Chapter 35: A Ghost from the Past

The wind howled across the rooftops as Phileo and the Order's agent faced each other.

Evelyne could sense it—the weight of something unspoken between them. A history neither Phileo nor Alsiel had explained.

Phileo's gray eyes remained locked on the man before him. His grip on his sword was steady, but there was a tightness in his stance.

The agent smirked. "What? No words for an old friend?"

Alsiel exhaled, muttering under his breath. "Of all the people they could've sent…"

Evelyne's patience snapped. "Who is he?"

The man gave her a slow glance, as if just now acknowledging her. "Oh? You didn't tell her?" He chuckled. "That's rich."

Phileo's jaw tightened.

The man stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "Lorien. Formerly of the Order, now…" He spread his arms with mock grandeur. "Well, let's just say I have my own interests."

Evelyne caught the way Phileo's fingers twitched over his sword's hilt.

Lorien's smirk widened. "Relax, Phileo. I'm not here to kill you." A beat. "Yet."

Without warning, he lunged.

Phileo barely had time to raise his sword before their blades clashed, the force sending a sharp clang through the night air.

Evelyne stepped back, heart hammering. This was different from the fights before. Lorien was faster than the Order's usual grunts, his strikes calculated, his movements fluid.

Phileo met each blow, his sword a blur of silver in the dim torchlight. Their fight moved like a violent dance across the rooftop, each strike sending sparks into the night.

Evelyne clenched her fists. If Lorien had been sent to capture Phileo, then this wasn't just another ambush. This was personal.

And Phileo knew it.

---

Alsiel watched with an unreadable expression.

Lorien was good. Too good. He moved like someone who had fought Phileo before—someone who knew his weaknesses.

Which meant trouble.

Alsiel glanced at Evelyne. She was tense, watching every movement, fingers twitching as if itching to interfere.

Bad idea.

He casually stepped closer to her. "Hey, I know that look. Whatever you're thinking, don't."

She didn't take her eyes off the fight. "We can't just stand here."

"Actually, we can," Alsiel countered. "This isn't a fight we can jump into. Lorien's not some random swordsman. He's from before."

Evelyne turned to him sharply. "Before what?"

Alsiel didn't answer right away. He watched as Phileo barely dodged a slash aimed at his ribs.

Then he sighed. "Before you."

---

Phileo had fought Lorien before.

And every strike reminded him of it.

The man was relentless, his attacks precise. The kind of precision that only came from familiarity.

Lorien was testing him. Pushing him.

"Not bad," Lorien mused, sidestepping Phileo's counterattack with ease. "You've still got your old tricks."

Phileo didn't reply. He adjusted his stance. He had to end this—fast.

Lorien smirked. "What's wrong? Getting tired?"

Phileo exhaled sharply. Then, in one swift movement, he twisted his blade at an angle, aiming for Lorien's dominant side.

The strike was fast. Too fast.

Lorien barely managed to dodge. His grin faded slightly.

Phileo pressed the advantage, his sword moving with newfound urgency. Their blades clashed again, but this time, Lorien was forced to step back.

For the first time, doubt flickered across his face.

"…So you have changed."

Phileo didn't hesitate. He drove his sword forward.

Lorien blocked at the last second, but the force sent him skidding back across the rooftop. He came to a stop near the edge, breathing heavier than before.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then Lorien chuckled. "Alright. You win this round."

Without warning, he stepped backward—off the rooftop.

Evelyne gasped, rushing to the edge, but Lorien was already gone. The wind carried his laughter as his silhouette disappeared into the shadows below.

Phileo sheathed his sword.

Evelyne turned to him. "What was that?"

Phileo didn't answer right away. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—something she had never seen before.

Regret.

Finally, he muttered, "A mistake."

Alsiel folded his arms. "We should go before more show up."

Phileo nodded, forcing himself to focus. "We stick to the plan. Find a place to regroup."

But as they disappeared into the city streets, one thing was clear.

Valmere wasn't just dangerous.

It was haunted by the past.