The Last Step Chapter 48: Every Scar Marks My Rebirth

Celia's Perspective:

I move my head to my right and notice so strange-looking people. Maybe they were from Levi's guild? But what business did they have with ? I was just practicing my physical combat with chains near here—nothing suspicious, nothing illegal... probably.

"You know, I just called out to you," a voice lazily drifts through the air.

I shift my focus to the person speaking. He must be Xander—the one Emma told about, the one staying with Zain. Not that I care much, but why is he talking to ?

"Hello?" Xander tries again, dragging out the word like this is sohow more exhausting for him than it is for .

"Yes?" I finally reply, arms crossed.

Xander studies for a second, then sighs like this is already too much effort. "So, yeah. The loud noises? That's you, right?"

I blink. "Obviously."

"Yeah, I figured," he says, stretching his arms behind his head. "See, problem is, I don't actually know if Zain would be cool with it. And since I don't know, I can't let you keep doing it. Better safe than sorry, y'know?"

I tilt my head. "So you're stopping ... because you don't know if it's a problem?"

"Exactly."

I squint at him. "That makes no sense."

He shrugs. "Makes sense to ."

I tighten my grip on my chains. "So you're just randomly deciding what's allowed?"

"Pretty much."

"You're annoying."

"Correct."

"You don't want to deal with problems, but you're creating one for ."

"That's more of a you problem," he says, rubbing his eyes. "Could just leave."

I exhale sharply. "Or you could leave."

"Yeah, but that sounds exhausting."

I groan, running a hand through my hair. "If I move sowhere else, will you stop bothering ?"

"Depends." He tilts his head. "How far are we talking? 'Cause if it's like... ten steps, that's not helping anyone."

I let out a long, suffering sigh. "Fine! I'll move! Happy?"

"Imnsely," Xander replies, already turning away, hands in his pockets.

As Xander turns to leave, one of the guild mbers—an older-looking man with a sturdy build and a heavy axe strapped to his back—steps forward. His expression is serious, his voice carrying a weight that makes even the lazy Xander pause.

"Hey, Xander," the man calls out, crossing his arms. "You're just gonna let her keep going?"

Xander tilts his head lazily. "Nah, she said she'd move sowhere else. Problem solved."

The man sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah? And what if the noises draw in grotesques?" His voice drops lower, his tone firr. "You do rember what happened last ti sothing caught their attention near town, right?"

Xander exhales through his nose. "Yeah, yeah. They ran wild, took like 15 minutes to clean up. Annoying."

"Exactly," the man nods. "And this? This is just asking for it. Grotesques are drawn to sudden, unnatural sounds—loud ones, especially at evening. It sses with their senses, makes 'em co swarming." His gaze flicks to briefly before settling back on Xander. "You think Zain's gonna be happy if that happens again?"

Xander's face remains impassive, but he scratches his cheek, clearly weighing his options. "...He would complain a lot."

"Complain?" The man scoffs. "He'll kill you for letting it happen under your watch."

Xander exhales another long, drawn-out sigh, turning his attention back to . "Alright, you heard him. No more practice here." He waves a lazy hand in my direction. "Ti to pack up and go."

I stare at him, blinking slowly. "Excuse ?"

"You heard ." Xander shoves his hands in his pockets. "No more practice. Too risky, town's safety, Zain'll get mad, blah blah blah. You get the idea."

I plant my feet firmly. "I have to practice."

"And you can't do it here."

"I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I—" I cut myself off, exhaling sharply. "You're not understanding."

Xander shrugs. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

I clench my fists, frustration rising like a boiling pot ready to spill over. "Listen, I need to train, and I don't have anywhere else to do it."

"Not my problem."

I take a step forward. "It is now."

Xander raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I said so." I glare. "Where else am I supposed to go? Tell ."

He sighs again. "Anywhere but here."

I grit my teeth. "And if I don't?"

"Then we've got a problem." His voice is still casual, but there's a hint of finality beneath it. "Look, I'm not trying to be a pain, but town safety takes priority. If grotesques co crawling in because of your training, it's my headache, and I don't like headaches."

"I don't care about your headaches!" I snap. "I need this. It's apart of my routine and I can't skip it just because you said so."

Xander watches for a mont, sothing unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Yeah?" His voice is quieter now. "And what exactly are you trying to get stronger for?"

I falter for just a second. I don't know why that question gets under my skin, but it does.

"For myself," I say, my voice sharp. "Because I have to."

Xander's gaze lingers on , like he's trying to figure out if that's the truth. Then he exhales, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, find another way. This isn't it."

My patience snaps. "You don't get to decide that!"

He ets my glare without flinching. "No, but I am deciding it."

I grip my chains tightly, breathing heavily. He's so frustrating. Why won't he just let be?!

But sothing in his eyes tells he won't budge.

And neither will I.

Xander's Perspective:

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I watch Celia stand her ground. Man, she's annoying. Stubborn, emotional, completely unwilling to listen to reason—what a headache.

And yet... I can't say I hate that about her.

There aren't many people who'd talk back to a Sword Saint like this, let alone soone as lazy as . Most people hear my na, see what I can do, and either respect or get out of my way. But her? She's different.

She's got this weird fighting style, too. Chains wrapped around her arms, moving like they're part of her body, twisting and snapping like thorns growing from vines. A style like that? It's not just sothing you pick up overnight. That takes real dedication. Her movent—fluid, reactive, controlled—like an extension of herself rather than a weapon she wields.

With my Gift of Mastery, I can pick up any technique, break it down, and learn it like I've been doing it my whole life. But this? This isn't sothing I can learn. Not fully. Not the way she uses it. Because it's not just skill. It's her.

That realization is kind of annoying.

I let out another sigh and look at her. "Alright, enough already. Get out of here."

Celia's eyes narrow, her chains shifting slightly around her arms, like a warning. "I already told you—I have to train."

"And I already told you—you can't do it here."

She clenches her fists. "You're acting like you own the place."

"Not really," I say, stretching my arms lazily. "Just don't want to deal with the consequences when Zain finds out you lured grotesques here."

"I won't lure grotesques."

"Yeah? You got a grotesque-repelling badge I don't know about?"

She huffs, crossing her arms. "You're so frustrating."

"Yep."

"Do you even care that I need this?"

"Nope."

Celia's expression twists, anger flashing in her eyes. "You're unbelievable."

I roll my shoulders, keeping my tone casual. "That's what people say when they can't win an argunt."

"You're not winning anything!" she snaps. "You're just being an ass for no reason!"

"I have a reason. You just don't like it."

She exhales sharply, looking like she's one second away from throwing one of those chains at my face. Honestly? Wouldn't bla her. I am being difficult. But hey, she's the one being stubborn.

She takes a step forward, voice low and heated. "Why do you even care? Just let train. It's not hurting you."

I watch her for a mont, sothing clicking in my head.

Wait.

I've heard of her before, haven't I? Sothing about a cursed girl. So tragic past, losing soone important—oh, right. That's why she's like this.

I let out a slow exhale, my voice just as lazy as before. "Ahh... I think I get it now."

Celia stiffens. "What?"

"You're that girl, huh?" I say, rubbing my chin like I just rembered. "The cursed one. Or... was it sothing else? Your friend died, and then you got all depressed, right?"

Her eyes darken imdiately. "Where did you hear that?" Her voice is cold now, colder than before.

I shrug. "Zain ntioned it." I pause, then tilt my head, smirking slightly. "Poor little girl... lost her close friend. What was his na again? Oh yeah—Kaiser. Training like crazy to bring back a dead person?"

The air shifts.

Celia's entire body tenses, and in a flash, her chains lash out—stopping just inches from my face. Her eyes are blazing, and for the first ti in this whole conversation, I actually feel a sliver of real danger.

"Take that back." Her voice is sharp, raw, and completely furious.

I et her glare, unfazed. "I won't."

I stretched, lazily cracking my knuckles, not bothering to even glance at her. I could feel her anger, but it didn't bother . In fact, it kind of made this whole situation a little more entertaining.

"You know," I muttered, running a hand through my ssy hair, "you're wasting your ti."

Celia froze, and I could almost hear her teeth grind together as she turned to . I didn't even need to look at her to know she was pissed.

Her voice was icy, tight with restraint. "What do you an by that?"

I leaned back against the tree, squinting lazily in her direction. "You can't bring him back, you know. That kind of thing? It's not happening. No matter how hard you try."

She clenched her fists. "Oh yeah? And what the hell do you know about it? You think you're the expert on this kind of shit?"

I shrugged, my voice lazy as ever. "Not really, no. I just know you're wasting your ti. All this training, all this effort—it's pointless. He's gone. And nothing you do can change that."

Her eyes narrowed, her chains shifting slightly, the air growing heavier. "Shut up."

I chuckled, letting the tension between us simr. "Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. You can't fight fate. He's dead, and you're just chasing shadows."

She took a step forward, her fists trembling with suppressed rage. "What do you know about loss? About grief? About the weight of losing soone you—"

"Save it." I interrupted her, voice flat, cutting through her words. "I know what it's like. Everyone's got their own little sob story. But the difference is? I'm not stupid enough to keep running after sothing that's already gone."

Her body tensed even further. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you know everything. Well, you don't know a damn thing about or Kaiser, so just keep your mouth shut."

"Ugh," I sighed, feigning annoyance as I rolled my eyes. "It's not my fault you're too weak to accept it. But hey, go ahead, keep training. Keep clinging to that pointless hope of yours. It's cute, really."

Celia's voice dropped, dangerously calm. "You have no idea what I've been through."

I tilted my head, genuinely not caring but deciding to humor her. "Probably not. But I don't care, either. You can scream, you can cry, you can train till your body breaks. Doesn't change the fact that he's gone, and you'll never bring him back."

Her chains lashed out without warning, sharp and deadly, stopping just inches from my face. I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink.

"You're a bastard," she hissed, her words laced with venom. "You don't know a damn thing about what it feels like to lose soone. So keep talking, Xander. Keep talking like you know everything. Because one day? You're going to wish you hadn't."

I leaned in slightly, my voice cold, sharper than it had been. "Your friend's already gone, Celia. He's nothing but grotesque food now. Dead. You think all this... pain, this training, is gonna change that? It won't. He's just another casualty in this ssed-up world."

Celia stayed silent, her fists shaking with the effort it took to keep her calm.

I shrugged, the sa lazy indifference creeping back into my tone. "So yeah, keep holding onto that hope. But it won't bring him back. He's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Her silence was deafening, but I could tell—her anger was still there, simring under the surface. The chains, barely noticeable before, now tightened, but she didn't speak.

I gave a small smirk, my voice dripping with the sa venom. "And if you really want to go down that road? If you're stupid enough to try and threaten again? I'll make sure you don't even get the chance to regret it."

Her eyes burned with an intensity that actually made pause. That, I'll admit, got to . Not because I cared about her or what she thought, but because that tone—that fury—felt a little too close to ho.

I smirked, but this ti, it wasn't just out of laziness. "You really think you can scare , huh?"

Celia's lips curled into a cold smile. "I don't care about scaring you. I care about making you regret it."

I felt the shift in the air, sothing heavier than before, sothing dangerous. But I wasn't backing down. "You're wasting your ti, Celia."

Her next words ca out slow, calculated, like she was savoring them. "And if I said I was planning to kill you next, would that make you understand?"

I paused, my entire deanor changing in an instant. That was too far.

I straightened up, my smirk gone, replaced by the kind of cold focus only a Sword Saint could carry. "What did you just say?"

Her eyes were as empty as her voice, her gaze locked onto mine. "I'll kill you. If you keep pushing like this, Xander, I'll make sure you regret it."

For the first ti, I felt a flicker of sothing dangerous stir in , and it wasn't the usual lazy indifference. She was dead serious.

But I wasn't the type to back down either. I took a step forward, all traces of my previous carelessness vanishing.

"Is that a threat?" I asked, my voice low, sharp now.

Her reply ca with a slow, cold smile. "No. It's a promise."

I let out a slow, annoyed breath. "Great. Another idiot who thinks they can fight ."

But beneath the anger, beneath the bravado, I could feel it—the spark. And that? That might actually make this interesting.

Celia's Perspective:

How dare he... How dare he just say that to ...

His words linger in my mind, like a cold shadow that refuses to leave. Kaiser's far gone. He's dead, Celia. You can't save him.

The air feels thick, suffocating. I don't know why it hurts so much, why it feels like my chest is caving in. I thought I was stronger than this—thought I could handle anything. But hearing it from him... from Xander, of all people... it cuts deeper than I expected. He makes everything look so easy, like he doesn't give a damn about anyone, about anything. And yet here he is, telling the one thing I can't hear. The one thing I refuse to believe.

I blink hard, feeling my eyes burn. No.

Kaiser can't be gone. I won't let it be true. Zain... Zain said there's a chance. Even if it's a slim one. Even if the chances are as close to zero as they get. He's still alive. I know it. I don't care what anyone else says. I won't give up on him.

I squeeze my hands into fists. My nails dig into my palms, the sting snapping out of the fog that Xander's words have created. He doesn't understand. He doesn't get it. Kaiser—he's not just so person I'm holding onto out of so misguided hope. He's everything to . He's been my anchor when I was lost, my protector when I was weak. He's the reason I'm standing here right now, trying to fight my way through this ss. How dare he say that about Kaiser? How dare he dismiss everything I've fought for?

I'm not going to let this make waver. I promised myself.

Get stronger. Protect what matters.

I don't care how impossible it seems. I don't care if the world tells I'm foolish. As long as there's the smallest, tiniest chance that Kaiser is out there—alive—I'll keep going. I'll keep pushing. Even if it ans standing alone. Even if I have to burn every bit of hope into existence.

I can't let him down. Not after everything we've been through.

I clench my jaw, staring at the ground before glancing at Xander. I can't even look at him right now. His laid-back attitude, his smug look, like he's already written off everything that matters to —it's enough to make my blood boil. Don't you dare tell what I can and can't do.

He has no idea. No idea what it's like to feel your heart shatter into pieces every ti you think about losing soone. No idea what it's like to hold onto a thread of hope and still be willing to fight with everything you have, even if the odds are against you. I won't give up on him.

I won't.

I step forward, slow and deliberate, my chains lightly rattling with the movent. "Say that again," I say, my voice cold, daring him.

Xander sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like this is all so troubleso for him. "You really wanna go through this?" His tone is lazy, indifferent. "Fine. I'll say it as many tis as it takes for that thick skull of yours to get it." His sharp gray eyes lift to mine, unreadable. "Kaiser. Is. Dead."

A chill runs down my spine.

I grip my chains tighter, the tal groaning under the pressure of my fingers. He's testing . Pushing . Trying to see how far I'll break.

"Careful, Xander." My voice is quieter now, colder. "There are so things you shouldn't say if you want to keep breathing."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, that's cute. You threatening now?"

I tilt my head, studying him. "That depends. Do you feel threatened?"

His smirk twitches. "Not in the slightest."

I take another step, closing the distance. "You should."

His eyes darken, just for a second. Then, his smirk returns, lazy and sharp. "Tch. I figured you'd be the type to bite back. You curse-wielders always have a bad temper."

My body stiffens.

The chains wrapped around my arms shift slightly, responding to my emotions. Curse-wielder... He knows.

A slow smirk spreads across my lips. "So you're not as clueless as you act." I lift my hand, letting one of my chains unravel from my wrist, the sharp tip dragging against the ground with a slow, tallic scrape. "Then I don't need to waste my breath, do I?"

Xander exhales, tilting his head slightly. "Queen of Curses, huh?" His gaze flickers with sothing unreadable. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"And you?" I press, my voice dangerously low. "You talk big, but I doubt you're just so lazy idiot running his mouth."

Xander lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh, like this conversation is already boring him. Then, he lifts a hand and lazily gestures toward himself. "Xander. Sword Saint of Mastery."

My breath catches for half a second.

Sword Saint. Of Mastery.

I've heard of him before—one of the strongest, the kind of person who never had to try, because effort was beneath him. He learns, adapts, and perfects every weapon, every style, with terrifying ease.

So this is who I'm dealing with...

I et his gaze, unblinking. "Mastery." The word slips out, slow and sharp. "The Sword Saint of Mastery."

Xander clicks his tongue. "Took you long enough."

Sothing pulses between us—silent, suffocating. Neither of us move.

He's dangerous.

But so am I.

Then, his voice drops, lower than before. "mbers of Zain's guild," he says, without looking away from . "Get out."

The air freezes.

The mbers behind shift uneasily, whispering. So hesitate. But the authority in his voice—the quiet finality of it—sends them stepping back, disappearing into the shadows.

Now it's just us.

Xander's smirk fades slightly, his fingers twitching. "I was planning to take it easy today." His voice is calm, but there's sothing sharp beneath it. "But now... seems like I'll be spending my evening killing a curse."

A slow smile curls my lips, but there's no warmth in it.

I lift my hand, and my chains coil up, twisting in the air like snakes.

"How funny." My voice is soft, but laced with quiet malice. "Because I was planning to hang a sword saint this evening."

The wind stirs around us, carrying the tension of the mont. My chains coil around my arms, slithering like living things, while my thorns pulse, waiting for the command to strike. Across from , Xander stands lazily, his sword resting on his shoulder, his expression sowhere between tired and indifferent.

"Are we doing this or what?" I snap, tightening my stance.

Xander yawns. He actually yawns. "Yeah, yeah... but, ugh, this feels like a waste of energy." He rolls his neck, finally lowering his sword into a half-hearted stance. "Fine, let's get this over with."

I don't wait. My chains lash forward, snapping toward him like striking vipers, but Xander barely moves. A lazy step to the side, a casual flick of his wrist—each attack glides past him like he's dancing through a routine he's done a thousand tis before.

I grit my teeth. He's reading .

"Too slow," he mutters, dodging another strike. "Too obvious." He steps in, sword flashing in an almost careless arc. My chains barely intercept in ti, the force rattling up my arms.

I shift my weight, kicking out—a spray of thorns bursting forward from my leg. He leans back just enough to let them pass, exhaling like I'm making him do too much work. "Hmm... a little better. Still not great."

Smug bastard.

I adjust. Test the range. Every attack, every movent—he's responding at the last possible mont, expending the least amount of effort while making work twice as hard. That ans—

He's waiting.

For a pattern. For to keep doing the sa thing, so he can counter with the least resistance.

Fine. Let's see how he likes this.

I feint left, my chains snapping toward his side, and just as expected, his sword is already there to parry—except I retract the chains at the last second, using the montum to spin, my other hand already swinging.

Thorns, coated in Withering Touch, tear through the air.

And this ti—

They hit.

Xander's cloak rips, his arm jerks back, and for the first ti, his eyes flicker—not with surprise, but with sothing dangerously close to interest.

I smirk. "What was that about being too slow?"

Xander looks down at his sleeve, then back at , and—

He grins.

"Heh... not bad." His fingers flex over the hilt of his sword, and I feel sothing shift.

The air feels heavier.

Then he lifts his gaze, his voice colder than before. "Alright. Ti to start trying."

His grip tightens, his posture straightens, and suddenly, the lazy swordsman is gone.

The air around him sharpens. No more lazy dodges. No more half-hearted swings.

Then he moves.

I barely catch the flash of silver before I'm forced back, my chains snapping up instinctively. Too slow. His sword carves through the air, slipping past my guard, nearly cutting into my side before I twist out of the way, my boots skidding against the dirt.

I retaliate. Thorns lash out, twisting and curling mid-strike, forcing him to maneuver—but he does. Effortlessly.

He steps through the attack, sword weaving between the strikes like he already knows where they'll land. My chains coil back defensively, blocking his next swing, but the mont I prepare a counter—

He vanishes.

No—he's just fast.

My instincts scream, and I pivot, but his blade is already there, inches from my shoulder. I barely manage to throw my weight back, the edge grazing my skin. A shallow cut, but a cut nonetheless.

The sting barely registers before Xander exhales, almost disappointed.

"You react well," he murmurs, spinning his sword once, shaking off the tension. "But against ... it's not enough, is it?"

His eyes et mine, sharp and unreadable.

"Predictable."

The cut on my shoulder stings, but I barely feel it.

Because I'm pissed.

Not just at Xander, but at myself.

Predictable? Predictable?

No. Not anymore.

I exhale slowly, fingers tightening. I can feel the emotions churning, bubbling beneath my skin, the raw negativity that fuels my magic. Frustration. Self-doubt. Hatred—toward my own weakness.

I let it consu .

My chains tremble, shifting. The ground beneath darkens as my magic pulses outward, spreading.

New spells. New tricks that I learned from the past two days.

Cursed Magic: Black Bloom

The mont I whisper it in my mind, the vines change—thorns thickening, spreading outward like a blossoming flower, but their purpose is far from beautiful. These eat. Not physically, but their cursed energy siphons magic from whatever they latch onto. And I send them straight for Xander.

He notices. His sword flashes, cutting through them before they can reach him, but I don't stop.

I move, fast.

My body lunges, spinning low. No more just standing back. Thorns burst from my kicks as I close in, forcing him to shift, to react. His sword slices through my vines, but every second he spends cutting is another second I press forward.

Adapt. Change.

He blocks my next strike, but I was waiting for that. My chains wrap around his blade—not to trap it, but to conduct the next spell.

Cursed Magic: Hollow Strain

A pulse of black energy surges through the chain, hitting his sword directly. It's a technique that rattles magic-reinforced weapons, destabilizing their enchantnts for a few seconds. His grip tightens as his sword vibrates slightly, the magic inside faltering just enough.

I see the shift in his stance. The flicker of hesitation.

I don't waste it.

I twist, driving my foot into the ground, sending another wave of thorns toward his blind spot. He steps back—too slow. They graze his side, cutting fabric and skin.

A hit. A real one.

I grin. "Not so predictable now, am I?"

Xander doesn't answer imdiately. His gaze flicks down at his side, then back at . His expression unreadable—no frustration, no anger. Just quiet analysis.

Then he exhales, almost amused. "So, you do learn."

I feel my chains tighten, power thrumming beneath my skin. One more.

This ti, I jump, flipping over him mid-air, my voice a whisper beneath my breath—

Cursed Magic: Revenant's Grasp.

The shadows beneath him move. Hands—black, clawed—burst upward, grasping for his legs, slowing him down just enough for to land and send a storm of thorns straight toward him.

This ti, he actually has to block.

Steel clashes against my magic, sparks flying, vines wrapping, twisting, cutting—our movents fast, sharp, neither side giving an inch.

And for the first ti—

We're equal.

Xander's Perspective:

Tch. This girl.

I exhale, shaking my head as I glance at the thin cut on my side. It doesn't hurt. Not really. But the fact that it's there—that she actually managed to land a hit—is... interesting.

It's been a long ti since I've felt sothing in a fight. Since I had to think more than two steps ahead.

And honestly?

It's kinda fun.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of my sword shift in my grip. The mont I actually try, this match is over—but where's the fun in ending it too fast?

Still... I suppose I should stop playing around.

A slow breath leaves my lips. My fingers tighten around the hilt.

And then—

Everything shifts.

The air around grows dense, heavy. My stance changes—no wasted movent, no slack in my posture. It's like a blade being drawn from its sheath, sharp and ready.

The temperature drops. Shadows stretch unnaturally. A faint black-and-white mist coils around , like tendrils of sothing unseen curling from the edges of my existence.

It's the mont where most realize—

I'm not lazy.

I just don't see the point in trying unless it's worth it.

And right now?

This is worth it.

I lift my blade, voice low as I murmur the words beneath my breath.

"Let silence guide my blade—Fading Echo."

The mont I move, I vanish.

No step, no sound, no warning. Just gone.

And then—

I reappear behind her. Blade already swinging.

She barely has ti to react. Her chains snap up, blocking the strike at the last possible second, sparks flying from the clash. But it doesn't matter. I'm already moving again.

One step, one breath—

"Bury the earth beneath my will—Severing Gale."

A single downward slash—simple, effortless. And yet, the pressure it creates splits the ground beneath us, a shockwave of force tearing through the battlefield. Her vines lash out, trying to counter—

I'm already gone again.

Every strike flows into the next, like a perfect sequence of movents honed over years. There's no hesitation, no delay. Just pure, absolute precision.

It's the difference between soone learning how to fight—

And soone who's already mastered it.

She's fast, sure. Clever. But my blade is faster.

Her vines lash out—black, writhing, filled with cursed energy.

I don't dodge.

I cut through them.

"Turn the wind to razors—Veil Rend."

A crescent of wind follows my blade, sharp as steel, severing her magic mid-air. She staggers, but her reaction is quick—another spell, another attempt to counter.

Good.

I exhale, flipping my blade once before pointing it at her, my voice quiet, almost bored—

"Still think I'm boring?"

Because right now?

I'm done holding back.

Most people would've crumbled by now—overwheld, suffocated by the sheer difference between us. But her? She's adapting. Analyzing. Learning with every damn second.

I should've expected that from soone like her.

But there's a limit. And I'm about to show her exactly where it is.

I exhale, shifting my grip as I push off the ground. My body twists midair, and in one seamless motion, I bring my blade upward—

And the sky itself responds.

The air howls. The winds bend.

And in the space of a heartbeat, a vortex begins to form.

No. Not just a vortex—a storm.

"Rise from the breath of the forgotten—Eclipsing Maelstrom."

The words leave my lips, slow, deliberate, and the mont they do—

The world erupts.

The winds explode outward in a spiraling cage of death, each current razor-sharp, each movent laced with murderous precision. A tornado forms in an instant, alive with slashing winds, roaring with the force to rip apart anything in its wake.

Her vines lash out. Desperate. Reaching.

And the storm devours them.

Torn to shreds before they can even reach .

Heh.

This is what happens when a Master decides to move.

I hover at the eye of the storm, sword still raised, my body outlined in the flickering black-and-white mist of my aura. The presence I give off now—it's suffocating. Like the weight of death itself pressing down.

Cold. Absolute.

Like a Grim Reaper descending upon his next kill.

I stare down at her, watching the winds carve the forest apart, watching her chains rattle under the sheer force of it.

And for the first ti—my voice lacks the usual laziness.

No sarcasm. No boredom.

Just cold, undeniable truth.

"You can struggle all you want," I murmur, my words cutting through the storm. "But even the Queen of Curses—"

I raise my blade higher. The storm around intensifies, spiraling even faster, tearing apart everything beneath .

"—can't escape the reach of a Master."

Celia's Perspective:

How... How is this even possible?

I try to cut through it—my thorns lashing, chains striking—but it's useless.

Each ti I send an attack, the wind devours it. No, worse—he redirects it effortlessly, like a painter casually stroking his brush. The tornado isn't just wild chaos; it moves with him, responding to his every whim like an extension of his body.

This isn't just mastery over the sword.

This is absolute control.

No way... is this the true power of a Sword Saint?

My stomach twists. For the first ti in a long ti, I feel it. Fear.

The kind that coils around your throat, makes your fingers hesitate, makes your mind scream at you to run.

His ability... it's terrifying. If a Sword Saint of Mastery decides sothing is impossible to touch, then it simply is. The very concept of "hitting him" feels like a joke. Like trying to strike the wind itself.

No—no, I can't think like this.

Kaiser wouldn't falter.

I won't ever let myself falter again.

I grit my teeth, pressing my palm against my chest, forcing the emotions out.

The fear, the helplessness—I twist them into sothing else.

Anger.

Anger at myself. At him. At the feeling of being small again, at the idea that soone could stand so far above that I couldn't even touch them.

The chains rattling around my wrists pulse in response. They feel heavier, more alive. Their energy shifts, feeding off the festering rage clawing through .

"Cursed Magic: Black Bloom."

The words don't leave my lips. They don't need to. I only have to think it using my self-hatred emotions.

And the battlefield changes.

My vines shift, thickening—spreading outward in a spiraling bloom of razor-sharp thorns. But they're no longer just physical weapons.

They eat.

Not in the way a beast would tear into flesh, but sothing worse. They siphon.

The mont they touch magic, they latch on, clinging, draining—like leeches starving for power.

I aim straight for the core of his tornado. If I can sap its energy, if I can weaken the storm itself—

It works.

The winds slow, just slightly. Just enough.

But before I can press my advantage—

He moves.

And suddenly, the battlefield shifts again.

The wind doesn't just return—it roars.

But it's no longer alone.

Water.

Xander raises his blade lazily—like none of this is a concern at all—and the air around us grows damp. Moisture clings to the storm, twisting into the cyclone itself, rging into a spiraling force of wind and waves.

No—he's not just riding the storm anymore.

He's surfing it.

"Ocean's Whisper, Tempest Waltz."

The mont the words leave his mouth, he disappears.

I barely have ti to react before the entire storm shifts, dragging into it.

Everything is spinning—water slashing across my skin like razors, wind pressing against my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

I can't breathe.

I look up, feeling the full weight of the storm now. The tornado above —it's not just wind anymore. It's a monster of swirling water and wind, crashing down with a force I can't even begin to comprehend. Xander is surfing it, weaving effortlessly through the chaos, like he's so kind of elental deity.

How... how is he masterfully controlling wind and water like that, like it's nothing?

Every instinct in tells to retreat, but I can't.

I can't run—not now.

But deep down, I realize the truth. It was a mistake. I'm not strong enough yet.

I can't beat a Sword Saint. Not now.

He's just too strong.

The storm roars louder, and Xander finally leaps down from the swirling chaos above. The water flicks from his clothes as he lands, unfazed, like he was just playing with the storm.

His voice cuts through the air like ice, and the chill runs down my spine.

"The curse ends now."

He's not playing anymore.

My heart races. Fear grips , but I won't let it take over. Not yet.

I summon my thorns, spinning them, quickly binding them together to form an intricate attack. My movents flow with desperation, my body pushing itself further as I try to weave my vines into a net to catch him.

But Xander...

Xander isn't playing either.

He blitzes forward in a flash, and I barely have ti to react. His sword swings in the air, and I feel a wave of wind cut through my vines—snapping them like twigs.

"Pathetic."

His voice rings with disdain as he closes the distance.

I scramble. My chains lash out, reaching for him, but his sword flicks effortlessly, and suddenly, it's molded in flas, searing through my defenses. It feels like I'm caught in the firestorm itself.

No...

I can't breathe.

I can't think.

I'm going to die.

I feel it. The certainty.

I'm nothing.

The mont Xander gets closer, I see it. That grim reaper aura. It's like a shadow draped over him—black and white, cold as death itself. I swear, for a split second, it feels like I'm staring into the eyes of the reaper, his scythe ready to take my soul.

I'm nothing but a bug to him.

An ant, struggling to move in the face of soone who could wipe off this earth with a flick of their wrist.

I want to scream. I want to run. But my body's frozen, my thoughts a ss.

As he approaches, the darkness around him thickens. His gaze locks onto , and I hear him mutter sothing.

"So much for a cursed queen... not even worth the breath."

His sword gleams in the pale light, and I feel the pressure building. My heart thuds faster. I can't stop this. I can't escape.

I see his sword coming for —too close. It's about to slice my throat open.

This is it. I'm going to die.

How did it co to this? How did I end up facing a man who could end my life so easily?

It's too late...

Kaiser...

His na burns through my mind like a fire I can't put out. Please... In these last monts, I'm consud by nothing but him. His smile, the warmth of his embrace, the monts where everything felt like it could be okay.

But now, it's slipping through my fingers.

I don't want to die like this... I don't want to leave him.

I don't want to die, Kai...

A tear slips down my cheek, and I barely feel it as it trails down my skin. The world around blurs, and the cold steel of Xander's sword inches closer, threatening to end everything in an instant. But my heart... my heart can only scream for one thing.

Please, Kaiser... please, co save .

I need you. More than anything, more than I've ever needed anyone. I've always been afraid of losing myself, afraid of becoming nothing, but the thought of losing him? Of dying here without ever telling him what he ans to ? Without saving him?

That thought is worse than death.

The sword is so close now. It feels like everything is closing in, and I'm suffocating under the weight of my own fear. The only thing I can do is think of him, his na echoing in my soul like a whisper.

I rember the ti he called his heart. The way those words fell from his lips—so simple, yet they shattered sothing inside , leaving a hollow echo that still lingers. It's strange, isn't it? How sothing so small can leave such a mark? How they slipped past so easily, yet they've been chained to ever since.

He owns my heart now, and no matter how much I try to deny it, I can feel it—it's his, completely. And the sadness... it's like a constant ache of missing him. I never asked for this, yet here I am, bound to him, with a heart that can never belong to anyone else. I can't escape it. I don't want to...

Please, my heart... Co for .

I don't know how I'm still holding on, but sohow, the strength I need to survive still lingers in the dark corners of my heart. And I just... I just want to see him again.

Everything is too quiet. Too still.

My breath is sharp in my ears, and the pressure of the world around is suffocating. The sword is so close now. It's so close... too close. I can feel the chill of its edge against my skin, ready to cut through , to end everything. My heart is in my throat, my mind spinning—I don't want to die, not like this, not yet...

And then... BOOM.

A deafening explosion rips through the air, faster than I can process. The sound shakes to my core, a violent force that seems to shatter the very air around . I don't know where it ca from, but it feels like the ground itself is breaking apart.

I flinch, my body going rigid, but... the pressure of the blade is gone. The world is suddenly dark, a thick, all-encompassing blackness that pulls under. My breath hitches, but I can't see anything, not even the faintest glimr of light. My mind races in that crushing silence. What happened?

Then, warmth. Comforting warmth.

Sothing tightens around —arms, strong and familiar. I'm pulled close, so close, into sothing solid, sothing real. My body lts against them, and I hear it—the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart, strong and reassuring. It's a sound I know, a sound that soothes every raw nerve in my body.

Is this truly... happening?

Please, please tell it's real...

I lift my head slowly, my gaze trembling as it ets his. His face, so familiar yet distant, the way his arms hold —safely, protectively—as if nothing in this world could harm .

Is it really you...?

Kaiser...?