Ever since joining Fairy Tail, she had been requipping.
Heaven's Wheel Armor, Flame Empress Armor, Adamantine Armor, Black Wing Armor... She used different armors to face different enemies, fighting with the power the armors granted her.
But what about the "Erza" beneath the armor?
What did the Erza who didn't rely on any external objects, who fought with only the sword in her hand, look like?
The firebird's impact grew stronger, and the cracks on the tower shield multiplied.
The Adamantine Armor began to groan under the strain.
"Let's end it here." Ikaruga swung her sword, preparing to launch a second slash to completely shatter Erza's defense.
But just then—
Erza smiled.
It was a faint smile, but Ikaruga saw it.
'What was she smiling about? Smiling at death's door?'
"You're right," Erza's voice came through the flames, calm, but carrying a certain realization.
"I've always sealed myself within my armor. Using armor to protect myself, to arm myself, to define myself."
"But armor... is ultimately an external thing."
She let go, and the massive tower shield fell to the ground with a clang.
Ikaruga was stunned.
Giving up her defense? Was she suicidal?
But in the next second, she saw it.
The heavy Adamantine Armor on Erza's body began to disintegrate and dissipate.
It wasn't shattered, she had actively canceled the requip herself.
The armor vanished, revealing the figure within.
Ikaruga's eyes widened slightly.
It was an Erza she had never seen before.
Her upper body was wrapped only in white sarashi bandages around her chest, revealing her beautifully toned, snow-white shoulders, back, and midriff.
Her skin, illuminated by the firelight, had a warm luster, like the finest porcelain, without a single scar.
On her lower body, she wore a pair of deep red, loose-fitting trousers that flared out like morning glories, cinched at the ankles.
She was barefoot.
No armor, no weapons, only a head of red hair dancing wildly in the heatwave.
And those eyes.
The hesitation, struggle, and self-doubt in those eyes had all vanished.
In their place was a clarity as clear as a spring, a resolve as sharp as a sword's edge.
"Thank you," Erza said to Ikaruga, her voice calm. "Thank you for helping me understand some things."
She raised her hand, palm up.
"Requip..."
A Magic Circle unfolded in her palm, but it wasn't the usual complex and ornate diagram.
It was a simple, pure light pattern in the shape of a sword.
In Erza's hands, there was no armor, no shield, only two swords.
Simple, silver-white, unadorned twin swords.
The blades were slender, their edges flowing with a faint silver light, looking utterly plain.
But Ikaruga's pupils suddenly constricted.
Because she could feel it—these two swords is more powerful than all her previous armors combined.
It wasn't power granted by magic, but the materialization of Erza's own soul, will, and conviction.
These were her "Clear Heart Clothing" swords.
"Come," Erza said, holding the twin swords, assuming the simplest ready stance.
"Round two."
Ikaruga slowly sheathed her sword, then adopted a drawing stance—her right hand on the hilt, her body leaning slightly forward, her left foot stepping half a pace forward.
This was the "Iai" stance of the Mumyo Style's drawing technique, meaning the next strike would be her strongest, condensing all her spirit and energy.
The blade within the scabbard began to hum deeply.
It wasn't the vibration of metal, but the lament of space itself.
With her at the center, the space within a three-meter radius began to warp and fold, light refracting within it into bizarre colors.
This was the ultimate secret art of the Mumyo Style, a forbidden technique she had never used in actual combat—
"Mumyo Sword Art: Yomi Hirasaka."
She uttered the name of the technique, and then—
In front, behind, to the left, to the right, above, below... at every angle, in every position, stood an Ikaruga.
Each Ikaruga was performing a different action—some were drawing their swords, some were slashing, some were thrusting, some were blocking.
Every action was flawless, every figure real and substantial.
Erza moved.
She didn't defend, didn't dodge, but stepped forward to meet the countless illusions.
Her twin swords drew two perfect silver arcs in the air.
The arcs seemed slow, so slow that one could see the trajectory of the blades cutting through the air, so slow that one could see the silver light flowing on the blades.
But it was this "slow" to the extreme strike that precisely passed through the gaps between all the illusions, through the boundary between the illusory and the real, through the folds of space and time.
Ikaruga's pupils suddenly constricted to the size of a pinprick.
She saw it.
The moment Erza struck, she saw all the flaws in her own sword technique, saw the one and only, fatal "mirror surface" of her technique—which was herself. When there were too many illusions, reality itself became the biggest flaw.
She wanted to change her move, to retreat, to block.
But it was too late.
Erza's swords had already passed through all her defenses, through all her illusions, through all her sword intent.
And stopped before her throat.
The sword tips were only an inch from her skin. They advanced no further.
All the illusions shattered at this moment, like flowers in a mirror or the moon in the water, dissipating without a trace.
"You've lost."
Three simple words, with no mockery, no smugness, just stating a fact.
"Yes... I've lost," Ikaruga said in a low, somewhat hoarse voice.
She gave Erza a deep look. "Your sword... is beautiful. It's the most beautiful sword I've ever seen."
After speaking, she turned and walked toward the training ground's exit.
But after just two steps, her body suddenly swayed, and she fell to one knee.
Beneath her mask, a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.
She wiped the blood from her mouth, her voice regaining its composure.
"I will remember today's defeat. If there is a chance in the future..."
She didn't finish her sentence, staggering toward the exit, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the staircase.
Erza stood in place, looking at the twin swords in her hands, silent for a long time.
"That was a good fight."
Ace's voice came from the stairwell.
He slowly walked up to the eighth floor, glanced in the direction Ikaruga had disappeared, then looked at Erza.
"Your sword has changed."
Erza sheathed her twin swords, turned to look at him, and a relieved smile appeared on her face.
"Mm. Thanks to you, and to her."
"It's good that you've figured it out." Ace walked to her side and looked at the stairs leading up.
"Are you ready? Jellal should be up there."
Erza took a deep breath, her gaze turning sharp once more.
"Let's go."
Side by side, the two of them stepped onto the final path to the top of the tower.
And at the top of the tower, a cold, crazed smile touched the corners of Jellal's lips.
"Good... very good..."
"Erza, you've finally come before me."
"Then, the final stage..."
"It's time to raise the curtain."
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