The archer poured everything into its last attack. It drew its bow with both hands and loosed a single arrow that carried all of it at once, a crimson star screaming across the battlefield toward its rival, the strongest shot it had left in a dying body.
The southern commander answered.
It brought both blades together and unleashed its own strongest technique, the killing art it had spent a lifetime refining, the one it had never quite been able to land on the archer while the archer held the upper hand.
Two crimson blades met the crimson arrow in the space between them, and the collision detonated in a burst of light and force that threw the snow within 20 meter radius high into the ash-gray sky.
And through that light, Moon's Raiju struck home.
It had failed against the archer once before, but not this time.
