(Third POV)
The forest stretched dark and endless, its towering trees standing like silent sentinels. The scent of damp earth and pine hung in the air, mingling with the lingering chill of rain. Moonlight struggled to break through the thick canopy, swallowed by the vast, unbroken shadow. Yet the knight pressed on, undeterred.
He had walked this path before—blade in hand, danger lurking in the unseen places.
His gauntleted fingers flexed around his sword's hilt. The silence was thick and unnatural. Then, a shift in the wind—a presence. His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale.
'North God Style this time. Means this one sure will be tricky like the others.'
The signs were unmistakable: the faintest ripple in the air, the prickle at the nape of his neck, the undeniable sensation of being watched. He had encountered assassins of this school before—phantoms in the dark, striking with precision. They were ghosts, slipping in and out of reach, their ambushes as swift as they were lethal.
But he had survived them before.
And he would survive tonight.
Then—
The whistle of steel.
The knight twisted, sword flashing as he parried just in time, the impact rattling up his arm. Another strike, this time from the left. He turned to intercept, but it was a feint—the real attack bit into his shoulder, shallow but precise.
A shadow moved between the trees, impossibly fast, striking from angles no ordinary warrior could. The blows came in quick succession—his thigh, his arm—small, deliberate woundable areas, meant not to kill, but to weaken. To test.
But the knight had learned. With his enhancement of Touki, those strikes didn't manage to penetrate his defenses, leaving nothing but a puncture at best.
The next thrust came—a lance of steel from the darkness. This time, he sidestepped, shifting forward instead of blocking. His blade lashed out, sudden and sharp, forcing his opponent to retreat. A flicker of movement in the gloom—a silhouette, light on its feet. The knight advanced, closing the gap, dragging the fight into his domain.
A low, fast strike. He batted it aside. Their swords met, steel grinding against steel, and for the first time, he saw his adversary. Cloaked in dark garb, moving with inhuman swiftness. Their eyes met—brief, piercing. Then the assassin leaped backward, vanishing into the shadows.
'Not this time.'
The knight lunged. Boots pounded against the damp earth as he pursued. The once-elusive foe was now forced onto the defensive, evading rather than dictating the fight. The North God Style user thrived on distance, on controlling engagements from the darkness. The knight refused to allow it.
Another silver flash. A blade arced toward him. He was ready. He deflected it, stepping deeper into his enemy's space. A second strike from the left—he pivoted, letting it glide harmlessly past his armor before countering with a slash of his own.
Steel met steel in a desperate parry. The assassin staggered. Hesitation flickered in his movements.
"Not so tough now, aren't you?" the knight muttered, pressing forward without pause.
A downward strike. The assassin barely deflected it, the force sending him skidding back. Twisting, he vaulted over a fallen log, vanishing into the undergrowth.
The knight didn't let him.
He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the retreating form. They crashed through damp leaves and tangled roots, rolling in a tangle of limbs and steel. The assassin moved like water, twisting to regain his footing—too late.
A brutal downward swing. The assassin blocked, his blade trembling under the force. Another heavy strike—he ducked, the knight's sword embedding itself in a tree trunk behind him.
The knight smirked. He's slowing down.
The North God Style user relied on relentless movement. The moment that movement faltered, the style unraveled. An opponent with straightforwardness was its weakness.
The knight saw it now—the slight drag in his opponent's step, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Speed alone wasn't enough. He needed to be precise with his attacks, too.
One last desperate feint—the assassin flickered left, then darted right, blade seeking the knight's ribs. But the knight had seen the pattern.
His gauntlet caught the blade, steel scraping harmlessly. Then, with ruthless precision, he drove his knee into the assassin's stomach.
A choked gasp. The assassin crumpled, balance shattered.
That was all the knight needed.
His sword struck—not to kill, but to disarm. The enemy's weapon spun from his grip, landing in the damp earth. A heartbeat later, the knight's blade was at his throat.
Silence. Only the whisper of wind through the trees and the ragged cadence of their breathing remained.
"You're not the first North God Style user I've faced." The knight's voice was steady, unyielding. "And you won't be the last."
The assassin panted, motionless. He knew it was over. Then, with a shimmer of fading mana, his body dissolved, leaving behind only a single artifact—a green bracelet resting among the fallen leaves.
The knight bent down, lifting it with a gloved hand. His gaze flickered toward the darkness beyond.
The night was still. The fight was over.
But soon enough, it would begin again.
***
(Paul POV)
After every battle with these spirits, I feel cursed—punished for the arrogance of my younger self, the boy who never took his training seriously. Maybe this is fate's way of balancing the scales, forcing me to atone for wasted years, for the strength I never sought when it truly mattered.
No matter how many times I cut them down, they always return—again and again, as if testing and mocking me.
I tell myself I'm improving. I study their techniques, mimic their movements, and dissect their swordplay ruthlessly. But the more I learn, the harder the fights become. It's as if they, too, are adapting, adjusting, and evolving. Each battle stretches me thinner.
The downside of this training is that I intentionally leave the city at night to cause no one trouble.
But it sure is peaceful once the day's training is over, at least if you can call this training, to begin with.
"Good to hear you're adjusting to it well."
I flinched but didn't reach for my sword.
That voice—I knew it well. It has been burned into my memory since our last encounter. What unsettled me, though, was how I hadn't sensed his approach.
Usually, I can tell when someone enters my range. A sharp instinct, independent of my other senses.
This skill has let me carve through assassin-like spirits. Sometimes, I swear I can predict the trajectory of their attacks—see their movements before they happen.
But this time? Nothing. No warning. No presence.
It wasn't that I couldn't sense him. It was that he was everywhere. His voice echoed through the trees, surrounding me.
"What, too scared to face me?" I remarked.
"Quite so. If you really tried to, you could possibly kill me."
"Don't act like I don't know you're lying," I retorted, keeping my grip on the hilt of my sword. "You knocked me down with nothing but your hands—and you weren't even struggling."
"True. But that was before. Thanks to the boost I gave you, I actually have to watch myself now."
"Yeah, right. Don't try to bait me into getting my ass handed to me again."
"...Wait... oh. Oh, for the love of the Creation God! You should call yourself 'Muscle Brain' for how dense you are! You truly did NOT learn enough."
"You just come here to insult me? Because if so, good luck. My mother-in-law's an expert at that, but her words still do not cut deep enough."
"I actually did come for a reason. It involves Claire, but before that, I need to clarify something."
"And that is?"
"Have you ever wondered why the spirits aren't getting any easier? Why, after all this time, you still haven't been able to wipe them out quicker?"
"Because I'm stagnating. I haven't made real progress in my swordsmanship," I admitted.
"No, you idiot! I've been increasing the difficulty every time I saw you improve! The spirit you fought tonight was at King level—and they've been at that level for a while! For crying out loud, have you even noticed you've been occasionally been using [Longsword of Light] for the last six months?"
"Wait, wha... huh?!"
King level? And the [Longsword of Light]? No, no, no. Even if I believe I still have room for improvement, this kind of jump in strength is impossible. It has barely been a year.
"Not with the power you're borrowing from Rudeus."
"Borrowing? What the hell do you mean? Also, how can you hear my thoughts?"
"Ever since I put that white fire on you, there's been a connection between you, Rudeus, and me. What you're using isn't just your strength—it's Rudeus', the part of him that hasn't fully awakened yet. Your Touki? It's on the level of a Dragonfolk, the very progenitors of that technique."
"...I see. So it's not even my own power. What a bummer."
"No, no. Think of it like this—put the strongest sword in the world in the hands of an amateur, and it's just a lump of metal. But give an ordinary blade to a sword master, and it becomes the deadliest weapon alive."
"..."
"You do have talent. There's still room for you to grow. And studying the spirits' techniques? That was smart."
Hah. Smart? It was just a brutal cycle of trial and error. And half the time, the timing and location weren't ideal—I couldn't just run into the forest every night, waiting to be ambushed.
"Yeah... sorry about that. In hindsight, maybe I should've checked before sending one after you mid-mission. But hey, it turned out fine, right?"
"Fine?! We nearly lost someone. And we were almost discovered by one of the knights of that corrupted noble!"
"Yeah, yeah. My bad. Leaving that aside, can you tell me if you heard something about... news about your family's location? Like a tip you've got from a suspicious self-proclaimed god?"
"Why!?" I snapped. "What could you possibly need to know!?"
"Zenith. I heard she's in Millishion... Is that true?"
"...Yeah. What about it?"
"Well~… let's just say I got bad intel and spent almost a month chasing a dead lead. Just wanted to make sure I don't waste my time again."
I had no idea what he was talking about, but honestly, it felt good to know he'd been tricked... huh. So this is what my old party must have felt like whenever a woman I picked up stole my coins before we even got into the real action.
"Oh, right! Speaking of which, I managed to round up some of your old friends. They should be arriving in the next couple of days to help you out."
"Let me guess. You brought them here," I said, rolling my eyes.
It's not like I don't appreciate their help, but the disdain I was about to get would be less than appreciated.
"Stop being so grouchy. It'll give a bad impression once Lilia and Aisha see you."
"Wait, what?! They are with them?"
"They'll arrive together with some of your old friends. Think of it as a reward for all your hard work up until now."
"I swear to god, if this is a trick of yours, I will do anything to kill you!"
"First off, I'm doing you a favor by helping you. Second, you should channel your anger at those assassins over there."
"Assassins...? Did you send another spi—"
I cut my sentence short and immediately shifted into a Water God Style stance.
Because this guy talked for so long, I got distracted and didn't notice the other signals approaching.
There were eight of them—sneaky, but not as much as the spirit I'd just defeated.
"Good observation. Those aren't the best Claire could hire, but they are specialists in their field."
"Okay. What the hell does that old bat have to do with this?!" I sneered, keeping my eyes on the assassins, my sword held tightly in my hands.
"From my research, I found out she wants you out of the picture to get Zenith and Norn to become fully part of the Latreia family. For her, you are nothing but a criminal who corrupted her dear, favorite daughter. She even sent another group of assassins to attack the group Lilia and Aisha are with. Seems someone made her some empty promises in her dreams. I wonder what the plan was?"
My blood boiled. That old hag! How dare she! This is what I hate about nobles—the plotting, scheming, and life-threatening conflicts. How does she expect Zenith to recover after this?!
"You know what to do, right? Use that fury. Ignite the flame inside you. Now… make them regret their career choice. ONce you are finished, go southwest to where the other assassins are headed."
Everything turned into a haze. I realized that allowing my anger to escalate was impairing my judgment, but one thing was clear—I wouldn't let Claire have it her way.
With every bit of strength I could muster, I charged forward and instantly closed the distance, slicing one assassin clean in half. Blood sprayed the soil beneath my boots.
The others retreated, but I wasn't done.
My bloodlust demanded more. And it would not be sated until I gave that cranky old woman a warning.
///