Chapter Fifteen
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The mist was dense.
Nothing could be seen within it. No ground, no sky, no walls. Only endless whiteness swallowing sounds, devouring distances, consuming time itself.
Inside that whiteness, the Qaz Lords stood scattered. They could not see one another. They could not hear one another. Each of them existed within his own private world of mist.
—
Rashid's voice cut through the white darkness:
"Lord of Mist! What is the meaning of this?!"
The Lord of Sand's voice followed from another direction:
"I cannot see anything! How are we supposed to attack while blind?!"
Then the Lady of the Whip, furious and exhausted, her voice hoarse:
"What kind of plan is this?! Do you want to kill us all?!"
—
Silence.
Then—two silver eyes appeared in the mist. Shining coldly, floating in the whiteness like distant stars.
"What was your name? Rashid?"
The voice was calm. Cold. Indifferent.
"Well… it doesn't matter. You asked me why I had not attacked, did you not, Rashid? And now here I am attacking. What more do you want? You people truly understand nothing."
—
The mist shifted slightly, revealing faint outlines—the Lord of Mist standing there, his foggy body barely visible, yet his silver eyes steady.
"I have blinded the enemy's sight. That is the first thing."
He looked toward Rashid—or toward where Rashid should have been—and continued:
"You, Lord of Plants… can sense details through your vines, can you not? Then the mist will not harm you. You see what we cannot."
Then he turned toward another direction:
"As for the Lord of Transparency and the Lord of Shadow… they are outside the equation. Their abilities already transform their worlds into different forms. The mist will not affect them."
He paused briefly, then added:
"The Lord of Sand and the Lord of Gravity will guard the gate. Our primary objective is to protect the noble inside the warehouses, not to kill this man. As for the Lords of Subjugation and the Lady of Radiance… they are useless now. Severely injured."
—
The Lord of Sand's voice exploded in anger:
"This plan… we never agreed on it!"
And the Lord of Gravity added:
"Who gave you the right to decide alone?!"
Here the Lord of Sand stepped forward, and the sand around him began to move. He looked at the Lord of Gravity with narrowed eyes, then said loudly:
"Support me! I will crush the ground with everyone in it!"
Before the Lord of Gravity could answer, the Lord of Mist's voice interrupted.
"Hey! Watch the damage you cause!"
The Lord of Gravity fell silent for a moment after being interrupted, then replied angrily:
"What? You are talking about damages at a time like this? Are you insane?!"
The silver eyes appeared again in the mist, gleaming with lethal coldness.
"I do not care what the situation is. I care about not paying for damages I did not cause. The Way of Fal only pays up to ten gold coins in compensation. If the amount exceeds that limit, then all of us will pay from our own pockets—and no one will care who caused the damage and who did not. I do not intend to pay for something I did not do."
A brief silence.
"That is why I am precise with my strikes. And you—watch yourselves."
—
But the Lord of Mist did not care about their anger.
He pointed forward—toward what should have been forward—and said simply:
"The Lord of Threads is there. If we do not attack now, he will escape. This is our last opportunity."
They grumbled. They hesitated. But in the end—there was no other choice.
We must attack. This is a complete advantage for you. Use it.
—
Karsu stood at the heart of the mist.
He could see nothing.
But he could hear.
Scattered footsteps. Not synchronized. Each enemy attacking alone, without coordination.
The first—the Lord of Sand. Karsu felt the ground beneath his feet ripple and jumped at the right moment. The sand erupted from his position without striking him.
The second—the Lord of Gravity. A sudden weight pressed onto his shoulders, so he rolled across the ground, distributing the pressure across his entire body. The weight increased, but he endured it, stood up, and moved.
The third—Rashid's vines. They shot from beneath his feet, but he cut them with a single thread before they could coil around him.
The fourth—the Lord of Shadow. He emerged from Karsu's own shadow, a dagger aimed at his neck. But Karsu had already moved before he arrived, leaving the shadow behind him.
—
Every attack was individual.
No one supported the other.
No coordination.
No sacrifice.
Each one fought alone within his own world of mist.
And Karsu—fought them the same way.
A strike here. An evasion there. A swift blow. A quick retreat.
It did not last long.
After one minute, the Lords withdrew. Some were wounded. Others exhausted.
But Karsu—was still standing.
—
And in a moment, he disappeared.
No one saw him leave. No one felt him move away.
The mist was still dense. The Lords were still staring into the whiteness, searching for an enemy who was no longer there.
—
On the other side of the battlefield, where the mist began to thin, the Lady of the Whip stood alone.
Her blood-soaked arms trembled. The anger in her eyes had not faded. She looked around—seeing nothing but mist.
She decided to head toward where she believed the Lords of Subjugation had fallen wounded. Perhaps there she would find waiting. Perhaps there she would find safety.
She took a few steps.
Then—
She collided with a wall.
A wall of solid mist.
She stepped back in surprise, then—instinctively—transformed her arm into a radiant whip and cut through the wall with a single strike. The wall dissolved, but—
"Hm… I think this was his style? Or perhaps like this?"
The voice came from behind her.
She turned quickly.
No one.
Only mist.
"What nonsense are you muttering?!" she shouted, her voice nearly breaking. "And why are you here?! Why aren't you fighting with the others?!"
—
The mist around her suddenly thinned.
Only around her.
And before her appeared—the Lord of Mist.
But he was different this time.
His entire body was misty, nothing visible but his silver eyes.
Yet in his hand—
A sword.
A sword of solid mist. Stable. Sharp.
She looked at him with nervous sarcasm.
"Have you started learning swordsmanship now?"
He did not laugh.
He stepped toward her.
Slow.
Confident.
Then another step.
There was still distance between them. Her eye blinked for a moment—just a moment—
And when she opened it again, she felt pain.
A strange pain.
From the back of her neck down to the end of her chest.
She looked down.
A long gash across her body. Deep. It seemed to have cut through bone.
She raised her eyes in disbelief and saw the misty figure standing before her. The same body. The same sword.
"Wh… why?" she whispered in a faint, weakening voice, dying before the words fully formed. "I… I don't even know you…"
—
He looked at her.
And in his voice—for the first time—there was an unfamiliar tone.
A tone filled with resentment. Old pain.
"Ah… you do not know me. You forgot that… very well."
He raised his hand. Spread his nebula of mist.
He felt everything around him. Every corner. Every breath. The empty space surrounding them.
He confirmed it was clear.
Then he looked at her again—a gaze so cold it could chill the bones.
"Then… what about now?"
—
The mist around his face faded.
His features appeared.
The face of a middle-aged man. Pale. Stern. His silver eyes burned with ancient hatred.
The Lady of the Whip's eyes nearly burst from their sockets.
"Wha—why are you here?!"
Then—
She realized.
The danger of the situation.
She tried to scream.
But the mist entered her mouth. Thick. Suffocating. It stopped the sound from escaping.
"Trying to run?"
His voice was calm.
Deadly.
"No one will suspect anything if you die here. Beneath the mist. No one sees anything. And with the same method used to kill that Lord of Threads… no one will realize you were murdered."
The mist withdrew slightly from her mouth. She coughed, struggled to breathe, then whispered quickly:
"I—I'm sorry! Alright?! I… I didn't mean to do it back then… I swear! It was—"
She did not finish.
The misty sword cut through her neck.
The blade dissolved the moment it struck.
She collapsed to the ground.
Motionless.
—
The Lord of Mist stood there.
Alone.
Within the mist.
Looking at the body that moments ago had been a living woman. A woman he had known. A woman who—whatever she had been—was part of his past.
He looked around.
Mist.
Only mist.
Alone.
He had wished for this for a long time.
But when loneliness finally arrives… it is not as one imagines.
—
And yet—
He was not truly alone.
From the shadows, only a few meters away, beneath the ruins of a burned warehouse, someone was watching.
Eyes shining in the darkness.
Eyes that had seen everything.
—