Claire didn't give him a chance to recover. She planted her back foot, the ground cracking under the pressure, and lunged forward with a thrust so violent the air screamed. A dull, ashen-grey hue began to bleed from the tip of her spear, moving like a slow-motion poison.
Henry caught the strike on the flat of his black greatsword. THOOM. The impact sent him skidding backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the earth, but as he came to a halt, something went wrong.
The spot where the spear had touched his blade didn't just chip—it started to wither.
A web of grey fractures raced across the shadow-steel. The matte-black blade, forged from pure Ichor and authority, began to flake away like burnt paper. It didn't break; it rotted. Within seconds, the massive weapon crumbled into a pile of lifeless ash, leaving Henry staring at his empty, soot-stained hands.
Henry blinked, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "Interesting," he muttered, his voice echoing with a hollow resonance. "The Path of Entropy."
Henry was still looking at the ash of his sword when the sunlight vanished. Serena had closed the gap while he was distracted, her body wreathed in a blinding, viscous gold light.
She didn't use her sword. She spun in mid-air, her leg trailing a streak of radiant energy like a comet's tail.
"Eyes on the prize, Instructor!" Serena shouted.
CRACK. The kick connected squarely with Henry's crossed forearms. The force was astronomical—a perfect synchronization of mass and power. Henry was launched backward like a cannonball. His body tore through the air, smashing into the first line of the forest. The sound of ancient oaks splintering and snapping echoed through the clearing as he disappeared into the thick foliage.
Claire didn't give him a chance to recover. She planted her back foot, the ground cracking under the pressure, and lunged forward with a thrust so violent the air screamed. A dull, ashen-grey hue began to bleed from the tip of her spear, moving like a slow-motion poison.
Henry caught the strike on the flat of his black greatsword. THOOM. The impact sent him skidding backward, his boots carving deep trenches into the earth, but as he came to a halt, something went wrong.
The spot where the spear had touched his blade didn't just chip—it started to wither.
A web of grey fractures raced across the shadow-steel. The matte-black blade, forged from pure Ichor and authority, began to flake away like burnt paper. It didn't break; it rotted. Within seconds, the massive weapon crumbled into a pile of lifeless ash, leaving Henry staring at his empty, soot-stained hands.
Henry blinked, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "Interesting," he muttered, his voice echoing with a hollow resonance. "The Path of Entropy."
Henry was still looking at the ash of his sword when the sunlight vanished. Serena had closed the gap while he was distracted, her body wreathed in a blinding, viscous gold light.
She didn't use her sword. She spun in mid-air, her leg trailing a streak of radiant energy like a comet's tail.
"Eyes on the prize, Instructor!" Serena shouted.
CRACK. The kick connected squarely with Henry's crossed forearms. The force was astronomical—a perfect synchronization of mass and Ichor. Henry was launched backward like a cannonball. His body tore through the air, smashing into the first line of the forest. The sound of ancient oaks splintering and snapping echoed through the clearing as he disappeared into the thick foliage.
The clearing went dead quiet. The other students stood frozen, their mouths agape. They had just watched a commoner and a noble girl dismantle a veteran's weapon and send him flying through a forest like a ragdoll.
Claire panted, her spear trembling in her hand as the grey light receded. She looked over at Serena, a wild, disbelieving laugh bubbling up in her throat. "Did we... did we actually just win?"
Serena didn't lower her sword. Her knuckles were white around the hilt as she stared into the jagged hole in the treeline where the dust was still settling.
"Stay sharp, Claire," Serena warned, her voice barely a whisper. "He's a Stage Ⅳ — Continuance veteran. Men like him don't stay down just because they hit a few trees. They just get annoyed."
Deep in the shadows of the forest, Henry lay on his back, staring up through the canopy at the fractured sunlight. His breathing was ragged, and the copper taste of blood filled his mouth.
In the silence of his mind, the air began to vibrate with two distinct, conflicting echoes.
"You've become weak," a voice hissed—cold, ancient, and layered with a regal arrogance that felt like a weight on his soul. "Look at you. Broken by children. You've spent so long playing at being 'human' that you've actually started to rot."
Henry let out a wet, hollow chuckle, staring at his trembling hands. "Maybe I have," he muttered to the empty air. "I've played this part so long, I don't even know who I am anymore."
"How pathetic," a second voice chimed in—this one deeper, resonating with the hollow hum of darkness. "You already accepted the truth of your nature, so why do you still linger in this half-existence? You were meant to be absolute. There is no one above you. Not in this world, or any other."
The first voice surged back, louder now, vibrating in his skull like a tolling bell.
"You are both. You accepted this truth long ago, so why do you still cower? You think these children have 'potential' just because some mortal prophecy says so? Remember your nature, Morning Star. You are the personification of Defiance. You don't belong in anyone's grand design, and no destiny is strong enough to hold your leash."
Henry's fingers dug into the forest floor, crushing the dry needles and soil. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his bloodied face. The grey in his eyes began to swirl with a dark, iridescent ink.
"That's right," Henry whispered, his voice finally steadying. "That's who I am. I suppose I'll just have to defy the purpose of my existence one more time."
In the clearing, Serena and Claire watched as the dust settled. Suddenly, the temperature plummeted.
Henry stepped out of the treeline. He wasn't walking like a wounded man anymore. Every step he took felt confident. The air around him hissed as his power transformed, shifting from the "contained" energy of a teacher to something much older and much more predatory.
Henry stood in the center of their collapsing world, his silhouette flickering like a dying candle. He let out a low, dry chuckle that seemed to vibrate from every direction at once.
"Today," he said, the metallic resonance of his voice cutting through the artificial roar of the wind, "I'm going to show you exactly why I was made Colonel at the age of nineteen. It wasn't because I was the strongest. It was because I was the most dangerous. Watch closely—this is the only lesson you'll get."
Serena didn't hesitate. She poured every ounce of her remaining power into the air. Twelve massive, golden swords materialized in a circle around her, humming with the frequency of a bell. With a sharp gesture, they launched, tearing through the air at supersonic speeds to converge on Henry.
A massive explosion of dust and golden light obscured the center of the clearing. When the haze settled, Henry was standing there, his hands in his pockets, completely untouched. The swords lay shattered on the ground behind him, as if they had simply passed through a ghost.
Claire roared, her ashen spear igniting with a dull grey light. She lunged, her movements a blur of desperate speed, and drove the spearhead deep into Henry's chest. But there was no resistance. The spear passed through his torso as if he were made of smoke.
"An illusion!" Claire screamed, her eyes darting around.
From Serena's perspective, the world was different. She saw Claire's spear successfully pierce Henry's stomach. She saw him stagger, blood coughing from his lips. But a cold, dreaded feeling washed over her— Henry shouldn't have been caught that easily.
"Serena! Help me finish him!" she heard Claire's voice cry out from the dust.
Serena closed her eyes, ignoring the nagging doubt. She gathered her power into a single, final manifestation. A giant, radiant blade—ten meters of solid, golden light—formed above the clearing. It was a masterpiece of Ichor-shaping. With a scream of effort, she sent it plummeting toward the wounded Henry.
On the other side of the veil, Claire was screaming. "Serena, stop! It's all an illusion! He's not there!"
But to Claire's horror, Serena wasn't looking at her. Serena was looking at a patch of empty air, her eyes glazed with a golden fever. Then, Claire looked up and saw the ten-meter golden sword descending—not on Henry, but directly on her. Claire had no time to gather her Entropy. She threw up a frantic, weak shield, but the golden titan crashed into her, shattering the ground and knocking her into the dark.
In Serena's eyes, the giant sword had crushed Henry. The nightmare was over.
She collapsed to her knees, her lungs burning. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Claire—pale and bruised, but smiling—walking toward her. Claire reached down, putting a supportive arm around Serena's shoulder.
"I think... I think we did it," Serena panted, leaning into her teammate.
"Yeah," Claire said happily, her voice sounding oddly melodic. "I think so too."
Serena let out a weak, triumphant laugh. "It was a good fight. It feels good to finally win against him."
Claire's smile widened, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes. "You're right, Serena. But Henry was right, too. You really are just newbies with zero battle experience."
Serena frowned, a chill running down her spine. "What do you mean? We just defeated him. We—"
Claire began to laugh. It wasn't the laugh of a teenage girl; it was a deep, maniacal cackle. In a flash of motion, "Claire" thrust a jagged black dagger deep into Serena's stomach.
Serena gasped, her vision flickering as she fell to the dirt. She looked up at Claire, her eyes filling with tears of shock. "Claire... why? Why are you doing this?"
The image of the brown-haired girl began to ripple like water. The height changed, the clothes shifted, and the face melted away. Standing over her was Henry, holding the hilt of the black dagger, his eyes still twin pits of darkness.
"Because in a real war, Serena," Henry whispered, the illusion finally dissolving to reveal the unconscious, broken form of Claire ten feet away, "the person standing next to you is the only one who can truly kill you because the rest you can at least see it coming."
He twisted the blade slightly—just enough to sting, not to kill.
"Lesson over."