Duelist's Rest Room.
"It's just the two of us now," the woman leaned back on the bench, looking up at the ceiling lamp, a broadsword resting on her shoulder.
"Given Ahtal's current weak state, you could probably win."
"Am I right to have survived?" the reply came from a young boy, sitting on a chair with bangs covering his complex eyes.
"Ahtal carries ten thousand souls, whereas I only carry one thousand."
"Dwelling on such thoughts only pleases the Witch," the woman responded, yet she did not directly answer the boy's question, after all, she too did not know how to choose.
And at that moment.
A doll-like young girl walked in cheerfully and greeted the only two remaining in the rest room, saying:
"Have you decided who is going to kill Ahtal?"
"I will," the woman threw the cigarette from her mouth to the ground, extinguished it with her black high heels, and walked towards the exit of the rest room.
However, just before leaving, she asked:
