The tie whistled through the air once more, tracing a wide and menacing arc, but Carmen moved with the agility of a panther, dodging it without any apparent effort.
Her eyes, cold and relentless, left no room for misunderstanding: she was ready for the finishing blow!
"So, what's the matter? Not so tough anymore, huh?!" Klark shouted, his voice loaded with insane satisfaction as his face twisted into a mask of pure madness. "Stop running and face me!"
Not far from the heart of the clash, Mirac still lay semi-reclined against the trunk of a tree, his body battered by wounds and exhaustion. Every fiber of his being screamed in pain, every breath was a battle.
And yet, despite his blurred vision and heavy limbs, his eyes remained fixed on Carmen and Klark, like a helpless spectator to that savage fight.
His heart pounded furiously in his chest as he watched Klark gain ground.
'Damn it!' thought the young Prince, gritting his teeth. 'I have to do something!'
With agonizing effort, he tried to push himself up. Every movement was a declaration of war against the pain consuming him. His arms trembled under the weight of his own body, his muscles stiffened by exhaustion and wounds. The world around him seemed to sway, shrouded in an oppressive fog that threatened to overwhelm him.
'Damn it!' Mirac cursed inwardly, feeling helplessness grip him like a vice. What was the point of training so hard all this time if I can't even help those I care about?!'
Frustration and despair swirled in an emotional vortex as his mind rebelled against every physical limitation.
'I have to get up… I have to help her!'
The thought echoed in his mind like a roar.
Mirac clenched his fists again, his nails digging into his palms until they left bloody marks.
His body trembled violently as he gathered every fragment of energy left.
'I won't just sit here while she risks her life to protect me! If I have to die trying to help her, then so be it!'
Blood began to stream from his eyes, a thin and unsettling trail that further blurred his vision. It was a sign of the toll his body was paying for this inhuman effort.
But he didn't care.
'Whatever happens, I'll give it my all!'
With a muffled roar that reverberated in his gut, Mirac continued to push his young body beyond its limits.
'I must defeat that bastard! I must help Carmen… I have to do it! I… I absolutely must-!'
"YOUNG PRINCE!"
Carmen's voice tore through the air like thunder, abruptly interrupting Mirac's tormented thoughts.
The kid looked up, startled. Despite the pain gripping every muscle, his heart seemed to stop for an instant.
Carmen, still locked in a fierce battle with Klark, moved with the agility of a dancer, retreating with a series of elegant leaps. Her stance was firm, her sword in hand gleaming menacingly, yet her movements possessed an almost otherworldly grace.
"Listen, young Prince," Carmen said in a firm, authoritative tone, never taking her eyes off her opponent.
She parried Klark's strikes with surgical precision, her dancing blade tracing lines of light in the air.
"I imagine you're trying to get up to help me… and I thank you for your courage… However…!"
With one last long leap backward, Carmen found herself once again at Mirac's side, turning slightly towards him.
Her eyes, which until that moment had shone with cold determination, softened imperceptibly when they met Mirac's.
"Don't underestimate me!" she continued, her voice resolute. "As I said before, I will handle him personally. Your task now is to rest and recover. Do not push your body beyond its limits, or I'll have to punish you later for disobeying me. Understood?"
Mirac stared at her, speechless. Carmen's confident, protective tone, so unexpected, struck him like lightning.
"C-Carmen…" he stammered, feeling the tension melt from his body like snow in the sun.
His shoulders gave way, and he slowly leaned back against the tree trunk. His eyes barely closed, and before he could realize it, Mirac lost consciousness and fainted.
"It's over!" Klark roared, charging at them like a furious bull.
His tie whistled through the air, snapping like a deadly whip.
His objective was clear: to bring down Carmen and the young Prince with a single, devastating strike.
But Carmen turned sharply, her movements as lightning-fast as those of a predator.
"Yes, it's over…"
Her voice, firm and unyielding, rang out like a sentence.
With lethal precision, Carmen delivered a sharp strike with her sword. The blade hit the tie with perfect timing and force.
The fabric, worn down silently throughout the battle, snapped in several places, exploding into shreds. The fragments of the weapon scattered into the air like leaves carried by the wind.
Klark froze, paralyzed. His gaze locked, incredulous, on the remains of his weapon.
"What?! H-How is this possible?!" he shouted, his voice trembling with shock.
In that silent fraction of a second, a thought crept into his mind, a revelation that struck him like a punch to the gut:
'This woman… She wasn't just retreating to avoid my blows… NO! From the very beginning, she's been striking the same exact spot on my tie, weakening it little by little until it gave way completely!'
Carmen stared at him with an unshakable gaze, her features etched sharply under the colors of twilight.
"So, you've figured it out, have you?" she said with icy calm, before vanishing.
Klark barely had time to hear the faint whistle in the air before Carmen reappeared in front of him, just inches away.
As before, the palm of her left hand pressed against his abdomen, the pressure as intense as it was inescapable.
"However, it's far too late now…"
With an explosive blow, Carmen hurled him backward.
The force of the impact was inhuman: Klark flew like a rag doll, crashing through the trees. Trunks splintered under his passage, cracking with sinister sounds, and branches burst into the air like shards of glass.
His flight seemed to last an eternity before his body slammed violently onto the gravel path of the garden.
He rolled through the white roses, an immaculate carpet now stained red. The delicate petals, torn and soaked with his blood, floated in the air like a tragic rain.
Klark lay still for a few moments, disoriented, struggling to catch his breath.
Every breath was a painful ordeal, every fiber of his body screaming in agony. He spat a mouthful of blood, further staining the roses around him, as he tried to rise with slow, uncertain movements.
'D-Damn it…!'
His legs trembled under the weight of his body, yet he managed to stand. Staggering, his muscles burning like fire, he raised his gaze towards the forest from which Carmen could emerge at any moment.
"Damn bitch!" he hissed, his face twisted into a mask of hatred and pain.
Clutching what remained of his weapon—a strip of fabric barely half a meter long—his eyes burned with a crazed light.
His mouth curled into a chilling grin, revealing blood-stained teeth.
"I'll cut out your tongue, rip off your arms and legs… and torture you in the worst ways you could imagine!" he screamed, his voice distorted by rage.
Then, with a theatrical gesture, he spread his arms wide, motioning toward the roses around him, their petals glinting under the dying light.
"And finally, I'll use every single drop of your blood to paint all these roses red!"
For a moment, the garden seemed consumed by his madness.
The fake professor didn't spare a glance for the body of the old gardener he had killed earlier, left abandoned on the white gravel path not far from the killer.
No: Klark had no time for the dead!
His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his feverish, sharp eyes scanning the darkness of the forest.
At that moment, he had to ignore the pain ravaging his body: the only thing that mattered now was killing his opponent!
Then, the waiting ended.
From the shadowed forest, something moved with terrifying speed.
A gleaming sword shot out of the darkness, flying straight towards him with precise, lethal intent.
Klark reacted on instinct. Summoning the last reserves of strength in his battered body, he moved with surprising agility.
Drawing what remained of his weapon-tie, Klark struck the flying sword with precision, intercepting it before it could hit him and deflecting its trajectory.
The blade hissed through the air, then veered off to land just to his left, embedding itself in the ground.
A triumphant smile spread across Klark's twisted face.
"Huh, foolish!" he exclaimed, panting but still full of rage. "What did you think you'd accomplish by throwing your swor-?!"
His words echoed in the silence of the garden, but they were quickly smothered by a sudden sensation.
A shiver.
Cold as the touch of death, it crawled up his spine. The chill wasn't just physical—it seemed to pierce him from the inside, seeping into his nerves and paralyzing him.
Klark stiffened, the smile disappearing from his lips as a dark realization began to settle into his mind.
Slowly, almost against his will, he lowered his gaze. His breath grew irregular, his chest rising and falling with labored gasps.
It was then that he saw it.
The blade of a sword was emerging from his chest, a deadly, gleaming point making its way in with surgical precision, sinking deeper and deeper.
Blood began to stain the black fabric of his shirt, a vivid red spreading slowly like poison coursing through his body.
"W-What-?!" Klark tried to speak, but blood filled his mouth, choking his words.
A coughing fit seized him, expelling a crimson jet that slowly dripped from his chin and stained the ground beneath him.
Klark staggered, trying to turn, his movements stiff and shaken by the agony tearing through his muscles. His face, a mask of suffering and rage, contorted further as he realized what he already knew.
Behind him, Carmen stood watching. Her gaze was unshaken, the chill in her eyes seeming to pierce him more than the blade embedded in his body. With firm hands on the sword's hilt, her stance was still and certain, betraying an icy calm that was terrifying in its simplicity.
'She stabbed me in the back? H-How did she-? No… Wait… The one she threw earlier… That was the second sword!' The realization hit Klark like a lightning strike.
As Klark had suspected, Carmen had acted with merciless calculation, considering every detail.
Immediately after hurling him away with force, the red-haired servant had wasted no time. She had rushed to retrieve the second sword, the one that had fallen during the initial clash between Mirac and the fake professor. With impressive agility, she had grabbed it and swiftly moved to confront Klark.
Before emerging from the woods, Carmen had thrown the second sword towards Klark, using the weapon as a perfectly calibrated distraction.
While he was focused on deflecting the flying strike, Carmen had stealthily moved to his left side, exploiting his blind spot.
Indeed, Carmen knew very well that Klark's left eye—severely wounded at the start of the fight by the small stone she had thrown with precision—made him vulnerable: his field of vision was halved, and his left side was completely exposed!
Moving with the lightness of a shadow, Carmen had taken a wide arc, calculating every step to avoid betraying her position. Meanwhile, Klark had no idea that the threat was approaching from behind.
Finally, Carmen had reached the perfect spot.
With a decisive and lethal move, she had driven the sword straight into her opponent's back. The blade had pierced with force, breaking any chance of resistance.
And in that moment of realization, as the blade tore through his back, Klark could do nothing but release his grip on his weapon, which slowly fell onto the rose petals: after all, Klark had lost.
"D-Damn!"
Klark coughed again. Blood sprayed from his lips, staining the roses at his feet, already soaked with the red of his blood.
For a moment, the pain reflected on his face, a twisted grimace that, however, concealed something else: a hint of sadness…
"W-Who are you?" he suddenly asked, his voice broken.
Carmen didn't flinch. Her hands remained steady on the hilt of the sword, her tone unchanged. "Why do you care to know?"
"J-Just answer! W-Who are you?! H-How did you know about me… and t-the Last Storm?! W-Who gave you this information? A-A member o-of our organization?!" Klark's voice grew louder, filled with rage and desperation. "C-Come on, answer, damn you!"
Carmen tilted her head slightly, as if those accusations were irrelevant to her.
"I… I'm just someone… who wants to protect the young Prince. That's all."
The words rang out like a verdict.
Klark remained silent for several long moments, his face streaked with blood, his breath ragged.
Then, without warning, he burst into a choked, broken, painful laugh. Every laugh was accompanied by a coughing fit and another wave of blood, but he couldn't stop.
"Heh… f-funny!" he finally exclaimed, his voice hoarse and convulsed, but laced with a dark irony. "S-Saving the young P-Prince, huh? W-Well… that's bullshit!"
The mad smile returned to his face as his eyes gleamed with a manic light.
"If… you're here…" he continued, pausing to catch his breath, "it's because… you already knew… I-I'd try to… kill him… today!" He coughed again, his body doubled over in the effort to speak, but he didn't stop. "And you… you still decided to… go to… the capital… for your… damn 'commissions'… and show up… only at the last moment!"
His voice, despite everything, grew louder, fueled by rage.
"If… if you really wanted to save him… why… why didn't you warn… anyone?!" he stammered, his words broken by the lack of air and the weight of the blade in his chest. "Why… didn't you tell… the guards? If you had… the Prince… would have been protected! No… n-no, actually! You… you would have stopped me… from the very first day… I arrived! But no… y-you didn't! So… stop… messing with me!" he shouted, or at least tried to, his voice now reduced to a hoarse roar. "Tell me… THE TRUTH! W-Who are you… really?!"
His words faded into silence, broken only by the ragged sound of his dying breath.
Carmen remained still, her expression unchanged. Only her gaze, impassive, betrayed an awareness that seemed to weigh on Klark like a boulder.
Finally, after a couple of long seconds, she spoke:
"Klark… whether you know the truth or not, it won't change the outcome. You will die anyway. And with you, your family as well. After all, wasn't that how Captain Dilven had warned you?"
"Y-You…!" stammered Klark, his face rigid, his gaze suddenly tense.
Those last words from Carmen confirmed to Klark that the servant was already aware of his meeting with Captain Dilven, and the message he had relayed on behalf of the Boss.
But how did Carmen already know about it?
It was impossible that she had spied on him the day he was at the capital, because Captain Dilven would have surely noticed.
But then, how did she find out?
What else did she know?
Was that rhetorical question the servant had just asked perhaps a way to hint to Klark that she really knew everything?
But why not say it clearly? Why just insinuate it?
And in the end, who was Carmen really?
Feeling once again mocked, a tremor of rage coursed through him.
"D-Damn… damn b-bitch!" Klark barked, spitting a clot of blood that stained his lips. "Y-You think you'll get a-away with it? W-With whoever you're w-working with… d-do you really think you s-stand a chance a-against the Captain or the Boss?"
Carmen didn't answer immediately. Her gaze was cold, devoid of any emotion.
Then she tilted her head slightly, and her words slid out like an unappealable verdict:
"Don't worry. You'll find out the answer when they come to greet you themselves."
Klark wanted to respond, to shout again, even to try to turn and strike her with his bare hands, but his strength was leaving him. Even keeping his eyes open had become an unbearable weight.
Carmen's voice then dropped, a whisper as sharp as the edge of the sword still piercing Klark's chest.
"Goodbye, Professor Shirkenn…"
With a fluid and precise movement, Carmen withdrew the blade from his body.
Blood erupted from the wound, a crimson cascade staining the purity of the white roses.
Klark staggered. His body, now devoid of strength, suddenly gave way. He collapsed forward among the flowers, the soft petals seeming to embrace him in a funeral hug.
His eyes tried to focus on the sky above him, but all he could see was the dying light of twilight, distorted by the veil of death that was advancing.
After pulling the sword out, Carmen no longer looked at him. She circled his body with measured steps and walked away, leaving him there, among the flowers and the blood.
Klark, lying on the ground, struggled to lift his gaze. His vision was now a mosaic of blurry images and flickering lights. But he still managed to distinguish the figure of Carmen moving away, the silhouette of the red-haired woman disappearing into the woods.
'I'm sorry, Lois… Petra… Please forgive me.'
That thought, heavy with remorse, echoed not only in Klark's mind, as he barely breathed, but also in Carmen's as she silently headed toward Mirac...
Moments later, the garden returned to an eerie silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the petals.
The roses, soaked in blood, swayed gently in the evening breeze.
Suddenly, Klark's breath stopped.
And while the lies had trapped him for an entire year, the silence that precedes death was the only truth he had left.