As Ryujin had mentioned in the chapter before, the British man's name was Roger—Roger Taylor—a 22-year-old whose youth belied the weight of his years in service to the Word Elemental Defense Society. Yet no one could ever say for how long he had truly carried that burden. There was something timeless in his eyes, the kind of stillness that only came from witnessing too much too young.
In the still, frigid hush of May the third, beneath a sky veiled in dimness and cold, Ryujin called out to him. Not with authority, not with desperation, but with a tone shaped by something deeper—familiarity, history, and the quiet ache of a bond forged in fire and time.
"Ryujin-kun!~~"
Roger's voice sliced through the silence with mocking warmth, laced with a melody that only old friends could use as a weapon.
"Roger!!!"
Ryujin barked back, his voice echoing sharply in the still night air.
"Did you miss me? Darling?"
Roger teased.
"Certainly not. Bastard."
"Eh... at least you remember me, right?"
The wind between them thickened, the air itself seeming to hold its breath.
Roger's smirk widened. Once holding firm, his stance a wall against Ayro's assault, he stood unshaken as their blades met in a brief flash of steel. Sparks scattered through the cold, painting silver trails across the night before dying into darkness.
Then, without warning, Roger straightened, his movements crisp, mechanical, and perfect. The ground beneath him trembled ever so slightly—the air around him bent with pressure. His blade twitched once, then struck.
The blow was not violent, but absolute. It did not scream with fury—it whispered with precision. One clean sweep sent Ayro flying, lifted clean off the earth, his form carried by the unseen weight of the wind itself.
The trees beyond groaned under the force as Ayro's body broke through the undergrowth, swallowed by the dense forest.
"What the hell?! He was holding back, wasn't he?!"
The crash echoed—a dull thud that carried across the park and vanished into the night. The only thing that lingered was the drifting snow and the faint ripple of disturbed air.
"Ayro!!!"
Ryujin shouted, his voice sharp enough to cut through the wind.
"Hehe."
Roger giggled softly, the tone almost playful.
"Don't worry, Ryujin. Your new boyfriend's strong. He'll be fine."
The faint glint in his eye was too familiar. Ryujin knew that expression—it wasn't kindness. It was remembrance, mixed with something that hurt to look at.
Ryujin's gaze hardened. The years had changed them both, but the hostility burning now had roots in something old, something left unresolved.
"Tsk..."
"Aw man!! I'm so jealous!! Your new boyfriend's getting so much attention!!"
Roger laughed, swinging his sword lazily through the air, the blade whistling as it cut the breeze.
"What the fuck do you want? Why are you here?"
Ryujin asked, his tone stripped bare.
"Eh?... Since when did you learn to ask questions? I vaguely remember you instantly going for the head of anyone in front of you..."
The glimmer in Roger's eyes deepened. He tilted his head, studying Ryujin not as an enemy—but as someone he once fought beside, perhaps even admired.
"Hoh! Did you get softer the moment you left the squad?... By the way, say hi to Ashura for me!"
The mention of that name pulled the air from Ryujin's lungs. His thoughts sharpened instantly.
"His aim is Itoshi, isn't it? Itoshi and Kara are ahead... He'll reach them before I do."
The water user took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as droplets of condensation clung to his lashes.
"Your aim is... Itoshi, right?"
"Hoh?"
Roger blinked with interest, smiling faintly.
"You can have him."
The words fell like a blade. The silence that followed was staggering. Every figure nearby froze—Ayro, struggling to rise; Kara, eyes widening in disbelief; even the field men halted their steps, breath held between uncertainty and fear.
But none were more shaken than Itoshi, who stared at Ryujin with disbelief etched into every line of his face.
"Ryujin?! What the hell?!"
Ryujin didn't look at him. His voice came low, steady.
"I can't defeat him, Itoshi. There's no point resisting. We'll only wear ourselves out."
"Still?!"
"We can't just let Koya go!!"
Kara shouted, her voice trembling with frustration.
Ayro, still half-buried beneath broken branches, muttered under his breath.
"Giving him away?.. Itoshi's too valuable... What the hell are you planning, Ryujin?"
Itoshi's heartbeat quickened. His eyes narrowed as he watched.
"He's too calm... even though that guy's stronger, he doesn't look afraid. Maybe he's not bluffing. Maybe... he trusts him. Or worse... he knows something we don't."
"Ryujin-san?.. That's quite an irrational decision,"
Kirashi commented, tone polite but uneasy.
"My speed and strength match his, but his control over his element is something I can't match,"
Ryujin replied, his hand tightening around the spear's shaft.
"If I fight him head-on, we'll both break. He'll just recover faster."
"Roger never leaves a battle unfinished,"
Ryujin thought.
"He fights until he gets what he came for... or until there's nothing left standing."
Roger smiled thinly, exhaling a puff of steam into the cold night.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Ryujin-san, it's like you don't know me at all! Come! Face me like the old days!"
A small smirk ghosted across Ryujin's lips.
"Haha... I'm glad you never changed, Roger!!!"
In a single breath, Ryujin reached behind him and drew a baton from his back. The sound of it leaving its sheath was sharp, crisp.
As it spun in his grip, the weapon lengthened, twisting into his signature spear. Water coiled along the shaft, droplets glinting like shards of glass beneath the faint moonlight.
He lunged. The air howled as his spear sliced toward Roger's head—a streak of silver and water combined. Roger's sword caught it with perfect timing, the impact bursting into a ring of pressure that scattered frost and leaves outward.
Water exploded from the weapon's tip, but Roger answered it with a gust so strong it tore through the mist, clearing the air in a spiral of force.
Itoshi blinked hard, trying to keep his eyes on them.
"They're... they're strong..."
Their movements were too fast to follow. Each strike left a brief shockwave, each block echoed with a hiss of water meeting wind.
The clash of their elements danced violently, scattering droplets and dust into a storm of their own creation.
"Kara! We have to help Ayro-san!"
Itoshi called.
"R-right!"
Roger's eyes flicked toward the noise. His hand darted behind him, pulling a dagger from his belt. Without hesitation, he threw it—a flash of metal tearing through the dark toward Itoshi. But Ryujin's reflexes were faster. The butt of his spear intercepted the dagger mid-air, knocking it aside with a heavy crack as sparks flew.
"Quick thinking as usual!"
Roger grinned.
"Haha! Have you gotten rusty, Roger?!"
"Hell no!"
The two clashed again, and the world narrowed to their fight alone. Water struck air. Wind tore through liquid.
For every thrust, there was an equal push, every dodge a mirror of memory. Neither wanted to kill the other—yet both fought as if killing was the only way to be understood.
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, Ayro stood still, his breathing ragged. His body ached from the earlier blow, but his eyes remained sharp. The silence pressed heavy until a faint shift in the air made him draw his blade again.
"I thought you left already,"
Ayro muttered, watching as The Kunoichi emerged from the darkness, her cloak catching faint moonlight.
"Heard a loud crash. Thought I might crash out."
Her tone was casual, too casual.
Ayro's eyes narrowed.
"That's a lie. You already knew we were fighting out here,"
he thought to himself.
"Quite the entertainment, huh?"
He said aloud.
"These battles?"
The Kunoichi asked.
"Right."
"Nah. It's kinda boring."
Her gaze drifted past him, toward the faint flashes of blue and white deeper in the woods.
"What brought you here then? Something caught your eyes?"
The asked.
There was a pause. Then she asked,
"You guys have two flame users? Is that true?"
"Two?... No."
"Eh... that Roger dude must be wrong then."
Ayro frowned.
"Two flame users?.. There's no way it's Kara... I can't sense her spark."
"Is that all you came here for?"
"I'd like to to know more."
Ayro closed his eyes for a second.
"Sorry, wrong person. Our leader knows him more than us."
"Hehh..."
The silence after she vanished was heavier than before. Leaves rustled faintly where she had stood, carried by a lazy swirl of wind that smelled faintly of steel and rain.
The sound lingered for a long moment—soft, detached, almost mournful.
And beneath the moonless sky, two leaders continued their duel. The forest bent and shivered around them as water clashed with air, each strike birthing a storm of sound. They were not fighting for victory. Not for pride. Not even for their teams.
They were fighting for the ghosts of their past—the pieces of themselves that had been left behind long before this night.
~~~To be Continued~~~