"With your bare hands?"
A teasing murmur drifted from behind him as the Chaos Tide churned. Scáthach casually pinned the crimson demonic spear aside, rolling her wrist as she walked forward at an unhurried pace. The smile blooming on her lips was radiant as a flower, and just as dangerous.
Mana surged. In a flash, a pale, crystalline fist expanded rapidly in Samael's vision.
Bang!
But with a seamless sequence—sidestep, hooked fingers, locking grip, and a whipping throw—Samael seized her right shoulder and hurled her downward. With a thunderous crash, the Queen of the Land of Shadows slamd into the spatial barrier, cracks radiating outward beneath her.
"I can't beat you at spearplay. But in hand-to-hand? Not necessarily. So how about we call it a draw, old friend…"
A faint smile curved Samael's lips as he reached out to pull her up, offering both of them a graceful exit.
His extended hand was suddenly caught and twisted. Scáthach's body spun upright, amusent flickering in her eyes.
"Is that so?"
The sa fluid sequence—sidestep, hooked fingers, lock, throw—was returned in kind, and a certain slippery serpent was slamd hard enough to see stars.
You tricked once. I repay you once. That makes it fair.
A cool smile lingered on Scáthach's lips as she lunged again. Left with no choice, Samael steeled himself, focusing entirely on survival as he countered with everything he had.
Bang bang bang bang!
Within the boiling Chaos Tide, the two figures intertwined and clashed, turning into streaks of light. Each punch landed solidly, the impacts rolling like muffled thunder across a clear sky. For the mont, Samael held a faint edge.
In ages to co, social change and technological progress would relegate cold weapons to decline. Yet hand-to-hand combat, enriched by biochanics, bioengineering, and countless innovations, would evolve into an ultimate craft of the body.
Across long centuries, Samael had mastered the killing art of Pankration and the essence of Lucha Libre. On that foundation, he wove in mories of future combat systems, refining his unard prowess further still.
Empowered by the colossal strength of the Authority of the Beast and the astonishing flexibility of his monstrous physique, every part of his body beca a weapon. Every gesture, every shift of weight, was a technique.
Joint locks reminiscent of the UFC cage. The elbow-knee ferocity of Muay Thai. The force principles of Xingyi and Bajiquan. Even motions derived from axe, sword, hamr, and spear techniques found their way into his strikes. They flowed one after another without end.
Having abandoned her crimson demonic spear and chosen to contest him in an area where she was comparatively weaker, Scáthach inevitably fell into his rhythm and was gradually suppressed.
Bang!
Samael's hands traced a circular path—one deflecting, one drawing—pulling her balance off-center.
Then he stamped hard, coiled his waist, and drove his arm across. What had been soft and flowing force transford in an instant into sothing brutally unyielding, like a collapsing mountain bearing down. Scáthach was slamd against the light wall, ripples exploding outward as cracks spidered around the human-shaped imprint left behind.
"Excellent! Excellent! To think you've reached this level… splendid! My friend, you always surprise !"
Scáthach laughed freely. Her violet hair whipped wildly like countless writhing serpents. She tore herself from the light barrier and landed, stepping in with fluid precision—foot plant, twist of the torso, sinking shoulder, driving elbow—replicating nearly seventy to eighty percent of what she had just suffered.
In so subtle details, she even refined it further, adjusting according to muscle feedback and limb chanics, making the elbow strike faster and more devastating.
This is why I hate natural-born geniuses…
Staggering back, Samael couldn't hide his irritation. In re monts, she had walked a path that had taken him centuries to explore. Unable to help himself, he grumbled as she pressed forward more fiercely than ever.
"Your Majesty, fighting this ferociously—aren't you worried you'll never find a husband?"
"Hmph. My wedding hall lies only upon the blood-soaked battlefield. My enemy's agony is my blessing. Their screams, my applause. Their blood, my petals."
"And your future husband? Did you scare him off?"
"Curious? Win, and I'll tell you."
Scáthach blinked and smiled, aning layered within her gaze. Her assaults grew sharper, shifting steadily from defense to offense as she reclaid ground step by step.
Half an hour later, two battered bodies collided in a simultaneous cross-strike. Like cannonballs blasted from opposing barrels, they shot backward in opposite directions, feet carving deep trenches across the ground.
Bang!
Bang!
Almost at the sa mont, the two locked eyes fiercely—then toppled onto their backs like fractured mountains collapsing, ripples spreading across the luminous barrier around them.
"I'd say this makes us even now, right?"
Bruised and swollen, the knight lay on his back staring blankly at the sky, his muffled voice thick with exhaustion and helplessness.
"More or less. But if you think this is enough to make keep your little secret, you're dreaming."
Just as battered, Scáthach pushed herself up with difficulty and leaned against her crimson demonic spear. She nudged the old friend playing dead at her feet, her tone edged with amusent.
"Let survive your round first. I can't very well get skewered by you before Skadi even catches in the act, can I?
And a word of sincere advice, Your Majesty—you don't have many friends. You might want to use them sparingly…"
Samael dragged himself upright, looking utterly aggrieved.
"Fine. Since you put in that much effort, I won't tell Skadi about it. Stop whining."
Scáthach glanced at the pitiful state he was in. Her tone softened a touch, granting him that small rcy.
The battle ended, and she got what she wanted.
A hint of satisfaction flickered through Samael's eyes. He accepted the cup and wine jug handed over from the side, broke the wax seal with practiced ease, and poured out a stream of amber liquid. He clinked cups with his old friend and drank deeply.
The golden ad fizzed as it slid down his throat. Sweetness and heat burst across his tongue, warmth spreading through his limbs. The wounds and bruises from their brawl began to fade, healing at a visible pace.
"As expected, ad from the Land of Shadows just tastes better."
He drained the cup in one go, full of praise.
Scáthach lifted the jug and casually refilled it for him, her gaze drifting over the Chaos Tide as it gathered and dispersed.
"Is Asgard's ad really that bad?"
"Not really. But wine depends on who you're drinking it with."
Samael swirled the cup in his hand and looked at her flawless profile, smiling faintly, nostalgia in his eyes.
The Norse Age of Gods spread its influence far and wide, with many branching offshoots. The Land of Shadows in Ireland was one such young fruit, grown from the roots of that era.
To expand their influence and stabilize the foundation of the Age of Gods, the exchange of knowledge was essential.
Back then, Odin had entrusted him with traveling to the Land of Shadows to teach Scáthach the Primordial Runes.
And the first thing she had offered him upon their eting was a cup of ad.
Scáthach paused for a mont, then a faint smile blood on her face. She raised her cup.
"Then… cheers?"
"Cheers."
Teacher and friend, bound by a thousand years of companionship, raised their cups and drank. The atmosphere grew warm and easy.
Boom!
The calm shattered almost instantly. A heavy tremor echoed from the outer wall of the spatial anomaly. The flagship rocked violently as a massive, grotesque shadow rose ominously from the surging Chaos Tide.
"Sothing's locked onto us. Move!"
Samael's expression changed at once. He barked a warning, tore open the spatial barrier without hesitation, seized his cross spear, and shot toward the deck like a thunderbolt.
Scáthach's hand, mid-gesture with the raised cup, froze in the air. Her face darkened.
That bastard didn't look half-dead at all. He hadn't gone all out from the start.
He tricked again.
I'll settle this with you later.
She shot a sharp glare at her slippery confidant, then rose to her feet, pulled out the crimson demonic spear, and followed close behind.
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