At the border between the inner city and the harbor district, Hiltina pulled her slender rapier free from an Iron Cross's chest.The gray-white body collapsed with a dull crash, spilling a trail of ink-black blood across the stones.
Gunfire cracked behind her—short, fierce bursts from a weapon not yet common in this era: a prototype drum-fed automatic rifle.
The Iron Cross marksman had superb aim, its reflexes unnervingly precise after mutation. It fired at the perfect moment—just as Hiltina twisted aside to parry a frontal attack, leaving herself open on the flank.By normal logic, she should have been dead.
But Hiltina reacted in time. A silver brilliance flared in her eyes, and her rapier glimmered with the same radiant sheen.
In that instant, everything around her slowed—the lunging Iron Crosses, the bullets slicing through air, the whip of the wind, even the chaos of noise.Only her blade remained constant, gleaming silver in a world that had almost stopped moving.
That was the power of her Night Blade.
Hiltina's Night Blade could bestow the concept of "weapon" upon anything—and grant her absolute mastery over it.Even a frail child holding a twig could, under her ability, wield it with the deadliness of a seasoned soldier's sword.
And Hiltina herself was already a battle-hardened swordswoman.Her rapier, Morning Star, had accompanied her through countless nights in the dark world. When she unleashed her Night Blade, that accumulated experience—thousands of hours, thousands of strikes—rose to an entirely new plane.
She entered a state of perfect focus.In her mind, every bullet's path, every enemy's flaw, every weakness in their encirclement crystallized into pure data—information flowing into her consciousness, analyzed and resolved in an instant, until the chaos became clarity.
As Rast once put it, borrowing from an old martial novel of his previous life:"The heart of the sword is clear—the sword and the soul are one."
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!A cascade of ringing impacts burst in the air as her blade flickered, intercepting every bullet in a dazzling instant.
At the same time, Rast opened fire. His revolver spat out spinning, full-metal rounds that sang through the air.
He didn't aim for the Iron Cross's chest or head—their vital points were armored by iron membranes that made killing them outright impossible.Trading fire between a single revolver and an automatic rifle would've been suicide anyway.
Instead, Rast targeted the creature's wrist.
With a sharp flash, the rifle slipped from the Iron Cross's grip—only to be trampled and crushed underfoot by the swarm surging from behind.
Rast fired again and again, both hands steady.His bullets struck the gas pipes running along the sides of the street. The sparks ignited the leaking fumes, and a roaring curtain of flame swept across the road, briefly halting the Iron Crosses' advance.
But they couldn't stop running.
Iron Crosses were closing in from every direction, drawn by the scent of Rast's blood and the call of the Outer God's idol.If one could see the whole city from above, the scene would've resembled a tidal wave devouring Deep Blue Harbor—and Rast and Hiltina were the lone souls stranded before the flood, sprinting desperately as the black sea chased them down.
Their destination was the harbor, faintly visible ahead—the final stretch.But they were on foot now.
The crimson stallion was gone.While leaping to avoid a bear trap the Iron Crosses had set, it had been hit midair by a stray bullet to the leg.Rast's only mercy had been to put a bullet through its head before the swarm reached it.
"Everyone dies," he'd murmured then.
Hiltina hadn't known whether he meant everyone else—or the two of them as well.
…
Ten minutes later, drenched in blood and exhaustion, Rast and Hiltina finally reached the harbor district.
Unlike the densely packed residential areas, the port was sparsely populated—rows of ammunition warehouses and steam factories stretching into the mist.
Rast checked his pocket watch, then stopped. "Rest. Just for a bit."
Rumble—
Thunder split the sky before his words had fully left his mouth.
Hiltina instinctively looked up. The bright, cloudless sky of moments ago had turned black.Seconds later, a torrential downpour slammed down, drenching them both.The fickle, temperamental weather of the coast in full display.
Rast bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath in the rain. "The Iron Crosses track mainly by scent. The rain will wash away the blood traces—they won't find us for a while."
The silver light in Hiltina's eyes faded, her irises returning to their natural hazel.
These Iron Crosses—able to use firearms, even set traps—were far more dangerous than the mindless zombies of film.
The physical strain of the chase was nothing compared to the mental toll.To deflect bullets, she'd had to maintain the Night Blade the entire way—what Rast jokingly called her "Sword Saint mode."
That state consumed enormous mental energy. After continuous use, her mind was near its limit.As her tense focus slackened, fatigue and drowsiness flooded in like a wave.
And in that fleeting moment of weakness—a surge of savage, inexplicable rage welled up inside her.
She looked at Rast.Suddenly, he seemed less like a person and more like a pristine, delicate doll—something begging to be torn apart.
In her mind's eye, she could already see it: Rast's elegant body ripped to pieces, his fabric and clockwork innards scattered across the floor… only his handsome head remaining, dangling from her hand as she twisted it a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees with a serene smile.
Hiltina jolted in horror.
Her Night Blade and Chariot-sequence sigils activated on their own—silver flames flaring in her pupils, the pendants on her chest bursting with radiant light as glowing crests appeared around her.
It took her a long moment to suppress the violent impulse clawing at her heart.At last, the silver fire in her eyes dimmed and went out.
Rain washed over her arm, where a faint black cross mark slowly faded from her pale skin until it vanished completely.
She forced her gaze away from Rast—afraid that another second of looking might turn the urge into action.
"Rast," she said weakly, "right now, you look like a very pretty doll… and I feel like a brat who can't stop herself from tearing her toys apart."
"Perfectly normal," Rast replied, not even lifting his head. "You're not infected, but the lead box can't completely block the idol's corruption. Some of it's leaking out—enough to influence you subconsciously."
"But from the looks of it, your sequence rank is high enough, and your will's strong enough to suppress the Iron Cross plague for now. As long as you don't have any open wounds, you'll be fine."
His tone stayed calm despite the downpour."Oh, and for the record, Hiltina—right now, you look to me like a delicious red bean bun."
He paused.
"The kind that makes you want to bite through the soft white crust… and taste the sweet, velvety filling burst across your tongue."