Ever since she could remember, Ira was bored.

When she was three, Ira had been sent into the wild on her own. If she did not survive the week, it was because she was too weak. And the weak had no place in the Bloody Valkyrie clan. Every warrior underwent this task despite its high mortality rate.

Her mother told her a phrase before the girl could understand words: the worthy survive.

When she was five, she was thrown deeper into the magical forest for an entire year. This was her mother’s order, not clan tradition. Not only did Ira survive, she attempted to devour one of the kings of the jungle on the last day. Her mother had to rip her away before beast killed her daughter.

Within her clan, she was far stronger than her peers from a young age. They stood no chance against the wild girl. And the only ones that she couldn’t defeat had no interest in battling her because of her status. The only way to win against Ira was to beat her down till she could not stand—no one would do that to their leader’s child.

Her mother, in the simplest of terms, was overprotective. She had good reason—Ira was very important for the clan. The potency of her bloodline was the purest anyone’s had ever been. Once she passed the tests, she was forced to stay and learn by her mother’s side.

But because of this suppression, Ira’s natural instinct to fight was also affected. She was too stifled and no one challenged her. Once, she demanded for a fight and ultimately beat a young warrior to a bloody pulp because of her pent-up aggression. After that, no one tried her.

Everything was boring.

So, when she was thirteen, she ran away. She easily became a mercenary in the Feram Empire and soared through its ranks. Ira was not stupid and knew her mother had allowed her this, which caused her to act out even more in rebellion.

A year later, she was finally feeling a bit entertained. She had not felt this way since she had tried to eat the Cold King which was far stronger than her.

She had met someone very interesting. Because of her beast-like intuition, she was able to tell that Emil was stronger than her even though he pretended to be weak. More like, something within her blood resonated deeply with what was inside of him.

And he wouldn’t fight her, either. In Ira’s mind, dominancy was always established through battle. The thought that friends didn’t compete for leadership never crossed her mind.

This refusal of his made her extremely aggravated.

Which meant that these ghouls, even though there were two hundred of them, were destined to become her punching bag.

It was kind of fun, though.

Ira’s natural place was in battle. The Goddess of War’s blood flowed through her veins, it was only natural that she excelled here.

The scene of Ira single-handedly fighting the ghouls was what Emil arrived to. She, seemingly, effortlessly glided through the crowd while wielding her pole, a rare and solemn expression on her face. He had expected many things from Ira while she was fighting, but not that eerie calm--even against her current enemies.

Ghouls were revolting creatures. Their bodies were pale and bloated, emitting a thick, rotting stench. Whatever wounds they incurred did not heal, causing many of them to be missing chunks of flesh or entire limbs. Some could only crawl using their powerful arms and launch themselves. Their bodily fluids were toxic as well, so one had to be careful not to be sprayed.

Another factor was that ghouls formed up to one or two anima cores: one in their brain, heart, or both. Some mutants existed and their core didn’t have to be in either of those spots. The only way to kill any ghoul, though, was by shattering its core.

Right now, Ira’s effectiveness couldn’t be considered bad or good. It was because with the swarm surrounding her, she didn’t focus on landing killing blows on every enemy. Even though her attacks would’ve severely injured anyone else, they didn’t deter the ghouls much and they continued to charge at her.

But, once Emil stepped forward alongside her, the death toll began to increase. Since no one was around other than Ira, and she had mostly seen through him, Emil didn’t limit himself as much as he usually would.

Just his proficiency with spatial magic would be enough and this was a good training spot for accuracy.

He pulled out the two daggers he kept, their silver light flashing in the darkness. Strangely, Emil closed his eyes.

Thump.

He recalled the feeling of the Night Sage’s chambers and the sense of unity he had gained there. He knew that he was still too rough and was far from achieving perfection, but the only way to reach that way was through practicing.

Thump.

Emil’s arm slowly moved and the tip of his blade disappeared slowly, then the rest of it slipped into a small spatial crack. It reappeared embedded in a ghoul’s core, easily piercing through the fragile gem. His other hand was not idle and he had taken out another enemy.

It was the magic spell, Lesser Relocation.

He had more or less mastered it and was able to cast it twice at once with another the multicasting spell, Echo.

Emil let out a breath and continued to swing his blades, each movement fatally wounding a ghoul. His eyes remained closed. It was easier for him to solely focus on anima concentrations this way, allowing him to hone in even closer. Ira was drawing the attention of the ghouls, so he was able to do this without much worry.

If it wasn’t for her, he would not have been able to do this as relaxedly.

Neither of them lowered their guard, though.

The necromancer could appear at any moment and the difficulty of the battle would rise. By now, they should have sensed that something was wrong. Emil did not know what type of actions the necromancer would take, but he still mentally prepared himself for the worst. That way, he would not be taken by surprise.

Actually, he was already pretty pissed that he wound up in this situation.

He steeled his jaw, a lick of murderous intent escaping from him.

This was the first time Emil felt the desire to kill.

But, within just that split second, Ira’s hackles rose and her entire body went cold. Her sharp instincts made her drawback out of habit. Then she blinked, wondering what had happened. Her eyes slid over to Emil’s mostly still figure. His eyes were closed and his posture seemed loose, showing none of the signs that it had came from him.

Oh… maybe he’ll loosen up some, she thought once she realized the sensation had come from him. With a laugh, Ira jumped back into the fray in an even more frenzied dance than before.