Mist and Fog turned simultaneously, their blades still raised, to see two figures standing at the edge of the plaza.
The first was a tall woman with electric blue hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Her piercing gaze was as sharp as the blade resting lazily across her shoulder. She was clad in a skin-tight combat suit that seemed more like a second skin, emphasizing her lean, muscular frame. Her smirk was the kind that could send entire armies retreating.
The second woman had fiery red hair tied into a loose braid, her athletic figure practically radiating power. She wore a sleeveless jacket that bared her toned arms, which seemed capable of crushing boulders barehanded. Her stance was relaxed, but her crimson eyes burned with an intensity that rivaled the flames Fog had conjured moments ago.
"Mister," the blue-haired woman said, her tone dripping with mockery. "Is this how you waste your energy? Showing off for the forest squirrels?" She took another step forward, the air around her crackling with a presence that made both Mist and Fog instinctively lower their weapons.
Mist's jaw tightened. "W-Who are you...?" His voice betrayed a hint of disbelief.
The blue-haired woman tilted her head, her piercing gaze locking onto Mist. Her smirk deepened, and she raised a single eyebrow. "Who am I?" she repeated, her tone laced with playful menace.
Mist, however, was completely unfazed by the sharpness in her voice. His golden eyes sparkled in a way Bulan could only describe as... Pervert.
"Who cares who you are," Mist said smoothly, sheathing his sword with a dramatic flourish. He took a step closer, his confident grin firmly in place. "What matters is that you're gorgeous. Blue hair, sharp eyes, that commanding aura—you're like every dream I've ever had rolled into one."
Bulan blinked. "W-What are you doing?"
"Quiet, rookie," Mist hissed without breaking his stride. "This is diplomacy."
Fog, still recovering from his earlier fiery exchange, stared at Mist like he'd grown a second head. "You're insane."
Mist ignored him entirely, bowing slightly to the blue-haired woman. "You must be tired," he said, his voice dripping with exaggerated charm. "Carrying all that beauty while walking through such a dangerous place? Allow me to offer my services as your personal bodyguard. I'll slay any squirrel, boar, or rival swordsman that dares look at you the wrong way."
The clearing fell silent. Bulan looked like he wanted to melt into the ground, "W-What's going on?" he exclaimed.
Fog glared at Mist. "I'm disappointe—"
CRACK.
The sound of a bone-snapping punch interrupted him as the red-haired woman appeared beside Fog in a flash, her fist buried in his stomach. Fog doubled over, wheezing like a broken accordion, and collapsed to his knees.
The red-haired woman dusted off her hands, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disappointment. "Is this seriously the reason you skipped training, Mister Fog?" she scolded, her voice sharp enough to cleave a boulder in two. "I told Captain you were preparing for Rage tournament, and this is what you're doing? Flailing around in a forest like a stray dog chasing its tail?"
Fog wheezed, clutching his stomach. "It's… a tactical exercise," he managed, his voice barely a croak. "I was… testing Mist's… reflexes…"
The red-haired woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Testing reflexes? Sure, and I suppose next you'll say you tripped into this fight because the ground was uneven."
"It was uneven," Fog mumbled, earning him another withering glare.
Meanwhile, Mist, clearly enjoying the moment, crossed his arms and smirked. "You know, if he's too scared to face me in a proper fight, I don't blame him. Not everyone's cut out for a proper duel."
"Scared?!" Fog shot back, suddenly full of indignation despite still kneeling. "I'll show you scared, you silver-haired showoff—"
He didn't get to finish. The red-haired woman placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, effectively pinning him in place. "Nope," she said simply. "No dueling here. You're going back to the training hall, Mister Fog."
Fog sputtered but didn't argue further, likely because he valued his ribs intact. The blue-haired woman, who had been silently observing the chaos, suddenly turned her attention to Mist. Her sharp eyes gleamed with amusement as she approached him.
"And you," she said, her tone dripping with mockery. "Flirting in the middle of a battlefield? That's bold, even for someone like you."
Mist, ever the opportunist, took a step forward and gave his best dazzling smile. "When inspiration strikes, you seize it. And let me tell you, inspiration struck hard the moment I saw you."
The blue-haired woman stared at Mist for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she reached up, grabbed his face with one hand, and yanked him down to her level. Mist barely had time to register the movement before she smirked, her other hand crackling with a faint, ominous glow.
"Seize this," she said sweetly.
Mist's world exploded into a shower of stars as her glowing fist connected with his face, launching him backward like a particularly unlucky comet. He crashed into a nearby tree with a resounding thud, sliding to the ground in a graceless heap.
Bulan's jaw hit the floor. "He's... he's dead, isn't he?"
From the crater he'd created, Mist raised a single finger. "Still... breathing," he croaked.
The blue-haired woman dusted her hands off, her smirk returning as she turned to Bulan. "If you're wondering, rookie, this is called 'field diplomacy.' Your boss here just got an advanced lesson."
Bulan stared at her, then back at Mist, who was slowly trying to peel himself off the ground. "I think I'll stick to basics," he said quickly.
Fog, still clutching his stomach from the earlier punch, managed a wheezy laugh. "Finally... someone put him in his place."
The red-haired woman shot him a sideways glare. "Don't think you're off the hook either, Mister Fog. You and I are going to have a chat," she said, her tone dripping with menace.
Fog's eyes widened in panic. "W-Wait, I can explain—"
Before he could finish, she hauled him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and sprinted into the forest with alarming speed. The sound of Fog's protests—ranging from "Unhand me!" to "I swear it was all Mist's idea!"—faded quickly into the distance, leaving Mist and Bulan standing in awkward silence.
Mist, still nursing his bruised pride and probably a cracked rib, pointed feebly in the direction they disappeared. "Did… did she just kidnap him?"
Bulan sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't kidnap him. She's enforcing discipline."
Mist leaned against a tree, groaning. "Poor guy. He didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Do you think we'll ever see him again?"
Bulan, whispering, leaned toward Mist. "You will, Captain...That is if you join the Rage Tournament."