What it took to attain victory, to her, was stepping forward.

‘…’

Ori stared as Freya stood.

How are you doing this? she thought.

Her body was never that of a fighter; yet, there her counterpart was, standing, backed by the sheer might of her willpower.

This is ridiculous…

Her body had a limit; Ori knew that to be true.

Had she herself been blown away by the immortal and crashed to the wall, she wouldn’t regain consciousness this fast; suppose that she did, she wouldn’t bother attempting for another fight. Not when that sword, her counterpart’s so-called partner, was already broken.

Destiny had decreed the winner and the loser. Despite all that…

Why is it that resolve remains in your eyes?

What is it you see that I don’t? What is it that differentiates you and me?

The answer—was there, reflected in Freya’s eyes. Although Ori should be visible, her counterpart’s stare remained fixated on what was truly in front of her: the immortal. She could keep pushing herself because she wanted to win; so badly that she had to win.

… Because if you lose, it’s all over, is it?

Ori could interact with Freya if she wanted to, but there was no need for words.

She stepped aside from the path between the swordswoman and the immortal, accepting her role as a mere spectator. This time around…

… Ori was rooting for Freya to win.

***

Freya planted her feet forward.

Her body felt numb, but she was slowly gaining control over her movements. Though it would be impossible to regain her best condition in such a short period, this had to suffice. She was at a disadvantaged state; despite knowing that, she kept pressing forward.

2 names…

Reflected in her amethyst eyes was the immortal, standing under the three statues, all alone by herself.

***

The howling winds sliced the air, and the rumbling raindrops trembled the earth beneath. The skystorm, unweakened by Lune’s Formulae Magic, would destroy the whole of Lune. Soon, Kokuri would have what she wanted.

It will happen this time, she thought.

Her hand clutched the collar of her kimono.

‘…’

Kokuri sensed a presence behind, and she glanced over her shoulder. Her pitch-black eyes spotted a violet-haired swordswoman walking sluggishly toward her. She carried with her no sword, yet she still wished to fight.

I should have killed her. ‘What’s with you wanting to foil my plan?’

She stood her ground and stared at Kokuri. Far from voicing an answer, she made a gesture of placing a hand on her shoulder. It only served to irritate Kokuri.

‘That’s not an ans—’

‘Stop this, Lea.’

Kokuri’s pitch-black eyes widened upon hearing that name.

Embroidered inside the collar of her kimono was a name which had been given to and remained the longest with her: “Cochlea”, “Lea” for short. Those who knew that name should have already died.

‘What… Why did you…’ She turned and faced her, the void in her pitch-black eyes was filled with murderous rage. She shouted, ‘How do you know that name!?’

***

‘How do you know that name!??’ she repeated, shrieking.

How? Freya thought. I… remember…

After meeting Vague and returning here, Freya felt a wave of familiarity for the immortal, and it was upon seeing her lonely figure that she understood the connection between her memories and the immortal.

You’re… the one who wished for death.

The immortal offered and gave away the first strike to her opponent because she clung onto the hope that it could kill her. The laughter full of sorrow when she failed to die was an attempt to push away her hopelessness. The tweak on the Formulae Magic she had written: An absolute stop on the magic if the caster died, was her hedging her options.

The immortal wished for death.

The voice Freya heard, one that called her here, was none other than Kokuri’s—Lea’s.

‘How do you know that name!!?’ Enraged, Lea pulled out a kunai from under her kimono and clad it with Darkness Elemental Magic.

2 names… I remember 2 names...

One is yours; the other is…

Lea dashed toward Freya, arm winded.

… the name of a sword.

***

‘Lupine,’ the violet-haired swordswoman said.

Kokuri, hearing that name, remember to whom it belonged. In that instant which stretched to eternity, Kokuri could see a shape forming in her opponent’s left hand’s grip, fog gathering and solidifying into a sword. A sword summoned by name, responding only to the call of the best swordsperson, one of legend which took the form that best suited the wielder, Zenia’s formless sword.

In the swordswoman’s hand was now a black blade katana. Same as the broken one, but entirely different.

She held the sword beside her waist, pointed down.

That name. Kokuri thought as she closed the distance. That gesture. That attitude. That sword. That style!

***

‘Die!!’

Freya—smiled, ‘I’m not dying here.’

In response to Lea’s dash, Freya held the ground with her feet; and grasped Lupine’s hilt with her right hand, wielding the sword with both hands. As Kokuri swung her kunai, Freya loosened her knees; spun her upper body; and swung her new partner.

The kunai and the sword clashed against one another.