Every Scar Marks My Rebirth

Celia's Perspective:

I move my head to my right and notice some strange-looking people. Maybe they were from Levi's guild? But what business did they have with me? I was just practicing my physical combat with chains near here—nothing suspicious, nothing illegal… probably.

"You know, I just called out to you," a voice lazily drifts through the air.

I shift my focus to the person speaking. He must be Xander—the one Emma told me about, the one staying with Zain. Not that I care much, but why is he talking to me?

"Hello?" Xander tries again, dragging out the word like this is somehow more exhausting for him than it is for me.

"Yes?" I finally reply, arms crossed.

Xander studies me for a second, then sighs like this is already too much effort. "So, yeah. The loud noises? That's you, right?"

I blink. "Obviously."

"Yeah, I figured," he says, stretching his arms behind his head. "See, problem is, I don't actually know if Zain would be cool with it. And since I don't know, I can't let you keep doing it. Better safe than sorry, y'know?"

I tilt my head. "So you're stopping me… because you don't know if it's a problem?"

"Exactly."

I squint at him. "That makes no sense."

He shrugs. "Makes sense to me."

I tighten my grip on my chains. "So you're just randomly deciding what's allowed?"

"Pretty much."

"You're annoying."

"Correct."

"You don't want to deal with problems, but you're creating one for me."

"That's more of a you problem," he says, rubbing his eyes. "Could just leave."

I exhale sharply. "Or you could leave."

"Yeah, but that sounds exhausting."

I groan, running a hand through my hair. "If I move somewhere else, will you stop bothering me?"

"Depends." He tilts his head. "How far are we talking? 'Cause if it's like… ten steps, that's not helping anyone."

I let out a long, suffering sigh. "Fine! I'll move! Happy?"

"Immensely," Xander replies, already turning away, hands in his pockets.

As Xander turns to leave, one of the guild members—an older-looking man with a sturdy build and a heavy axe strapped to his back—steps forward. His expression is serious, his voice carrying a weight that makes even the lazy Xander pause.

"Hey, Xander," the man calls out, crossing his arms. "You're just gonna let her keep going?"

Xander tilts his head lazily. "Nah, she said she'd move somewhere else. Problem solved."

The man sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah? And what if the noises draw in grotesques?" His voice drops lower, his tone firmer. "You do remember what happened last time something caught their attention near town, right?"

Xander exhales through his nose. "Yeah, yeah. They ran wild, took me like 15 minutes to clean up. Annoying."

"Exactly," the man nods. "And this? This is just asking for it. Grotesques are drawn to sudden, unnatural sounds—loud ones, especially at evening. It messes with their senses, makes 'em come swarming." His gaze flicks to me briefly before settling back on Xander. "You think Zain's gonna be happy if that happens again?"

Xander's face remains impassive, but he scratches his cheek, clearly weighing his options. "…He would complain a lot."

"Complain?" The man scoffs. "He'll kill you for letting it happen under your watch."

Xander exhales another long, drawn-out sigh, turning his attention back to me. "Alright, you heard him. No more practice here." He waves a lazy hand in my direction. "Time to pack up and go."

I stare at him, blinking slowly. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Xander shoves his hands in his pockets. "No more practice. Too risky, town's safety, Zain'll get mad, blah blah blah. You get the idea."

I plant my feet firmly. "I have to practice."

"And you can't do it here."

"I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I—" I cut myself off, exhaling sharply. "You're not understanding."

Xander shrugs. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

I clench my fists, frustration rising like a boiling pot ready to spill over. "Listen, I need to train, and I don't have anywhere else to do it."

"Not my problem."

I take a step forward. "It is now."

Xander raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I said so." I glare. "Where else am I supposed to go? Tell me."

He sighs again. "Anywhere but here."

I grit my teeth. "And if I don't?"

"Then we've got a problem." His voice is still casual, but there's a hint of finality beneath it. "Look, I'm not trying to be a pain, but town safety takes priority. If grotesques come crawling in because of your training, it's my headache, and I don't like headaches."

"I don't care about your headaches!" I snap. "I need this. It's apart of my routine and I can't skip it just because you said so."

Xander watches me for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Yeah?" His voice is quieter now. "And what exactly are you trying to get stronger for?"

I falter for just a second. I don't know why that question gets under my skin, but it does.

"For myself," I say, my voice sharp. "Because I have to."

Xander's gaze lingers on me, like he's trying to figure out if that's the truth. Then he exhales, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, find another way. This isn't it."

My patience snaps. "You don't get to decide that!"

He meets my glare without flinching. "No, but I am deciding it."

I grip my chains tightly, breathing heavily. He's so frustrating. Why won't he just let me be?!

But something in his eyes tells me he won't budge.

And neither will I.

Xander's Perspective:

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck as I watch Celia stand her ground. Man, she's annoying. Stubborn, emotional, completely unwilling to listen to reason—what a headache.

And yet… I can't say I hate that about her.

There aren't many people who'd talk back to a Sword Saint like this, let alone someone as lazy as me. Most people hear my name, see what I can do, and either respect me or get out of my way. But her? She's different.

She's got this weird fighting style, too. Chains wrapped around her arms, moving like they're part of her body, twisting and snapping like thorns growing from vines. A style like that? It's not just something you pick up overnight. That takes real dedication. Her movement—fluid, reactive, controlled—like an extension of herself rather than a weapon she wields.

With my Gift of Mastery, I can pick up any technique, break it down, and learn it like I've been doing it my whole life. But this? This isn't something I can learn. Not fully. Not the way she uses it. Because it's not just skill. It's her.

That realization is kind of annoying.

I let out another sigh and look at her. "Alright, enough already. Get out of here."

Celia's eyes narrow, her chains shifting slightly around her arms, like a warning. "I already told you—I have to train."

"And I already told you—you can't do it here."

She clenches her fists. "You're acting like you own the place."

"Not really," I say, stretching my arms lazily. "Just don't want to deal with the consequences when Zain finds out you lured grotesques here."

"I won't lure grotesques."

"Yeah? You got a grotesque-repelling badge I don't know about?"

She huffs, crossing her arms. "You're so frustrating."

"Yep."

"Do you even care that I need this?"

"Nope."

Celia's expression twists, anger flashing in her eyes. "You're unbelievable."

I roll my shoulders, keeping my tone casual. "That's what people say when they can't win an argument."

"You're not winning anything!" she snaps. "You're just being an ass for no reason!"

"I have a reason. You just don't like it."

She exhales sharply, looking like she's one second away from throwing one of those chains at my face. Honestly? Wouldn't blame her. I am being difficult. But hey, she's the one being stubborn.

She takes a step forward, voice low and heated. "Why do you even care? Just let me train. It's not hurting you."

I watch her for a moment, something clicking in my head.

Wait.

I've heard of her before, haven't I? Something about a cursed girl. Some tragic past, losing someone important—oh, right. That's why she's like this.

I let out a slow exhale, my voice just as lazy as before. "Ahh… I think I get it now."

Celia stiffens. "What?"

"You're that girl, huh?" I say, rubbing my chin like I just remembered. "The cursed one. Or… was it something else? Your friend died, and then you got all depressed, right?"

Her eyes darken immediately. "Where did you hear that?" Her voice is cold now, colder than before.

I shrug. "Zain mentioned it." I pause, then tilt my head, smirking slightly. "Poor little girl… lost her close friend. What was his name again? Oh yeah—Kaiser. Training like crazy to bring back a dead person?"

The air shifts.

Celia's entire body tenses, and in a flash, her chains lash out—stopping just inches from my face. Her eyes are blazing, and for the first time in this whole conversation, I actually feel a sliver of real danger.

"Take that back." Her voice is sharp, raw, and completely furious.

I meet her glare, unfazed. "I won't."

I stretched, lazily cracking my knuckles, not bothering to even glance at her. I could feel her anger, but it didn't bother me. In fact, it kind of made this whole situation a little more entertaining.

"You know," I muttered, running a hand through my messy hair, "you're wasting your time."

Celia froze, and I could almost hear her teeth grind together as she turned to me. I didn't even need to look at her to know she was pissed.

Her voice was icy, tight with restraint. "What do you mean by that?"

I leaned back against the tree, squinting lazily in her direction. "You can't bring him back, you know. That kind of thing? It's not happening. No matter how hard you try."

She clenched her fists. "Oh yeah? And what the hell do you know about it? You think you're the expert on this kind of shit?"

I shrugged, my voice lazy as ever. "Not really, no. I just know you're wasting your time. All this training, all this effort—it's pointless. He's gone. And nothing you do can change that."

Her eyes narrowed, her chains shifting slightly, the air growing heavier. "Shut up."

I chuckled, letting the tension between us simmer. "Hey, I'm just telling it like it is. You can't fight fate. He's dead, and you're just chasing shadows."

She took a step forward, her fists trembling with suppressed rage. "What do you know about loss? About grief? About the weight of losing someone you—"

"Save it." I interrupted her, voice flat, cutting through her words. "I know what it's like. Everyone's got their own little sob story. But the difference is? I'm not stupid enough to keep running after something that's already gone."

Her body tensed even further. "You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you know everything. Well, you don't know a damn thing about me or Kaiser, so just keep your mouth shut."

"Ugh," I sighed, feigning annoyance as I rolled my eyes. "It's not my fault you're too weak to accept it. But hey, go ahead, keep training. Keep clinging to that pointless hope of yours. It's cute, really."

Celia's voice dropped, dangerously calm. "You have no idea what I've been through."

I tilted my head, genuinely not caring but deciding to humor her. "Probably not. But I don't care, either. You can scream, you can cry, you can train till your body breaks. Doesn't change the fact that he's gone, and you'll never bring him back."

Her chains lashed out without warning, sharp and deadly, stopping just inches from my face. I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink.

"You're a bastard," she hissed, her words laced with venom. "You don't know a damn thing about what it feels like to lose someone. So keep talking, Xander. Keep talking like you know everything. Because one day? You're going to wish you hadn't."

I leaned in slightly, my voice cold, sharper than it had been. "Your friend's already gone, Celia. He's nothing but grotesque food now. Dead. You think all this… pain, this training, is gonna change that? It won't. He's just another casualty in this messed-up world."

Celia stayed silent, her fists shaking with the effort it took to keep her calm.

I shrugged, the same lazy indifference creeping back into my tone. "So yeah, keep holding onto that hope. But it won't bring him back. He's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Her silence was deafening, but I could tell—her anger was still there, simmering under the surface. The chains, barely noticeable before, now tightened, but she didn't speak.

I gave a small smirk, my voice dripping with the same venom. "And if you really want to go down that road? If you're stupid enough to try and threaten me again? I'll make sure you don't even get the chance to regret it."

Her eyes burned with an intensity that actually made me pause. That, I'll admit, got to me. Not because I cared about her or what she thought, but because that tone—that fury—felt a little too close to home.

I smirked, but this time, it wasn't just out of laziness. "You really think you can scare me, huh?"

Celia's lips curled into a cold smile. "I don't care about scaring you. I care about making you regret it."

I felt the shift in the air, something heavier than before, something dangerous. But I wasn't backing down. "You're wasting your time, Celia."

Her next words came out slow, calculated, like she was savoring them. "And if I said I was planning to kill you next, would that make you understand?"

I paused, my entire demeanor changing in an instant. That was too far.

I straightened up, my smirk gone, replaced by the kind of cold focus only a Sword Saint could carry. "What did you just say?"

Her eyes were as empty as her voice, her gaze locked onto mine. "I'll kill you. If you keep pushing me like this, Xander, I'll make sure you regret it."

For the first time, I felt a flicker of something dangerous stir in me, and it wasn't the usual lazy indifference. She was dead serious.

But I wasn't the type to back down either. I took a step forward, all traces of my previous carelessness vanishing.

"Is that a threat?" I asked, my voice low, sharp now.

Her reply came with a slow, cold smile. "No. It's a promise."

I let out a slow, annoyed breath. "Great. Another idiot who thinks they can fight me."

But beneath the anger, beneath the bravado, I could feel it—the spark. And that? That might actually make this interesting.

Celia's Perspective:

How dare he... How dare he just say that to me...

His words linger in my mind, like a cold shadow that refuses to leave. Kaiser's far gone. He's dead, Celia. You can't save him.

The air feels thick, suffocating. I don't know why it hurts so much, why it feels like my chest is caving in. I thought I was stronger than this—thought I could handle anything. But hearing it from him... from Xander, of all people... it cuts deeper than I expected. He makes everything look so easy, like he doesn't give a damn about anyone, about anything. And yet here he is, telling me the one thing I can't hear. The one thing I refuse to believe.

I blink hard, feeling my eyes burn. No.

Kaiser can't be gone. I won't let it be true. Zain... Zain said there's a chance. Even if it's a slim one. Even if the chances are as close to zero as they get. He's still alive. I know it. I don't care what anyone else says. I won't give up on him.

I squeeze my hands into fists. My nails dig into my palms, the sting snapping me out of the fog that Xander's words have created. He doesn't understand. He doesn't get it. Kaiser—he's not just some person I'm holding onto out of some misguided hope. He's everything to me. He's been my anchor when I was lost, my protector when I was weak. He's the reason I'm standing here right now, trying to fight my way through this mess. How dare he say that about Kaiser? How dare he dismiss everything I've fought for?

I'm not going to let this make me waver. I promised myself.

Get stronger. Protect what matters.

I don't care how impossible it seems. I don't care if the world tells me I'm foolish. As long as there's the smallest, tiniest chance that Kaiser is out there—alive—I'll keep going. I'll keep pushing. Even if it means standing alone. Even if I have to burn every bit of hope into existence.

I can't let him down. Not after everything we've been through.

I clench my jaw, staring at the ground before glancing at Xander. I can't even look at him right now. His laid-back attitude, his smug look, like he's already written off everything that matters to me—it's enough to make my blood boil. Don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do.

He has no idea. No idea what it's like to feel your heart shatter into pieces every time you think about losing someone. No idea what it's like to hold onto a thread of hope and still be willing to fight with everything you have, even if the odds are against you. I won't give up on him.

I won't.

I step forward, slow and deliberate, my chains lightly rattling with the movement. "Say that again," I say, my voice cold, daring him.

Xander sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like this is all so troublesome for him. "You really wanna go through this?" His tone is lazy, indifferent. "Fine. I'll say it as many times as it takes for that thick skull of yours to get it." His sharp gray eyes lift to mine, unreadable. "Kaiser. Is. Dead."

A chill runs down my spine.

I grip my chains tighter, the metal groaning under the pressure of my fingers. He's testing me. Pushing me. Trying to see how far I'll break.

"Careful, Xander." My voice is quieter now, colder. "There are some things you shouldn't say if you want to keep breathing."

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, that's cute. You threatening me now?"

I tilt my head, studying him. "That depends. Do you feel threatened?"

His smirk twitches. "Not in the slightest."

I take another step, closing the distance. "You should."

His eyes darken, just for a second. Then, his smirk returns, lazy and sharp. "Tch. I figured you'd be the type to bite back. You curse-wielders always have a bad temper."

My body stiffens.

The chains wrapped around my arms shift slightly, responding to my emotions. Curse-wielder… He knows.

A slow smirk spreads across my lips. "So you're not as clueless as you act." I lift my hand, letting one of my chains unravel from my wrist, the sharp tip dragging against the ground with a slow, metallic scrape. "Then I don't need to waste my breath, do I?"

Xander exhales, tilting his head slightly. "Queen of Curses, huh?" His gaze flickers with something unreadable. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"And you?" I press, my voice dangerously low. "You talk big, but I doubt you're just some lazy idiot running his mouth."

Xander lets out a slow, exaggerated sigh, like this conversation is already boring him. Then, he lifts a hand and lazily gestures toward himself. "Xander. Sword Saint of Mastery."

My breath catches for half a second.

Sword Saint. Of Mastery.

I've heard of him before—one of the strongest, the kind of person who never had to try, because effort was beneath him. He learns, adapts, and perfects every weapon, every style, with terrifying ease.

So this is who I'm dealing with…

I meet his gaze, unblinking. "Mastery." The word slips out, slow and sharp. "The Sword Saint of Mastery."

Xander clicks his tongue. "Took you long enough."

Something pulses between us—silent, suffocating. Neither of us move.

He's dangerous.

But so am I.

Then, his voice drops, lower than before. "Members of Zain's guild," he says, without looking away from me. "Get out."

The air freezes.

The members behind me shift uneasily, whispering. Some hesitate. But the authority in his voice—the quiet finality of it—sends them stepping back, disappearing into the shadows.

Now it's just us.

Xander's smirk fades slightly, his fingers twitching. "I was planning to take it easy today." His voice is calm, but there's something sharp beneath it. "But now… seems like I'll be spending my evening killing a curse."

A slow smile curls my lips, but there's no warmth in it.

I lift my hand, and my chains coil up, twisting in the air like snakes.

"How funny." My voice is soft, but laced with quiet malice. "Because I was planning to hang a sword saint this evening."

The wind stirs around us, carrying the tension of the moment. My chains coil around my arms, slithering like living things, while my thorns pulse, waiting for the command to strike. Across from me, Xander stands lazily, his sword resting on his shoulder, his expression somewhere between tired and indifferent.

"Are we doing this or what?" I snap, tightening my stance.

Xander yawns. He actually yawns. "Yeah, yeah… but, ugh, this feels like a waste of energy." He rolls his neck, finally lowering his sword into a half-hearted stance. "Fine, let's get this over with."

I don't wait. My chains lash forward, snapping toward him like striking vipers, but Xander barely moves. A lazy step to the side, a casual flick of his wrist—each attack glides past him like he's dancing through a routine he's done a thousand times before.

I grit my teeth. He's reading me.

"Too slow," he mutters, dodging another strike. "Too obvious." He steps in, sword flashing in an almost careless arc. My chains barely intercept in time, the force rattling up my arms.

I shift my weight, kicking out—a spray of thorns bursting forward from my leg. He leans back just enough to let them pass, exhaling like I'm making him do too much work. "Hmm… a little better. Still not great."

Smug bastard.

I adjust. Test the range. Every attack, every movement—he's responding at the last possible moment, expending the least amount of effort while making me work twice as hard. That means—

He's waiting.

For a pattern. For me to keep doing the same thing, so he can counter with the least resistance.

Fine. Let's see how he likes this.

I feint left, my chains snapping toward his side, and just as expected, his sword is already there to parry—except I retract the chains at the last second, using the momentum to spin, my other hand already swinging.

Thorns, coated in Withering Touch, tear through the air.

And this time—

They hit.

Xander's cloak rips, his arm jerks back, and for the first time, his eyes flicker—not with surprise, but with something dangerously close to interest.

I smirk. "What was that about me being too slow?"

Xander looks down at his sleeve, then back at me, and—

He grins.

"Heh… not bad." His fingers flex over the hilt of his sword, and I feel something shift.

The air feels heavier.

Then he lifts his gaze, his voice colder than before. "Alright. Time to start trying."

His grip tightens, his posture straightens, and suddenly, the lazy swordsman is gone.

The air around him sharpens. No more lazy dodges. No more half-hearted swings.

Then he moves.

I barely catch the flash of silver before I'm forced back, my chains snapping up instinctively. Too slow. His sword carves through the air, slipping past my guard, nearly cutting into my side before I twist out of the way, my boots skidding against the dirt.

I retaliate. Thorns lash out, twisting and curling mid-strike, forcing him to maneuver—but he does. Effortlessly.

He steps through the attack, sword weaving between the strikes like he already knows where they'll land. My chains coil back defensively, blocking his next swing, but the moment I prepare a counter—

He vanishes.

No—he's just fast.

My instincts scream, and I pivot, but his blade is already there, inches from my shoulder. I barely manage to throw my weight back, the edge grazing my skin. A shallow cut, but a cut nonetheless.

The sting barely registers before Xander exhales, almost disappointed.

"You react well," he murmurs, spinning his sword once, shaking off the tension. "But against me… it's not enough, is it?"

His eyes meet mine, sharp and unreadable.

"Predictable."

The cut on my shoulder stings, but I barely feel it.

Because I'm pissed.

Not just at Xander, but at myself.

Predictable? Predictable?

No. Not anymore.

I exhale slowly, fingers tightening. I can feel the emotions churning, bubbling beneath my skin, the raw negativity that fuels my magic. Frustration. Self-doubt. Hatred—toward my own weakness.

I let it consume me.

My chains tremble, shifting. The ground beneath me darkens as my magic pulses outward, spreading.

New spells. New tricks that I learned from the past two days.

Cursed Magic: Black Bloom

The moment I whisper it in my mind, the vines change—thorns thickening, spreading outward like a blossoming flower, but their purpose is far from beautiful. These eat. Not physically, but their cursed energy siphons magic from whatever they latch onto. And I send them straight for Xander.

He notices. His sword flashes, cutting through them before they can reach him, but I don't stop.

I move, fast.

My body lunges, spinning low. No more just standing back. Thorns burst from my kicks as I close in, forcing him to shift, to react. His sword slices through my vines, but every second he spends cutting is another second I press forward.

Adapt. Change.

He blocks my next strike, but I was waiting for that. My chains wrap around his blade—not to trap it, but to conduct the next spell.

Cursed Magic: Hollow Strain

A pulse of black energy surges through the chain, hitting his sword directly. It's a technique that rattles magic-reinforced weapons, destabilizing their enchantments for a few seconds. His grip tightens as his sword vibrates slightly, the magic inside faltering just enough.

I see the shift in his stance. The flicker of hesitation.

I don't waste it.

I twist, driving my foot into the ground, sending another wave of thorns toward his blind spot. He steps back—too slow. They graze his side, cutting fabric and skin.

A hit. A real one.

I grin. "Not so predictable now, am I?"

Xander doesn't answer immediately. His gaze flicks down at his side, then back at me. His expression unreadable—no frustration, no anger. Just quiet analysis.

Then he exhales, almost amused. "So, you do learn."

I feel my chains tighten, power thrumming beneath my skin. One more.

This time, I jump, flipping over him mid-air, my voice a whisper beneath my breath—

Cursed Magic: Revenant's Grasp.

The shadows beneath him move. Hands—black, clawed—burst upward, grasping for his legs, slowing him down just enough for me to land and send a storm of thorns straight toward him.

This time, he actually has to block.

Steel clashes against my magic, sparks flying, vines wrapping, twisting, cutting—our movements fast, sharp, neither side giving an inch.

And for the first time—

We're equal.

Xander's Perspective:

Tch. This girl.

I exhale, shaking my head as I glance at the thin cut on my side. It doesn't hurt. Not really. But the fact that it's there—that she actually managed to land a hit—is… interesting.

It's been a long time since I've felt something in a fight. Since I had to think more than two steps ahead.

And honestly?

It's kinda fun.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of my sword shift in my grip. The moment I actually try, this match is over—but where's the fun in ending it too fast?

Still… I suppose I should stop playing around.

A slow breath leaves my lips. My fingers tighten around the hilt.

And then—

Everything shifts.

The air around me grows dense, heavy. My stance changes—no wasted movement, no slack in my posture. It's like a blade being drawn from its sheath, sharp and ready.

The temperature drops. Shadows stretch unnaturally. A faint black-and-white mist coils around me, like tendrils of something unseen curling from the edges of my existence.

It's the moment where most realize—

I'm not lazy.

I just don't see the point in trying unless it's worth it.

And right now?

This is worth it.

I lift my blade, voice low as I murmur the words beneath my breath.

"Let silence guide my blade—Fading Echo."

The moment I move, I vanish.

No step, no sound, no warning. Just gone.

And then—

I reappear behind her. Blade already swinging.

She barely has time to react. Her chains snap up, blocking the strike at the last possible second, sparks flying from the clash. But it doesn't matter. I'm already moving again.

One step, one breath—

"Bury the earth beneath my will—Severing Gale."

A single downward slash—simple, effortless. And yet, the pressure it creates splits the ground beneath us, a shockwave of force tearing through the battlefield. Her vines lash out, trying to counter—

I'm already gone again.

Every strike flows into the next, like a perfect sequence of movements honed over years. There's no hesitation, no delay. Just pure, absolute precision.

It's the difference between someone learning how to fight—

And someone who's already mastered it.

She's fast, sure. Clever. But my blade is faster.

Her vines lash out—black, writhing, filled with cursed energy.

I don't dodge.

I cut through them.

"Turn the wind to razors—Veil Rend."

A crescent of wind follows my blade, sharp as steel, severing her magic mid-air. She staggers, but her reaction is quick—another spell, another attempt to counter.

Good.

I exhale, flipping my blade once before pointing it at her, my voice quiet, almost bored—

"Still think I'm boring?"

Because right now?

I'm done holding back.

Most people would've crumbled by now—overwhelmed, suffocated by the sheer difference between us. But her? She's adapting. Analyzing. Learning with every damn second.

I should've expected that from someone like her.

But there's a limit. And I'm about to show her exactly where it is.

I exhale, shifting my grip as I push off the ground. My body twists midair, and in one seamless motion, I bring my blade upward—

And the sky itself responds.

The air howls. The winds bend.

And in the space of a heartbeat, a vortex begins to form.

No. Not just a vortex—a storm.

"Rise from the breath of the forgotten—Eclipsing Maelstrom."

The words leave my lips, slow, deliberate, and the moment they do—

The world erupts.

The winds explode outward in a spiraling cage of death, each current razor-sharp, each movement laced with murderous precision. A tornado forms in an instant, alive with slashing winds, roaring with the force to rip apart anything in its wake.

Her vines lash out. Desperate. Reaching.

And the storm devours them.

Torn to shreds before they can even reach me.

Heh.

This is what happens when a Master decides to move.

I hover at the eye of the storm, sword still raised, my body outlined in the flickering black-and-white mist of my aura. The presence I give off now—it's suffocating. Like the weight of death itself pressing down.

Cold. Absolute.

Like a Grim Reaper descending upon his next kill.

I stare down at her, watching the winds carve the forest apart, watching her chains rattle under the sheer force of it.

And for the first time—my voice lacks the usual laziness.

No sarcasm. No boredom.

Just cold, undeniable truth.

"You can struggle all you want," I murmur, my words cutting through the storm. "But even the Queen of Curses—"

I raise my blade higher. The storm around me intensifies, spiraling even faster, tearing apart everything beneath me.

"—can't escape the reach of a Master."

Celia's Perspective:

How... How is this even possible?

I try to cut through it—my thorns lashing, chains striking—but it's useless.

Each time I send an attack, the wind devours it. No, worse—he redirects it effortlessly, like a painter casually stroking his brush. The tornado isn't just wild chaos; it moves with him, responding to his every whim like an extension of his body.

This isn't just mastery over the sword.

This is absolute control.

No way… is this the true power of a Sword Saint?

My stomach twists. For the first time in a long time, I feel it. Fear.

The kind that coils around your throat, makes your fingers hesitate, makes your mind scream at you to run.

His ability… it's terrifying. If a Sword Saint of Mastery decides something is impossible to touch, then it simply is. The very concept of "hitting him" feels like a joke. Like trying to strike the wind itself.

No—no, I can't think like this.

Kaiser wouldn't falter.

I won't ever let myself falter again.

I grit my teeth, pressing my palm against my chest, forcing the emotions out.

The fear, the helplessness—I twist them into something else.

Anger.

Anger at myself. At him. At the feeling of being small again, at the idea that someone could stand so far above me that I couldn't even touch them.

The chains rattling around my wrists pulse in response. They feel heavier, more alive. Their energy shifts, feeding off the festering rage clawing through me.

"Cursed Magic: Black Bloom."

The words don't leave my lips. They don't need to. I only have to think it using my self-hatred emotions.

And the battlefield changes.

My vines shift, thickening—spreading outward in a spiraling bloom of razor-sharp thorns. But they're no longer just physical weapons.

They eat.

Not in the way a beast would tear into flesh, but something worse. They siphon.

The moment they touch magic, they latch on, clinging, draining—like leeches starving for power.

I aim straight for the core of his tornado. If I can sap its energy, if I can weaken the storm itself—

It works.

The winds slow, just slightly. Just enough.

But before I can press my advantage—

He moves.

And suddenly, the battlefield shifts again.

The wind doesn't just return—it roars.

But it's no longer alone.

Water.

Xander raises his blade lazily—like none of this is a concern at all—and the air around us grows damp. Moisture clings to the storm, twisting into the cyclone itself, merging into a spiraling force of wind and waves.

No—he's not just riding the storm anymore.

He's surfing it.

"Ocean's Whisper, Tempest Waltz."

The moment the words leave his mouth, he disappears.

I barely have time to react before the entire storm shifts, dragging me into it.

Everything is spinning—water slashing across my skin like razors, wind pressing against my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.

I can't breathe.

I look up, feeling the full weight of the storm now. The tornado above me—it's not just wind anymore. It's a monster of swirling water and wind, crashing down with a force I can't even begin to comprehend. Xander is surfing it, weaving effortlessly through the chaos, like he's some kind of elemental deity.

How… how is he masterfully controlling wind and water like that, like it's nothing?

Every instinct in me tells me to retreat, but I can't.

I can't run—not now.

But deep down, I realize the truth. It was a mistake. I'm not strong enough yet.

I can't beat a Sword Saint. Not now.

He's just too strong.

The storm roars louder, and Xander finally leaps down from the swirling chaos above. The water flicks from his clothes as he lands, unfazed, like he was just playing with the storm.

His voice cuts through the air like ice, and the chill runs down my spine.

"The curse ends now."

He's not playing anymore.

My heart races. Fear grips me, but I won't let it take over. Not yet.

I summon my thorns, spinning them, quickly binding them together to form an intricate attack. My movements flow with desperation, my body pushing itself further as I try to weave my vines into a net to catch him.

But Xander…

Xander isn't playing either.

He blitzes forward in a flash, and I barely have time to react. His sword swings in the air, and I feel a wave of wind cut through my vines—snapping them like twigs.

"Pathetic."

His voice rings with disdain as he closes the distance.

I scramble. My chains lash out, reaching for him, but his sword flicks effortlessly, and suddenly, it's molded in flames, searing through my defenses. It feels like I'm caught in the firestorm itself.

No…

I can't breathe.

I can't think.

I'm going to die.

I feel it. The certainty.

I'm nothing.

The moment Xander gets closer, I see it. That grim reaper aura. It's like a shadow draped over him—black and white, cold as death itself. I swear, for a split second, it feels like I'm staring into the eyes of the reaper, his scythe ready to take my soul.

I'm nothing but a bug to him.

An ant, struggling to move in the face of someone who could wipe me off this earth with a flick of their wrist.

I want to scream. I want to run. But my body's frozen, my thoughts a mess.

As he approaches, the darkness around him thickens. His gaze locks onto me, and I hear him mutter something.

"So much for a cursed queen… not even worth the breath."

His sword gleams in the pale light, and I feel the pressure building. My heart thuds faster. I can't stop this. I can't escape.

I see his sword coming for me—too close. It's about to slice my throat open.

This is it. I'm going to die.

How did it come to this? How did I end up facing a man who could end my life so easily?

It's too late…

Kaiser...

His name burns through my mind like a fire I can't put out. Please… In these last moments, I'm consumed by nothing but him. His smile, the warmth of his embrace, the moments where everything felt like it could be okay.

But now, it's slipping through my fingers.

I don't want to die like this… I don't want to leave him.

I don't want to die, Kai...

A tear slips down my cheek, and I barely feel it as it trails down my skin. The world around me blurs, and the cold steel of Xander's sword inches closer, threatening to end everything in an instant. But my heart... my heart can only scream for one thing.

Please, Kaiser… please, come save me.

I need you. More than anything, more than I've ever needed anyone. I've always been afraid of losing myself, afraid of becoming nothing, but the thought of losing him? Of dying here without ever telling him what he means to me? Without saving him?

That thought is worse than death.

The sword is so close now. It feels like everything is closing in, and I'm suffocating under the weight of my own fear. The only thing I can do is think of him, his name echoing in my soul like a whisper.

I remember the time he called me his heart. The way those words fell from his lips—so simple, yet they shattered something inside me, leaving a hollow echo that still lingers. It's strange, isn't it? How something so small can leave such a mark? How they slipped past so easily, yet they've been chained to me ever since.

He owns my heart now, and no matter how much I try to deny it, I can feel it—it's his, completely. And the sadness... it's like a constant ache of missing him. I never asked for this, yet here I am, bound to him, with a heart that can never belong to anyone else. I can't escape it. I don't want to...

Please, my heart... Come for me.

I don't know how I'm still holding on, but somehow, the strength I need to survive still lingers in the dark corners of my heart. And I just… I just want to see him again.

Everything is too quiet. Too still.

My breath is sharp in my ears, and the pressure of the world around me is suffocating. The sword is so close now. It's so close... too close. I can feel the chill of its edge against my skin, ready to cut through me, to end everything. My heart is in my throat, my mind spinning—I don't want to die, not like this, not yet…

And then... BOOM.

A deafening explosion rips through the air, faster than I can process. The sound shakes me to my core, a violent force that seems to shatter the very air around me. I don't know where it came from, but it feels like the ground itself is breaking apart.

I flinch, my body going rigid, but... the pressure of the blade is gone. The world is suddenly dark, a thick, all-encompassing blackness that pulls me under. My breath hitches, but I can't see anything, not even the faintest glimmer of light. My mind races in that crushing silence. What happened?

Then, warmth. Comforting warmth.

Something tightens around me—arms, strong and familiar. I'm pulled close, so close, into something solid, something real. My body melts against them, and I hear it—the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart, strong and reassuring. It's a sound I know, a sound that soothes every raw nerve in my body.

Is this truly… happening?

Please, please tell me it's real…

I lift my head slowly, my gaze trembling as it meets his. His face, so familiar yet distant, the way his arms hold me—safely, protectively—as if nothing in this world could harm me.

Is it really you...?

Kaiser...?