"We have been betrayed once more! They broke the treaty and struck our camps!"
"These are civilians, not soldiers! Simple Sarkaz people!!"
"Why did you kill my wife? Why must my people endure such injustice?!"
"Why won't you let us live in peace?!"
"We only wanted a land of tranquility! We only needed a place where we could belong!"
"Is it truly just because we are Sarkaz?!"
— The Fourth King of Kazdel, 'The Blue Rage'
Confronting the nameless mercenary captain, Yujin felt his senses sharpen to a razor's edge. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since facing masters of a certain caliber in his past.
Pressure—pure, suffocating pressure—radiated from the man standing before him with the greatsword. The man exhaled slowly as he looked at Yujin shielding Theresia, acting as if this was merely another annoying errand.
"Haaa... I try to kill one rat, and another pops out. Is the one causing a riot downstairs a friend of yours, too?"
That was the signal. Yujin drew his sword in one fluid motion and leveled it at the man. The blade gleamed with an eerie light, and the man glared back with visible irritation.
"Listen here, brat. When an adult asks you a question, you're supposed to answer."
"...I have nothing to say to an intruder."
Yujin's short reply was enough for the man. Dragging his greatsword across the floor with a metallic screech, he closed in.
"Haha! Truly touching friendship. Brats huddling together, struggling to survive... how very much like insects!"
With those words, the man lunged, swinging his heavy blade down in a vertical cleave. Yujin angled his sword to parry, letting the strike slide off the edge of his blade.
"You're not running?!"
"Even if I did, there's nowhere left to go."
Retreating with Theresia was impossible now. The other children hadn't made it far enough yet, and against a man of this caliber, Yujin knew he couldn't protect her while fleeing.
"A mistake. You should have abandoned your friend and saved yourself!"
With a delighted roar, Tarkan swung again. Yujin continued to shift his stance, redirecting the momentum of the strikes.
"Then, how about this?"
Perhaps bored of Yujin's defensive maneuvers, the man shifted his weight and charged directly toward the collapsed Theresia. Predictably, Yujin threw himself into the path, swinging his sword with everything he had.
Crash!
Force met force. But Yujin could not simply overcome the raw power of a grown man wielding a greatsword reinforced by Arts.
"Ngh...!"
"Consider it a gift—since you're about to die, I'll give you my name. Tarkan. That is the name of the man who will kill you."
"Like I... give a damn...!"
Yujin gritted his teeth and shoved Tarkan's blade back. He was channeling his own Arts, but he knew clashing head-on with Tarkan's physical strength was suicide.
This was the worst possible situation. The opponent was a powerhouse from who-knows-where, and Yujin could only grit his teeth in frustration. His eyes scanned the room rapidly. Theresia was down, unable to provide support; Theresis was busy below, drawing the attention of the other mercenaries.
There was no help coming. Judging by the aura he projected, Tarkan was definitely the leader. This situation would only end once he was put down.
Boom!
Harnessing his Arts for an explosive burst of speed, Yujin lunged at Tarkan. If Tarkan's blade was a hammer, Yujin's had to be the wind—limitless and free. He had to exploit that advantage.
Watching Yujin, Tarkan felt a spark of twisted joy. To find such talent in a nameless backalley, among parentless orphans... it was remarkable.
Sparks flew as the greatsword and the blade collided. Yujin's fast, light, yet deceptively heavy strikes clashed with the overwhelming, oppressive presence of Tarkan's Arts. Each blade glowed with its respective power.
The moment the greatsword swung for his head again, Yujin did something unthinkable: he let go of his sword. He leaped, spun mid-air, and delivered a precise, heavy kick with his instep directly into Tarkan's temple.
"You crazy—?!"
The decision to abandon his weapon and the sheer audacity to bet everything on a mid-air strike left Tarkan stunned. Yujin landed and recovered his sword as Tarkan stumbled.
Despite the heavy blow to the head, Tarkan didn't fall. Yujin gripped his sword tighter, though the foot he had used to kick Tarkan was throbbing with a dull ache.
But he didn't back down. There was someone behind him he had to protect.
Even though it was daytime, the sky remained a dismal grey. Yet, in the shadows of the unlit, abandoned building, Yujin's sword began to glow with a brilliant, shimmering platinum light.
The boy's blade shone like a star.
Tarkan felt a flicker of regret.
As they exchanged blows, he recognized the brilliance of Yujin's talent. If he had been born anywhere else, with the right backing, that power would have shone even brighter. It reminded him of a certain girl he had once faced—though she was a monster in a league of her own. Tarkan hadn't been able to guarantee his own victory against her; in fact, when he heard her name, he had wondered why such a person had been sent to hunt him.
As Tarkan steadied himself, rubbing his bruised temple, Yujin's sword erupted in that platinum light.
Flash.
Yujin's resolute eyes met Tarkan's. In that moment, Tarkan felt a deep, boiling irritation. In this country filled only with hatred and abandonment, in these slums where living a normal life was impossible, in this trash-filled ruin—how could such a pure light exist? It was offensive.
Most Sarkaz Arts were dark and grim, reflecting the nature of the race and its history. Tarkan's own Arts were a deep, blood-like crimson.
He had thought this would be a quick cleanup. He had to admit he had miscalculated. The boy was an anomaly—a genius who had awakened his own Arts. Much like the girl who used mental interference, and likely like the boy fighting below.
"Heh..."
Tarkan let out a hollow laugh. What kind of place were these backalleys to harbor three children with such monstrous talent?
Should I run?
He immediately crushed the thought by slamming his greatsword into the ground. Running from Yujin, who had declared he wouldn't retreat, was a stain on his pride.
Moreover, seeing that light stirred a long-buried memory in Tarkan. He remembered the days when he was a knight protecting the King in the Royal Court. Hadn't he resolved to do whatever it took to return to that place? He wanted to shine as a knight again, not rot as a lowly mercenary. This atrocity was just a step in that process. Or so he told himself.
Grit.
Tarkan bared his teeth. Like Yujin, he flooded his body with Arts, his form wreathed in a red glow as he charged.
The platinum blade accelerated like a falling star. The crimson greatsword met it like a storm.
One exchange, two—with every clash, the surrounding structure began to crumble. Tarkan used the momentum of his heavy blade to spin gracefully, his greatsword slicing through the support pillars of the building as if they were paper as he pressured Yujin.
In the midst of this clash of steel, Tarkan grinned. He realized Yujin had overlooked something. Arts come in many forms. And Tarkan's was not merely physical reinforcement.
Snap!
Tarkan flicked his fingers. Suddenly, everything his blade had touched began to explode.
Boom! CRASH! BOOM!
Flames roared. In the chain of explosions, Yujin managed to keep his footing, but he couldn't avoid the shrapnel and the minor cuts from the blade.
Burning with pain, Yujin was blown back. As the smoke cleared, he struggled to find his voice.
"...Why?"
"Oh? You're finally speaking."
Tarkan planted his greatsword in the floor.
"With that kind of power... why do you do this? Why do you hurt innocent people?"
Tarkan snickered at the golden light in Yujin's eyes. Wasn't it obvious?
"I am simply doing what is necessary to return to the place where I belong."
Return to the Royal Court as a knight. That was Tarkan's only goal. It was the only reason he had survived this long.
"...That's it? Killing innocent children, selling them, making them suffer... for a reason like that?"
"To me, that is reason enough."
Yujin knew. He knew what happened to the children who were sold. Organ harvesting, slavery, far worse. He had seen too much. He raised his sword again.
He could not lose. Not to a man like this.
Yujin, who had never truly hit a wall until now, exhaled a ragged breath. He had to win. He would win. He refused to become like these people. He would seize victory honorably.
This was his Second Promise.
A vow that he would never be defeated by an evildoer.
At that moment, another mark of light etched itself onto Yujin's arm, glowing with renewed brilliance.