The clash erupted like a storm on ice. Could anyone believe it? Two men—one a seasoned blade dancer, the other a martial mage prodigy—fighting with reckless abandon as they slid down the frozen slope, all just to catch a fleeing caravan.
Trevus barely ducked beneath a streaking bolt of flame, the heat singeing his cheek as it screamed past. His boots lost traction, sending him tumbling into a roll across the icy road. But in the next instant, he jammed his sabers down, carving lines into the ice to steady himself. His slide continued, controlled now, his teeth gritted as Hans bore down on him.
Hans, by contrast, was the picture of lunatic grace. Each burst of flame from his palms and heels popped like artillery, stabilizing him, correcting his stance, and propelling him forward like some hellish skier. Sparks hissed against the ice with every controlled explosion.
Trevus mirrored him, planting his sabers like makeshift skis, the curved blades shrieking as they cut grooves in the frozen path. With a sudden thrust, he swiped upward at Hans, steel meeting flame. Their clash echoed across the valley, fire against frost.
Hans countered, snapping his foot low, a flaming kick arcing toward Trevus's ribs. Trevus twisted, narrowly avoiding it, but Hans's momentum carried him into the air. He smirked—perfect opening. Palms pressed together, Hans formed a roaring orb of compressed flame, intent on blasting Trevus clean off the slope and into the treeline below.
But Trevus was already moving. A thin string of blue mana shimmered from his wrist, latching onto Hans's collar like a grappling hook. With a grunt, Trevus yanked, pulling himself forward instead of back.
The two collided mid-slide—Trevus's forehead slamming into Hans's nose. Blood spattered across the snow as Hans stumbled, skidding dangerously close to the cliff's edge. For a heartbeat, he teetered, flames sputtering beneath his boots as he steadied himself, chest heaving.
Hans's laughter rang out, wild and bloody. "T-this man! This man is amazing!"
His eyes glowed with manic delight, the pain only fueling his fervor.
"Strong, sharp, and witty enough to bleed me! Hah!"
He swiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, smearing it across his pale skin. His grin was feral.
"You should be thankful, Trevus Regulus! I sent most of my men to guard the other road. That means it's just you and me! No interruptions, no distractions—just us!"
Trevus's jaw tightened. The words hit harder than the blows. Alone. Hans had deliberately orchestrated this encounter, not to kill, but to test—to savor the clash.
Hans flared another burst of fire at his feet, sparks spraying as he hurtled forward again.
"Be honored, Regulus! From this day forth, you're my rival!"
Trevus slid alongside him, eyes narrowing. He understood. This wasn't a simple ambush—it was a man desperate to prove himself, to etch his name into someone else's legend.
All Trevus had to do now… was survive. Survive long enough to give Hans his "show," to play along with the cliche. Because if Hans truly wanted a rival, then maybe—just maybe—he'd let them go.
Their blades and flames met again, carving sparks and frost into the darkening slope as the caravan rushed farther ahead.
The ridge itself groaned under the chaos. Distant cracks echoed from the ice, punctuated by the metallic ring of blades, the roar of flame, and the frantic screams of horses dragging a struggling carriage down the treacherous slope.
Party 5 clung to survival. Harlen and Nira sat at the front, reins gripped tight, their shoulders locked in grim determination as Beck and Betty thundered forward. The horses' nostrils flared, white vapor billowing with each breath, their hooves striking sparks against the frosted path. Every sharp turn forced them into life-or-death maneuvers, the wagon tilting dangerously before slamming back onto the icy road.
Inside, Camylle and Lotha braced against the cabin walls, the air thick with tension. Camylle's eyes darted to the rear, where the figures of Trevus and Hans clashed in flashes of steel and fire, sliding down the slope like dueling comets.
"Should we help him?" Camylle muttered, her voice betraying both fear and awe.
Lotha's gaze remained steady. "No. If he needed us, he'd bark orders. Look at him—he's locked in. You'd only tumble down there and end up in pieces before your sword even left the sheath."
Camylle shot her a glare, but Lotha only shrugged. "Facts are facts. All we can do is keep this wagon upright."
The banter did little to ease the weight in the air, but it bought them focus. Mina, seated close, pressed her lips together as her eyes flicked to Ashe. He clutched his seals like lifelines, the faint glow of Tenfold Veil ink still etched into the paper. For a moment, she admired him—not just for his craft, but for the courage it took to stand firm now.
Meanwhile, behind them, the battle escalated.
Hans came on like a storm. Sparks erupted from his fists as flames licked his knuckles, each strike punctuated by miniature explosions. He rained blows in a flurry, fists blurring, his laughter sharp and unhinged.
Trevus parried each with both sabers, his movements precise, the ringing of steel against burning mana echoing like a relentless war drum. He met every strike, every burst, without faltering.
"You're skilled," Trevus grunted between clashes. "Sharp hands, sharper instincts—but reckless. You burn too fast."
Hans barked a laugh, teeth flashing white against the blood trickling from his nose. "Of course I burn fast! I'm a glass cannon! And damn proud of it!"
With a roar, he detonated bursts from his heels, propelling himself skyward. His body twisted midair, flames erupting from his palms as he dove—a fiery comet aimed at Trevus.
Trevus crouched low, timing his movement with razor focus. At the last instant, he dipped forward, the flaming fist missing by a breath. Hans's boot clipped his side, the impact jarring, nearly sending him tumbling. But Trevus dug his sabers deep into the ice, regaining balance, sparks scraping as he steadied himself.
Hans landed in a skid, his boots digging grooves into the frost. He coiled his body for another strike—only to clip a pebble.
"WOAH!" His balance wavered, his body pitching sideways. For a heartbeat, it seemed he'd roll helplessly down the slope. But with manic improvisation, Hans slammed an explosion into the ground beneath him, blasting himself upright. He landed in a spray of snow, striking a flamboyant pose as though it had all been intentional.
"Ha! Close!" he shouted, voice cracking with exhilaration.
Trevus didn't hesitate. His saber whistled, a flash of steel cutting toward Hans's ribs.
"Okay—too close!" Hans yelped, twisting back just in time, the blade singing past his coat.
And so the duel carried on, sparks and steel chasing the caravan down the slope, neither man giving ground—each testing the other, as if the ice itself were their arena.
Hans's cloak whipped in the wind before he tore it off, casting it into the snowstorm behind him. The grin that lingered on his lips slowly faded—this was no longer a game. His chest rose and fell in quick bursts, his flames hissing hotter against the biting cold. It was his first time battling like this, sliding headlong down an icy slope, the world tilting and screaming around him. What rattled him most wasn't the descent—it was that Trevus kept pace, calm and cutting, a wolf dancing on blades of ice.
Gravity grew crueler with every heartbeat. Their descent sharpened, speed climbing, the air shrieking in their ears.
Hans flared his palms, sending a blitz of explosive fire streaking across the slope. The bursts struck in front of Trevus, spraying shards of ice skyward. Yet Trevus darted between them with surgical precision, ski-blades carved from his sabers guiding him like a duelist waltzing downhill.
"Tch—slippery bastard!" Hans snarled. His jaw set as he ignited both palms, detonating himself upward in a roaring blast. He soared, cloakless, flames licking his frame as he twisted through the air. Then, with a thunderous slam, he struck down onto the slope again. Miniature explosions erupted beneath his boots, kicking him forward in rapid bursts, a controlled propulsion that let him fly just above the ice.
Ahead, the wagon made a wild, bone-rattling left turn, its wheels skidding dangerously as it curved along the ridges. Snow sprayed like white fire from its wheels as Beck and Betty obeyed Harlen's desperate pull on the reins.
Trevus's eyes widened—his path was no longer the road. The slope beneath him vanished into empty air, the cliff yawning like the mouth of death. In seconds, he would plummet into the void.
Above, Hans's laughter cracked like thunder. He hovered, propelled by detonations, eyes locked on the fleeing wagon.
"This is it! The end of Trevus Regulus—oh shi—!"
Hans's words choked off as his eyes caught it again: that faintly glowing string of mana. He had seen it before—snagging his collar, stealing his rhythm. He realized, too late, what it meant.
The string snapped taut, latching onto his boot like a serpent of blue light.
"No—no, no, no!" He kicked furiously, trying to break it loose, but the spell only cinched tighter.
From below, Trevus didn't fight gravity. He harnessed it. The tether yanked him skyward, his body catapulted with terrifying speed. In an instant, he became a human boulder, a missile of steel and muscle.
The impact rattled the ridge.
Trevus smashed into Hans, the collision sending blood from Hans's nose and fire scattering wildly in sparks. Both men were torn from their controlled descent, hurtling together in a violent tumble. Their bodies slammed into the far cliffside with bone-jarring force. Snow and ice exploded upward, echoing like an avalanche breaking free.
When the haze cleared, both men skidded across the parallel ridge—a miracle of terrain. Another stretch of icy road awaited them, running parallel to the wagon's path.
Trevus pushed himself up first, sabers biting into the ground as anchors. His breath steamed in the cold, his eyes locked with Hans's.
Hans staggered to his feet, coughing, blood painting his grin. He spat red into the snow and started laughing—wild, unrestrained, delighted.
"Ha… ha… You crazy bastard. You used me as a bridge."
Trevus wiped a smear of blood from his lip, his sabers gleaming. His answer was cold, clipped, and precise.
"I don't waste lifelines. Even if they're my enemies."
Hans's laughter only grew louder, echoing across the cliffs as both men steadied themselves on the parallel road, flames and steel ready to collide once again.
Trevus and Hans staggered back into their stances, fire and steel ready to clash once more—until a panicked cry tore through the storm.
"Move, you idiots!!!"
It was Harlen, his voice raw with terror.
The wagon barreled toward them, Beck and Betty foaming at the mouth as Harlen yanked hard on the reins. The horses lurched into a sharp left turn, snow spraying like a tidal wave across the cliffside. Trevus and Hans flinched back, the spray biting against their skin.
But the turn was too violent.
The back right wheel skidded past the edge, jerking the whole carriage sideways. Wood groaned under the strain, the rear axle screeching. Beck—the horse on the right—was wrenched toward the abyss, his hooves scrabbling helplessly against the frozen earth as the weight of the carriage dragged him down.
"Beck! Hold on!!" Harlen roared, pulling at the reins, but the horse screamed in panic, its chest and harness straining.
Trevus's heart clenched. Without thinking, he abandoned Hans entirely. His sabers clattered into the ditch at the road's edge as he sprinted. Dropping to one knee, he shoved his arms beneath the tilting frame of the carriage. His boots scraped against the ice, muscles screaming as he forced his mana-reinforced body upward.
The entire right side of the carriage hung over empty air. Trevus's body bowed under the burden, veins bulging against his neck as his breath came out in growls.
"Get off! Lighten it!" he bellowed.
Party Five scrambled. Camylle was first to leap, Nira dragging Ashe by the wrist. Mina followed without hesitation, Lotha landing heavily in the snow beside them. Each body that hit the ground eased the weight, but the creaking wood still threatened to snap.
"Damn it—he can't hold it alone!" Harlen shouted, abandoning the reins to leap down beside Trevus. His hands shoved against the frame, teeth gritted.
Then, to everyone's shock, Hans appeared on the opposite side. Flames licked at his palms as he pressed them to the wood—not to burn, but to push. His lean frame lacked Trevus's power, but the raw force of his explosions gave him leverage, bursts timed with precision as he forced the carriage back an inch at a time.
For the first time, enemies strained shoulder to shoulder, grunting and roaring as Beck thrashed, snow scattering into the void below.
"Pull, damn you, pull!!" Hans spat, his eyes wild, his grin stretched with effort.
With a final heave, the carriage lurched back onto the road. The right wheel slammed down hard, cracking but holding. Beck collapsed into the snow, sides heaving as his harness slackened.
The ridge went quiet, save for the ragged breathing of men and horses. Trevus still braced against the frame, trembling with exertion. Hans staggered back, wiping blood and sweat from his face, before breaking into that manic, delighted laughter again.
"Hah! Now that—that's the kind of madness I live for!"
The last light of the sun dipped low, bleeding the sky in bruised reds and violets. At 6:49, Ashe flicked open his pocket watch, the hands gleaming faintly in the dying glow. The numbers meant little compared to the tension prickling across the ridge.
Party Five had formed a semicircle instinctively, their bodies tense, eyes sharp. Hans Hipzeig, the lieutenant who moments ago tried to kill them, now stood beside them—having helped them drag their carriage from the cliff.
Camylle flexed her knuckles, flames smoldering in her throat like an unlit torch. Harlen leveled his arming sword, the edge trembling from his iron grip. Lotha whispered beneath her breath, her hands glowing as runes knit along her forearms, ready to snap into form at a word.
Above, the shadow crow folded its wings and dissolved into black mist, weaving itself back into Nira's right hand. Her dagger handles gleamed in her grip, her voice silent but her eyes locked onto Hans.
Trevus reached out with a flicker of thought. Blue threads of mana stretched into the snowdrift where his sabers lay. They leapt like loyal hounds into his waiting hands, one blade pointed at Hans's chest.
"W-why?" Trevus demanded, his voice ragged from strain. "Why would you do that? Why help us?"
Hans lifted his hands slowly, palms open, though his grin refused to fade. His nose still bled, and his breath fogged in wild bursts, but his eyes glittered with unspent laughter.
"I-I—hah, you're asking me?" he said, stammering between chuckles. "Y'know… I'm just in it for the game, not the long run. That's all. Heh."
Trevus's blade wavered closer, but his brow furrowed. "I don't even know what that means."
Hans barked a short laugh, shaking his head. "Neither do I! But I understand it here—" He tapped two fingers against his chest.
"That excitement. The fire that roars when someone pushes me to my limit—that's what I live for. Not for the glory, not for the crumbs the guild feeds us. This. This madness. This fight."
The silence thickened, broken only by Beck's labored breaths. The others didn't lower their guard, not even an inch.
Hans's eyes lingered on Trevus, unblinking, the grin curling sharper now. "You. Trevus Regulus. You might be it. The one I've been waiting for. My rival."
Trevus's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
Hans's gaze flicked down the ridge, where smoke from their clash still hung in the air. "But our little dance is over. For now. Those blasts I let loose? Loud enough to rattle the mountains. Loud enough to draw the rats back."
He shrugged, as if it were nothing. "Even if I wear their colors, they won't care that I'm here. And trust me—you don't want to be here when they return."
The Party's circle held, but unease bled between them. They could feel it—the clock ticking down again. The road stretched on, and Hans, the Hare, had already sown chaos enough.
With a jaunty half-bow, he took one step backward, his feet crackling with miniature bursts of flame.
"So—live, survive, keep running. Because I'll be waiting, Trevus Regulus. Next time… don't disappoint me."
Hans tilted his head, as though a sudden thought had sparked in that restless mind of his. The grin softened—not gone, but sharper, quieter.
"Alright," he said, lowering his hands and letting faint sparks die from his palms. "New deal. I'll let you go. I'll even throw the dogs off your scent. But…" He pointed at Trevus with a lazy, accusing finger. "You tell me. What's your primary magic discipline?"
The air went still.
Party Five shifted uneasily. Camylle nearly snapped, but Trevus silenced her with a glance. His jaw tightened, his breath shallow. He understood. In this world, revealing your discipline was like handing someone your heart's cipher, your hidden blade. Most guarded it closer than their real name.
"Don't," Lotha whispered, her voice low with urgency. "It's not worth it."
Hans smirked wider. "Oh, come now. A fair trade, don't you think? Your lives, your little wagon, in exchange for a single word. What's the harm? Unless, of course… you're too ashamed to say."
Trevus hesitated, weighing the knife-edge of pride and necessity. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and said it, cold and flat:
"…Simple Magic."
For the first time, Hans's expression soured. His brow arched, his nose wrinkled as though he'd just bitten into spoiled fruit.
"Simple… Magic?" he repeated, dragging the words. Then he groaned, head rolling back in theatrical disgust. "You mean the training wheels? The scraps they teach every brat at eight years old? That's what you've been clinging to in your twenties?"
Nira shifted, ready to defend him, but Trevus spoke first, unflinching. "My affinity is frost."
Hans's eyes flickered, briefly intrigued. Then he waved it off with a scoff. "Frost, huh? Figures. And yet… no flashy sorcery, no clever weaving, nothing? You just throw sparks and ice like a child? That's pathetic."
"I have no interest in training magic," Trevus said simply, his hand tightening on his saber.
"Steel is enough."
For a moment, Hans just looked at him—measuring, weighing. Then he laughed again, softer this time, almost fond.
"Of course. A sword junkie. All brawn, all instinct. Hah. Boring—but interesting in its own way. Fine."
He flicked his fingers, sparks trailing as he stepped back toward the treeline. "I'll spare you. Consider it a courtesy from the Hare. But remember this—" His eyes burned with restless hunger. "When we meet again, I expect you to prove that a man of 'Simple Magic' can actually keep me entertained."
With a burst of flame, Hans launched himself into the growing dark, his laughter echoing against the frozen cliffs.
The Party stood frozen in his absence, their breaths visible in the cold silence. Trevus lowered his blades last, but his eyes stayed locked on the horizon.
As the wagon creaked along the frost-bitten ridge, Betty and Beck's breaths steaming in the chill air, the silence was finally broken by Nira's sly voice.
She leaned against the bench, shoulder brushing Trevus's, her daggers resting idly across her lap. "Hey, Trev…" she began, casual but sharp-edged. "Male-to-male relationships—were they common back in the Legion?"
Trevus turned to her with a face that nearly twisted. A line cut between his brows, his jaw half-dropping. "...Who even starts a conversation like that?" he muttered.
Nira only smirked, tilting her chin up at him, eyes glittering with mischief. "C'mon, answer."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It was… just as common as male-to-female. Soldiers don't exactly have the luxury of choice. When you fight and bleed together, bonds form. That's all."
Nira's smirk widened into a grin, her voice laced with amusement. "Heh. So Hans was practically glowing when he saw you. Guess he finally found himself a soulmate."
The comment hung in the cold air like a spark. Trevus stiffened, his ears warming despite the freezing wind, and he gave her a hard side-glance.
From inside the wagon, Harlen's sudden laughter rang out, loud and unrestrained. He slapped his knee, barely able to breathe. "A soulmate?! Hah! Oh, that's good—Trevus and Hans, bound by fate!"
Camylle groaned at the noise, shoving Harlen back down onto his seat. "Pipe down before you choke on your own spit, idiot."
Lotha, quiet as ever, only glanced toward Trevus from her corner seat, her expression unreadable in the dim orange light of the sunset.
Ashe, sitting opposite, couldn't help but crack the faintest smile, though he quickly hid it behind his scarf.
Trevus exhaled heavily, returning his eyes forward, gripping the reins tighter. "...You people have too much energy."
Nira chuckled under her breath, clearly pleased with herself.