He slid the sacred seal into its pouch, unsheathed Moonveil, removed his glasses, slicked back his hair, and let a slow, deliberate smile carve across his face.
"Let's finish what we started ten years ago. This death match isn't over."
The storm howled, tearing at his clothes, but Thorne's gaze remained still—untroubled water in the chaos. His eyes locked onto the Storm Knight as it shifted into its second phase. The creature radiated power. Even the dragon would've struggled against it. Yet, Thorne wasn't the same man he'd been a decade ago. He'd grown stronger, sharper. Tactics were just tools to tip the scales.
He glanced at Melina, hesitating in the shadows. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. "In the end, it's always about strength."
The wind screamed in his ears. The knight's fury burned hot, tangled with its duty, driving it to risk everything for the kill.
A cornered beast fights with terrifying ferocity, but Thorne had been holding back for ten years. Now, he unleashed everything.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Air waves erupted, tossing gravel into the sky like geysers. The shockwaves rippled across the riverbed.
The knight's second phase was faster, deadlier. Even with Bloodhound's Step, Thorne couldn't create distance. Crystal Burst shattered against the storm. His Gravity Magic barrier cracked under the knight's assault.
The massive figure loomed two meters away. One slip, and Thorne would be minced.
"Going berserk for duty?" Thorne murmured, watching the faint crimson glow in the knight's eyes. He leaped, feeling the wind rush beneath his feet as a greatsword cleaved the air where his head had been. Starlight movement. He reappeared dozens of meters away.
Before his feet touched ground, the knight was already charging, a black shadow hurtling like a fired arrow. Thorne's hand shot out, his foot rising.
"If I can't beat you after all this, what's the point of hunting Godrick?"
Bang—
The storm foot kicked up a gale, followed by a shimmering purple barrier.
Thorne merged his storm martial arts with Gravity Magic. The knight broke through both defenses, but its momentum faltered.
Then, a massive hammer shadow descended.
Gavel of Haima!
The magical hammer collided with the knight's blade, sending it stumbling back.
Before it could recover, the knight hurled its greatsword.
Zzzzt—
Blades crossed mid-air, sparks erupting in a blinding flash. The weapons grazed past Thorne and the knight as they dodged.
The knight surged forward, its right-hand greatsword thrusting with full force.
Thorne, seemingly unarmed, summoned a cross-spear from nowhere, his pupils turning molten gold.
Clang!!
The collision was deafening. Both staggered back, weapons trembling from the impact.
Its strength had grown. The knight remembered chasing this man ten years ago. Magic and incantations were one thing, but where had this raw power come from?
Thorne's hand tingled from the shock. He'd tapped into Dragon Heart to match its strength but didn't dwell on it. His left hand flicked up.
Dark Star Barrage.
The spear was always a feint. He'd learned that from a certain sword saint.
He couldn't produce a six-shot pistol, but he could use magic instead. The knight dodged, rolling to the side as craters blasted into the ground behind it. It reached for the greatsword embedded ahead but froze, sensing danger, and jerked its hand back.
The wind howled in warning.
The wind whistled past his fingertips. The katana spun back through the air, returning to him. Oleg lunged forward, twisting mid-air to slash behind him while yanking the greatsword from the ground. Metal clashed. The thrown cross-spear deflected off the blade, and Throne's free hand gripped Moonveil.
He glanced at the trail of blood left by the knight's roll. Timing was everything. "Rise!" His left fist clenched. Six thrusting swords shot from the ruins, pulled by Gravity Magic, converging like closing petals. Oleg's eyes widened. Hidden weapons? Unheard of.
The knight danced his dual swords, knocking the blades aside one by one. The power's weak. It can't pierce my armor.
His heart sank as he remembered—his armor was already shattered. "A second phase? Who doesn't have one?" Throne's grin was vicious.
Controlling six thrusting swords stretched his concentration, but this trump card, tailored for his opponent, wouldn't break easily. He used Starlight movement to close the gap, denying Oleg the chance to charge a storm. His katana rested in its sheath. Moonveil!
Before the blade cleared the scabbard, his left hand clenched under his ribs, yanking back the thrusting swords spinning chaotically in the air. Gravity Sword Array. A seamless, relentless assault. Thorne was the only one in the Lands Between who wielded such a bizarre killing technique.
Oleg struggled to adapt, but his dual swords were his lifeline. Clang! The greatsword in his right hand parried the iai slash, while the blade in his left blocked his vitals like a shield. A few sharp pfft sounds followed as the thrusting swords grazed his ribs and shoulder.
He grunted, suppressing the pain, and twisted his waist for a horizontal slash. Woo—
Throne reappeared three meters away. He looked down at the wound across his abdomen. Half a second slower, and he'd have been cut in half. "As expected of the Storm King's Wings. A hero since ancient times."
He tore off his tattered robe and stood tall. "But I've killed quite a few heroes myself."
"Insolent!" Oleg roared, ready to charge and tear him apart. But he froze mid-step. The wound on his ribs bled like an open faucet, and his shoulder reeked of decay.
"A teacher once told me the core of Ashina Style is to use every means to kill the enemy." A fight to the death wasn't a martial arts tournament. Morality had no place here. Thorne hooked his finger. The six thrusting swords circled behind him. He shook a bell. Ding-a-ling. A Rotten Stray snarled, baring its fangs. Oleg glanced at his wound.
He didn't understand Ashina Style, but a knight's battlefield was no different—unscrupulous tactics were fair game. "What kind of tactic is this?"
"Call it the Nine-Stage Gradual Strike." Weakening the opponent, exhausting the prey like a hunt, then delivering the killing blow. "A clever tactic. Unfortunately, I don't have your level of control, but—" The knight gripped his greatsword and strode forward, pride unbroken. "I'm still going to kill you!"
"Come!" Thorne watched the hero advance. That iron will stirred something primal in him. Click. He snapped his fingers. The thrusting swords shot forward.
The Rotten Stray charged, knees bent, sword sheathed. Oleg crossed its dual blades over its chest, allowing them to pierce its own body—paralysis, blood loss, Scarlet Rot, cold seeping deep into marrow. Still, it pressed forward. The Rotten Stray's jaws clamped down on its leg.
The knight dragged the stray closer, felt the thunderous pulse of its own heartbeat, and hurled its greatsword with a roar. Clang!
Silver flashed as Throne's katana left its sheath, cleaving the greatsword apart. His left foot slammed forward, the ground trembling beneath the impact. His left hand gripped the hilt above his head, the blade unadorned, simple, driven by sheer force as it came crashing down.
Dragon Slash! His forearm bulged, the katana meeting the greatsword mid-air. Clang!!! The collision unleashed a storm, rippling outward, tearing off Melina's hood. She shielded her face, eyes wide as she watched the two beasts locked in battle. Throne's muscles screamed, his feet sinking into the earth.
The knight faltered, clearly spent. The katana pressed deeper, biting into Oleg's collarbone, but Throne felt no triumph. Pfft. Pain erupted in his chest—the knight's fingers had sharpened into a blade, driving into his left side. Throne met its square, pitiless face, a purple sigil igniting on his hilt. Gravity Sword Array!
Even with both hands occupied, he summoned gravity magic, no staff needed. Pfft, pfft, pfft... Six thrusting swords reversed course, spearing the knight from behind. Its expression froze for a heartbeat, but it pushed the hand-blade deeper into Throne's body.
Ribs shattered, veins bulging, Throne released his left hand and seized Oleg's throat. He couldn't strangle it, but a deep blue sigil flared in his palm. The hand-blade, inches from his heart, stopped cold. Oleg grinned, blood spilling from its mouth. "Damn it, just a little more." Pfft!
The Carian Piercer erupted, a blade of deep blue light tearing through the knight's neck. Throne's left hand yanked sideways—
The head rolled free, the massive body collapsing onto Throne. Melina exhaled, her breath shaky.
Fatigue washed over her, sudden and heavy. She'd never seen Throne like this, never imagined he could kill Oleg. A miracle, one she hadn't been part of. Thorne was honest, she realized. He meant what he said. Could she truly stake everything on him?
Was there no one else who could help her fulfill her mission?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Throne's roar. "What are you standing around for? Help!"
Melina jolted awake, rushing to his side. Together, they moved the headless corpse. Throne slumped to the ground, chest heaving, and pulled out a Crimson Flask. He drained it in one gulp, the gaping wound in his chest sealing instantly. He forced himself upright, feeling raw, unbridled power flood his body.
No intelligence, no faith, merely the purest physical strength—exactly what he needed. "Storm King's Wings," he muttered, voice low. "A hero of the ancient era. Even diminished, the strongest thing I've ever killed." He didn't smile, though pride surged in him. "Melina, bury him."
The blade still hummed in his grip. Melina wiped sweat from her brow, dirt streaking her cheeks as she paused mid-dig. "You really think bards will sing about this?" Her shovel struck stone with a sharp clang. "Or just whisper it in alleys?"
Throne flexed his healing knuckles. Gold light bled through the cracks in his skin like molten metal. "Let them whisper." The broken wall groaned under his shifting weight. "Tomorrow they'll shout."
Sunset painted the girl's silhouette against the crater she'd carved. Throne watched her shoulders heave with each labored breath. His wounds had sealed, but the memory of steel biting flesh lingered like a phantom itch. Fear was for men who counted their scars. He counted victories.
It died, he was standing; that was the result. High risk, high reward. Oleg's dying breath still coiled in his lungs, thickening the blood in his veins. Twenty percent stronger. Twenty percent closer to finding the old bastard who'd taught him how to kill. The shovel's rhythm faltered. Melina was staring at him now. He bared his teeth in something that wasn't a smile. "Dig deeper."