Lukewarm

Lukewarm

A sticky sensation dripped below her elbow, trailing down her cheeks. It was nostalgic—a faint reflection of a feeling from childhood, a memory from just days before her awakening.

Mercedes had always been a sword fanatic. When Milan was a child, she would spend her free time traveling the continent—visiting forges, blacksmiths, weapons stores and even museums, collecting swords of all kinds—so long as they intrigued her.

Being her younger sister, Milan naturally adopted this childlike fascination with swords. She wasn't even strong enough to raise one yet, but the time she spent listening to Mercedes talk about them meant the whole world to her.

On that day, Milan had followed Mercedes to go pick up a sword from their family's forge. This memory was marked by the thick smell of scorched metal and coal dust in the air.

Several barrels lined the walls—some filled with scrap, while others overflowed with hot oil, rumored to be at over 500°C.

Resting against a wooden stand was a gigantic blade easily twice Milan's size. Its hilt was wrapped in fine leather, and its blade gleamed with an almost divine golden hue, as if it were calling her name.

"How about this, if you can swing this sword even once, I'll let you pick anything you want from my collection."

A tall order. An extremely gigantic one. But this wasn't the first time Mercedes had given her a task that any sane person would consider physically impossible for a yet-to-awaken nine-year-old girl.

One time, Mercedes asked her to jump high enough to touch the glittering chandelier in their mansion's ballroom. Milan had failed this task, spraining her ankle in the process. This is especially why she was eager to get things done this time around.

She couldn't wait until they got home. So, when no one was looking, she wrapped her small fingers around the hilt.

Milan pulled back, and, surprisingly, the sword came free with ease. However, the moment she tried to lift it, her arms and knees buckled under its incredible weight.

The sword tipped, crashing into a barrel by the side. A wave of blackened oil sloshed and splashed all over her skin and clothes before she could react.

Her plastic hair accessory instantly vaporized, releasing black fumes. The leather on the sword's hilt and her boots shrank and cracked, on the brink of ignition. Even her clothes darkened, charring into nothingness—until the emergency fire system kicked in, extinguishing the danger with a cooling mist.

"Oh my Gosh Milan! Are you okay?" Mercedes cried, her face a canvas of dread and worry. She wrapped Milan in a desperate hug, her voice trembling. "I–I'll call an ambulance. We have to get you to a hospital right now!"

The head blacksmith and his assistants scrambled around, overturning crates and rifling through shelves, grabbing—potions, ice, ointments—anything that could help.

But amidst the commotion, Milan was confused.

Was it supposed to be hot?—she wondered.

'It doesn't feel hot at all.' Oil slicked her skin, hissing with smoke as it dripped down. Yet, she felt no heat. There was no burning, there was no pain.

If anything, it felt—

Lukewarm.

——

Milan blinked twice, her vision revealing a lukewarm, crimson shower spraying across the snow like spilling ink.

Her left side felt heavier. Or rather, her right side—lighter. Too light, in fact. Something crucial was missing.

Her pupils dilated with dawning horror when they landed on the severed half of her right hand, lying limp on an illustration of red and white.

That was when the pain hit.

A searing surge of agony tore through her body, blurring every other sensation into the background.

Every nerve screamed but when she tried to, it hung dry in her throat. And before it could escape, Rolan's muted voice rang into her ears.

"MILAAANNN!"

She turned her head spotting the archer cower as he drew his jade bow. His aim was locked on something. Or rather someone. A human figure materializing from nothing, not too far from his position.

The figure belonged to a woman. The design and stripes on her clothes left no doubts—she was an S-ranker. One powerful enough to have obtained the title of a general.

Silver hair?—Milan's breath hitched with shock.

The more her features got revealed, the heavier the air became from a sense of intangible dread.

No words were spoken. Just absolute silence.

Then, the moment Crescencia fully materialized, a suffocating pressure crashed down.

Milan's instincts screamed. She had to move now.

Her remaining hand shot forward, fingers trembling but aimed at the enemy. Prana coiled around her palm and in an instant—

[Prana Control: Twin Star Fireworks]

Two raging jets of flame screamed towards Crescencia, leaving black trails of smoke as they went.

Rolan didn't hesitate. He withdrew his bow and darted away. A fight of this caliber was totally beyond him.

The flares reached their target, ready to consume the silver slayer. But they didn't—

Because Crescencia was gone.

"Oh my Gosh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! That wasn't meant for you," Milan's face distorted as Crescencia reappeared, lowering herself into an apologetic bow.

"I just wanted to tease god-boy a little," she continued, bowing repeatedly. "You know, get him to show what he's really capable of!"

Teleportation?

Milan's pulse pounded as she processed the impossible. One moment, Crescencia had been at least 25 meters away. Now—she was right beside her.

Exactly where Keres had stood.

"Hmmm…" Crescencia placed one hand against her forehead, peering over the cliff's edge. "But to think you'd push him off. This might be a bit difficult."

Wind ran into Milan's open wound, the raw flesh and severed bone exposed to the cold. She felt a dull, numbing pain creep in—as she forced herself to breathe, to steady her racing thoughts.

Then—

"Ah, wait…" The air shifted.

Crescencia's voice came softer now, quieter—but no less terrifying.

"Does that mean you can see my Flash Phantasm?" she tilted her head with an impassive look that would appear grim to anyone it was aimed at. 

Dangerous

Milan's instincts screamed. A mortal warning. She could not win.

She had to run. Now.

An unseen blade, sharp and merciless, seemed to rest against her throat. One wrong move—one wrong answer—and her head would roll.

"I…" Her fingers trembled. Her heart ached, pounding loud and fast. Revealing her identity might guarantee her safety. But not Rolan's, not Keres'.

"I—" Escape.

Right, the logical option was to escape. To run and survive. However—

She clenched her fist.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, forming a cloud of flame around her palm. "But if you're after lord Keres... then that makes you my enemy."

The ability to move at teleportation speed and cut down her target from nowhere.

There was no escape. Much less protecting Rolan and Keres while doing so.

Just as Milan prepared to cauterize her bleeding wound, Crescencia stopped her with her voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you,"

Milan froze.

"You don't smell like a villain," The silver slayer continued, her tone casual but certain. "So I don't think you're my enemy."

The tension in the air dissipated.

"To apologize for my earlier mistake—"

[Recall]

Prana pulsed at her command.

Milan felt a cold shiver graze the surface of her injury.

And then, her right hand was whole again.

"Won't take away the pain but should be as good as new in no time."

Milan's eyes widened as she flexed her fingers, opening and closing her hand. The blood trails remained, and the numbing pain still lingered—but the important thing was that her hand had been restored.

She looked towards the silver-haired woman, perhaps to give her gratitude.

But Crescencia had disappeared again.

"... don't tell me..." A chilling sensation traced its way down Milan's spine.

*

Keres slammed into the earth with a deafening crash. His lungs burst out of air, his world grinding into an abrupt stop.

But it only lasted a moment.

An unbearable shot of pain ran through his frame, yet—somehow, he was alive. His bones remained intact.

A humming warmth had absorbed most of the impact. He should have died but it was great that he didn't.

He placed his fingers on the rough earth, wondering how he had survived. Was it the snow? Or maybe his bag had protected him.

No—neither of those explanations made any sense. He didn't understand it either but he had felt something intangible, yet heavy—wrap itself around him.

He rolled onto his side, breathing carefully as he pulled his bag closer. A wet and sticky feeling greeted his fingers when he reached inside, gathering the shards of shattered vials.

He clenched his jaw, tightening his fingers around the glass until blood slicked his palm. It was difficult sneaking those out of the house.

Several months of effort, gone in seconds.

A foreign heaviness coiled around his heart. But as he began trembling from frustration, a familiar heat signature flickered at the edge of his senses.

His sword.

It had fallen out of the bag, but it was still intact.

Small mercies.

He released the broken glass and forced himself to his feet, with a heavy breath.

He staggered forward, fingers bleeding. And as he reached down—a sudden crack rang into his ears.

Space tore open, silver streaks dancing in the air.

Keres' body tensed, his breath hitching. He had to move but before he could do anything—

She was already there.

Standing right in front of him.

Keres took a step backward.

'This is bad.'

Up against a chakra user alone? He stood no chance. His mind churned, tormenting him with every possible worst-case scenario just as Crescencia began to speak.

"You know, I've sat on the same table with some of the worst criminals in the world,"

She stepped forward and Keres instinctively retreated by another step.

"Drug dealers, rapists, murderers—the filthiest of scum."

Her silver gaze locked onto him, unblinking.

"But honestly, this is a surprise."

"Your smell of evil is stronger than any odour I've ever sniffed before," she murmured, her words thick with something unreadable. "And yet, I don't sense any chakra coming from you,"

She stopped. Someone was going to die.

"What on earth are you, god-boy?"