"Sir, please."
Throne twisted his neck, skin crawling at the welcome committee's sickening hospitality. Others bled their way through Rivers of Blood to reach the Valkyrie—he got a red carpet. His boots scuffed marble as a razor-edged gaze sliced into his back.
Marais stood frozen with his executioner's sword, the king's favorite attack dog caught between duty and terror. The man's fingers twitched toward his hilt but never closed. Throne spat on the floor. Not just a welcome—a fucking humiliation parade.
He dragged Sellen aside by her sleeve.
"Wait here."
Her fingers crackled with glintstone energy.
"You don't want backup?"
"Only if you smell rot."
Throne cracked his knuckles.
"Then bury the whole place."
The church doors groaned as he entered. His sword hissed from its scabbard, combat high drowning out the gilded saints staring from stained glass. No time for art appreciation when walking into a blade's embrace. His heel smashed the hidden mechanism—click—and the floor swallowed him whole.
Down. Deeper.
Red butterflies swarmed the sinking platform, their wings dusting his armor with rot-tinged pollen. The air thickened with decay's cloying sweetness. Malenia waited below. Logic said this shouldn't be a deathmatch—both golden needles were accounted for, the bloom contained.
"Talk first," Throne muttered. "Stab if she insists."
Sellen thought him reckless. She was wrong. He'd just rather bleed than beg. The elevator cables screamed as walls blurred past—brick after brick after brick. He exhaled every doubt, every calculation. Consequences could rot with the rest.
This wasn't about rewards. This was debt.
The platform shuddered to a halt. Rot punched his nostrils, a physical weight against his chest. Throne grinned through the burn and uncorked his Flask of Wondrous Physick. Golden light spilled down his throat.
"Wanted a clean fight."
Muscle fibers popped as Bloodboil's heat ignited his veins.
"But we'll do this your way."
Dragon's Power turned his bones to steel.
The hollow stretched before him—a cathedral of roots and ruin. Wildflowers choked the cracked earth, their petals trembling as he approached the Haligtree's weeping roots. There.
Malenia knelt like a forgotten relic, one arm outstretched toward the bark. Scarlet hair curtained her face. No shattered helmet. No missing limbs. Just closed eyes and intact armor, the rot held at bay. Throne's shoulders loosened.
Then he stepped forward.
Killing intent lashed out—a sleeping lion's reflexive snarl. Finlay hadn't lied. That aura alone could flay skin.
Throne took another step. Boots crushed petals into mud.
The statue moved.
Her head lifted with mechanical slowness, tendons creaking after centuries of stillness. Something primal woke behind those eyelids.
Third step—
CLANG.
Vines exploded as the prosthetic blade unsheathed. Miquella's gift sang from its scabbard of flesh, hungry after long starvation.
Facing Miquella's blade, Throne felt his heartbeat stop for the space between lightning and thunder. But no petals unfurled. No rot geysered forth. Just steel and a warrior's grudging restraint.
Not best. Not worst.
His teacher's meddling had consequences. Throne felt that he wasn't just repaying a favor, but rather helping Sellen fix a mess, though the latter didn't care.
"'Valkyrie' Malenia, we meet again. I am sorry to disturb your slumber. Do you still remember me? Ten years ago, I owed you a favor."
Throne took off his helmet and greeted her in a calm tone. An existence he once had to look up to, he could now finally look at eye-to-eye.
He squinted his eyes and sized her up. There was no reaction. Moreover, the Valkyrie lowered her head, and her red bangs blocked her expression. Throne didn't know if she was deep in thought or recalling memories. After a full second, Malenia shook her body as if she hadn't woken up, and then—
Clang—Dang!! Throne drew Moonveil.
His unsheathing strike happened to slam into the middle section of the prosthetic blade. With pupils constricting, Malenia, who was originally twenty meters away, was instantly in front of him. A straight thrust grazed the side of Throne's face, and the sword aura left a slight wound. Sword hilt against sword hilt, the blades sparked.
Throne, having prepared early, felt his body pushed back half a meter, and the web between his thumb and index finger went slightly numb. Afterward, through the gaps in the red hair, he saw those golden eyes. Wild and sharp, there was no emotion of seeing an old acquaintance. This instant basically allowed Throne to determine the opponent's state.
Her consciousness was blurred, or rather, she was still living in the moment of the bloom in Caelid. Since that was the case, there was nothing left to say.
"Malenia, your morning grumpiness is quite something!"
Throne lifted his head and slammed it heavily into Malenia's forehead, making her stumble back several steps.
He then rushed forward, raised Moonveil, and unleashed a series of downward slashes. Dang! Dang! Dang! Three consecutive slashes, each heavier than the last. Malenia's stance was shattered. When the sword aura of the fourth slash blew away her hair, she leaped back lightly. The speed was extremely fast; one leap covered over ten meters. But Throne was not slow either.
The moment her toes touched the ground, he sidestepped and thrust forward. Whoosh—
The air was pierced, and the Valkyrie, having landed on her heels, also thrust out her prosthetic blade. Twisting blade! Ding. The sword tips collided with a soft hum, each springing upward, then simultaneously pressing down. The two rotated their wrists as if they had a tacit understanding. Clang, clang, clang...
The two sharp blades entangled like two snakes, the edges full of brilliant sparks from friction. Then they twisted onto each other's right hands, rubbed against the prosthetic arm and arm armor, and finally, before stabbing into each other's chests, they simultaneously withdrew their blades and retreated. Such fast swords, such strong swordsmanship, such accurate judgment.
Throne felt his faintly aching arm, his eyes full of ecstasy. In The Lands Between, there were many strong individuals and monsters, but how many top-tier swordsmen like this were there?
"Come again!"
Throne steadied his stance. Seeing the sword light magnifying in his eyes, he quickly bent down.
Feeling the blade graze his scalp, he took the opportunity to sweep at her legs, but the lowered prosthetic arm had already blocked the way. Ding! With a soft hum, she flipped her wrist, pointing the blade at his face, forcing Throne to lift his head. Watching the sword light pass by the tip of his nose, he simply raised his leg and kicked towards the Valkyrie's crotch. Smack.
Malenia clamped her thighs together, but her entire body was still blown into the air by the huge force. The prosthetic blade that had sprung out, however, suddenly retracted. Sheathing the blade. This didn't mean she stopped fighting. The rapid retraction made Throne feel a chill on his neck, and warm blood sprayed out.
The mechanism clicked. He gripped his sword with both hands and swung upward with everything he had.
DANG.
The slash carried his full strength—yet met only air. Malenia had already bent her knees, using the momentum to leap clear, landing beside the gnarled root where she'd rested moments before. Throne didn't pursue.
He glanced left. A deep gash split his neck. Blood pulsed down his armored arm, over the blade, then dripped to the earth. He wiped it away with a slow swipe.
"Miquella's blade lives up to its name."
This Valkyrie needed no flourishes. Her swordsmanship distilled to its essence—basic cuts, thrusts, parries.
But speed defined it. Unrelenting speed. Fast enough that Throne couldn't weave magic, couldn't ready skills. No wonder she'd taken so many heads during The Shattering. By the time you gathered energy, her steel already split your brow.
"And her judgment—prophetic. Anticipating my moves a heartbeat ahead."
He remembered the leg-sweep from earlier. No special ability. Just a killer's intuition, honed through countless butchery. Malenia didn't react to the praise. She couldn't. Not anymore.
Her body swayed like a drunkard's. Throne slowly raised his sword, tilting the blade—
Steel light washed over his cheek. The mirror-polished edge reflected those molten gold eyes.
"Again."
No need to speak. The next blade-flash reached his eyes before she did.
First cut: the earth. Wildflowers severed at the stem.
Second cut: an upward arc. Petals bisected midair.
Third cut: a lunge. A storm of shredded blossoms whipped past Throne's face.
Malenia's footwork flowed like water. Her strikes coiled like a dragon.
Layer upon layer, she pressed him. Throne gave ground, blocking only when necessary. No ultimate techniques. No spectacle. The duel between The Lands Between's finest swordsmen was, against expectation, brutally simple.
In breaths, Throne found himself backed against the Haligtree's roots.
The sword-light before him accelerated. He dropped into a crouch.
SWISH—THUNK.
Her prosthetic blade buried itself in the root, twisted, sent wood chips flying. Malenia stepped in, elbow driving forward.
BANG.
It slammed into Throne's raised crossguard. They stood chest-to-chest now. No room to swing.
"Good read."
Throne grinned. He kicked backward—
CRACK.
The meter-thick root snapped clean. The explosive force hurled Malenia away—but Throne felt no resistance. His pupils narrowed.
She landed feather-light meters back. Toes touched earth. She rebounded instantly.
That fractional pause was all she needed. A screen of sword-light shimmered around her.
But Throne didn't charge. He too gathered strength.
Waterfowl Dance. Vortex Cloud Crossing.
Fast swords against fast swords. The air itself filled with intersecting light.
Dozens of strikes collided in a single breath.
TING-TING-TING-TING—
The clangor came too fast to separate. Sparks erupted everywhere, painting the dim hollow bright as fresh snow.
Using fast swords against fast swords, the brilliant sword light filled every inch of the air.
Perhaps it was too brilliant; Malenia's dull face changed for the first time. It seemed to be confusion, and it also seemed to be distress. Her golden eyes shifted downward, seeing that Throne's left hand was already gripping the red-handled katana. The man stepped forward, passing through the afterimages of the remaining swords, and drew Rivers of Blood.
Secret Sword: Blood Slash!
Clang—
Vortex Cloud Crossing had not yet dissipated. An arc of blood-colored sword light, fast to the extreme, instantly tore the afterimages in front of it, lingering in the air for a long time without fading. The two passed each other. Throne glanced at the blood droplets dripping on the blade, slowly turned around, his face carrying a bit of regret.
"It's a pity. Your instincts are still there, but influenced by the Scarlet Rot, your mind is no longer like that of a swordsman."
A swordsman is not a berserker; no matter how crazy, one must retain some calmness. Malenia lowered her head, seeing her breastplate slashed open, leaving a deep slash wound on her chest.
She had instinctively dodged just now, otherwise, she would have been cut into two pieces by now. Pain assaulted her mind, and the aura of death lingered in her heart. With almost no hesitation, she turned her prosthetic blade and stabbed it fiercely into her own left chest. She wanted to pull out the needle.
If back at the time of Caelid, Malenia still had strong self-esteem—if not for Miquella, she would rather die than bow to the rot. Then now, she was a ticking time bomb. Touch me? Touch me and I bloom.
"Don't even think about it."
Throne had long been guarding against this move.
The moment the prosthetic blade twisted, he lunged forward with a step, his two swords crossing as he slashed towards her neck. He wanted to see if she was faster at pulling the needle or if his sword was faster. Malenia, who had already touched her chest with the prosthetic blade, pulled it out forcefully, turned around, and blocked above her head.
Dang!!
The two swords pressed down, forcing her onto one knee. And Throne looked at that heroic face, a smile finally leaking from the corners of his mouth. He had bet right. Regardless of whether she was the Goddess of Rot or some other ghost thing, the purpose of blooming the Scarlet Flower wasn't to destroy the world, but simply an immortal deity wanting to return.
In other words, the will to survive should be above the desire to bloom.
"As long as I keep death inseparable from you, your energy will be focused on continuing your life."
Throne slowly pressed down, and when he was about to touch Malenia's shoulder, he suddenly withdrew his sword.