A horizontal slash whistles toward me—fast, but predictable. I duck low, tilting my head back in a sharp, upward arc, slipping beneath the blade like a sword limbo.
In the same fluid motion, I retaliate with a rising slash from the blade in my left hand, arcing upward in a vicious cut.
He catches the blow, of course—his own sword crashing against mine with a sharp clang of steel—but the impact forces him back half a step.
Then come the sparks… Dozens of them burst out in rapid succession, a flurry of orange and white that lights up the dark like a storm of fireflies caught in a jar. Each strike, each clash of our blades, sends more cascading around us, briefly illuminating our silhouettes in this underground gloom.
Thirty seconds crawl by—long enough to feel like an eternity in the middle of a fight.
During that time, he's doing everything he can just to hold the line, keeping himself between me and his injured teammate, who's still desperately chanting a healing spell over his dislocated arm but honestly..?
Maybe luck's on my side right now. I mean, the kid seems hesitant to cast any more offensive spells at me, especially the kind he pulled off earlier with that lightning-infused blade.
After all, his HP wasn't even full when this fight kicked off, and I doubt that kind of elemental boost comes cheap… Channeling raw electricity into a weapon like that.
I bet such a spell isn't just flashy—it's expensive, risky, and probably not something he can afford to throw around recklessly right now.
But unlike him, though, I've long made a habit of embracing risk—reaping the rewards and facing the consequences when they backfire. I've danced with the worst outcomes and kept going. So this time, I decided to turn the moment into an experiment of my own… a costly one, maybe, but worth the gamble.
"Zyndrath!"
The invocation tears from my throat like a spark against dry tinder, and instantly, the blade in my left hand comes alive. Blue arcs crackle and dance along its edge as I swing it in a clean arc toward the boy—still stunned, still second-guessing whether to dodge or block, but it's too late—my strike arrives just as swiftly as the incantation leaves my lips… His sword clashes with mine, the inevitable collision already in motion before he can make up his mind.
The impact sends a jolt of electricity through him, the shock forcing the boy back with a violent force, propelling him so far that a bright red warning window flashes in front of his face.
"A single-word spell... I never knew... we were the same... an electromancer," he breathes out weakly, coughing up blood, clinging to his mistaken belief with what little strength remains.
Though, as far as I recall, he didn't use a single word to call down his lightning the way I just did… It's clear that he actually said two words, "Inthariel Zyndrath," which literally means "infuse" and "lightning." But my guess is that he could've done the same with just one word; he simply chose not to. Most likely, he's trying to avoid unnecessary risks, careful not to waste energy on something reckless.
But I decide to stay silent, not offering any corrections.
Instead, I turn my gaze to the side, where his partner has finally finished healing his own dislocated arm. Only now, he's frozen there, probably way more shocked than the first guy. So without hesitation, I throw the dagger from my right hand, aiming for his forehead—even though the distance is a bit too far.
Like it'll probably lose all of its momentum and fall to the floor before even reaching him, but that doesn't matter… I just need to make sure the swing is aimed precisely at the boy, and my magic will handle the rest.
As a faint white light suddenly appears around the dagger, signaling that a spell has been successfully activated—
Proven by the way its rotation accelerates, and the velocity along its path suddenly spikes, as though propelled by a force far stronger than the gravity pulling it downward.
The dagger then surges forward with its terrifying speed, each brush against the air causing a loud, whistling sound that echoes throughout the chamber, slamming into the boy's skull with such force that his entire head shatters as if struck by a high-caliber modern bullet.
And that leaves the dying boy, whom I now approach slowly, even more shocked than before, realizing something is terribly wrong with his understanding of how I use magic… About how I conjured a miracle without uttering a single word.
"But don't sell yourself short," I say casually—still only halfway toward him, while the boy, barely holding himself together, starts dragging his battered body away from me in pure desperation, with no choice but to keep listening as I continue, "I don't even know how to explain why I can do that either."
"Who… Who the hell are you!?"
"Who am I? Really? Why does that even matter to the dead?" I retort to his broken voice, my sword already prepared as I'm just moments away from reaching him—
but then, something suddenly sends a shiver down my spine.
A sound cuts through the air from afar—a sharp whistle, fast and vicious. Something's coming. Something fast. Like an arrow screaming toward my right ear with such lethal intent.
I turn just in time to see it hurtling straight for my skull… But too bad for whoever fired it—as I once mentioned before, this body I wear now isn't the same as the one I had in my old world. Every tendon and muscle responds to my reflexes with near-zero delay, moving as one without tearing a single thread beneath my skin… Especially with my level as it is now, I'm pretty sure that my grip alone should be enough to halt its momentum before it reaches my eye—so, out of sheer arrogance, that's exactly what I do instead of dodging.
Once I'm sure the angle is right, I catch the shaft mid-flight. The arrow grinds hard against my right palm, the skin burning for a split second—but it stops. Just in time… A feat I want so badly to be proud of, to etch into memory for all eternity—
But unfortunately, the man dying on the floor doesn't spare it even a glance. Instead, he forces his broken body to rise, staggering into a desperate sprint for his own life—leaving me behind, alone, under a fresh storm of arrows pouring out from the darkness… A follow-up to the one I just caught.
So I have no choice but to retreat, slipping behind a sturdy stone pillar as the arrows keep raining down from behind it.
~~~~~
I have, on occasion, seen the undead carrying bows and quivers slung over their shoulders—rarely, but not never.
Yet not once have I actually seen them use them.
Other than that, among us children, it's also uncommon; the bows are usually too large, and their strings wound too tight for our smaller frames to draw.
But this volley… This attack clearly comes from someone born to wield a bow.
I think they simply got lucky and found a bow smaller than the rest—or maybe their level has risen high enough to draw its string without effort, nearly catching up to mine.
Well… Whatever the case, I have to admit—whoever fired it succeeded in forcing me away from that damn brat.
In other words, the arrow must have come from the girl I saw earlier. Because if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's this: the two boys who dragged Eirwen into the distance, and the one assigned to call for them are all most likely dead by now. And as for Sigvald... To be honest, I have no idea where that boy has gone.
Maybe he really is skilled enough to slip away, to hide himself so thoroughly that no one can track him down… But if that's truly the case, then all it does is piss me off.
I mean, why didn't he just kill the girl while he had the chance? Why the hell am I the one stuck fighting all three of them at once?!
While I'm still questioning that boy's usefulness, I suddenly notice—the rain of arrows has stopped. Most likely because her friend has finally reached a safe place, somewhere beyond my line of sight if I were to turn around now.
So, naturally, I try to sneak a glance from behind the stone pillar—
—but the sharp whistle of the wind returns, and a glowing arrow, shimmering as if imbued with magic, shoots toward my eye… If I hadn't ducked back behind cover just in time, it would've been the last thing I ever saw.
Because that shot—not just because of its accuracy—that shot was strong, indeed.
The arrow kept flying, its dim light slicing through the darkness, before it finally slammed into another stone pillar far off in the distance, blasting shards of stone and clouds of dust into the air just like a sniper's bullet tearing through its mark, at a range where aiming at anything in this darkness should be impossible.
Especially when I don't even have a single light source around me… With the nearest glow is a distant flicker at best, barely enough to brush against the shadows yet somehow, she's still firing with terrifying precision—
It almost feels like she can see through the dark.
But still… If I stay here, lost in thought, letting every fleeting worry cloud my mind, this mission will only end in failure.
After all, I've already been arrogant enough to catch that arrow… And not just that, even the last attack, one clearly woven with magic, I still manage to dodge in the nick of time.
So, what am I really afraid of?
"That's true... What the heck am I really afraid of?"
I whisper to myself, rising up to my feet and then turning around. Slowly, I step backward, each movement deliberate, carefully distancing myself from the stone pillar. Because if I'm going to make a run for it, I need to make myself a smaller target.
I also need a clear path to accelerate… Maybe the Ascendral spell would also be perfect here, boosting my velocity just when I need it most.
And aside from all of that, I shift the sword in my left hand to my right, tightening the grip.
I steady my heartbeat, syncing it with my focus, preparing it to aid me in dodging and deflecting every arrow that comes my way… Until the moment arrives for me to act.
~~~~~
On my third step, I activate the spell, launching myself forward at three times the speed I had before. Here I'm sure it must have caught the girl off guard, even if I can't see her face hidden somewhere in the darkness.
Still, her arrow flies—
—but it whizzes far behind me.
It seems this tactic is effective after all, even with how fast she can loose her bowstring… Something I definitely can't afford to take lightly, while I weave through the maze of stone pillars, not using them as cover, but to make my movements even more unpredictable.
Every time I race forward and vanish behind one of those towering stones, I emerge again—leaving it entirely to my instincts to decide whether to veer left or right, to slow down deliberately, or to unleash Ascendral Skaythe once more, propelling myself even faster than I was before crossing the last pillar.
It throws off her aim completely—arrows whipping past behind me, missing just ahead of me, or flying off to the right when I break left... and the other way around.
But of course, I know I can't rely on this tactic forever.
Sooner or later, I'll reach the point where only a single stone pillar remains—the place where she's hiding, waiting, aiming straight at me. A place where I'll have nowhere left to take cover, nowhere to maneuver.
Just an open field... where the only thing I can count on will be my reflexes and instincts to dodge every arrow she fires at me. Still, I seize the moment, driving myself forward—dim lights flaring from ahead, each one a mark of her growing desperation, enchanting every shot with magic now. But even so... it's not enough.
I can still track the path of every projectile.
I can still tilt my head a little to the left, or duck low for a split second whenever I need to. And I even slash a few of the arrows out of the air with the sword in my right hand, while the other stays busy, shifting instinctively to balance my body mid-sprint—because right now, I desperately need every ounce of control I can get.
Until finally, my eyes catch a glimpse of the girl—one hand darting toward her quiver before swiftly drawing and aiming another arrow with frightening precision… Then she fires, aiming straight for my left eye.
So without even thinking too much, I slash it down mid-flight with my sword. This time, unlike before, sparks burst out on impact—a sharp crack splitting the air—proof that this shot carried far more power than any of the ones before it. The same shot would be the last one she'd ever release with the bow.
Since I'm close enough now… My left hand wraps around her throat, and with a forceful shove, I send us both crashing to the ground. We rolled several times before coming to a halt, with me straddling her, my sword poised at her throat, its tip a hair's breadth from her skin.
No longer concealed by the shadows of towering pillars, the pale glow from the distant orb—her fallen comrade's light—illuminates us both.
Our eyes meet, unguarded and unwavering, as the silence between us stretches.
"Deon! Stop! Don't kill her!"
A familiar voice cuts through the darkness, sharp and urgent, as the sound of their bare feet pounding the ground echoes in a frantic rush.
It comes just as I drag my sword lightly across the girl's neck, a thin line of blood beginning to trickle down her skin… For it's Sigvald, his breath heavy as he forces me to my feet, urging to release the girl still trapped in my grip.
And he then ends it with a frustrated sigh. "I've been shouting at you for ages—why didn't you hear me!?"
"Hah!? I didn't hear anything!" I shout back, but I don't let go of the girl, not yet.
"Fine, whatever… But don't kill her."
"Why!?"
"I... I honestly forgot... I completely forgot to tell you yesterday. This is a huge mistake and I understand that. I don't even know how I could've forgotten to warn you to spare the girl."
"...I ask why!?"
Before Sigvald can answer my question, the girl somehow pulls an arrow from who knows where and drives it straight into my thigh. The sharp, sudden pain makes me scream out in shock, a perfectly natural reaction, to be honest, to such an unexpected and unanticipated strike that it catches me off guard, giving her the opening she needs to shove me down, quickly securing her position and drawing a dagger from her waist, raising it toward us both.
"Myrrhiel! Calm down! We're just here to help you!" Sigvald's voice is filled with a mix of concern and frustration as he tries to reason with the girl.
But instead of easing the situation, his words only make my frustration boil over. I snap back, my tone laced with anger, "No, we're fucking not!"
"Deon, you know better than anyone how I judge people... And I need you to trust me on this one, Myrrhiel is not like the others."
I hear every word Sigvald speaks, and I understand his meaning. I know that the kid's judgment is usually spot-on. Still, I rise to my feet, lifting my sword and pointing its tip toward the girl... an action that likely only makes her more nervous.
She then turns her gaze toward the kid standing next to me, her disappointment palpable as she shakes her head. "Sigvald, you traitor..."
"To this filthy group? Yes. But to Deon and my true comrades?" His voice is unwavering, his tone firm, "Not even if it costs me my life… So Myrrhiel, trust me, come with us."
"Thyren... Zyndrath..."
A faint whisper escapes from somewhere behind the girl, a cold murmur that slips out just before sparks of electricity crackle through the darkness. The boy from before... I'm certain that he's about to kill everyone here, including the girl who was supposed to be his own comrade without a second thought.
Someone Sigvald believes could be the perfect fit as the seventh member of our group—something that's becoming harder and harder to find as tensions between squads continue to escalate.
I mean, even if she refuses or Sigvald's negotiations fall flat, I figure it's still better to act than to stand here doing nothing… So with that thought, I grab the girl's arm—she's already turning, her wide eyes locked onto her so-called comrade in the distance, the one who has just finished casting a spell powerful enough to end her life and everyone around her.
I yank the girl behind me, taking her place, and in the same breath, I begin chanting the very spell whose name I just heard whispered through the dark.
"Thyren… Zyndrath..!"
~~~~~