Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Sudden Battle

Something was wrong.

Amy, on his way home, suddenly stopped in his tracks, cautiously surveying his own courtyard.

Indeed... someone else had been here.

After inspecting the meticulously tended flowers and plants, the young Luminary was certain—during his absence, someone had visited his home, and likely not just once or twice, for the courtyard was far too clean. If memory served, the flowers and plants had been left in turmoil after his battle with the murderous fiend...

He remembered clearly; he had never employed any servants.

So who would risk discovery to perform such futile tasks?

His doubts only multiplied as he pondered, and with no clues to be found nearby, he turned his gaze to the door separating the interior from the garden—perhaps beyond it lay unexpected discoveries... or danger.

Amy touched the short sword, Dark Blood, at his waist, then resumed his stride.

Closer, closer, ever nearer.

Suppressing his ragged, burning breath, the young Luminary inserted the key, gently turned the handle, and as the door creaked open, drew his sword in an instant. The blade flashed, cutting the air with ferocity; only a moment later did the uneasy stir of the atmosphere reach his ears. By then, he had already scanned the living room anew.

Traces of habitation here as well.

Could the former owner of the house still possess a key?

If it were the likes of the Mist Night Butcher, such a character would never leave behind signs so steeped in the routines of daily life—no, it was more likely that he wouldn't leave anything at all to arouse the owner's suspicion.

That one was clearly a professional.

But the one who had claimed his home was not even an amateur; a complete outsider.

Still, Amy did not relax his guard—not for a moment. These appearances might well be traps laid by an assassin to lull him into complacency. To make a rash decision with the circumstances unclear would not only fail to improve matters, but could expose fatal weaknesses.

So... he must remain calm.

Calmly analyze the problem, calmly judge the situation, calmly... confront the crisis.

Narrowing his eyes, the young Luminary gently turned the handle, and at the very first moment drew the hidden short sword, Dark Blood. Barely a step behind... the corner of his eye caught the glint of a blade descending perilously close—a direct attack. There was no time to hesitate, no room for uncertainty. Even knowing the opponent's fierce intent, retreat was impossible. He could only thrust his sword forward, resolutely confronting that mighty strike, which seemed to split the world in two.

Clang!

One side had prepared long and hard; the other had responded in haste. The outcome was obvious.

Almost as the clash of metal rang out, Amy's sword arm suddenly sank, his entire body losing balance. With a sharp crack, he dropped to one knee, and from the point of impact, spiral cracks spread across the hardwood floor, shocking to behold.

But—

It was not over yet.

Half kneeling, teeth clenched, the boy lifted his head, gazing past the mighty cross sword that had left him so battered, to its wielder—a sight somewhat unexpected. The cross sword was not wielded by the brute he had anticipated, but by a young woman with golden hair and sapphire eyes, radiating an aura of chilling majesty, untouchable and cold.

Trouble... serious trouble.

If it were only that righteous, intimidating presence, perhaps it could be feigned—but as his eyes caught the blood-red markings peeking from the swordswoman's collar, Amy realized that this woman, intent on his death, might not be his enemy at all—perhaps, quite the opposite... her arrival might bear some connection to him.

"Hey..."

Amy tried to speak, but the situation allowed no room for dialogue—the pressure from the cross sword forced him to summon all his strength in resistance. Even as he wished to clear up any misunderstanding, he found himself gasping, unable to catch his breath.

"Stop... stop... please."

Though his fractured words conveyed the basic meaning, the swordswoman showed no intention of relenting. The force pressing upon his short sword only increased. Amy could now be certain—among the powers granted by her stigmata, there must be one tied to strength. No amount of training alone could achieve such overwhelming dominance.

As the situation worsened, the boy had no choice but to seek another way out.

Retreat—only retreat.

His battle-hardened instincts made him acutely aware of the peril. Without wasting time on weighing gain and loss, he abandoned any thought of continued resistance. Twisting his blade, he rolled aside, the whistle of the sword slicing through the air at his ear, followed by a thunderous crash—the cross sword fell from above, shattering the hardwood floor, sending splinters flying. Some nearly struck his eyes, leaving faint scratches across his cheek and brow.

That was close—

He barely had time to feel relief before forcing his weary body to rise again, his night-black eyes fixed upon the not-so-tall figure before him.

Draw, stand, strike!

His movements flowed without the slightest pause; the emerald brilliance in his clear eyes held not a trace of doubt. In the blink of an eye, the swordswoman closed in, swinging the cross sword—far larger than her frame—in an arc of luminous moonlight.

Then... the strike fell—

Silver moonlight poured down!

Block? Impossible. Amy, well aware of the disparity in their strength, had no intention of fighting her advantage with his weakness, nor of fleeing within the range of her blade.

He chose retreat—a retreat upon retreat.

The frosty sword crashed into the floor, the wind pressure so forceful it lifted his black hair and coat, the hardwood groaning under the strain, the house's foundation trembling. Small hills of earth and wood rose from the ground like dragons, displaying their unyielding spines—then, with a roar, they exploded, dust and splinters swirling, raising a cloud.

Such monstrous strength...

The young Luminary marveled, but his surprise lasted less than a heartbeat. He quickly regained composure, and before the chaotic wind abated, slipped like a ghost into the storm of dust and debris.

Then—

Swordlight flowed like water.

The short sword, Dark Blood, cut a path through the turbulent storm like a bolt of lightning in a rainy night, illuminating the sky.

And illuminating the youthful, beautiful face of the swordswoman.

She... was smiling?

A brief suspicion flashed through his mind, and instinct told him something was amiss. But a hunter who has already woven her net would not let her prey escape.

The girl, raising her silver cross sword high, golden hair billowing in the wind, the stigmata glowing ominous red on her brow—then—

The atmosphere churned, the wind howled, and the young Luminary, standing amidst the storm, felt the world itself tremble under the raised cross sword, all things bowing beneath her feet.

Pressure, pressure, pressure—

The swordswoman's power only grew, seemingly endless, yet the wind itself had limits. Within a few breaths, the condensed tornado devoured the silver sword, transforming it into a storm blade twice her height, crackling with wind and thunder.

Like a knight from myth commanding tempests, the girl proudly lifted her swan-like neck, her slender hand stirring the storm clouds.

Then—

Strike!

With a single movement, the raging dust vanished, and the dreadful wind tornado became a monstrous beast, shattering and devouring everything in its path, reducing all to powder.

Block? What a joke!

Dodge? Nowhere to hide!

Retreat? No room left!

One glance sufficed to judge the dire situation, yet faced with the swordswoman's long-prepared final blow, the young Luminary had no good solution.

The difference in strength was too great.

All he could do was—like a mantis before a cart!

Eyes narrowed, he assumed a stance, took a deep breath before the storm struck, then exhaled sharply. No retreat, no surrender, no dodge. He confronted the furious tornado head-on, fearless, like a lamb to the slaughter.

It must be admitted, this swordswoman was the strongest he had met since the black wizard Alfred and the dying swordbearer Blake. Even the Mist Night Butcher, who had once killed him, lacked the overwhelming presence she summoned with her storm blade. In the elite upper districts, this one strike would surely earn her a place.

Amy's sword was swift, but not swift enough to cut the storm.

Within a blink of entry, his body was sent flying like a lead shot, smashing through the wall, carving a long scar across the grass, and finally embedding deep in the trunk of the massive tree at the center of the courtyard, startling birds and shaking leaves. Then... silence reigned, broken only by his ragged breathing under the night sky.

Much lighter than expected...

She held back?

The young Luminary spat blood, tried to stand and move, but found himself utterly drained, forced to lean quietly against the tree, waiting for the swordswoman’s approach.

"The Luminary's innate power—I haven't seen it." The golden-haired, blue-eyed girl spoke in a voice nearly devoid of personal emotion, looking down upon him as the victor. Her cross sword, as tall as a man, dipped to his throat. "So, answer—"

"—are you my ally?"