponent.” Malcath sheathed his blade and moved and offered him his one hand. “Even if you are but a child, I’ve come a long way here for this.”

“This move is called ‘Chasing Daybreak.’ Since I was a former professor, let this be another lesson I pass onto the next generation.” Malcath pulled Airen up by his wrist.

Airen did not hear much of the crowd as he ruminated on his loss and slowly returned to his seats.

“Ah, ah. It looks like my student lost to a one-armed man.” Neäir kicked up a fuss as soon as Airen returned to his seat. “What a shame! Tsk! If only I had a better student that had half a brain!”

“A loss is a loss!” Airen spread his arms in exaggeration. “Alas, if only I had a competent teacher that could showcase my talents! What a pity!””

“Agreed! It’s always a pity when a student can’t make use of their resources and resorts to complaining about the teacher! Students these days!”

Cordellia looked on as the two of them bickered back and forth like two kids. Despite their scathing words directed at each other, she could clearly detect it was mostly all in jest.

“Your nonsense aside ⎼ there was no way you would win against him in your current state.” Fieluri decided that she had enough and stop rubbing salt into Airen's wound. “If that man is willing to wager his life, his abilities can give him power beyond his means. You see his type all the time, all seeking to go out in a blaze of glory.”

“Well, I suppose you know all too well.” Neäir tilted his head at Airen. “Emperors, gods, heroes, millenium-old traditions. They all fall just the same, yet it is admirable, is it not?”

“You’re going to give our guests here the wrong idea.” Airen snorted and nodded at Cordellia. “I’m just a mere nobody.”

“Right now.” Neäir corrected him before turning to Cordellia.“And as for you ⎼ I will only have one student in my lifetime, so shoo away any of those that get ideas.”

“I figured that would be sire’s answer.” Cordella smiled at Airen, causing him to wonder what other conversation she and Neäir conducted out of his presence. “I will handle the manner gracefully and turn them down.”

“As if the sons and daughters of spoon-fed nobility that do not know hardship would make good students.” Neäir snorted, and Airen could tell it was also partially directed at him. “None of them will ever have the qualifications that Airen has here.”

Airen thought he was hearing things, but he could detect just the smallest smidgen of pride in Neäir’s voice.

“The troublesome one has come again.” Neäir suddenly said after the morning sun had turned into a scorching afternoon inferno. Cordellia had excused herself a few hours ago, returning to the Irona Auction House to tend to daily affairs.

Hearing Neäir’s words, Airen confirmed his gut feeling who had arrived as soon as he heard the clarinet-like voice.

“Sir Neäir. Airen.” Klaris politely greeted Neäir and Airen. There was none of her normal rambunctious attitude, instead replaced by a calm and determined demeanor that matched her formal battle-dress. She bowed slightly at the two of them, causing several of the nearby patrons to throw over curious glances.

How often was it that one of the Six Swords treated someone with this much respect?

“You did not defeat my student in battle.” Neäir said without standing up or turning around at all.

“SInce he had lost, and is unable to proceed further, this should be considered this loss, no?” Klaris tilted her head at Airen. “No offense, Airen. But we’ve already sparred once before, and you admitted defeat then.”

“If I did not witness it, then I will not acknowledge it,” Neäir replied bluntly. “This child has a habit of hiding his abilities, so I have no doubt that he went easy on you.”

“...” Klaris’s eyes narrowed, slightly angered at the man’s arrogance. She opened her mouth to spit out a retort, but Neäir’s next works stopped her.

“Still, I suppose if you were to take on your true form. He would not have stood a chance.” Neäir grumbled. “Not that you would do such a thing, in front of so many eyes.”

“Then is sire willing to come and meet-”

“You can ask one of them to come to me, and then they can decide if the rest of them are ‘willing’ to come meet me. You see, Dullas has some grudges, and I am of a mind to settle it for him.”

“Then I will ask for one of them to accompany me and meet you a few days after this tournament.” Klaris nodded in response.

“Tell them that mercy comes at a price that not all can afford. Tell them to prepare well. The worth of one life may not be enough to appease me..”

Before Kalaris could reply, Neäir’s name was called as one of the next participants.

“Ah, I suppose I’ll have to educate a poor fool before educating a foolish dragon.” Neäir sighed dramatically as he stood up. He turned to Airen and smirked for a second before snapping his fingers, disappearing in front of them into a black abyssal rift.

A few moments later, he reappeared in the middle of the arena, drawing the attention of everyone in the Amphitheater of Blades.

“Your master is a man that is troublesome to deal with.” To Airen’s expectations, Klaris did not leave, instead taking up Cordellia's chair..

“He is… quite the character.” Airen agreed in a neutral tone. He figured that Klaris wanted to take this opportunity to speak with him alone, and he even had a hunch that Neäir’s name being called at such an opportune time involved some manipulation.

“And you…” Klaris paused for a second as if hesitating. “Do you think that I am not worthy to receive my father’s sword?”

“I don’t think I am in any place to determine anyone’s worth.” Airen parried the question. “How old are you even?”

“Young by my clan’s standards. A mere fifty years of age.“ Klaris snorted as she folded her arms. “Why do you ask?”

“Then there’s really no reason to be proud of being able to beat someone almost forty years your junior, no?” Airen smirked. There was just the slightest bit of a grudge he held when Klaris was talking about him as if he was not even there.

“There is no such thing as age on the battlefield.” Klaris shrugged before bowing her head in Airen's direction. “I apologize if I have offended you. I have nothing against you, and I have no doubt anyone that gains my father’s approval, even if I have never met him, is someone he deems worthy.”

“...?” AIren was slightly taken aback at the apology. Klaris was so intent on reclaiming Torchlight prior, and was even in his eyes, quite haughty about it.

“If you must know, I cannot return until I have completed a task given to me.” Klaris explained. “Think of it as a right of passage, and I just happened to be given an impossible task.”

“At least I thought it was impossible until now.” Klaris sighed. “If neither of you had shown up, I would be content to live out my days among your kind. Tell me, Airen, how did you know my father?”

“Dullas… he was an old man when I first met him.” Airen recalled that haggard looking individual.”I had mistaken him for one of the inhabitants of the town. He was the one that eventually led me to the one you know as my teacher..”

“And who exactly is your teacher?” Klaris asked, testing the waters.

“That’s a question I don’t think anyone but the person themself would know the answer to..” Airen replied stoutly. “I just know that they are someone that should not be angered.”

“I see.” Klaris started to continue, but Airen rudely interrupted her.

“You’ve heard of what happened to the Irona Auction House head, right?” Airen did not have overly good feelings for Klaris, but he did not have any negative ones either, so he decided to give her a stern warning. “He did all that just because someone shorted him.”

“There are stories of dragons that would go on a rampage if even one gold coin was stolen from their trove. There are also stories of those that rained dragon fire onto those that blackened their name.” Klaris shook her head. “It is not anything new… but your warning is appreciated.”

“The way I see it, the both of us have been driven into situations because of people older than us.” Airen shrugged. “It’s always the young that fight the battles that the adults send you to.”

“Wisdom you no doubt picked up from your teacher.” Klaris nodded at Airen’s words. “I do not hold anything against you for being the rightful heir of my father’s sword. If I had never learned of its existence, then I would not even hope to reclaim it.”

“And I do not blame you to try and regain your birthright. ” Airen and Klaris reached a tacit agreement. “We’re just innocent bystanders in someone else’s war.”

“A certain old woman told me a student with a good teacher has sound judgement. There is some truth in that old bat’s words after all.” Klaris grumbled.

“Airen, there’s a strange scent about you that I can’t place. I would be wary of others like me.” Klaris commented as she made her way to leave. “My father and I, as well as those that have lived among humans can emphasize, but not many of those back at the clan can say the same.”

“Sir Neäir, please still your blade!” This time, Padan and Jaela was the one that interjected, and even so they were a second too late. As soon as the battle had started, Neäir had simply drawn out his blade in a single movement and launched a single strike.

In the mere seconds as the blades of black light flew across the arena, Padan and Jaela had instantly sensed the danger and moved to block Neäir’s fully powered Flash of Divine Steel. Although they barely managed to deflect the attack, the fragmented blades of light seemed to have a will of its own and still lopped off his opponent’s hand.

“What? I thought this was a tournament of elites, and that wasn’t an attack intended to kill.” Neäir shrugged as he raised a hand emitting dull white light. The man’s screams quickly vanished as his bloodied severed hand was reattached to his bloody stump. The only clue that it was even severed in the first place was the man’s pale face and the pool of blood in the arena.

“Mister Neäir, Surely there is no pleasure or honor in defeating those below you.”

“Stand upon the bodies of all those that have died in wars, innocent or guilty. Ask them if their honor still matters.” Neäir rolled his eyes. “I gave him the chance to concede at the very beginning, and he should have made the decision to retreat after the last ‘demonstration.’ “

“Sir Neäir is correct. Please excuse us for preventing a bloody sight to the audience.” Padan admitted and stopped Jaela from responding before turning to Neäir’s nameless opponent. “Do you admit defeat?”

“I concede! I concede!” The young soldier dressed in the attire of the Red Slate Republic’s forces quickly stuttered out a response. Without a second look at Neäir, he started to run towards the exit, afraid that if he dawdled, he might actually lose his hand for real.

“A shame. I suppose that this was a mere place for those undistinguished to distinguish themselves, and the distinguished will remain undistinguished in battles until the final matches.” Neäir sighed. “Perhaps the two of you would spar with me instead?”

“All in good time, Mister Neäir, all in good time.” Padan smiled and gestured politely that it was time for Neäir to leave the arena. Neäir merely turned around and started making his way back to the VIP stands amidst the hushed crowd.

“It seems like that young whelp has left.” Neäir commented as he relaxed back in his recliner. For whatever reason, he had decided to return his armchair back to the Archive and taken back his original seat.

“I thought you were going to cause a huge scene and announce your name to the world.” Airen offered him a platter of foodstuffs, but Neäir waved him away much to his surprise.

“Those two eldest disciples aren’t too shabby.” Neäir shrugged. “I can’t kill him, so it was just a casual strike, but they were able to block it. Whoever this Dumeis is at least has decent eyes, and he must have taught them some sort of skill that allows a pair to increase their strength when together.”

“Well, not like it matters.” Neäir shrugged. “Let us leave this boring place. I am tired of taking on this form, and there is someone you should meet before I return to the Archive.”

“...?” It was not like Fieluri to make a change to her actions. Whimsical as she was, once she decided to do something, she would always follow through. She had declared that she would seek a fight with the Sword Emperor, yet she was now deciding they leave that chance behind?

“We will cross blades eventually.” Neäir seemed to read his mind again and answered his unspoken question. “A new player seems to have come into play.”

“For who’s sake do you think I am doing this?” Fieluri seemed to have sensed Airen’s hesitation as she rolled her eyes. “I thought you did not even want to be here in the first place.”

“I’ve already lost, so why do I care if we stay or leave?” Airen shrugged, but internally, he had hoped that Fileuri would trample on everyone. Fieluri was many things, but Airen had no doubts about her strength.

“Then let’s go. I am tired of this bumbling crowd. In a battle between the souls of two duelists, there are very few that are qualified to watch.”

As they left, there were many eyes that eyed them in curiosity.

...

“Get in and meet your new friends.” As soon as the two of them stepped out from the Colosseum, there was already a cart waiting in front of them, emblazoned with a crest that Airen had not seen before.

“After you.” Airen had a brief moment of shock as Neäir was the one that opened the carriage door for him. Whenever Fieluri was this courteous, it would cause Airen’s anxiety to rise and put him on guard.

“Come on now. We shouldn’t keep two ladies waiting. Or would you prefer a bit of magical coercion?” Neäir’s words and tone would cause any passerby to think he was joking, but Airen knew better.

With a heavy heart he picked himself up and climbed aboard the already-occupied carriage. How long ago has it been since he too, sat in one of these carriages reserved for the upper echelons of society?

“Airen.” A feminine voice greeted Airen as soon as he took the nearest seat, and he looked up in surprise to see a familiar face.

“Khema.” Airen greeted the noblewoman dressed in a slim crimson robe who’d he sparred with before, before turning over to look at her companion. When he first got a look at the small girl, he felt a sense of familiarity from those strange dull eyes and face, but the person eluded his mind. She could not place the amber eyes, blackened hair or dark teal dress that was so different compared to her companion’s..

“This is my sister. Escha.” Khema coldy introduced her younger sister to Airen. Before Airen could ask for the reason for their visit, Neäir entered the carriage and moved towards the seat next to Airen.

Almost instinctively, the black haired girl called Escha started to squirm and retreat from Neäir’s presence, as if his presence inspired a deep trauma within her. Her face paled and her limbs shook, and even Airen could tell that her breathing had grown harsh.

It was at that point something clicked within Airen’s mind and he realized who Khema’s younger sibling was. It was one of the four that Airen had refused to make a choice and save back at the Petrified Dragon’s Crypt..

“I’m sure you’ve already met, but in case you haven’t…” Neäir gave Airen a mocking smile, since at the time, he had donned the mask that Fieluri was now wearing. “This is my one and only student, Airen.”

“We’ve met.” Khema nodded at Airen, but there was no friendliness in it. Escha did say anything until Khema scowled and nudged her, at which she turned to Airen and hesitantly gave a shaky bow.

“Then since everyone here is now acquainted, let’s get down to business,” Neäir rubbed his shoulders as if complaining that luxurious carriage seats weren't to his level of comfort. “After you call off those three guards of yours that are watching from a distance away.”

“...That was my father’s idea.” Khema sighed and took out a red whistle shaped like a bull’s horns and blew on it in three short bursts. There was no sound coming from it, but Neäir nodded his head.

“Now we can speak in peace.” Neäir smirked. “Truthfully speaking, I had not thought that the two of you would come, and I would have to seek you out within your own homes.”

“Senior Neäir is my younger sister’s savior. Of course, we won’t be so rude as to ignore-”

“Spare me your pretty words.” Neäir waved a hand in dismissal. “I have no doubt that your sister ended up in that situation by your own hands. ”

“That is quite the accusation.” Khema snorted. “Why would I do such a thing to my own blood and kin?”

“Ah yes, why does family turn on family?” Neäir chuckled as he turned to Airen. “As someone that was also betrayed, what do you say, Airen?”

“Resentment or a deep seated-hatred.” Airen shrugged. “That or you just end up being caught in someone else’s battles.”

“You see? It’s not uncommon for families to grow apart and go at each other’s necks.” Neäir smiled at Khema. “

“We are mere slave traders. There’s no reason for one of us to try and do away with the other. Escha and I are on good terms as well.” Khema denied the accusation indignantly. “I am here because I have great respect for Airen, but if you are merely here to accuse me, then I must take my leave.”

“Quite tight lipped.” Neäir nodded with a small smile. “Truly someone that knows how to play the political game and perhaps, even thrive.”

Airen wasn’t sure what FIeluri’s intentions were to get them together here like this nor why she wasn’t being as forceful as she usually was.

“And what of you? Little miss that I had delivered from the depths of the dungeon? How do you enjoy your second lease on life?”

“I… I appreciate that sir- sire would allow me to leave that place.” Escha shuddered as she spoke to him, but nevertheless forced the words out. “I’m prepared to pay any sum that sire is requesting of me…”

“Did I think that I saved you for your gold?” Neäir laughed. “Those mercenaries you hired died because your money dictated it to be so. I have no need for gold.”

“In fact, you probably have already guessed that, haven’t you? That’s why you are here right now.” At some a strange starfished sharped cup had appeared in Neäir’s hands and he paused as he sipped from it.

The entire carriage was in silence as the scent of alcohol wafted through the air; everyone was waiting for Neäir to finish.

“Drink.” To Airen’s surprise, the one he offered the cup to was Escha. She hesitantly took the cup, but only stared at the contents.

“If I had wanted you dead, there are easier ways. This is merely to give you some liquid courage for what is to come.You are the daughter of a slave trader, and your will has killed many. Yet, here you are afraid of a cup of alcohol?” Neäir taunted.

“...” Escha didn’t say anything, only staring at the cup a little bit longer. After a few more seconds, she downed it in one go.

“So tell me, miss Khema, surely you know the history of your own family.” Neäir turned back to the young lady of the Athel family. “There are certain stories in which a family would have as many children as possible in the hopes that there is but one offspring that holds… a certain gift.”

Khema’s lip trembled briefly, but she did not say anything. She had likely guessed at what Neäir was hinting at but refused to admit it. Of course, the only one that noticed this tiniest of gestures was Neäir.

“There is a misconception to many, that the first slave and master relationship was built on differences in strength or wealth.” Neäir continued with a knowing smile. “Rather, it was built on zealous devotion and ceaseless obsession. Controlling a person’s body is nothing to controlling their thoughts and emotions.”

“And there is a line of humans with the blood of demons in them that possess the same powers of seduction and mind-control.” Neäir’s eyes tinkled. “The blood runs thin but once every decade or century, it would manifest itself.”

“And the sign for that manifestation…” Neäir pointed to Escha’s eyes and face. “Is the symbol of the markers.”

“...!” Airen wasn’t the only one that was shocked as a thin pink haze seemed to leak out from Escha’s eyes briefly, before being drawn back in. One of her eyes had taken on the hue of pink salt, and the iris was a dull yellow. However, what was truly offputting was that a wave of black vein-like tendrils had snaked and branched out atop her formerly-fair skin.

“It would be a shame to let such a fine specimen die, wouldn’t it?” Neäir turned Khema and smiled. “This revelation might reveal some dark secrets from your family, would it not? Even though the same blood runs in your veins, it would be enough reason for someone to say… plot the end of their own sibling.”

“You… I did not know about such a thing!” Although Khema appeared a bit flustered, she still denied any knowledge of her sister’s ‘gift’.

“In the olden days, some would say that this is a cursed gift.” Neäir reached out and cradled the side of her face that was ruined by the black veins. “After all, it allows one to invade into the minds of others and subtly manipulate their thoughts.”

“Now that I have awakened your power, why don’t you try it out… on that dear sister of yours?” Neäir held up a finger and a transparent spherical barrier appeared, trapping Khema within.

“What is-” Khema started to shout but Neäir made a silencing gesture and her voice was suddenly cut off, as if the thin sheet of film stifled all sound trapped within. Khema struggled against the barrier, but it contorted and twisted against her strikes like a malleable rubber. Even magic-imbued strikes seemed to have no effect.

“You should know how to control your abilities.” Neäir chuckled and sat back on his seat, tilting his head at Airen. Escha hesitated for a brief moment, before turning her eyes towards her sister. The black haze swirling within her irises seemed to thicken as she recalled all the hatred she had for her sibling.

From the disfigured side of her face, it was as if the veins had a life of their own, lengthening and extending from her face like an anemone. At that point, she no longer resembled a human as the tendrils seemed to condense into a single point like a needle.

“The darkness dwells deep within this one.” Neäir murmured but it was in a tone as if it was within his expectations. He waved a hand and the barrier-like film disappeared.

Before Khema could cast a spell or even call for help, the needle protruding from Escha’s face stabbed her through the head. Her face distorted for a brief moment before it went blank all together.

“You must be weighing in your mind whether or not you can use it on us.” Neäir chuckled as Escha turned back to them. Her sister’s will, although it was still her own, could now be massaged and directed towards with Escha’s will. It was the deadliest type of manipulation, one where the victim would go as far as to believe that the extra thoughts in their head were their own. However, she was currently unconscious, and there was no change to her physical appearance that signified any visible change.

“Thank you.” Escha finally spoke up, yet there was still an inkling of fear in her voice. “I would not do anything to you, and not to someone that managed to pick out this ability of mine that even I wasn’t fully sure I had. But... why did you help me?”

“It’s quite simple... so you now owe me a debt.” Neäir jerked a finger towards himself. “I have unlocked your potential, and will expect you to answer my call when the time calls.”

“And if I refuse? Would you kill me?” Escha’s face twisted into a smirk. There is a deep disparity between the different sides of the young girl’s face, one side was young and pretty, and the other resembled that of a demonic monster. Regardless if it was her act of overthrowing her sister, or raging demonic blood in her, she seemed to have grown bold.

“I’ll drop you into the world of demons, Ishtov. I’m sure your kin would love to have a pretty thing like you.” Neäir smiled. He made a cutting motion with his hand, and Escha’s strange affliction seemed to shrink back and vanish, the only remnant some were scars that ran alongside her face. Her eyes also returned to their normal color, and although her face was slightly blemished, it was definitely that of a human's.

“...” Although Escha did not know what the underlying meaning behind his words meant, she knew from his tone that her fate would not be any better than that of a slave’s.

“For this gift, you will owe me three favors.” Neäir continued as he pushed open the carriage door. “Either I will come, or I will send my student.”

Airen awkwardly nodded at Escha before leaving as well, not wanting to remain in the same location of Escha and the unconscious Khema. There was something about the girl that unnerved him, although he could not place what it was.

“What was that all about?” AIren asked as they made their way away. Behind them, the carriage remainly deathly quiet.

“I’ve set a small plan in motion.” Neäir sighed. “The more things change, the more they try to stay the same. Even in this era, I come across old relics.”

“That girl- you saved her?” Airen asked. He was aware that Fieluri knew this would be a pointless question as he already had the answer, so the real question was the question behind it.

“The past is not a memory, Airen. It is a powerful force that claws at everyone’s back. It may not push you where you like, but like any good tale, the past needs resolution.” Neäir said wistfully. “That girl will be someone’s resolution, Airen.”

“Enough....” Neäir seemed to have grown tired of questions and waved aside AIren’s concerns. “You are your own worst enemy, Airen, but you are also your own best teacher. Find the answer to your own questions.”

By the time Airen had left the center of Libzon, the sun was already starting to set. Fieluri had returned to the Archive, and the withdrawal of her presence made the already empty streets seem even more desolate than usual.

There was a certain stillness in the air, and Airen decided to take a detour to Simon’s Burger joint, only to find that the place was closed. Deciding not to waste the trip, he decided to visit one of the few adventurer stores that he would frequent.

“Hello…?” Airen called out in the dim underground shop. This was a place that many would consider ‘exotic’, with goods that were not appealing to the rugged inhabitants of this land that favored martial prowess over magic or wit.

“Oh, it’s the brat that robbed me last time. Go away.” An accusatory voice seemed to drift out from the darkness of the undercroft.

“Relax, I’m here to pay you back.” Airen chuckled and reached for his money pouch, only to find that it was not there.

“Hmph, little boy has made quite the sum from his last trip.” A flash of movement caught Airen’s eye, and he reached out to catch his money pouch, although much lighter than he had remembered it. In the next moment, the old crone that owned the shop appeared in front of him.

“Should you really be taking your customer’s money without asking them?” Airen sighed, but it was more for emphasis than out of frustration. He had long since figured that anyone that could whisk things away from him so easily without him noticing was way beyond his level.

“The front of this store is just a front anyway. My real customers are the ones that come for the services in the back.” The old crone snorted.

“Oh, and what sort of services are those?” Ignoring the old crone, Airen made his way around the dusty shelves, peering around at the strangely magical and strangely wonderful items.

“Come back in twenty years and maybe you’ll be qualified to ask. Whelps like you don't get that privilege.” The old crone cackled as she trailed behind Airen, watching his every move like one might watch a known thief.

“But you… that scent.” The old crone seemed to be puzzled about something, and Airen suddenly grew self-conscious as he sniffed himself. There was nothing that he found particularly distinct, the crone seemed to drift closer until he could almost see her nostrils pulling in the air.

“Ah... “ A sudden thought seemed to have struck the old crone and she flashed a toothy smile at Airen. “You slept with that other whelp didn’t you? When she came here asking about you, I thought it was just for her quest but to take some personal interest… My, my, the younglings these days.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Airen’s mind blanked as the crone seemed to put together dots that made no sense to him.

“That smell. It is the scent of a dragon.” She cackled.”No use playing dumb now. Come, come, not many can say they have bedded with a d-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never had any relations with Klaris.” Airen snorted and tried to move away,

“I never did mention her name, but you said it yourself, so there’s clearly something between you two.” The crone seemed to be greatly enjoying herself.

“I’ve never slept with her.” Airen retorted, starting to feel a bit of heat on his face out of embarrassment.

“Right. Right. It’s supposed to be a secret. Worry not, this old bat will keep your secrets.” The crone gave Airen a wink and Airen groaned inwardly.

However, before Airen could make a retort back, a booming voice ran out in the dim.

“Sor-fil-DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” A man’s booming voice ran out, clearing the tranquility.

“An actual customer.” Sorfilda, which was the old crone’s name, grumbled and started moving towards the entrance. Airen resisted for a moment before following her, interested on who this ‘real’ customer was.

“Ugh. Must you take that form?” The man that looked to be in his thirties seemed a bit repulsed and turned away as Sorfilda approached him.

“It has its conveniences,” Sorfilda cackled. “For one, I don’t have to deal with human males like you, when I am old enough to be your grandmother’s grandmother’s grandmother.”

“Oh, I see you have a guest! SInce when did you start accepting customers again?” The man tilted his head out, and Airen was met with a handsomely put together face, with slick black hair and well-trimmed beard.

“He merely managed to wander in.” Sorfilda waved her hand in dismissal. “Probably the son of someone you know, or someone I know.”

“Is that so? Is that so? Let me get a good look at you!” The man walked up to Airen, who finally got a good look at his attire and face. He had thought it was eerily familiar, but now he was in a state of shock as he realized who that man was.

“He’s the boy that probably slept with the whelp you took in as your apprentice under my recommendation.” Sorfilda chuckled. “Why don’t you two get acquainted while I fetch your sword?”

“Ooooooh?” The Sword Emperor, and sometimes referred to as the Sword Saint, Lord Dumeis clapped both his hands on Airen’s shoulder and gave him a nod of approval. “You are a bold one to try and bed a dragon, little child. I like you! What is your name?”

“I- My name is Airen.” Airen stuttered out the words. How can it be possible that he run into a figure like this like a twisted spin of fate.

“Airen, Airen was it? Can’t place it where I have heard that name before,” Dumeis rolled the name around his tongue for a moment. “My apprentices usually handle all manner of matters for me back home, so I must’ve heard it from somewhere....”

“Oh well. I’ve met too many people, so apologies if I do not recall who you are.” Dumeis shrugged and released Airen. “Perhaps Sorfilda has taken an interest or investment in you?”

“I did not sleep with Klaris.” Airen spoke up while Dumeis seemed lost in thought with one finger tapping against his chin. “Just to make it clear.”

“Sure. Well, as long as Klaris likes you, I don’t mind. You hear?” Dumeis smiled. “I was hoping Sime and her would turn into a couple, but you can’t choose things like love!”

“...” Airen had a sudden bad premonition that this man was someone he should not take relationship advice from.”

“Dumeis, I can hear you all the way from the forge.” Sorfilda grumbled, carrying a large bundle covered in a black ashy cloth. “Take your damn sword, and both of you get out of here, so I can sleep.”

“Sorfilda’s one of the greatest blacksmiths on this continent.” Dumeis winked at Airen as he accepted the large bundle.”If you want a weapon made or reforged, she is the one to go to.”

“The brat can’t even pay me for normal weapons, so how can he afford the price of me turning on my forge.?” Sorfilda scowled as she dragged away the cloth, revealing a brilliant greatsword.

“Spectacular. All those materials I gathered, I can certainly feel within this weapon.” Airen watched as Dumeis picked up the greatsword in one hand, admiring the complex metal work. The blade was dull red, and the grip was shaped like a roaring dragon. “You never cease to amaze, Sorfilda. What is this beautiful lady’s name?”

“Eravess, the Night Seeker.” Sorfilda snorted, but there was an obvious hint of pride in her voice. “The two of you get out. Now that this job’s done, I’m packing my things and leaving this blasted place!”

“Thanks for everything, Sorfilda. I’ll come find you again when this all ends.” To Airen’s surprise, Dumeis gave Sorfilda a polite bow.

“Hmph. Just don’t die.” Sorfilda scowled. “Take the boy with you. I want to leave this place before it becomes a battlefield.”

A battlefield? Airen wanted to ask, but in the next moment, he found himself standing outside in the middle of the street. The entrance to that former shop had disappeared, leaving gray bricks in its place.

Dumeis was nowhere to be seen.

Airen would receive news the next day that the tournament had been cancelled.

And then the following day, the warning bells would ring throughout the Red Slate Republic.