A quiet rain soaked the forest.
The raging blaze that had swept through the woods was slowly dying down. Though some embers still smoldered, sending up wisps of smoke, the fire no longer roared with the same fierce intensity.
A choking haze hung in the air.
Yuri swung his sword and asked Yalta, “Aren’t you calling your men?”
“Huh?”
“Your subordinates.”
Yalta rolled his eyes.
“Why?”
Yuri smirked.
“Don’t want to? Then don’t.”
“You scared of one-on-one and want to fight as a group?”
“No. Surely not.”
“Then?”
“I want to fight you two alone, but I’m afraid of being interrupted.”
“For a lowlife like you from Yohaim, you’ve got some pride.”
If Yuri were in Yalta’s shoes, even though the fire had died down, he would have seized the chance to push the Imperial forces forward while the Alloy Brigade was away.
But Yalta seemed indifferent.
Yuri said, “Yalta.”
“Just fight already. Why keep talking?”
“Now that I think about it, maybe you’re right.”
“My words?”
“Swinging your sword and living as you please.”
“Flattering me now won’t help…”
Yuri grabbed Yalta by the chin and roughly lifted his face.
Yalta’s eyes widened.
“You’re not going to hurt yourself, are you…?”
Yuri pulled off his slime mask and tossed it aside. Beneath it was the face of a handsome young man, with black hair and dark eyes.
“Wait, two faces? A mage?”
“Something like that.”
Yuri took a deep breath.
The mask had been stifling his breathing, but now fresh air filled his lungs. His slightly narrowed vision cleared.
Most importantly, through the skin on his face, he could sense the flow of the air around him in greater detail.
“I am Yuri Briol, the third prince of Briol.”
“Huh?”
Yalta tilted his head.
“This is Yohaim, though.”
“No matter how dumb you are, you should at least know why I’m revealing my identity.”
“Hmm…”
Yalta scratched his cheek, then suddenly broke into a wide, ferocious grin. The awkwardness from before was gone, replaced by a dangerous aura.
“So you’re planning to kill me, huh, rookie.”
Yuri smiled back.
“Yeah.”
With that, they charged at each other.
The clash echoed like an explosion.
Yuri’s sword was knocked aside, and his body was pushed backward.
Yalta pressed forward relentlessly, swinging his blade at Yuri’s entire body.
Having lost the initiative, Yuri dodged and blocked repeatedly, wounds forming on his thigh and shoulder.
“Big talk for this little skill!”
Yalta shouted, slashing downward.
In an instant, Yuri summoned a swirling sword energy, shooting it upward at an angle. The spinning vortex bit into Yalta’s blade.
The screech of metal filled the air.
Yalta’s sword faltered and stopped just before Yuri’s forehead.
Yuri immediately struck it away and delivered a flying kick to Yalta’s abdomen.
Yalta staggered back.
Feigning to sheath his sword, Yuri suddenly thrust into empty air. A pinpoint strike aimed for Yalta’s chest pierced the space between them.
Clang.
The blade was blocked.
Yalta turned his sword sideways to stop the attack.
He smirked.
“Nice little trick.”
The sword energy around Yalta flared higher, mana blazing like fire.
“Try your tricks again. You might just be fun to kill.”
Yalta took a step forward. Then another.
On the next step, his body surged forward.
Like teleporting, he appeared right before Yuri’s eyes and swung his sword horizontally.
It was like a massive guillotine crashing down on Yuri’s waist.
The height and rhythm were so precise that ducking was impossible; the only option was to leap upward.
But that would leave him hanging in the air, an easy target.
Yuri made a split-second decision.
Just as he had told Yalta before the fight, it wasn’t a calculated move.
He simply acted on impulse, swinging without concern for the outcome.
The Spirit Slash responded.
Their blades clashed again with a thunderous boom.
Mud and rain splattered, clouding the view.
As the debris settled, the two figures came into focus.
Yalta lay sprawled on the ground.
“Uh…”
Yalta blinked, clearly confused.
“What just happened…?”
He looked down at his sword-wielding hand.
His entire arm trembled uncontrollably.
He clenched and unclenched his fist repeatedly, as if unable to summon strength.
Without giving him more time, Yuri stepped forward and swung Guilty.
Raindrops caught on the blade were sliced cleanly.
A spray of blood-tinged water erupted.
“Argh!”
Yalta writhed on the ground, blood streaming from his forearm. Though he avoided a fatal wound, the injury was deep.
“You bastard!”
Yalta roared.
“Using weird tricks!”
Yuri said nothing. The world before his eyes blurred.
He hadn’t deliberately entered the Spirit Realm, yet Yalta’s furious figure appeared as a vague shadowy mass.
It wasn’t just his vision.
Sounds were dissected into ringing echoes, and even the faintest scents were perceived in varying intensities of acridness.
He could feel the distant flow of wind on his skin.
More than that, something indescribable stirred within him.
Yuri could pinpoint the hostile intent rushing toward him.
The dark mass within it carried a malevolent energy, connected to somewhere beyond this place.
Though Yalta was already close, Yuri felt no fear.
He looked down at Guilty in his hand.
Its form was incomplete.
He didn’t fully understand what the Spirit Realm was, but at this moment, he sensed something.
He thought he was beginning to understand.
Chaos.
The mysterious realm he had glimpsed during sparring with Moyongchan now enveloped him.
Here, nothing was fixed.
Not even form.
Until observed.
Therefore, what he held was pure disorder—and infinite potential.
How to control it was up to him alone.
He gripped Guilty.
A wedge-shaped beam of light rested in his palm.
A raw gem’s shape is determined by the craftsman. Skill affects its perfection, but ultimately, the blueprint depends solely on the artisan’s will.
Yuri held Guilty.
He infused the Spirit Slash into the sword, then carefully overlaid the chaos he had drawn up.
The beam of light that had seemed formless gradually took on a clear shape.
Guilty now stood fully formed, retaining its true appearance even within the Spirit Realm.
Yuri lifted his gaze.
As he attuned to his new senses, Yalta charged again.
But Yuri felt no urgency.
Within the possibilities held by chaos, a moment stretched like eternity.
Yuri swung his sword to meet the attack.
The collision of two wills snapped Yuri’s mind back to reality.
“Ugh!”
Yalta was thrown backward once more.
Yuri clenched Guilty tightly, lowered his stance, and aimed a thrust at Yalta’s knee.
Yalta pulled his leg back just in time to avoid it.
Then, he brought his sword down heavily over Yuri’s head.
Yuri met the strike from below.
Their blades clashed, and Yalta’s upper body staggered backward. He lost his balance, retreating with wide eyes.
“No way!”
Yuri hurled Guilty toward Yalta’s exposed chest.
Yalta twisted his body, but the blade pierced his right side.
“Ah…”
Yalta’s eyes rolled back.
Blood gushed as Yuri withdrew the sword.
“Grahk!”
Yalta clawed at his chest with the sword hand, the hilt stained red.
“Crazy, crazy…”
He gritted his teeth and summoned a mana method. His chest muscles contracted, and the bleeding slowly stopped.
An impossible physical feat, yet Yuri watched calmly.
Yalta glared at him.
“What the hell happened to you? How did you suddenly get such power…?”
Yuri took a step forward instead of answering.
Yalta jumped back two steps, startled.
Unable to admit his fear, he twisted his face in anger.
“You bastard, lowlife, rookie…”
But his voice lacked strength.
Even the rage he tried to summon seemed crushed by another feeling.
“How… how did you suddenly…”
Yuri closed his eyes, then opened them again. His vision flickered between the Spirit Realm and reality.
He no longer paid attention to Yalta.
This awakening was temporary. He was adjusting his senses to better grasp this power.
Yalta stepped forward, swinging his sword.
“Arrgh!”
His body swelled as if about to explode.
Still, a Ten-Strong warrior was a Ten-Strong warrior. Even with a blade in his chest, he unleashed powerful attacks that could fell trees with their shockwaves.
But Yuri didn’t flinch.
“Graaah!”
That beastly fury reminded Yuri of Graham.
In many ways, they were complete opposites.
Where Yalta lived on impulse, Graham was always restrained.
That difference made them entirely different beings.
So what about Yuri himself?
Yuri saw the chaos swirling within his sword.
It wasn’t a comforting sight.
Watching the disorder trapped inside made her feel like her mind was unraveling.
Her very existence felt as meaningless as smoke, ready to dissipate at any moment.
But she had to do it.
Only by embracing that chaos could she gain strength, stand against her enemies, and protect what she held dear.
Yuri spoke.
“You killed Sir Graham, so I’m going to kill you.”
“What’s your connection to Graham?”
“He saved my life.”
“What?”
What if she had died by Graham’s hand that day?
Could she have gone back to the past?
Maybe yes, maybe no.
But one thing was certain: if she had died then and returned to the past, she would never have become the Yuri Briole she was now.
It was Graham’s mercy that day, and the sadness in his eyes, that shaped who she had become.
“Debts of kindness and hatred must be repaid.”
Yalta’s eyes turned bloodshot.
He opened his mouth, trembling.
“Go ahead, try it.”
“W-what?”
“Beg me to spare you.”
Yuri curled the corner of her lips.
“You don’t want to, do you?”
“Th-that…”
“Die.”
Guilty lunged toward Yalta’s neck.
Yalta reflexively raised his hand to block.
As he grabbed the blade, four of his fingers were sliced off.
“Arrgh!”
“Just die quietly.”
“P-please! I’m begging you, spare me!”
“Oh…”
Yuri turned her back and stomped on Yalta’s crawling form.
“Spare me!”
“You’ve grown up now. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to—like begging pitifully for your life.”
“Please, please spare me! I’ll give you anything. I’ll join the Ten Strong. I’ll give you money. I’ll speak well to His Majesty so you can do whatever you want—just please, spare my life…”
Looking down at the desperate Yalta, Yuri thought of her past self.
She, too, had begged for her life.
What must Graham have thought then?
Did he see her as pathetic and pitiful?
Yuri sighed and smiled bitterly.
“You really are something.”
“Huh?”
“Not you.”
She plunged Guilty into him.
The chaos dwelling in her sword was finally observed in Yalta’s death.
“How did he manage to hold back and spare him before?”
Yuri looked up at the sky. The rain was still falling.
She let Guilty drop from her hand and closed her eyes.
The fire that had burned inside her gradually faded.
“Haah…”
She exhaled a long breath.
“Congratulations.”
Suddenly, a voice came from behind. She didn’t need to see who it was to know.
“Lady Inariel.”
“Yeah, kid.”
The salmon-colored-haired elf stood beside Yuri, looking down at Yalta’s corpse.
“You killed one of the Ten Strong.”
“Somehow, it happened.”
“Are you one of the Ten Strong now?”
“Who knows.”
“For someone your age to kill one of the Ten Strong—that’s unprecedented.”
Yuri wasn’t particularly pleased.
Inariel, who was nudging Yalta’s body with her toe, said,
“I don’t know what your relationship with Graham is.”
“Huh?”
“Consider this my gift to you.”
Inariel waved her staff.
A faint light appeared, revealing someone’s image.
“I swapped him out before that bastard could crush his head. I tried to save him, but he’s already crossed the line between life and death. He won’t last long.”
Within the glow was Graham, frozen with a hole in his chest.
Inariel said,
“You’ll have time to say your goodbyes.”