The cold silence of the underground lobby was broken not by battle cries, but by the soft tap of fine leather shoes.
The scent of blood still hung thick in the air. The shattered remains of crow soldiers lay sprawled in broken heaps around Saya, their lifeless wings twitching as if unwilling to accept their end. Her chest rose and fell in heavy rhythm. Blood dripped from open wounds, soaking into the floor beneath her feet. Her twin katanas, stained and chipped, hung heavy in her hands.
And then she heard it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
From behind the lifeless line of corpses emerged a tall figure dressed in a spotless pink suit. A soft smile played on his beak-like face. A pink fedora tilted just enough to shadow his crimson eyes.
"Charming performance," he said, voice smooth and light. "But I'm afraid the real show begins now."
Saya raised her blades, breath catching.
"I suppose introductions are in order," he continued, spreading his arms as though welcoming applause. "I am Aiden, Commander of Raven. And now, darling swordswoman, I'll be your final curtain."
Her fingers tightened on her hilts. Every part of her body ached. Cuts lined her arms. One leg trembled under her own weight. But her eyes—those stayed sharp.
"I don't care who you are," she whispered. "If you stand in my way... I'll cut you down."
Aiden chuckled. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Then he vanished.
Saya barely reacted in time. A blast of air exploded before her as Aiden reappeared mid-strike. His right fist came crashing toward her like a cannon. She crossed her blades and blocked—but the sheer force hurled her backward. Her feet skidded across the cracked marble.
Before she could recover, he was already there.
A left palm slammed into her side. Bones cracked. She coughed blood. Her back hit a pillar hard enough to break it, debris raining down around her.
Aiden stood a few meters away, examining his nails as if bored.
"Still conscious. Good."
Saya screamed and lunged. Her katana sang through the air in a horizontal arc.
Aiden leaned slightly, the blade missing his throat by a breath. He caught her wrist mid-swing and twisted. Her shoulder burned in agony. She retaliated with her other blade—but he deflected with a casual flick of his elbow, his other hand rising for a second crushing blow.
She ducked under it and drove her knee into his gut. It landed—but it was like striking steel. He didn't flinch.
She leapt back, barely avoiding a backhand that shattered the stone wall behind her.
Every exchange left her more ragged. Her arms were shaking now. Her breathing was broken, shallow. But still—she came.
Strike after strike, each swing a desperate burst of speed. Her blades blurred as she drove forward.
Aiden caught both swords mid-swing with his bare hands.
He leaned close.
"Beautiful effort," he whispered. "But beauty alone won't save you."
Then he twisted her blades aside and drove his head into her forehead. The impact echoed like thunder. She reeled. Her vision flashed white.
She stumbled.
Aiden advanced slowly now, not attacking. Just watching.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
She looked down at her shaking hands.
"Why…" she whispered. "Why can't I reach him?"
"I'll show you why," Aiden said softly.
He raised his hand again—but this time, not to strike.
A shimmer danced in the air. Faint at first. Then stronger.
It was… sweet.
The scent flowed gently, like blooming flowers in the heart of spring. It wasn't cloying. It wasn't sharp. It was pleasant, seductive, a scent that coiled through the lungs and down into the soul. It passed through pain and exhaustion like water through silk.
Saya's breath caught.
Her hands trembled again—but differently this time.
The scent reached deeper. Into her chest. Into her mind.
And something inside her opened.
A vision—no, a memory—flashed before her eyes. The first time she held a blade. The thrill of movement. The sound of steel kissing steel. The nights spent mastering the dance of swords.
Her dominant desire—swordsmanship.
It bloomed like a rose of silver fire in her heart.
And then… it began to take over.
Aiden watched with a small smile.
"Fascinating, isn't it? A little nudge," he said, "and the deepest part of you rises to the surface."
Saya dropped to her knees.
She could feel it. Her own thoughts—slipping. Her own voice—drowned.
All that remained… was the blade.
Her fingers moved on their own. She stood up.
Aiden raised a brow. "Ah, so you can still move."
She stepped forward.
Her movements had changed.
They were fluid now. Not rushed. Not frantic. They were perfect. Like the blade and her body were one.
She vanished.
Aiden's eyes widened.
She appeared behind him, katana slashing upward.
He turned just in time, raising his forearm. The blade bit into his jacket, slicing through the pink cloth—but only shallowly into his flesh.
Aiden grunted. Blood sprayed.
Then came another strike. And another. And another.
She was everywhere.
She wasn't attacking like a wounded fighter anymore.
She was executing.
Each strike came from impossible angles. Each motion wasted no effort. Her face was calm. Her movements graceful. She wasn't trying to kill Aiden—she was killing him.
He began to retreat.
He blocked, dodged—but he was getting cut now. Real cuts. Deep ones.
He dashed backward, wings unfurling, trying to gain distance.
She followed.
Their clash shook the very walls.
Saya leapt, twirled mid-air, and brought both swords down. Aiden caught them with his hands—but his palms split open from the force. Blood splattered.
He kicked her away and snarled.
"What did I awaken in you?" he hissed.
Saya said nothing.
She stepped again. Her blades shimmered like liquid moonlight.
She raised them slowly.
And whispered: "Moon Strike."
Aiden's eyes widened.
One hundred strikes. One second.
She vanished from view.
What followed was a storm of silver. A symphony of death. Her blades danced through the air—left, right, up, down, through and around him. Each strike found a target. Armor shredded. Flesh torn. Feathers scattered like ash.
Aiden roared in agony, wings trying to shield him, but they were too slow.
When it ended—he dropped.
Bleeding. Coughing. Twitching.
Saya landed on one knee, chest heaving.
Aiden tried to rise.
She walked toward him slowly. One eye swollen. Blood dripping from her lip. Her body was almost broken—but her will wasn't.
He raised his hand weakly. "I… am not… finished…"
She raised her sword.
And plunged it through his chest.
Aiden gasped. Then exhaled.
And finally… stilled.
Saya stood over his body, her blade buried to the hilt. Her hands trembled. But her eyes—those stayed open.
She looked around the ruined lobby.
Twelve dead crow soldiers.
One fallen commander.
And not far away—Kazui, barely breathing.
She stumbled toward him and dropped to her knees beside him.
His eyes barely opened.
"Sa..Ya?"
She smiled.
"It's good that you are alright. " he whispered, and smiled faintly.
Then everything went black for her.
But she had won.
Not because she was stronger.
But because when desire tried to consume her…
She tamed it.
And with her blade, she carved the path forward.
Saya's vision blurred as the pain from her countless wounds overwhelmed her. Her swords slipped from her hands and clattered to the bloodstained floor. Her breath hitched once—and then her body gave in. She collapsed.
The battle was over.
Silence returned to the shattered lobby.
Then, from amidst the stillness, another figure stirred.
Kazui.
His eyes fluttered open slowly. His vision was hazy, the world around him spinning. Blood matted his hair and pooled beneath him, and a dull ache screamed from every nerve in his body. But through the blur, he saw movement.
The relic opened itself showing some information, an information quite important to Saya and Kazui.
He focused his vision on that information and read it.
[You have successfully defeated 12 Karasu and Aiden]
[+1500 Souls]
[Saya has Leveled Up x9]
[Current Level: 15]
[New Skill Unlocked: Shameless Swordsmanship]
A panel hovered in front of Kazui's half-lidded eyes:
Shameless Swordsmanship(Passive Skill)
– Attack & Speed: x5
– Defense: ÷2
The user becomes devastatingly fast and lethal, but at the cost of drastically lowering their guard.
Kazui blinked. His thoughts were scattered. His limbs numb.
Then—
Saya stirred.
She rose slowly, the light of the level-up washing over her body like a divine flame. Her wounds sealed in real time—gashes knitting closed, bruises fading, blood vanishing as if reversed in time. Her twin katanas reformed cleanly in her hands, gleaming as if they had never known a drop of blood.
She stood tall.
And at that moment, Kazui remembered.
Everything.
The scent. The desire. The helplessness. The betrayal of his own thoughts and impulses.
A sickening wave surged through him.
Disgust.
Not at Saya. Not at anyone else.
At himself.
He sat up slowly, fists clenched, face twisted in shame. The memory of what that scent had drawn out of him clawed into his mind like poison. He had always been a flirt. A pervert, sure—but never would he have let himself cross that line.
And yet…
He lowered his head. Then, he forced himself onto his knees. He crawled toward Saya and bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the bloodstained floor in front of her knees.
"I'm sorry, Saya," he said, voice shaking. "I had no control over myself. But that doesn't excuse it. I… I'll accept any punishment. Even if it's death."
He trembled.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He repeated it again and again—his voice growing quieter, more broken with each word. His pride shattered. His heart weighed with self-hate.
And then—
He felt her hand.
Saya reached down and gently took hold of his head.
She lifted his face toward hers.
Her eyes, usually sharp like blades, now softened with something unspoken. Understanding. Calm. Compassion.
She leaned forward—and kissed him.
It was not passionate. Not desperate.
It was quiet. Forgiving.
When she pulled away, she whispered, "It's okay, Master. I know."
Kazui's eyes widened.
Tears welled up instantly—rolling down his bloodied cheeks without resistance. His throat clenched, and a broken sob escaped him. He wasn't crying out of relief, but from the weight of his own failure—the knowledge of what he almost became.
But Saya's gaze didn't change.
She had seen it. She had felt the darkness clawing at her too. And still—she chose to believe in the man before her.
Then, her expression shifted, regaining its usual edge. She stood up.
"We should go," she said. "It's time to hunt down the boss. And Mr. Kenta… he might be facing another commander."
Kazui blinked, wiping at his face. "Wait… did you say commander? As in—Aiden was a Raven commander?"
Saya nodded.
"You fought twelve Karasu and a commander… alone?" he asked.
She gave a silent nod again.
Kazui looked down at his blood-soaked hands. His own body still throbbed with pain. The floor beneath him still held the imprint of where he had laid—unconscious. Useless.
Saya had fought alone. Bleeding. Dying. Just to protect him.
And what had he done?
Nothing.
A storm raged inside him—fury, guilt, helplessness. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms.
Then—
Footsteps echoed.
From the corridor Kazui and Saya had come through—faint, dragging footsteps.
He turned.
Emerging from the shadows was Kenta.
His trench coat was shredded. His entire body was drenched in blood. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. Deep wounds lined his arms, his chest, his legs. Every step looked like it could be his last.
But he was standing.
He was alive.
Kazui stared in shock.
Kenta didn't speak. He just locked eyes with Saya for a brief second, then with Kazui.
The three of them stood there—in blood, in silence, in pain.
But they were still breathing.
The war wasn't over.
But this battle?
This one was theirs.