The rain fell heavy.
But the field was no longer the same.
Impossible lines crossed the devastation.
Cuts.
Long. Precise. Unreal.
The mud had been divided into smooth plates like broken glass. Craters opened in the previous fight were split in half by perfect grooves that continued for meters beyond them.
Stone. Water. Compacted earth.
Everything separated by lines that should not exist.
Isabela breathed in deeply.
Slow.
Cold air filled her lungs and left warmer,
mixed with the metallic taste of blood.
Small cuts marked her left arm, the side of her thigh, and above the clavicle. Nothing deep — but enough to stain her garments with dark streaks that the rain insisted on washing.
The pink braid, once firm, was now partially loose, damp strands stuck against the side of her face.
The blue eyes remained open.
Steady.
Luminous even beneath the gray sky.
She did not look away.
Azazel remained where he was.
A few meters away.
Without moving a single muscle.
The rain touched the ground between them — but around him it fell misaligned, as if the air itself had been slightly displaced from its natural position.
The air still carried the echo of the previous cuts.
Isabela adjusted her base.
Her shoulders aligned.
A short step on the fractured mud.
The ground creaked softly.
She watched.
Azazel tilted his chin a single degree.
Almost imperceptible.
His body relaxed.
It was not rest.
It was alignment.
His rear foot sank half a centimeter into the mud.
His hips lowered.
His right shoulder released its tension.
The field answered.
The rain seemed to hesitate in the air.
The world around him fell into alignment.
Isabela felt the same shiver run down her spine.
The same signature.
The same gesture.
Battō.
Her heart beat once, harder.
Isabela closed her eyes for a second.
And for an instant—
the devastated field disappeared.
The sun was warmer.
The air carried no scent of mud or iron.
The sword in her hands was heavier.
Very heavy.
Her small fingers barely closed around the grip.
She stepped forward with force.
The strike came too high.
Predictable.
The blade met another halfway.
A dry sound.
Stopped.
The man in front of her did not need to move his whole body.
Only his wrist.
He watched calmly.
Eyes steady.
Patient.
"Do not attack first."
Her father's voice echoed clearly.
"Force without reading only creates noise."
His blade slid and pushed hers away with ease.
"Look again."
He raised his own sword.
He did not attack.
He only adjusted his feet.
His hips.
His shoulder.
Small details.
The man in front of her walked slowly around her.
"Observe the opponent's body."
He pointed to his own chest.
"Before the cut…"
His voice was calm.
Certain.
"The body decides that something can be divided."
The blade came down.
The movement was simple.
Almost lazy.
But the wooden trunk behind her split in half with a clean crack.
Isabela blinked.
"It wasn't strength."
He looked at her again.
"It was certainty."
Isabela's eyes opened again.
Back to the devastated territory.
The rain returned.
Heavy.
Cold.
A breeze passed between the houses.
Azazel was still in the same alignment.
The world around him stiffened again.
Her blue gaze narrowed a degree.
Her breathing stabilized.
Then, low, almost to herself:
"…certainty."
And then Isabela moved.
She did not advance directly.
Her feet touched the ground in a light lateral step.
Then another.
She began running around him.
Short, triangular movements, changing the angle with every step.
Azazel did not turn his body.
Only his eyes followed.
Then his hand moved.
Two fingers slowly lifted.
And he made a simple cutting gesture in the air.
Nothing happened.
For a brief instant, the world remained intact.
Then the air tore.
An invisible line crossed the street.
The wall of a distant house was divided in half.
The upper half slid slowly…
…and fell.
Isabela was no longer there.
Her circular movement had broken the alignment.
Another step.
Another.
The distance between them slowly diminished.
Azazel moved his hand again.
Three short gestures.
As if he were drawing cuts in space.
But the world still remained silent.
Then, half a second later—
space opened.
Three invisible rifts appeared in different directions.
Isabela dove forward.
One of the lines passed scraping against her armor, tearing metallic sparks free.
Another crossed the ground behind her, opening a straight fissure in the stone.
The third cut through the roof of a nearby house.
Tiles slid…
and began to fall like rain.
Isabela was already on her feet again.
Now much closer.
She stopped for a single second.
Breathed.
And then her fists closed.
A glow began to appear.
First faint.
Then intense.
Blue flames wrapped around her fists.
They were not explosive.
They clung to the air like living embers.
"Dómrblár."
Azazel tilted his head slightly.
Isabela advanced.
But not in a straight line.
Her body kept circling him, each step shifting the axis of the fight.
New cutting gestures emerged from Azazel's hands.
Some almost lazy.
Others fast.
The rifts in space appeared an instant later, like invisible traps.
One of them opened the ground exactly where Isabela would step.
She jumped.
Twisted her body.
And in the landing motion launched the first strike.
Her fist crossed the air.
Azazel leaned his body back.
The strike did not hit him.
But the blue flame remained in space, floating where the fist had passed.
A scar of fire in the air.
Azazel took a small lateral step to avoid touching it.
Isabela did not stop.
Second strike.
Third.
Fourth.
Each impact left blue marks burning in the air and on the ground.
Azazel began to move for the first time.
Not for attack.
From necessity.
Each step he took avoided touching those flames that remained alive for a few seconds.
The space around them was becoming a field of burning scars.
Azazel raised his hand again.
A horizontal gesture in the air.
Silence.
Then—
The line crossed two houses.
The walls were divided like paper.
Dust exploded into the street.
Isabela passed through the cloud of debris.
Her blue eyes shone through the dust.
And then she appeared directly in front of him.
The fist wrapped in blue flames shot forward in a straight line.
Isabela entered the range.
Azazel raised his hand.
The air around his hand condensed.
For an instant, nothing happened.
Then the pressure in the air collapsed.
Gravity around his arm condensed like an invisible wall.
Isabela's strike never arrived.
A brutal force repelled her backward.
The impact of the pressure tore the ground beneath her feet as she was pushed several meters down the street.
Stones broke.
Dust rose.
Isabela slid until she stopped.
But she did not fall.
She planted her foot on the ground.
Raised her gaze.
Azazel was already moving.
His hand described another gesture in the air.
A simple cut.
Almost casual.
Silence.
Isabela recognized the movement at the same instant.
She twisted her body to the side.
Half a second later—
space tore exactly where she had been.
The invisible line crossed the street.
An entire house was divided vertically.
The two halves took a second to realize they had been separated.
Then they began to fall.
Isabela watched.
Her gaze fixed on Azazel.
Dust rose around them.
She breathed slowly.
Her blue eyes narrowed.
Then she spoke.
Low.
Almost to herself.
"…I understand."
Rain ran down her face.
Isabela raised her gaze again to Azazel.
"You tried to confuse me."
A slow step on the broken street.
"You used the memory of my father."
Her gaze passed over the impossible cuts in the street.
"You made it look like you were using the same movement."
The silence lasted a moment.
"The same Battō."
Her blue eyes returned to him.
"Formless cut."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Just like his."
Another step.
The mud split under her boot.
"You wanted me to believe everything was the same technique."
Her gaze then narrowed another degree.
"But when I entered the range…"
She pointed slightly toward the point where she had been repelled.
"you didn't cut."
The silence between them thickened.
"You defended."
Isabela observed the position of his arm.
"Gravity changed direction."
Another step.
"First to repel."
She raised her gaze again.
"Only then to cut."
A small pause.
Then she concluded:
"You can't do both at the same time."
Blue flames once again wrapped around her fists.
Her breathing stabilized.
"Defense…"
A step.
"or execution."
Her blue eyes shone.
"That's the interval."
Silence.
The rain fell between them.
Azazel watched.
Without surprise.
Without irritation.
Only evaluation.
Then he spoke.
Low.
Almost indifferent.
"Correct."
A pause.
"But irrelevant."
His foot sank half a centimeter into the mud.
His hips lowered.
The world around him aligned once more.
"The interval exists…"
His red eyes remained fixed on her.
"…because no one survives long enough to use it."
Silence.
The rain kept falling.
Isabela did not respond.
She simply closed her eyes.
Her breath entered slowly.
Left slowly.
For an instant—
the sound of the rain disappeared.
The air was colder.
Heavy.
A low ceiling of black stone.
The underground hall of the Western Marquisate smelled of iron.
Bodies were scattered across the floor.
Motionless.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Clothes torn.
Dark blood spread across the stone plates.
The sword in Isabela's hands trembled.
The man in front of her was also covered in blood.
His face stained.
His mouth smeared red.
But the eyes were still the same.
Steady.
Tired.
Her father.
He took a step forward.
The blade in his hand fell to the floor with a dry sound.
His voice came out low.
Hoarse.
"Isabela…"
He looked around.
At the bodies.
Then brought his eyes back to her.
"Kill me."
Her hand trembled.
He took another step.
Closer.
"You need to kill me now."
Her fingers tightened around the sword's grip.
The world felt too small to contain that moment.
Her father closed his eyes.
Accepting.
Waiting.
And then—
another voice appeared.
Ancient.
Deep.
Like metal resonating inside stone.
It did not come from the room.
Nor from the memory.
It came from within.
"The moment has come, Isabela."
Time seemed to stop.
The presence was immense.
Serene.
Unquestionable.
"Every valkyrie reaches this moment."
A heavy silence crossed the space of the memory.
"The instant when the heart chooses between hesitating…"
…or judging.
Isabela's hand stopped trembling.
"You already know pain."
The voice continued.
"Now learn certainty."
A breath of power ran through her body.
"Raise your blade."
A pause.
"And let the world remember…"
"…that Brynhildr still judges."
Isabela closed her eyes.
The memory shattered like glass.
The stone hall disappeared.
The rain returned.
Cold.
Heavy.
Azazel still stood before her.
But something had changed.
The blue energy around Isabela began to grow.
First like an ember.
Then like a living flame.
Azazel narrowed his eyes for the first time.
Isabela opened hers.
And the runes appeared.
In the right eye, the mark of ᛉ — Algiz.
Protection. Divine connection.
In the left, ᛏ — Tiwaz.
Justice. Honor. Sacrifice.
Blue spiritual energy burst around her, making the rain evaporate before it even touched the ground.
The blue flames she had left across the field began to respond.
As if recognizing her authority.
Brynhildr's voice echoed one last time.
Now stronger.
Like an ancient oath.
"Then judge."
The air around Isabela vibrated.
Azazel watched.
Silent.
But his red eyes had narrowed a degree.
For the first time…
he was truly paying attention.