Elarion stepped forward—not backward. His mask reflected light as his blade slid from its sheath with a low, whispering note.
In that moment, everything slowed.
His sword moved: a single arc. Clean, precise.
The monster roared, the sound shaking trees and birds skyward. But its front leg was already severed at the joint. Blackish-green blood hissed against the earth.
Elarion ducked under a claw swipe, so close the air felt sharp against his skin. Then he moved again.
Two steps, a turn. Another cut. This time through the monster's tail.
Larian's fighting style wasn't brutal. It wasn't flashy. It was cold and exact—perfect arcs, movements meant to end life with as little waste as possible. There was no hesitation.
Larianel could only stand still, eyes wide in awe. She watched his silent figure weave between a monster many times his size, wearing black steel like a living shadow.
And above them, perched on a high branch, a great white owl watched as well. Silent. Observing.
The monster's roar weakened. Blood stained the grass dark. Finally, with one last forward step, Elarion sliced upward through its throat. The body crashed to the ground.
Silence returned.
Elarion felt his heart beat still raising steadily, his power growing inside.
He was C rank at 10. Now after defeating a B rank monster, because of Crimsonveil's unpredictable swordsmanship, his experience and techniques and thanks to his poison resistance.
He had no wound just depleted.
He could feel it, he became C rank and now he is one step further to B rank in the same day.
Elarion looked back to see Leoriness, guess what—She is lucky for me though I don't believe in luck.
---
After the Fight:-
Elarion exhaled slowly. His sword slid back into its sheath.
Larianess spoke first.
"That... was..."
"Expected," he said, voice steady. "But I wasn't fast enough."
He flexed his fingers slightly.
In the middle of battle, there had been moments where he instinctively wanted to reach for his telekinesis—
to pull the blade mid-air, to deflect poison droplets.
But his control wasn't there yet. He could focus only on one thing at a time, and his mind wasn't sharp enough yet ,under live combat pressure.
"Next time," he murmured, looking down at his hand, "I'll be sharper."
He needed experience. Experience to use his new power better without burdening his mind.
Elarion crouched near the corpse now, examining it carefully. The violet scales shimmered faintly with corrosive energy. But he wasn't new to this.
In hell, when his mind had dulled from endless fighting, he had filled the gaps by learning useless-seeming things—cooking among them. A way to stay sane.
"This meat can be eaten," he explained calmly, as if talking to himself, "if prepared properly. Skin removed, the poison glands neutralized with specific herbs."
He gathered some local leaves, crushed them with a clap of his hands, and sprinkled them over the severed section.
Then, pulling out a small steel needle, he carefully punctured several points in the monster's flesh—letting dark fluid drain out.
Larianess watched him, skeptical.
"You can really eat that...?"
He glanced at her, a faint tilt of his head visible even behind the mask.
"If you trust me."
---
Quiet Moment After
Night had fallen. Smoke rose from a small controlled fire.
The scent of roasted meat filled the clearing, surprisingly rich and clean-smelling.
Larianess sat cross-legged beside the fire. Her face, tired but curious.
Elarion still wore his mask. He never took it off near others. Even now.
The only visible part of him was the edge of his pale neck , face below nose—his lips and gloved hands moving with quiet control as he turned the roasting meat.
---
Elarion cooks with quiet efficiency: wild herbs, smoked meat, proper cutting technique.
It surprises even him sometimes — cooking was one thing he learned in hell and from his past life because someone had to do it right.
He was great at it, he felt others cooking rather bad.
Then, Leoriness asked Elarion not through words but actions—sign language. Language she learned from other kids in that basement.
She pointed at his mask and sign saying why?? Why wear it.
He was silent for a long moment. Then:
"It helps me focus."
---
Their bond is subtle:
No grand confessions.
No romantic flustering.
Just two broken people building a rhythm
-----
Elarion's Mask:
Black Steel Mask with Silver Wing Etchings
No visible eyes or mouth slit
Half mask covering everything till nose.
His lips are visible—he has to eat.
The mask—
Cultural tradition from his family's house
-----