Whether immortality was a blessing, only she—who carried it—knew.

Freya watched Kokuri’s wound healing.

The cut she had inflicted on her opponent’s upper left arm had bled, clotted, stopped, and healed in a matter of seconds. Even her kimono regenerated and it was as if Freya never wounded Kokuri.

An empty cut heals faster, Freya thought.

Kokuri had an air of confusion as she inspected the healed cut.

‘... Were the slashes you made before a fluke?’

Freya ignored her and glanced sideways.

Now that she was under the statues, she could perceive the Formulae Magic which the immortal had written. She had seen the color of death emanating from it, and reading it, she wasn’t mistaken.

That’s something.

‘What’s with that condition?’ Freya asked. There was a part of the Formulae Magic that was extraneous.

‘A whim.’ Kokuri slowly took out a kunai from inside her sleeve.

As much as Freya would like to know about her own identity from Kokuri, she first had to deal with the Formulae Magic that her opponent had written.

To do that, Freya had to defeat Kokuri.

Kokuri coated her kunai with darkness Elemental Magic: a solid concentrated darkness, one that engulfed light. This darkness was unlike its precedent.

‘Ha-ha…’ Kokuri had a wicked grin. Both the darkness and her eyes were pitch-black. ‘I can’t remember the last time I used this.’

She has no intention to drag the fight, Freya thought. Not being able to see the darkness’ color, a sense of dread crept through the back of her mind: telling her that this darkness was dangerous. She wants to finish me with this one.

Freya could only assume that this was Kokuri’s best attack, her finisher.

She had to respond in kind; any less would spell her death.

I’ll have to inflict a cut that she can’t regenerate.

Kokuri dashed toward Freya, holding the kunai with her left hand, closing the distance between them with a few steps. Her movement was similar to hers: slow, but fast due to efficiency.

Kokuri winded her left arm.

Freya, being able to follow the movement, started swaying left to dodge. However, this maneuver met resistance. It was as if there was a force that pulled her to the right. A force that… pulled her to the kunai.

Not only did the darkness engulf light, it also absorbed gravity; hindering her evasion.

Curses.

‘Die.’ Kokuri swung her kunai.

With all her might, Freya resisted against the gravity and swayed to the left. However, that maneuver alone wouldn’t save her from this predicament; couldn’t save her from impending death.

The attack hit Freya.

But not completely.

Freya sustained a small cut on her right cheek, caused by the darkness that brushed past her. This sight vanished Kokuri’s grin and brought out her frustration.

‘Why won't you die!!’ she screamed.

Swaying alone wouldn’t allow Freya to dodge in time. Hence, she had used her right free hand, intercepted Kokuri’s left hand, and derailed the attack’s trajectory.

‘I’m not dying here,’ Freya said.

It was Freya’s turn to unleash her finisher.

As she rose, she swung Celeste along with the momentum. The same counter she always did, except this time, her right hand also gripped the handle. And she swung whilst holding Celeste with two hands.

Kokuri couldn’t dodge this.

***

Outside the sanctum, under the heavy rain, stood two creatures.

One was a large snake monster which hissed, the other was a woman who roared.

Brig, the last sword worshiper who could still fight, was facing the monster all by herself now. It was charging toward Brig, baring its acidic fangs toward her. However, Brig stood her ground, holding her dull heavy sword with both hands.

There was a reason she couldn’t dodge.

Wald—who had gone unconscious—was right behind her. If Brig dodged, the monster would crash toward Wald and he would die.

Before, it had been the fear of losing her comrades that had petrified Brig. This time, the same fear was what pushed her to fight. If she didn’t fight, she couldn’t win. If she didn’t win, she couldn’t save her comrades.

Thus, against the charging monster, Brig swung her sword vertically with all her strength.

The monster had impenetrable scales that could deflect sharp weapons, but those same scales amounted to nothing against Brig’s strength and her dull weapon. The strike she unleashed hit the monster on its jaw and derailed its charge.

It missed Brig. It missed Wald. And it crashed toward a building. Unmoving, but alive.

On the monster’s midsection was a cut between its scales, which had been inflicted by the accumulated effort of the sword worshippers. Gaining the opportunity, Brig didn’t hesitate to pounce on that weakness.

She raised her sword and swung the dull blade down on the scale atop the wound.

Raised her sword and swung down.

Again she struck.

And again.

And again until she ran out of strength. Until she could no longer lift the sword or stand. Until she fell down onto the wet ground. Until the scales had been bent and crushed beyond repairs. Until the monster could no longer hiss its pain. Until it had died.

She had won.

She had defeated the monster. That should have meant that she had saved the sword worshippers, but the skies weren’t so kind.

On the wet ground, looking above, Brig could see that the clouds had all escaped.

She could feel the rain picking up weight and the wind getting sharper.

At the edge of her vision, she could see a massive swirling chaotic wind that reached the skies: the skystorm. Never in her life had she seen a skystorm with such destructive scale before. The worst skystorm in history.

They had escaped one demise, only to be greeted by another.

‘Kadas… I…’ Brig uttered. The thought of meeting Kadas brought a smile to her face, but… ‘I don’t think you’d want to meet us yet.’

Brig had been an outcast who only had wild strength. Someone whom Kadas had dragged into the sanctum. Never had she been the religious sort. Faced with powerlessness and despair, however, she prayed:

‘Zenia saves us all…’

***

Inside the sanctum’s hall, someone had won the fight.

Kokuri stood still under the statues, unmoving, eyes wide and looked afar. Freya, meanwhile, had fallen to the ground.

The fight was over.

There was the unwounded and the wounded.

The immortal who remained standing had sustained—no damage whatsoever. Meanwhile, the swordswoman had been blown away toward the hall’s entrance, had crashed her back onto a wall, and had lost consciousness.

‘Ha. Ha-ha…’ Kokuri made a laugh that had a hint of sorrow. ‘You can’t kill me.’