You know, I never thought we’d be infiltrated. Of course, precautions were taken, but never in my wildest imagination did I expect to be tricked into bringing a spy into our establishment.
She paused, her black eyes locking with Asher’s purple ones. A piercing gaze.
Even that part where you claimed immunity to poisons? It was all part of the plan, wasn’t it? You were never immune. You simply said that to prevent us from using it on you—and it worked perfectly, I must say.
Number Six continued, but her words died as she waited for Asher’s reply.
After all, in battles, dialogues require both sides. Yet Asher remained silent, merely staring at her with a faint, composed smile. Her decryption of his plans now meant nothing. Besides, he rarely spoke during fights.
“Do you have nothing to say?” Number Six asked, tension thickening in the air.
Asher stayed silent, his stance unshaken. He came for their survival, not for debates. Number Five grinned, pleased to encounter a fellow who understood battles were won with steel, not words.
“Since you won’t speak,” Number Six declared, her presence shifting as though she’d unleash every weapon. But so had Number Four. His Astra energy surged, coating his body and amplifying his strength. Number Five and Six mirrored him instantly, their Astra energies surging to envelop them in blazing power.
Asher didn’t speak. He didn’t summon Astra energy. Instead, he adopted a stance, his rapier angled with calculated precision. His eyes sharpened, focus narrowing until only the three figures remained.
Tension tightened like a string at its breaking point. Pressure mounted until, like opposite magnetic poles, both sides collided with blistering speed and force, shattering the tension like fragile glass.
With catastrophic momentum, they crashed into each other. Four weapons clashed—three against one. Orange sparks erupted upon impact, scattering like miniature explosions across the battlefield.
Without missing a beat, they moved again, bodies dissolving into pure motion and force.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
The rhythm of metal striking metal seemed almost musical, a violent hymn of war. They moved with terrifying speed and strength: three streaks of black versus one streak of purple. The black trio pressed relentlessly into the purple, yet it remained unshaken, disturbingly calm.
Wherever they moved, the terrain shattered like fragile paper. Craters formed with every shift in stance. The air screamed and collapsed as their blades sliced through it, echoes thundering across the battlefield.
Basic blade techniques unfolded with textbook perfection. Slashes met parries. Thrusts met deflections. Cleaves met blocks. They transitioned seamlessly, as though they’d invented every move themselves. Each strike was timed perfectly, sometimes merging two techniques into a single fluid motion.
The wind recoiled before detonating outward with every clash. Shockwaves tore backward with terrifying intensity, while tremors rippled through the hills as both sides clashed repeatedly.
Every strike carried the weight of their will. Every parry embodied desperate defiance. Sparks erupted like falling stars as steel collided violently.
A single misstep meant death. Yet neither side faltered. No pauses, no hesitations—fights for survival were just another day in their existence. Their battle carved through the air, leaving lingering trails of lethal intent.
The three attackers, augmented by Astra energy, moved in flawless unison. Their pincer formation was perfect, attacks executed with chilling precision. They never targeted the same spot simultaneously—one struck for the eyes, another for the heart, the third for the legs. A symphony of perfection.
But perfection met perfection: Asher.
Though the trio wielded Astra-boosted strength, Asher relied solely on his own physical power. He matched their speed with raw muscle, parrying or dodging each strike with elegant precision or agile grace.
Though attacked from three directions at once, Asher remained indifferent. The number of attackers or strikes didn’t matter. Only himself, his rapier, and Virelass—the extension of his soul. Every strike carried decades of combat experience.
Again, they collided like a raging river against an impenetrable dam. Pressure climbed until, in this war without end, only one outcome remained: a corpse on the ground.
Until that moment came, they would never stop. No mercy, no pause, no end.
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