The carriage sped through the streets of the Silverstar district. Wilt sat inside, eyes closed in meditation, but beneath the mask of calm, his heart was uneasy.
Two months ago, after the clash with the Blasphemer, he had relentlessly searched for the Discord Seal bearer. Killing the Blasphemer and seizing the Seal, then performing the sacrifice ritual—it would surely attract the god's attention and bring his blessing. Loxi always generously rewarded those who pleased him. This deity's blessing converted the sacrifice into spiritual power: part went to the god, part was granted to the believer, directly boosting their power. That was why people risked everything to worship him and zealously performed rituals.
Wilt had been a fourth-level magical swordsman for several years and stood on the threshold of the fifth. Divine blessing and credit for capturing the Discord Seal would elevate him by at least one level. He had prepared a Demonic Soul for fusion after advancing—perhaps it would let him reach the sixth level directly!
Everything was ready; only the Blasphemer himself was missing.
Yet nearly two months of searching yielded no results. He visited the Demonic Souls Market almost daily, even tracked down the place where the Blasphemer once lived—an apartment on Koshem Street—but all in vain.
"Damn it, I should have killed him that night," Wilt thought bitterly, but knew nothing could be changed now.
The Blasphemer was extremely cautious: on the night of Hogan's murder, he had hidden his face, and in the darkness, Wilt hadn't even glimpsed his features. He knew only that the Blasphemer was a young, tall Iron Guard with an excellent Steel Body element and considerable strength. But those traits were too vague for a search.
Wilt didn't want to report the Blasphemer to the Shadow Blade, lest he miss the chance to please the god, so he searched alone. His frequent absences had already drawn the ire of his superiors; he had to invent excuses.
"Another half month of searching," he decided, "and if I find nothing, I'll have to give up." He recalled the organization's plans: despite recent setbacks, they were entering the final stage, and soon he wouldn't be able to move freely around the city. His heart tightened with frustration.
But suddenly...
Wilt's eyes snapped open, and he straightened in the carriage. He froze in doubt at first, then joy lit his face.
A clear sensation arose in his mind.
"Discord Seal!"
Suppressing his excitement, Wilt subtly peeked out the window, searching for the Blasphemer. The carriage rolled slowly down the street. He sensed the Discord Seal very close, just ahead and to the right.
Wilt glanced sideways and saw a bicycle.
The carriage gradually overtook and passed it, allowing him to examine the cyclist. It was a young man of about twenty, sturdy build, with a strikingly handsome face: thick brows, large eyes, calm gaze. Anyone who saw him would remember him for a long time.
Wilt immediately recalled Hogan's words: the Blasphemer was a very handsome young man impossible to forget. The description matched perfectly.
Wilt smirked inwardly: Hogan was right; this Blasphemer's looks were indeed outstanding.
"Finally, I found you."
Watching him pedal, Wilt felt a strange mix of emotions: excitement, frustration, and a burning desire to kill him immediately.
The carriage overtook the bicycle and pulled ahead. Wilt didn't rush. Only at the next intersection did he order the carriage stopped and stepped out.
He sauntered casually to a newsstand and, turning away from the street, pretended to browse newspapers.
Half a minute later, the Blasphemer pedaled past on his bicycle, noticing nothing. Wilt watched until the bike vanished from sight, tossed the newspaper aside, and followed.
Wind element power flowed through his body. To onlookers, Wilt walked at a normal pace, but each step covered several meters. He breezed past pedestrians like a light gust; many noticed only a fleeting shadow and dismissed it as an optical illusion.
He alternately caught up to his target and lagged behind, sometimes stopping and using cover to avoid the Blasphemer's eyes. Wilt fully utilized his Squall Wind Magical Swordsman abilities: moving fast and lightly like the wind, without drawing attention on the street.
Occasionally the bicycle entered deserted stretches. Wilt didn't pursue blindly but listened to sounds carried by the wind, and with his honed scout skills, he never lost the target.
The bicycle left the Silverstar district, crossed the bridge over the Ferreglen river, passed through the Los district, and finally entered the Rian district, where the poor huddled.
The streets here were crowded, the atmosphere chaotic and labyrinthine, making pursuit easier.
"So that's where you were hiding, in the slums! No wonder I couldn't find you," Wilt thought with hidden malice. Without today's luck, he might have searched for years.
Moments later, he saw his target enter a tavern courtyard.
"Tavern 'Basilisk'."
Wilt didn't rush inside. Hiding around the corner, he observed for a while. The tavern was quite popular, with superhumans constantly coming and going. Even from the street came noise and chatter—many people playing cards. A typical tavern.
The Blasphemer entered and didn't reappear.
"Perhaps just a temporary stop. If I don't act fast, I might lose him again."
After hesitating, Wilt decided to enter and scout. He wasn't afraid of recognition: that night he too had hidden his face and altered his voice.
Entering the tavern, he was immersed in noise and alcohol fumes. Wilt grimaced, scanned the hall with a dozen tables, but saw no Blasphemer.
He sat at a free table, ordered several dishes and drinks.
Card players' shouts mingled with the bawdy laughter of loose women. Occasionally, a loser started a brawl, but the tavern owner, a Dwarf with a red mohawk, quickly ejected the troublemakers.
A typical scene from countless taverns worldwide. Superhumans gathered for three things: cards, women, and booze. Losing at cards, quarreling over a woman, or drunken bravado inevitably led to fights for the crowd's entertainment.
Wilt ate and drank, ceaselessly searching for the Blasphemer. As a Squall Wind Magical Swordsman, he had sharpened hearing and air flow sensitivity, but the tavern noise drowned out useful info.
He didn't question the waitstaff, lest he give himself away.
Wilt was patient. During his meal, the Blasphemer reappeared. He ordered dinner from a waiter and asked it be taken to the inner courtyard.
"Inner courtyard?" Wilt latched onto that.
He finished eating, sat another half hour until dark, then stood and left.
Circling behind the tavern, Wilt donned his mask and vaulted the wall lightly, landing silently like a falling autumn leaf.
He lurked in the shadows by the wall, listening for minutes. From a room on one side of the courtyard came faint breathing—steady, strong. Seemed a superhuman was sleeping there.
"Bed so early?" Wilt wondered. He crept cautiously to the window and peered through a crack.
On the bed lay a shirtless gray-haired man. His body was covered in scars, and at the headboard rested two cruciform long swords. He slept soundly, unaware of the intruder.
The man embraced a woman with a perfect figure. Only her white shoulder and dark curly hair were visible, hiding most of her face. She lay pressed to his chest; even her half-hidden profile was infinitely beautiful. The curved lines of her body under the thin blanket stirred the imagination.
Judging by the rumpled sheets, the two had recently indulged in passion.
"The Witcher, not the Blasphemer."
From the window view and brief glance, Wilt couldn't gauge the Witcher's strength but figured a powerful warrior wouldn't stay in a poor tavern.
Wilt was about to step away when something in the woman's profile seemed familiar.
"And why didn't I hear her breathing? Strange."
He froze indecisively, trying to recall where he'd seen her, but in vain. Unable to resist, he peeked again.
Now Wilt focused on the woman. He noticed a tiny mole at the left corner of her lips, rice-grain sized, almost invisible.
"Mole..."
At that moment, the woman stirred slightly. Dark curls parted a bit, revealing more features.
Wilt finally recognized her. His eyes widened in horror.
He stood petrified at the window, not daring to move. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead. Uncontrollable shivers wracked his body. He lacked the courage to look into the room again.
One thought pounded in Wilt's head: run! Immediately!
Holding his breath, he began retreating on tiptoe, careful not to make a sound, fearing to wake the sleepers.
"Where do you think you're going?" a voice suddenly said, nearly scaring Wilt to death.
He whipped around and saw a tall figure at the courtyard entrance. It was the Blasphemer he'd tracked all day, looking at him with a mocking grin.
Ten seconds ago, Wilt would have rejoiced at this encounter, but now he wanted only to be as far away as possible.
"He lured me here on purpose!"
Thoughts whirled in Wilt's head, and he paled. Too much became clear.
Without thinking of fighting, he gathered all his wind element power and darted like a black shadow to the courtyard wall, trying to escape.
"Decided to run?" The Blasphemer seemed to anticipate it. With a powerful lunge, he intercepted.
Wilt's blood ran cold. He keenly felt the air flows and knew the monstrous power of that lunge—like an oncoming train. Collision meant certain death or grievous wounds.
"His power has grown!"
"Dodge!"
Wilt's right foot struck the air; a vortex formed underfoot like an invisible platform. Using that force, he altered his flight path while drawing his single-edged sword.
The slightly curved blade flared azure—this was "Sword Flash."
The razor-sharp edge, carrying immense power, cleaved the air toward the charging foe.
To his surprise, the Blasphemer didn't dodge—perhaps mid-lunge he couldn't change course. He simply took the hit.
Wilt knew the enemy had Steel Body for incredible defense. Yet this strike held all his power—he was sure it could pierce even Steel Body, inflicting a deep wound and seriously injuring the foe.
In an instant, they closed.
The blade struck true, slicing top to bottom—from forehead to bridge of nose, chin, chest. Wind element power exploded at contact.
Wilt expected blood, but sparks flew instead!
It felt like striking not flesh but the hardest steel ingot. The sword rebounded with such force that Wilt's arms went numb; he nearly dropped it.
"It's over..." flashed in his mind.
Before the thought fully formed, he was knocked off his feet. It felt like slamming into an iron wall at full speed. Monstrous force crushed him, hurling him back. He crashed in the courtyard, right under that room's window.
Pain pierced his body; he heard bones crack. Ignoring wounds, Wilt tried to rise. He glanced fearfully at the window—movement sounded inside; someone was waking.
Before he could react, a sharp air whistle filled the courtyard again. He turned—the Blasphemer lunged anew.
In a blink, the tall figure loomed before him.
Gathering remnants of strength and suppressing pain, Wilt used Wind Step the moment collision seemed inevitable. His shadow dissolved into wind, reappearing behind the enemy.
In a normal fight, this would be perfect for counterattack. But Wilt thought only of escape.
He kept using Wind Step, his figure flickering unpredictably, rapidly widening the distance.
Suddenly, the Blasphemer halted. Runes on his gray-white leather belt glowed. A deafening clap like thunder rang out. A wave of pale-violet magical energy from the Blasphemer exploded, sweeping everything. The whole courtyard shook.
Bam!
The shockwave, lightning-fast, hit Wilt mid-move. It flung him from the wind stream; he crashed again.
"Sorcerous Blast!"
Wilt recognized the spell but couldn't fathom: wasn't this Blasphemer an Iron Guard? Where'd he get a magic item?
The shockwave stunned him seconds, worsening wounds. Rising again, he saw the Blasphemer hadn't pursued but stood in the courtyard watching.
"What's happening?" raced through Wilt's bewildered mind.
He desperately leaped for the wall.
Suddenly, silver sword gleam flashed before his eyes. The sleeping Witcher had somehow appeared on the wall.
Wilt instinctively raised his sword to block, but the Witcher was faster. His blade moved with incredible speed and skill, piercing Wilt's heart.
Wilt fell from the wall. Lying on the ground, he looked up at the Witcher. His eyes bulged in terror. A weak rasp escaped his bloodied mouth:
"Legendary..."
Before finishing, he breathed his last.