Baria, Noriel, everyone... Tarak is completely stunned, overwhelmed with grief and anger. Seeing this chance, the spearman drives the spear forward, aiming for Tarak's heart.

“Tarak, duck!” Kavlina shouts as she shoots, the beam deflecting off the incoming spear, but enough to change the direction of its thrust as it grazes the shoulder of Tarak, the armor instead absorbing the blow.

How did she anticipate it? “Lucky bastard…” the spearman mutters as he immediately drops down, swinging his leg at Tarak's shin. Instinctively, Tarak jumps, his feet leaping off the ground.

Got you...

A beam lands at his wrist, knocking the spear off his hand. He rolls back, hissing in pain as he holds his injured wrist with his left hand. Meanwhile, Tarak, snapping out of his trance, falls back to Avalel's side, bringing out his knife. The spearman glances at Kavlina, her beam rifle smoking and an emotionless expression planted on her face. That brat... My hand would've been ruined had it not for my battle suit.

“Teritav, cool down,” the other male assailant advises, “He's not one of the targets.”

“Kavlina, that was amazing!” Avalel praises, “Now we just need to…” He stops mid-sentence as a blade suddenly appears out of seemingly nowhere, its strike just barely stopped off Avalel's face as he parrys with the Anapadeia. Where did it come from?

“That almost worked…” the female assailant mutters in disappointment as she jumps back, reuniting with her team.

Avalel stares intently at the enemy, his eyes fixated on the emblem. Why are they trying to kill me? Why spend all this effort on one person? Why...

“Kerohar, now!” the female shouts. Avalel suddenly swings the Anapadeia, just as a concentrated beam hits the blade, the metal ringing from the impact. His mind hasn’t even issued an order to his muscles. They just… moved.

Wait, was that your doing?

No need to thank me, the voice replies, knowing fully the recipient of Avalel's thoughts. At that moment, Avalel's arm again moves on its own, parrying just in time as a blade hangs menacingly above his head, the Anapadeia just fending off the strike.

“You have quite the instincts, boy,” the female murmurs, gritting her teeth. “Kerohar, Teritav, support!”

The spear-wielding one, Teritav, dashes to Kavlina's position, while the other, Kerohar, drops his rifle and immediately extends two blades from his gauntlets, rushing to Avalel to assist his companion and superior.

Teritav skillfully dodges Kavlina's shots, leaping forward with great steps. Soon, he approaches within striking range, and thrusts the spear at her left arm. An arm for a wrist, brat...

To imbue, to charge, to release. Tarak swiftly brings his knife to meet Teritav, the air rippling as the two weapons clash. “Your opponent is Kavlina and me,” he hisses.

“Wait, Tarak!” Avalel yells. I need your help here!

However, Tarak is overflowing with rage, quickly forcing Teritav on the defensive and attacking with increasing pace. Die, die, die, die, die, die, die... Every slash filled with malicious contempt, every hack filled with boiling hatred, every thrust filled with abhorrent anger, as if he has become the personification of madness. Behind, Kavlina fires her rifle at Teritav ruthlessly, denying him even a moment of rest. Cuts appear on Teritav as he can only barely keep up, stepping back with every parry.

“Tevlaia, Teritav is not doing well,” a voice remarks to the female through their comms, “Tell Kerohar to help him out.”

“He knows what he's doing, Nasition,” Tevlaia replies calmly, her blade clashing with the Anapadeia. Slowly, with Kerohar, she pushes Avalel away from the others, their blades fervently dancing in a ring of death.

Let me take full control, young one, the voice suggests, You won't last long like this.

No, Avalel denies, his breaths becoming more shallow. He parries yet another strike from Kerohar, only for Tevlaia to slash his undefended left shoulder. He falls back, gasping as he feels his left arm go limp.

“Is this the one who annihilated a whole company of our soldiers?” Tevlaia ridicules, her speed increasing, “Where's the ferocity of your attacks?”

How did she know? As he blanks out for a moment, Kerohar slashes at his right leg. He screams, dropping to the ground. Above, the three blades fall upon him, poised for his neck.

Rest a while, young one. Don't worry, I won't kill them. The Anapadeia flashes a blazing light as it erects a barrier, knocking Tevlaia and Kerohar flying. Slowly, Avalel rises up, his leg quaking as blood spurts out, his eyes brilliant with fury. There is a frightful aura emanating around him as he stands, like a beast cornered by many hunters.

“Come, show us your madness!” Kerohar grins. Finally, we can witness with our eyes the true strength of the sword.

Tevlaia readies her blade, smiling in satisfaction. May this be the final gasp of a millennium-old lineage.

Avalel charges, and their blades clash once more. In rapid succession, they parry each other's blows before counterattacking, leaving no room for even a pause. For an outside observer, it is as if there are eight blades, not four.

Another slash. Kerohar brings his blades to parry, and they shudder on impact. This isn't... His blades snap, and he bends his back, barely just ducking under the burning blade of the Anapadeia. He leaps back, spawning another two identical blades from his gauntlets.

This skill... No wonder it felt familiar. “Weak,” Avalel rasps, echoing the voice. It's unrefined, but it's a long time since I encountered a user of it.

Even with the injuries inflicted on him, he's not showing any sign of exhaustion, Tevlaia thinks, her blade already chipped by the Anapadeia, So the legend is true. Still, they continue, their swiftness and grace like dancers on a stage.

Crack! Kerohar's blades snap again. Without hesitation, Avalel attacks, grazing his wrist. As the fighting draws on, both sides begin to falter, until finally, Avalel jumps back, catching his breath as he finally lowers the Anapadeia.

These two are quite strong. Perhaps the martial skill of the people haven't actually regressed, but strengthened. The voice cannot suppress its own excitement, the light of the Anapadeia only shining brighter.

A scream. In the distance, Kavlina's palm is impaled by Teritav, pinned to a tree, while an unconscious Tarak lay dormant nearby, his head soaked in red. Teritav, although seriously injured himself, stands proudly, panting, his energy nearly depleted.

“Kavlina!” Avalel cries, awakening from his induced sleep.

No, young one! You mustn't... He suddenly lurches forward, his chest in extreme agony. He collapses, dropping the Anapadeia as he clutches his chest in torment. Rapidly, the pain spreads, and soon he feels his head spinning, his arms shaking, his legs unresponsive. His tendons seem to freeze as he tries to even flinch. As if a switch has been turned off, his vision suddenly goes black, and he no longer feels anything from his body.

“What an anticlimactic end for such a powerful individual,” Tevlaia comments, “It's a tragedy he fell to the same curse Faresoenn did: overexertion.” Perhaps the hidden consciousness inside simply overwhelmed him.

You fought well, Kerohar thinks, Rest, boy. They walk to Teritav, supporting his weakened body while Kavlina hangs silently, gasping, her free hand grabbing onto Teritav's spear.

“Get your rifle, Kerohar,” Tevlaia solemnly orders, “Give her a painless death, as soldiers deserve.”

Avalel slowly opens his eyes, his vision greeted with a clear, cheerful blue. His pain has all but disappeared, his back feeling as if it's reclining on soft fabrics, the “furs” tickling him. A refreshing smell fills his nose as he inhales the air around him. Where am I? Is this some sort of afterlife?

He stands, breathing in the cool, comforting air as he stares around. The ground, a field, is filled with lush grass, swaying back and forth. The field is vast, with no obstacle obstructing his view. This is quite peaceful, actually.

Wait... he suddenly realizes. This scene is familiar.

A smoke begins to rise in front of him, gradually taking the form of a person, cloaked in white while the rest of his features are concealed.

Four years ago... “It's you, isn't it?”

The mysterious shadow creeps up his body, pulling him closer to the figure.

“You have grown,” it utters, the voice surprisingly gentle and deep, the air vibrating to the sound.

So it speaks. Avalel stares at it intensely, no longer shrinking in fear as he did four years ago. “What do you want?” he demands, his stance defiant.

“You wield the Anapadeia now, don't you?”

How does it know? "Yes, I do."

“Why aren't you fighting, then?”

“There was this great pain, and I collapsed, then…”

“Did you at least take down an opponent?”

“No.”

“Did you even try to kill them?”

“I don't wish to kill anyone.”

The figure lets out a laugh. “Are you serious?”

“What's so funny?”

“I saw you kill. A hundred of them. Yet here you are, claiming you don't want to kill anyone?” The shadow rises, wrapping itself around Avalel like a snake.

Avalel feels a lump in his chest. “But I wasn't in control…”

“They were still killed by your hands, were they not? What's the matter with killing another three?”

Avalel punches at the figure, yet the smoke simply disperses and reforms behind him.

“Listen. They are trying to kill you. Is that not enough reason to kill?” It is calm like its surroundings, but the words are enough to shake Avalel.

“I have already ordered the sword's consciousness to not kill. I won't lose control like before.”

“You're not listening, are you? Look at this.” A hole opens in the space between Avalel and the figure, and a scene of the fight, frozen in place, is shown. Tarak lies still, his hair soaked in blood. Kavlina's mouth gapes open, her right hand struggling to remove Teritav's spear from her other hand. Teritav, supported by Tevlaia, looks on with spite while Kerohar has his rifle aimed at Kavlina's forehead, his expression emotionless and grim.

“This is the result of your decision to not kill anyone. You end up killing your own allies, if not yourself as well,” the figure gravely says, “Sacrifices must be made to ensure your own survival.”

“This doesn't make sense…” Avalel mutters, his mind swaying with confusion.

“It's not enough to convince him,” another familiar voice says. To his surprise, Avalel sees a glowing spirit-like creature, taking the form of a small person, resembling a girl's build but with no features. Is this what the voice looks like?

“Why must you come to my sanctuary, Anapadeia?” the figure asks, slightly annoyed at the small spirit, but addressing it as if it is already a familiar of the realm.

“I'll only stay here for a few moments,” it responds as it turns to Avalel, its radiance stabbing into his eyes, “Young one, I know you ordered me to not kill anyone, but you are endangering the lives of your companions. If you wish to adhere to your stance, then I shall simply find one who has less constraints instead.”

“You don't mean…” He unconsciously stares at the face of Kavlina.

“Yes. Her. She has far more potential than you, as well as being more accepting of necessary killings.”

“Wait, but…”

“But what about you? Simple. You would just be Avalel without the Anapadeia. That would be acceptable for the Avalel four years ago, or maybe even two, or one, but what about now? You want my power, do you not? Why else would you ask for my help?”

“I don't need your power.”

“Or do you? You have begun to rely on the sword, more so than your own developed skills. Maybe you actually don't need the Anapadeia. That's all fine! Just repeat your stubborn phrase, and I shall put my focus onto that girl. Now, what do you say?”

Avalel is silent, his fists trembling in anger. So in the end, you are forcing me to kill again.

“Fine,” he reluctantly yields, “Do as you want, but with one condition: kill only one and disarm the other two.”

“You've made the right choice,” the figure applauds in relief, the shadow shrinking back.

“Now sleep, young one, we have you and your companions to save.” Avalel slowly feels a drowsiness overcoming him, and soon falls, his breathing slowing down in slumber.

“I shall leave now, as you wished,” the spirit notifies the figure, seeing Avalel’s dormant body.

“Wait, I have a question: Would you have chosen the girl instead if the boy continues to respond in the same way?”

“Perhaps, but that is certainly undesirable for our goals.”

The figure sighs. “He will likely have to kill many more in his journey to come, but no time to mourn for each of them.”

“Let's hope that by then, he has matured enough to understand that his path is paved with blood. Only then will he seize his fate and overcome all obstacles, as I have done.”

“And I have not.” It still regrets a decision it made long ago, when it was still one who is very much alive, wanting to restore a friendship it has broken… only to die at the very end, its world collapsing before its eyes.

“Come to think of it, Stasibel, you made the wrong choice before, didn't you?”

The figure is still.

“Well, I shall be going then. Hope I don't splatter too much blood on their precious armor and uniforms.”