The thought was almost silence—broken by the storm. Lightning cracked, thunder rattling through the soaked forest, masking the clash of steel as the maid and Kaela continued their brutal dance.
Blades screamed, axes spinning, swords arcing—each strike pushing, pulling, testing limits. Mud and rain churned beneath their boots. Every step forward was earned through violence; every motion, a gamble.
The maid forced Kaela back, her strength and precision driving the other warrior toward the shattered treeline. Blood ran along her arms, dripping into the mud, but her focus never wavered. She felt the pulse of Draven's struggle in the clearing just ahead, and it fueled her resolve.
Kaela's eyes narrowed, realizing the maid's intent—something beyond mere combat was driving her, a desperate push to reach someone. She struck again, a lethal diagonal sweep, but the maid twisted under it, axes flashing in a blur, connecting with Kaela's side and forcing her backward.
And then—the surge.
The maid's hand snapped outward, palms brushing over her own blood. A hiss of mana ran through her veins, sharp and electric, mingling with the storm. Her eyes gleamed with a crimson fire.
Blood pulsed at her command. She drew it upward, thick and dark, weaving it into jagged spears in midair. Each one hovered, sharp as lightning, dripping with a metallic scent. The forest seemed to shiver, raindrops pattering over the crimson weapons as though the storm itself feared them.
With a flick of her wrists, the spears shot upward, slicing through the rain-soaked air, spinning, twisting—and then raining down in a deadly arc toward Kaela. The sound of tearing air was split with the hiss of the spears piercing the storm, each one a glinting lance of blood and mana, aimed with ruthless precision.
Kaela didn't stop for even a heartbeat. Her eyes widened as she sidestepped—the first spear slammed into the ground mere inches from her feet, sending mud and water splashing upward. The second struck; she moved, deflecting it, sparks and a hiss of magic erupting as her guard held.
The maid pressed her advantage, stepping forward with feral precision, axes swinging in tandem with the blood spears raining down, pushing Kaela relentlessly toward the edge of the clearing.
The storm screamed around them, the clash of magic and steel echoing through the soaked trees. Each heartbeat was a countdown. Every move was a chance. Kaela's blade flashed, cutting through a spear here, deflecting one there, but the maid's assault was relentless—each strike designed to break her guard and force her back.
The air shook. Blood and lightning tangled in the downpour.
Kaela's boots dug into the mud as the maid raised her arm again, crimson light coiling around her like a second storm. The air reeked of iron and ozone; every drop of rain hissed as it hit the heat of her mana.
Blood spears spiraled upward—dozens of them—spinning faster, brighter, until they blurred into a whirling halo above her head. Kaela's eyes narrowed. She could feel the pressure shift, the pull of mana bending the air. This wasn't a strike meant to kill; it was a storm meant to bury.
The maid flicked her hand.
A wall of crimson spears crashed down through the forest, tearing through branches, churning the mud into fountains of steam and ash. Kaela crossed her blade before her face, mana flaring along its edge as she braced. Each impact slammed against her guard, sparks and blood-light bursting outward in waves.
Thunder drowned everything.
She slid backward several paces, boots carving deep ruts into the earth. Another spear struck; she twisted, deflected, felt the shock jar through her shoulders. Then another. And another.
Relentless.
When the final spear shattered against her blade, silence followed—the thick, uneasy kind that comes after devastation. Rain fell again, cooling the seared ground. Steam curled between the broken trees.
Kaela exhaled, lowering her sword slightly, the glow along its edge flickering out.
For the first time since the fight began, she couldn't sense her opponent's presence.
Her eyes swept the smoke, searching. Nothing—no movement, no aura. Just rain, mud, and the faint echo of dissipating mana.
Then she realized.
> Gone.
Kaela straightened, jaw tightening slightly, the rain cooling the seared air around her. Steam rose from the ground in lazy tendrils, curling around her boots. Her gaze drifted to her side, fingers brushing the torn edge of her armor. The wound the maid had left still burned—shallow, but deep enough to sting with every breath.
She crouched, gloved fingers slipping into a pouch at her belt. From it, she drew a small vial—glass filled with a silvery-gold liquid that shimmered faintly through the rain. The liquid inside pulsed with dull golden light.
She uncorked it with her thumb.
> "Tch… always a waste," she muttered, tilting it slightly toward her lips.
But before the potion touched her mouth, a voice came from behind—calm, clear, and close enough to cut through the storm.
> "Commander Kaela. There's no need to waste your stock."
She froze mid-motion, eyes flicking sideways.
A figure stepped from the mist between the trees—armor darker than the storm, cloak dripping, the faint glow of mana tracing along their shoulders. The voice belonged to Saintess Elira, her tone respectful but firm.
> "Let me handle that for you, Commander," she said, raising one hand radiating mana. A faint hum filled the air—the unmistakable signature of healing, soft and golden against the rain's gray.
Kaela lowered the vial, expression unreadable. She watched as Elira approached, the golden light already gathering between her palms. Then she cut her off with a sharp glance.
> "You'll tend to the wounded first," she said. "The others took worse hits than this."
Elira smiled faintly. "With respect, your injury—"
> "Is nothing." Kaela rose to her full height, the motion deliberate.
The wound on her side glowed with a soft golden light that slowly began to fade just as it appeared—and then it was gone, healed.
Elira smiled. "That didn't take so long now, did it, Commander?"
The rain hissed as it hit Kaela's armor, streaking over the once-fresh scar at her side—now no more. Her hand dropped from the vial; it hung at her belt once more.
> "See to them," she repeated, turning her back to Elira. "And don't waste your mana anymore. You've exhausted yourself enough."
Elira's light dimmed slightly, her expression unreadable. After a pause, she inclined her head.
> "As you wish, Commander."
Kaela gave a single nod, gaze still fixed on the distant flashes through the trees—the ghosts of a battle not yet finished.