Volume 4 Chapter 26 Assassin from the Past ①
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
The sound of life force being drawn.
”A-ah—hnn—ah!” she gasped.
The victim had been a young warrior monk, assigned moments ago to guard Kian’s cage. Now she was caught in his unyielding arms, his venomous saliva—laced with aphrodisiac effect—forcing heat and shameful ecstasy through her body.
Her dark eyes stared wide at the lifeless face of her friend, already drained dry.
”Aaah…”
Tears spilled thick from both eyes as her body trembled in a final, feeble protest. That was all. In Kian’s crushing embrace, the spark of life guttered out.
”Haaaah.”
Blood dripped from his chin, the mingled essence of two young women staining his jaw. He rose slowly to his full height. With fresh prey consumed, the beast in his flesh stirred awake. In the twilight, his bronze skin flushed red as his sinews bulged, pulsing and expanding with feral strength.
The monster’s blood would not be restrained.
Kian crouched and let droplets of his own blood fall into the mouths of the girls lying crumpled at his feet.
”Rise,” he whispered.
The word was a curse. One of the earliest abilities he had claimed—the power of puppetry.
Against the weak or against corpses, his blood could act as conduit, animating them under his will.
The two girls’ bodies convulsed violently, then rose like marionettes pulled by invisible threads. Their eyes, stripped of light, gazed emptily into nothing.
The vampire’s art—necromancy—was a tool both useful and perilous.
For this ability alone, any bloodsucking creature of advanced rank or higher was judged by the Adventurer Guild to warrant no less than a Rank 2 extermination. Left unchecked, such beings could turn a village into a vineyard of the dead overnight.
”Keep watch in my stead. If any suspect you, make them family,” Kian commanded.
The two corpses nodded obediently. He wiped his bloodstained mouth with Zayn’s handkerchief and burned the cloth.
”If discovery looms, ignite the blast charge and end yourselves,” he added.
Then, dissolving into black mist, he slipped away into the orange haze of sunset. Behind him, the two dead girls returned to their post at the empty cage as though nothing had happened.
Kian was no pure vampire, nor was his mastery refined. Unlike Owl, he could not control corpses for long. At too great a distance, or with the coming dawn when his power weakened, the spell would dissolve and the girls would collapse into death once more.
But so long as it held until daybreak, it was enough.
Before then, he needed to recover Guria and the Blade of Sandstorm and escape the fortress.
* * *
Through the thickets he moved eastward, laying barrel-bombs amid the Shakerdoust Family’s rear encampments, seeding them with traps that would spew hallucinogenic smoke.
”Where has Zayn gone?” Abbas’s voice rang from the fortress passage beyond the tents.
”I do not know. Perhaps he is shaken by Katyusha’s death,” came the reply.
”…I see.”
”Are you well, Sir Abbas?”
”I am. But… damn. How do I tell my father? He cherished Katyusha as his own daughter.”
”You must tell him plainly. A warrior monk cannot hope to die in bed. General Mansoor will understand.”
”Yes… and yet—”
Kian’s work was finished. He faded noiselessly away before they could notice. Witnesses would ideally be silenced, but the balance of odds forbade indulgence. Goals must remain cold and realistic. An adventurer must not adventure.
Once more, he slipped between trees as a whisper of fog.
Branches bent underfoot, fallen trunks were vaulted, and from bough to bough he glided in silence. To his right, beyond the thicket, lay the sea—and the clustered heartbeats of prey. All food.
His eyes flashed silver, shifting to vampire sight. Perched upon a high branch, he surveyed the Azrael army’s northeast camp.
He already carried the fortress map in his mind, memorized from above when first dragged here. Aligning it with the drum of human hearts, he marked every position.
The command tent sat five hundred meters inland from the northern pier. Within beat the hearts of the silver wolf woman and Flora, an older warrior monk. Around them clustered Flora’s strongest disciples.
Guria’s presence was further west, three hundred meters along the fortress’s curved shoreline, tethered like an animal on the sands. She had stirred—conscious once more.
Kian’s black scimitar was stored beside the command tent. If so, the Blade of Dust was likely hidden there as well.
(If Guria saw where it was taken, she can aid in recovery.)
He cast his gaze toward the stronghold of enemies.
(The blade is fragile, a block of stone. Mishandled, it could shatter. To carry it unbroken, I must draw their eyes elsewhere.)
He unbuttoned his trousers and slipped a hand inside, retrieving ten poison knives that induced hallucination, seven toxin-tipped arrows, and three remaining bombs.
(With Guria nearby, I must take care where smoke is loosed. Before striking, I will reach her—warn her of my ambush, and free her bonds if need be.)
Decision made, Kian launched from the branch, body dissolving into mist, gliding like a flying squirrel between trees.
He landed in tall grass with only a slight swell of soil. Clinging to the back of a tent, he lifted his gaze to the fortress shoreline, already swallowed in dusk.
The coastline curved like a drawn bow, its arc turned into a stretch of sand where Guria lay imprisoned.
The beach was cratered by magic, a basin filled with seawater that lapped and shimmered under the southern sun. Guria was bound with black rubber tubes, every limb cinched and held, then locked inside a wooden cage left in the middle of that shallow pool.
Were this not a hot southern island, it would have been torture by water. Even so, with the tide kissing her knees and hips, she knew that once night fell the chill could sap her strength.
Kian slipped into mist, drifting along the long shadows of tents and earthworks. Warrior monks passed close by, their sandals crunching the gravel, but none noticed the black haze curling past their ankles. His lack of magic power made his concealment sharper, cleaner—predator’s silence honed by absence. Perhaps, he thought, vampires in the dawn of time stalked beasts just so, fangs poised for a throat before the prey could stir.
”Maybe so,” he murmured.
From the concrete path he descended into the salt-filled hollow, approaching Guria slumped against her cage. He bent close, whispering.
”Guria. It’s me,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “—!”
”Shhh.” He pressed mist over her lips, muffling the breath. The two monks standing guard before the cage still had their backs turned. The fortress smelled of spiced meat charring on coals, coffee beans crackling in their roast, smoke drifting into the sultry air. Off-duty monks lingered in that haze, drunk on weariness, laughter breaking the silence now and then.
Kian spoke again, hiding in their mirth.
”Just listen. At sunset, I’ll stir chaos in the fortress. In the confusion, recover the Blade of Dust.”
”My brooch,” Guria whispered low, careful not to draw notice.
”I’ll find it too. I’ll buy you time. Poison will be in play—stay away from flames, cover your mouth with cloth.”
She nodded firmly.
”Once you’ve got the blade, slip northeast to the coast. A wyvern golem will come for you. I’ll join after. Support me well.”
”Understood. Leave it to me,” she said.
That refusal to doubt—never can I?, only I will—was her nature. The shame of this morning drove her heartbeat quick and fierce now.
With one sudden leap, Kian severed the rubber binding. Strength would be enough to break the rest. A wooden cage was no more than splinters against her enhanced fists. Escape was hers for the taking.
He began to withdraw, but Guria shaped the word wait with her lips.
”Prisoners in the western thicket. Free them too, and the chaos will grow.”
”…All right. Thank you.”
He would rather not pile on uncertainties, yet checking their worth cost him little. Time still remained before sunset. With that, Kian melted back into the thicket.
* * *
As Guria said, beyond the military path, tents concealed a vast cage. Unlike hers, it was carved of living rock by magic. Each stone pillar bore incised runes of strength and regeneration. The prison seemed fit to hold a monster.
And within lay a man—or something like one.
His body stood over three meters even without enhancement. Red hair matted with saltwater, rags clung to his bulk. He lay sleeping, chest rising and falling with contented rhythm, as though the prison were a cradle.
Kian approached without sound, chipping away runes one by one. The man stirred only when the second mark cracked.
”…Who are you?” the man asked.
”Your ally. Breaking you free,” said Kian.
The red-haired captive yawned, curling tighter in the stone cradle.
”Thanks. That helps.”
”At sunset, there’ll be uproar. If you want freedom, take it then.”
”Sunset… evening, then? Not morning?”
”Evening. Sleep more till then.”
The man’s beast-yellow eyes opened, catching Kian in their glow. His features were young, modern, incongruous with the feral air. No whiskers or beard softened his jaw.
”Kind one. Your name?”
”Kian.”
”Kian. I’ll remember. I’ll trace your scent later.”
His mouth curved into a grin, revealing serrated shark’s teeth beneath his lips.
”And the guards?” Kian asked.
”Don’t know. Bad sleep habits. Maybe I ate them. They told me not to come close to the bars, but…” He shrugged.
”Then stay unnoticed,” Kian said.
The giant waved a hand lazily, curled once more, and snored as if nothing had changed. Strange creature indeed.
’Kian, what’s next?’ Talia’s voice threaded through the mist as he drifted again among roots and leaves.
(Thin their numbers. One by one, I’ll drag them into the trees and end them.)
’Understood. I’ll support you.’
(Relying on you, partner.)
He chose his prey carefully. Always women. Never men. Their blood, their magic—both were better.
Half a year ago, the Burgkain mimic that assaulted the Izerland Administration had preferred the blood of men drunk on liquor. In truth, it had only been a pack of drunken Wolfmen. Now Kian rivaled them in perverse appetite.
He found the blood of men revolting.
It was the faces that thrilled him—the terror when dragged into darkness and bitten at the throat by some unknown monster. Women’s faces twisted in that fear moved him far more than men’s ever could.
Thus, every victim was a woman.
He hunted warrior monks.
―* * *
Kian sharpened his senses toward the northeastern command. The strong presences had dispersed—mealtime, perhaps. Most notably, the silver wolf-woman’s presence was gone. Either she had moved to another base or retreated inland. In any case, it was convenient.
”Ahh, training today was exhausting,” one young voice sighed.
”Yeah, this is way tougher than I thought. The ones posted west seem to have it easy,” another muttered.
”All this running… The Leap drills are brutal.”
”They say the west trains more in Impact. Less running, more energy release practice.”
Four trainees, two men and two women, passed the thicket where Kian crouched. Sweat drenched them, their steps heavy. Likely they were heading for the mess.
Kian’s eyes burned red. He drank in the perfume of their exertion, that sweet, feminine musk. A girl’s sweat, a hint of urine. He wanted to breathe it forever.
He dissolved into Mist Form. A black haze drifted behind the tents, then coiled around the last in line—a young warrior monk—and embraced her from the shadows.
”Wonder what’s for dinner tonight, huh, Sara? …Wait?” one boy asked.
But the girl named Sara was no longer among them.
Kian clamped her mouth and body, dragging her back into the thicket with a predator’s swiftness.
”Mmmph! Mmmphh! Mmm—!” she thrashed. Her heel sought his groin, but mist could not be struck. Behind a thick trunk, Kian forced her head back, gazing at her face.
A terrified gasp escaped her.
The sight alone nearly made her climax. It was a forbidden rapture, but one he excused as necessary to the mission.
He spat a hiss. His fangs split wide. The girl’s soundless scream trembled. She writhed, but he bared her throat and sank his teeth deep.
Her body jolted, spasmed. Poison spread, weakening her struggle. She wet herself in terror before he finished her, then pressed his own blood between her lips.
”Wake.”
”――”
”You’ll lace the food with this poison blade. Plant these Blast charges by the fuel tents. When the chaos starts, turn your friends into ‘comrades.’”
”…”
Her body stiffened, then strength returned. Her eyes flashed red before subsiding into black. He wiped her tear-stained cheek and covered her throat with a scarf, leaving the new undead soldier behind.
’All you can eat. Delicious.’
(Tempted to possess them?)
’No. That’s different.’
Disappointed, Kian slithered up the branches of a giant tree, hunting again. Another woman monk. Ideally, blond like Aliona—a westerner’s blood.
He had no patience for delay. He wanted the choicest prey. Then he remembered Flora’s entourage—warrior monks, all women, all high-ranking.
Perfect.
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat as he drifted toward the mess, where spices were heaviest. Cloaked in Sarah’s lingering scent, he shadowed the older female monks.
’The sun sets,’ Talia whispered. ‘Our time begins.’
* * *
Drag.
Drag, drag, drag—
(Ten now.)
Flora’s entourage proved difficult, their guard tight. So he snatched others, lone women passing through the northeastern corridor. The tenth was his first high-ranking warrior monk.
She recognized at once that physical attacks failed against him. In a Leap‘s instant she melted her Silver Coins into a blade and drove it at his throat. But silver was not his bane.
White bull’s bristles erupted from his neck, deflecting the knife.
Her eyes widened at the brittle snap of her weapon. Azraelian eyes, black and fierce, glared from a girl no older than Sarah or Linca.
”Star’s Song,” Talia hissed from his arm.
The ground turned to mire. As she tried to spring away, her footing gave. Kian solidified, skittering like a beast through leaves, and clamped her calf between his teeth.
Her scream never left her throat. Talia smothered the air itself.
Fur rippled over his body, muscles bulging as he slammed her down. She was no dropout but an elite, a graduate of the monastery’s highest path. Perhaps once, Kian would have envied her. Now he only thrilled at her trembling, terrified face beneath him.
’Sex Drive.’
It was the lingering curse that never left him. His claws tightened at her throat. Talia’s magic pinned her arms.
”Aahh… ahh—” she gagged. Her body flailed.
”Haah, haah, haaah—” he panted, jaws dripping, beastly nature unfurling.
Her eyes bulged, veins red. She struggled, but he held firm.
Her resistance faltered. Her life guttered.
”Haah, haah… heh.”
Crack.
Her neck snapped. Her tears streaked her dying face, exquisite in its fear.
Perfect.
The fused “glasses” Kian—the darkness within him—growled low and feral in his throat.
He sank his fangs into the woman’s neck and drank her dead blood.
That made ten undead soldiers.
This corpse would serve well as a puppet.
’Was the feed delicious, pig?’
”Oh, exquisite,” he whispered.
Blood dripped from his jaw as Kian rose slowly in the shadows.
* * *
”What… are you doing?”
”Ah…”
He had heard the footsteps of many approaching, but he had been too absorbed in ravishing his prey to stop.
Kian buttoned nothing, throwing open his shirt as he straightened from the woman’s corpse.
”Diana! Diana…? Damn you, fiend! That prisoner—Kian Vahid!”
Five high-ranked warrior monks.
And leading them—an elder woman, Flora.
Flora’s aged eyes fell to the body at Kian’s feet—then she shifted focus.
”Kian, what were you doing?” she demanded.
”What do you think? You heard of my ability from the Silver Wolf woman, didn’t you?” Kian said, smiling, blood still shining on his chin.
The wind swept his shirt open, baring his muscled chest and carved abdomen.
Among the six women, two drew sharp breaths, thighs pressed together.
The vampire’s allure—his ability to seduce prey with raw sexual magnetism. It triggered even without intent. He almost pitied the married ones.
”Have you fallen to the demonic?” Flora asked.
”You seem to know of me, but I know nothing of you. So when you voice such… regret, it tells me nothing,” Kian replied.
* * *
Night fell.
Behind Flora, an explosion erupted—blast and flame—followed by poison smoke that the sea wind spread throughout the fortress. The vapor carried hallucinatory power.
The monks glanced back, startled, then refocused on Kian, hands tightening around the hilts of their shamsheers.
Veterans, clearly.
They knew instinctively that to look away from Kian meant death.
”Old Umar was breeding monsters in his harem-laboratory after all,” Flora said.
”Fascinating. By the way—Flora, was it? Who are you? An acquaintance of mine?” Kian asked.
Flora’s expression wavered. She tore away her veil, and so did her companions, drawing blades in unison.
”We met once or twice in society. I am Flora Malc, current head of House Malc—and one of the Twelve Divine Generals.”
”The highest rank of warrior monks?”
”Once. I no longer fight on the front.”
”Hm.”
Her identity was meaningless. Only one truth mattered—was she strong? Could she kill him? Could he kill her?
’Kian, a Leap-type strike incoming. She aims for the brain with a kill-shot,’ the voice inside warned.
(Understood.)
Kian’s lips curled in a bloodthirsty grin.
”Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship. Forms of Impact and Leap—initiated. Kian of Dacia,” he declared.
”So you still hold pride as a warrior,” one monk sneered.
Flora stepped forward, lowering into stance, blade poised.
”The butcher ends here. Great Nizaam, lend me strength.”
”Not giving your name?” Kian mocked.
”Azrael’s Dance Swordsmanship, Leap—mastered. Flora Malc!” she shouted.
But even as she spoke, Kian had already vanished, activating his secret technique, Shadow Pursuit.
To her eyes, he disappeared.
And two monks’ necks snapped before they understood death had come.
”Lady Flora!” one cried.
(These three are stronger than Flora herself.)
Three warriors darted at him, swift as Rufna once was. Their shamsheers slashed from front, back, and side, imbued with pure qi.
Kian leaned right. Every strike missed. His lifted step made the low cut whistle through empty air.
’Earth—spear!’ Talia invoked.
Stone erupted at Flora’s feet, spearing upward. One monk vaulted lightly aside, using a tree trunk as a springboard.
Kian forged his own rock blade—blunt, crushing rather than slicing. He reminded himself: press too lightly and flesh would not break.
”No!” one monk gasped.
He twisted past two blades, switching positions, and in the same motion unleashed blue lightning at the airborne attacker.
”Agh!” she screamed, convulsing as her body crashed into a tree, headfirst to the ground.
”Titi! Damn it!”
The last two struck together. Kian conjured another stone sword, parrying both. The clash of Impact-style force chewed his weapons down, nearly breaking through, but he coiled his arms and snapped back, shoving them off.
”Click—tch!”
They whirled, blades circling like serpents.
Kian twisted, drawing a ring on the ground with their arcs, then fired a Shot into the airborne monk, and without pause dove upon the staggered one, both blades thrusting.
”Ugh—!”
She caught it.
But just barely.
Kian’s sharpened Impact scattered the aura reinforcing the woman’s blade.
A single Leap brought them into balance.
But then he drove his knee into her leg.
The blow made her right foot blast apart in a spray of flesh.
”Gah!”
”Sorry! Damn—aaaah!”
The wounded warrior staggered, blood pouring from her leg. The last of her sisters, a warrior monk, charged to shield her.
Beyond her, Flora had finally circled the earth-spears blocking her path.
A low chuckle rumbled in Kian’s throat. With inhuman clarity, he read every path the woman’s sword could take.
”No! Hah! Hup—daaah!” she cried, slashing.
A diagonal cut from the right.
A rising strike.
A flying Shot driven by her foot.
Her skill, the thread-like Ito, wove behind Kian, closing his retreat and driving her blade toward his face.
Right—
then left—he slipped past them.
No escape remained. Her threads hemmed him in. She met him blade to blade, trying to Stop him with brute force.
”Rrragh—!”
Her Impact shifted, twisting into the rending art, Tear. But before she could deepen her enhancement, Kian caught her arm, disarmed her, and bound her weapon with his own threads.
”No! Stop! She’s my daughter!” Flora screamed.
”Die,” Kian said.
He showed no mercy to enemies. Weak as he was, he would never indulge in such a fatal mistake.
His left-hand blade flew, smashing apart the face of the already-crippled woman. At the same instant, his threads forced the warrior monk’s shamshir to butcher her own limbs and neck.
Two corpses fell.
Only one gravely wounded warrior remained—struck by lightning earlier—and Flora herself.
Flora’s eyes narrowed, fury burning. Kian welcomed it. Fear-crumpled prey no longer satisfied him.
He dropped the stone sword, flicked the stolen shamshir free of blood, and stalked toward her. Though rage possessed her, she knew she stood no chance alone.
She sought a gap, planning to flee with the advanced Leap art, Domain.
You won’t escape.
(I’ll take a Divine General’s head here. Flora’s. Or… Abbas, perhaps.)
Kian turned his face west. Heat pressed against his skin. He leapt back—just as a torrent of white energy tore through the thicket, flattening trees.
The Impact-based secret technique, Skyrend. A blade-breaking strike that mimicked the power of a magic sword, if only for one shattering blow.
”Kian Vahid!”
From the Fortress, amid the chaos of explosions and screams, a red-haired youth hurtled forth like a cannonball. Leap gathered at his feet as he flung aside a branch and cleaved down with a shamshir.
Kian met him blade to blade with the stolen weapon. Warrior monks did not defend—they struck to kill. Yet this one was the hope Katyusha had died to protect. He could not dismiss that.
”Yahhh!”
Seizing the moment, Flora unleashed Shadow Pursuit. Spiraling energy wrapped her legs, launching her forward at many times her normal speed.
Too slow. Even now, she was beneath a true Isthbaran. The soft, loamy ground soaked her Impact, dulling her speed further.
Kian’s form dissolved into mist, slipping from Abbas’s grasp.
”Damn!” Flora hissed, slashing only air, then clamped her teeth in frustration.
Kian vanished into shadowed branches, swirling above as mist.
”Sir Abbas, fall back. I won’t cut you unless I must,” Flora urged.
”Kian! Was it you? Did you kill Zayn? Sasha and Jasmine!?” Abbas wept, his voice broken. “The dead rose again. A vampire’s doing. Why? Why this?”
”Yeah. I ended Sasha and Jasmine after they became corpse-eaters.”
”Answer me! Why do this? Do you hate Azrael so much!?” Abbas sobbed.
”Abbas, stop. He’s gone. There’s no saving him,” Flora snapped.
Kian dropped between them, his presence monstrous. Abbas’s grief hardened into silence. With a glance, he and Flora moved as one, striking.
”Graaah!” Abbas lunged, but Kian’s lightning hurled him aside. Flora’s Shadow Pursuit slash met the shamshir’s edge and was Stopped cold.
”What—!” she gasped, but instinct saved her. She leapt back, narrowly dodging his kick aimed to Break her knee.
Predatory, Kian chased. Abbas rose again, only to be blasted down with lightning once more.
”Stand, Abbas! We can’t defeat him alone!” Flora cried.
She was fast, but in a blade-lock her speed meant nothing. Kian pressed down, weight and steel grinding her under.
”Ungh—”
(Talia. Don’t interfere. This one is mine.)
’Fine, fine.’
”Kian, stop! Ughhh!” Abbas roared, charging again—only to be struck a third time by Kian’s merciless lightning.
Kian poured a surge of blue lightning into his opponent, long enough for sparks to crawl across the man’s face.
Seizing the moment, Flora rolled across the dirt and slashed low for Kian’s legs.
He leapt clear, reappearing at her back. She turned on instinct, parrying the descending blow. Kian pressed just enough to force her guard, then slid free of the bind and slipped past her flank.
As he moved by, the butt of his shamshir cracked against the old woman’s temple.
”Ugh…” she groaned.
”Stop, Kian—gaaahhh!” Abbas screamed, lightning bursting through him. His body slammed against a tree with a wet crunch. He tried to rise, but collapsed onto his knees.
”Haaaahhh!” Flora’s sword came down again. Blood seeped from her temple, and she no longer had the strength to summon Leap.
Kian locked blades with her shamshir, then infused his own steel with Tear.
Her sword shattered into jagged fragments.
”Ah—guhhh!”
His knife-hand struck her throat. Clutching her chest, she crumpled, coughing violently.
”Mother! Mother, no—ughk!” Another warrior monk, already half-dead from her fall, charged blindly. Kian cast a web of wires, slicing her into diced flesh.
”Stop! Please! Lady Flora!” Abbas howled.
”Cough… cough… cough…”
”Any last words?” Kian asked.
”…Father… forgive me. I was… a worthless daughter. I couldn’t… protect Malc…” Flora murmured.
”NOOOOO!” Abbas screamed.
Kian’s heel smashed the back of her skull. The stomp rattled the earth, fissures spidering outward. No one could withstand such force.
Her body hit the ground like an insect crushed underfoot, brain matter bursting across the dirt. Limbs jerked grotesquely, spasming with leftover nerve fire.
Kian nudged the corpse, checking carefully that her heart had truly stopped. Even a fallen member of the Twelve Divine Generals deserved no chance of recovery.
”Kian! Kian!” Abbas cried.
”Do you still challenge me? Flee, and I won’t follow,” Kian said flatly.
”Uwoooohhh—gaahhh!” Lightning struck him mid-charge, slamming him against another trunk.
Kian tore a shamshir from the butchered monk’s corpse, dual-wielding like a red-haired reaper as he closed in.
”Ughk!” Abbas’s arms fell away, severed in a clean slice.
Kian spun both blades, gripping them reverse. Their twin edges pressed to either side of Abbas’s neck like shears. He held, waiting for the boy’s plea. If Abbas died, Katyusha’s devotion and Sarah’s struggle to reclaim Sunlightland would all turn to farce. Kian did not wish to kill—if possible.
”—Kian!” a voice cried.
”Tch—”
A single Leap‘s hesitation. He sprang back, cursing his lapse. An instant later, a rain of piercing needles screamed down from above.
”Cry, Windsong Blade!”
A black-robed figure interposed, masked and silent. In her hands gleamed a perforated magic sword. Landing low, crouched like a beast, she let white power coil into its hollow frame. Wind sucked into the blade, making it shriek like a keening child.
”Be erased!” she hissed.
(Secret Technique—)
Kian spun both shamshirs, sketching a circle in the air—Linca’s art.
Before the swelling storm, he released Shot as a counterforce.
”Haaahhh!”
(Mirror Moon!)
Notes:
• Abbas – The heir of the Shakerdoust family, a prominent clan within the Twelve Divine Generals.
• Katyusha – A female warrior monk of the black panther race and a follower of Abbas Hashmalik Shakerdoust.
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Nizaam – A former member of Azrael’s Twelve Divine Generals and the current head of the Malc family, though he has passed both titles to his daughter to return to the battlefield. He is a prominent warrior noble in Azrael, known for his love of beautiful boys and fierce battles.
• Isthbaran – The High Warlord of the ‘Storm Herd.’
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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