’With this... I can crush that cursed sword and the fool who wields it.’
Alice raised her blade again, sweat dripping down her temple, her aura flickering weakly.
Every instinct screamed at her to move, to evade. But she didn’t.
Instead, she smiled faintly.
Because even as Velra’s power reached its terrifying peak—
—so did hers.
The Hwando met Velra’s fist.
The flames swirling around her hand flared wildly the instant they touched the blade—and then exploded.
—BOOM!
A violent shockwave tore through the cave, shaking the earth and sending dust and shards of rock scattering in all directions.
As expected, the descendant of the warrior couldn’t withstand the sheer force of the magic. Her sword shattered into fragments that glittered briefly in the air before vanishing into the storm of light.
"Urgh—!"
Alice staggered back, her face twisting in pain. Her arms trembled, her breath ragged. The once-proud warrior stood weaponless before her enemy, the heat of Velra’s flames reflected in her wide, disbelieving eyes.
Velra’s smile curved slowly, languidly—like a predator savoring the last moment before the kill.
Without her sword, Alice was nothing more than prey caught in the vampire’s grasp.
"Pathetic," Velra murmured, her voice soft, almost tender. "You truly believed you could stand against me?"
She stepped forward, the air rippling with each movement. Her crimson eyes burned with a subtle, dangerous heat.
’Just like that day,’ she thought, her gaze narrowing. ’One strike to the abdomen—just enough to break her completely.’
Ah. The anticipation was intoxicating.
Velra’s lips parted slightly, her fangs glinting under the firelight.
How would he react this time? The so-called Faceless Imposter—always watching from the shadows, always interfering.
Would he flinch when he saw this proud girl collapse, her spirit shattered?
Would he blame himself again?
Would guilt twist him into doing something foolish?
Velra’s smile deepened, almost affectionate.
He could come for her if he wished. He could rage, threaten, even fight her. She would endure it all. His tantrums, his fury—none of it mattered.
Because if it led him back to her, it would all be worth it.
Faceless Imposter...
If only he would make the right choice this time.
If only he would abandon this useless girl and return to where he truly belonged—
—to her side.
—to the Drazroth Empire.
Velra raised her hand, fire coiling in her palm like a living serpent.
"Let’s end this farce," she whispered, stepping closer to the trembling Alice.
The flames reflected in Alice’s eyes, her breath shallow but defiant still.
Velra almost admired it. Almost.
"Disappear," she said—and thrust her burning hand forward.
"Hyaaaah!"
Alice’s scream tore through the storm, raw and defiant. Her sword was gone—flung somewhere across the field—but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed.
Velra, watching from above with an almost pitying smirk, didn’t see it. She didn’t notice the subtle shift in the air, the faint hum of energy trembling around Alice’s trembling frame.
Because Velra had overlooked one thing.
Even stripped of her weapon, Alice hadn’t lost her will.
’Burn everything... the aura within me!’
The sword that had fallen meters away began to shake, faint ripples of golden light running along its blade. Then, like an invisible thread pulled taut, it surged back—straight into Alice’s open hand.
Velra’s eyes widened. "What—?!"
The blade burned brighter, its aura wrapping around Alice’s arm like living flame. The same technique she had used once before against the Faceless Imposter—the one that had ended in her exhaustion and defeat.
But this time, there was no hesitation.
Only resolve.
The earth trembled beneath her feet as power coursed through her veins, surging toward the blade until the metal itself seemed to breathe with her heartbeat.
Velra’s lips parted, a strange mixture of awe and irritation flickering across her face. "So you’ve learned that much... impressive, for a child."
The vampire’s words echoed faintly in Alice’s mind—an old memory overlapping the present.
’Young demons do have spirit. Consider your age what saved you. Now get lost from our land.’
That was the last thing Velra had said to her ancestor before letting him live. A moment of condescension wrapped in mercy.
Alice’s grip tightened. The shape of her aura, the glow of the blade—it was the same as that ancient warrior’s sword.
And this time, she wouldn’t accept mercy.
"Do you think I’ll lose to you again?" she shouted, voice sharp enough to cut through the howling wind. "This time, I’ll end it—and erase the defeats of the past!"
Velra’s smile vanished. "Then come and prove it."
Alice charged.
Her boots dug deep into the snow, propelling her forward faster than the eye could follow. Velra countered, her clawed hand glowing with crimson energy as she struck back.
Sacrifice the flesh to protect the bones.
Alice ignored the pain screaming through her body, the burning in her muscles as every drop of aura she had left condensed into her sword. Her lungs felt crushed, her heartbeat deafening—but her focus never wavered.
A fist aimed for her abdomen.
A sword aimed for Velra’s heart.
They met in the middle.
—Boom!
The impact exploded with blinding light, sending snow and rock flying in every direction. The shockwave rippled through the encampment, forcing soldiers to raise shields and cover their eyes.
When the light finally began to fade, the two figures stood frozen in the center of the crater—locked in place.
Velra’s claw was buried in Alice’s side.
Alice’s sword was pressed against Velra’s chest, the golden aura still burning faintly.
Neither spoke.
Only the sound of wind and the faint hiss of dissipating energy filled the silence.
Then—
Blood dripped onto the snow.
And the next moment, one of them began to fall.
Velra’s knees buckled first.
Her expression froze—half surprise, half disbelief—as she looked down at the faintly glowing blade embedded in her chest. Golden light seeped through the wound, eating away at the dark aura that had once seemed endless.
"...You—" Her voice cracked, faintly trembling, not from pain—but astonishment. "You actually..."
Alice staggered, her whole body trembling, blood pouring freely from her side. Her vision blurred, colors melting into a haze of white and red. Yet even then, her hand didn’t release the sword.
"I told you," she breathed, her voice raw, hoarse from screaming and battle. "It’s... different this time."
Velra’s lips curled—not in rage, but in a faint, wistful smile. "Yes... it is."
Blood poured from her side—just beneath the solar plexus, the very core where one’s strength was born.
And yet, despite the searing pain, despite the flames that had grazed her flesh and the agony twisting through every nerve—
Alice stood.
Her breath came in uneven gasps, white clouds forming and fading in the frigid air. Her sword still hummed faintly in her trembling hand, golden light flickering like a dying ember.
"...I’ve won," she whispered.
The words carried no triumph—only quiet certainty.
Velra’s body wavered before her, the vampire’s proud figure already beginning to crumble into dust. For a moment, their gazes met—one filled with disbelief, the other steady, resolute.
Even though the flame-wrapped fist had grazed her ribs, burning through armor and flesh alike—
Even though the pain pulsed in waves that made her vision blur—
Alice did not kneel.
She stood tall upon the blood-stained snow, her silhouette framed by the pale morning light creeping into the cavern.
It was the victory of someone who had fought with everything she had.
Not through overwhelming power.
Not through inherited glory.
But through will—unyielding, relentless will.
She had clung to the faintest opening, turned her opponent’s arrogance into her blade, and pushed beyond the limits of what her body could endure.
Her knees trembled, her breath faltered, but her eyes never left the space where Velra had stood.
This was not the triumph of a hero.
It was the survival of a warrior who refused to be looked down upon again.
---
’The battle seems to be decided. Shall we begin?’
Among the soldiers—whose morale soared sky-high at the sight of their lady’s victory—Freedman began to move. His steps were slow, deliberate, almost reverent, as if the chaos before him were merely a prelude to something greater.
–Crack.
The faint sound sliced through the jubilant cheers like a whisper of breaking bone.
"Look! The princess is going to win!" one soldier shouted, voice trembling with excitement. "She actually did it!"
"Huh? Wait... did you hear that?" another asked suddenly, his tone uncertain.
"What sound?"
"I don’t know. It was like... something sharp scraping against stone. Crackling, maybe...?"
The men exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier joy faltering as the strange noise echoed again—closer this time, crawling along their spines like cold fingers.
–Crack. Crackle.
The timing was uncanny.
At the very moment the princess’s shining blade and the vampire’s blazing fist collided—when light and fire had devoured the battlefield—the sound returned, deeper, hungrier.
And within the dim rear ranks of the formation, where shadows pooled thick and dark, something stirred.
The suspicious figure shifted, its movements jerky, unnatural. Its jaw flexed once, twice—
—and then it began grinding its teeth together.
The soldiers froze, dread prickling at their napes as the sound turned from a faint crackle to a low, rhythmic gnashing—like bones snapping beneath unseen pressure.
Freedman’s lips curved faintly, eyes gleaming with something far too calm for the moment.
While the others watched the clash between light and flame, he whispered under his breath, almost like a prayer.
"The battle may be hers," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "but the stage... belongs to us."
And with that, the grinding stopped.
Only silence remained—tense, suffocating, waiting to break.