With a surge, Crosu launched himself forward, slashing ahead. Dante tilted his head and grabbed his arm. The old man's eyes flashed with alarm—they were metallic. Cold and solid, yet Crosu spun completely, pulling away.
Crosu used the momentum from his legs again and attempted a sharp cut, but the old man ducked. He dared to attack by spinning his arms, a storm of blades, quick and relentless. Yet the old man stepped back twice to the sides, retreating without making a sound.
"Is he a recruit? Liana is sure of that?"
The worst of his dodges was perfectly synchronized footwork, slipping away lightly, with no wasted movement. He might not be as good as Hugo or Liana at defending, but this guy—Crosu was certain he was just as fast.
"I thought you were coming to kill me, kid," Dante said with a sly grin. The cigar still burned at the corner of his mouth. He took a drag and lowered his arm. "Was it you up there, or is there someone else, huh?"
"Does it matter?" Crosu was stalling for time, planning to move the fight south, then southeast.
"Focus on what's in front of you."
The old man chuckled, shaking his head.
"If it's a fight you want, then I'll give you one."
Crosu blinked, and the old man was gone. The night might have concealed his presence, but that movement — it was ghostlike. A pressure at his back followed in the next instant. Crosu spun completely, his five blades slashing through the air but finding nothing.
"Where are you looking?"
A punch from above. Crosu was launched back into the grass, skidding for several meters. He felt his jaw tighten, and when he opened his mouth, one of his teeth fell out. The blow hadn't been lethal, so the old man was holding back.
Liana had been wrong. Clearly wrong.
"Put more strength into it," Dante called, inviting him to stand. "Can't you see you're getting beat up by an old man?"
Stay calm. Don't let him get to me. Don't die.
"Alright. If you're not coming, then I'll go again."
In a swift step, Dante closed the distance and raised his fists. Crosu responded with a straight strike aimed at his chin. But he saw the old man open one hand, deflecting his arm before the hit could land. It was like firing into the air without contact. Then the other arm grabbed his shoulder, and he felt a kick to his leg.
Crosu spun before his chest hit the ground, groaning as the old man stepped on his fingers. It wasn't even a firm stomp, yet it pressed down as if a mountain were on top of him.
"Your attacks are pathetic. What are you trying to do, just keep me busy?"
That was the plan. Liana only needed to grab the crystals and return safely. Crosu didn't have to do much. If soldiers came to confront him, then Liana would just need to circle back.
That was the plan. So why wasn't anyone there to see him? Only the old man was present. Why hadn't anyone come?
"You look a bit disappointed," Dante said, crouching to meet his gaze. "Have you considered this might be your last day alive? Seriously, you sneak out in the middle of the night, target a camp full of Officers, and take it as a joke."
Crosu pulled his hand away and leapt into the darkness, watching as Dante stared back. His eyes glowed the same hue as the shirt beneath his uniform—a strong, vivid purple.
His Cosmic Energy wasn't strong, not enough to matter whether Crosu was near or far. It was his movements that unnerved Crosu. Perfectly timed, every angle and symmetry precise. If Crosu made a mistake, as he had before, he was punished.
And that haunted him right there. If this old man were taking me seriously, I'd already be dead.
That could only mean one thing.
"What's your rank?" Crosu gripped his own arms. The steel began to turn bluish, a cold, icy blue, and a small crack formed on his face. Thin crusts of frost appeared. "I don't want to believe I'm using my ability on an old man or just any soldier. Even if I die, I want to believe I took someone strong with me."
"Are you worried about dying to someone strong?" Dante grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not a soldier. I'm a Recruit. Do you believe me? But if your concern was dying to someone, then that person would be stronger than you anyway, right? Dying is losing. Are you afraid of death, boy?"
What raw strength in his stance. Crosu trembled just watching the old man open and close his hand. It didn't even take ten minutes — every instinct screamed about the danger he was in.
It wasn't the situation or the location; it was the man. He sent shivers down Crosu's spine just by existing.
On the other side, Dante sighed with boredom. "I thought he'd be stronger than this. If I capture one of these delinquents and take him as a prisoner, Lady Dalia might gain some credit."
The young man stood. His arm was now blue, as was part of his face. It must have been his ability— Cosmic Energy molded around him. If it was meant to hit the enemy, it wouldn't work.
"If you're a Recruit, then I'll make sure to take you down with me. I refuse to die to the capital's trash."
Dante was amused by his words.
"How kind of you."
He shot forward like a bullet. Crosu's blades spun, trying to strike him, but Dante swatted them aside with open palms. None hit their mark. He kept his gaze locked on Crosu, testing the speed of his opponent as his leg came up.
Dante maintained his stance, shifting his head and ducking as the leg swung past. Then he punched straight. Crosu stumbled and tried to regain his footing, but as he turned, Dante grabbed his metallic arm and yanked him forward. An elbow slammed into his face, forcing his arm aside and exposing his defense. Another open-palm strike followed.
Crosu no longer understood what he was doing. The precision of his attacks had always been deliberate. His blades cut through anything nearby, and even if he failed, his speed… But this old man was superior in every way.
Another quick punch landed on his face. His hair was grabbed, and an elbow struck his cheek. He tried to swing his arm, but it was pinned, and a kick drove into his stomach. The old man's leg rose above his head and stomped down with full force.
The hit was clean. Crosu collapsed unconscious.
Tecno and Freto appeared behind Dante. He crouched, poking the young man, but there was no response. "I guess I hit him a bit too hard. Doesn't seem like he was that strong after all," Dante muttered, shrugging.
"Already got the other one," Tecno reported. "Was this one any trouble?"
"Not at all," Dante said, standing up and nudging the boy with his foot. "Looks like I overdid it. Tie him up and toss him in the back."
Dante turned and spread his arms, feeling Cosmic Energy swell behind him. The sound of metal rang out. Tecno and Freto's faces twisted, mouths ready to shout. Dante kicked backward, hitting Crosu's knee, then delivered another kick to his chest, sending him flying back.
The boy tumbled across the grass, blood dripping from his mouth.
"Strange," Dante said, unperturbed, observing the boy on the ground. "I thought I knocked him out."
Tecno and Freto hesitated, awaiting another reaction from the fallen foe.
"You sure this time, old man?" Tecno asked. "I don't want any more surprises tonight."
Dante laughed loudly, taking a drag from his cigar.
"Stop being cowards. He's just a kid. Look at him, sprawled out like that." For the first time since the fight, he noticed the motionless metal arms. "But that thing he's using is cool. What's it called?"
"Battle Prosthetics," Freto explained, stepping closer. "Pretty rare to find, especially outside the Capital. Not sure if keeping him as a prisoner is a good idea. They say those prosthetics cause immense pain to the user."
Dante didn't disagree. When he'd stepped on those sharp fingers, he'd seen the boy's face contort in agony. And he hadn't even used force or his ability — it was just a normal step.
They waited for more soldiers to arrive, including Dalia and Rutteo. The Officer ordered the enemy to be taken prisoner, walking past his body. She and Dante exchanged glances but said nothing to each other. She left without so much as a thank-you.
Tecno patted Dante on the shoulder again.
"It's alright, old man. We know you took him down."
Dante scoffed, taking another drag from his cigar. "And who said I care about the glory of beating up a snot-nosed brat?"