Chapter 17: The Ruined Bonds
The forest thickened with every step, as if the trees themselves were trying to shield the secrets that lay within. Magnus charged ahead, the fury in his steps enough to shake the ground. Leonhardt followed closely, weaving between the trees, eyes sharp and heart steady.
Soon, the trees broke into a small clearing where a ruined mansion stood like a corpse forgotten by time. Moss crawled up its broken walls, windows shattered like open wounds. An ominous silence cloaked the place.
Magnus halted, breath heavy, fists clenched. "She's in there," he muttered, and before Leonhardt could say anything, he burst through the rotting doors.
Inside, the air was stale. Dust floated lazily in the shaft of moonlight that spilled through the broken ceiling. And there—tied to a chair in the middle of the room—was Isolde.
Magnus's breath caught. "Isolde…"
He ran to her, but before his hands could reach the rope—
"How touching… too bad it ends here."
A voice slithered out of the shadows like a dagger to the spine.
From behind a pillar, a dark figure stepped forward—hooded, cloak trailing, eyes gleaming like death itself. In one swift motion, he lunged toward Magnus, dagger aimed directly at his back.
CLANG!
Sparks erupted as Leonhardt intercepted the strike just in time, his dual longswords crossing to block the attack. The force sent him sliding back a few steps, but he stood firm.
"Back off," Leonhardt growled, eyes locked on the assassin.
Magnus recovered, retrieving his sword and taking stance beside Leonhardt. They faced the figure together, but the dark figure merely chuckled.
"Oh? Two of you now? This will be fun."
The battle exploded like lightning. Leonhardt attacked with calculated aggression—his left hand striking in knightly arcs, defensive and measured, while his right lashed out with swift, aggressive strikes in a style unfamiliar to most—an echo of samurai precision, though both swords were longswords.
Magnus fought with grace and fury, every swing of his legendary Excalibur crashing like thunder. And yet, their opponent blocked everything with one hand, moving like shadow, parrying like dance. His cloak fluttered with every twist, every spin. It was a game to him.
In a flash, he vanished from view.
Magnus barely had time to react as the figure reappeared behind him, arm wrapping around his neck like a snake. The dagger gleamed under his chin.
"Such potential," the figure whispered, tightening his grip.
"NO!" Leonhardt launched forward with a roar, slamming both swords down.
The dark figure released Magnus just in time to dodge, laughing maniacally as he backflipped into the open space, landing with eerie grace.
Leonhardt stood between him and Magnus, chest heaving.
"Take her and go!" he barked, never looking back.
Magnus hesitated. "But—"
"NOW, MAGNUS!!"
The urgency in Leonhardt's voice snapped him out of it. Gritting his teeth, Magnus rushed to Isolde's side, cut her restraints with a swipe of Excalibur, and lifted her into his arms.
As he bolted toward the exit, he glanced back.
Leonhardt stood alone, swords raised, facing a monster in human skin.
"You amuse me," the dark figure said with a grin.
Leonhardt narrowed his eyes. "This is what makes me human. You'll never understand."
Their swords clashed again, thunder in a cage of fire. Sparks danced around them, painting the shadows in flickers of violence.
From a distance, the mansion lit up with the clash of blades and the echo of raw willpower.
The shattered windows of the ruined mansion rattled with the wind, but inside, the air was still — thick with tension. Leonhardt stood between crumbling walls and broken pillars, facing a monster in human skin.
The dark figure smiled with quiet madness, tilting his head as if studying a rare animal. "You're still here," he said, voice smooth but eerie. "How fun."
Leonhardt didn't speak. His grip tightened on the two longswords in his hands — sweat dripping from his brow, mixing with the dirt and blood on his face. He could still hear Magnus running off in the distance, carrying Isolde to safety.
Good.
That's all he needed.
He adjusted his stance, breathing in through his nose.
And then, he charged.
Steel clashed against steel, each impact louder than the last. Leonhardt unleashed a flurry of strikes — clean, precise, relentless. His training under knights, his instincts as Haruto, everything fused into one.
But the dark figure… didn't even flinch.
He parried with one hand, his body moving like shadow — swaying and shifting with unnatural fluidity. He laughed, each time a blade missed its mark.
"So serious," he taunted, deflecting a cross-slash with two fingers and pivoting behind Leonhardt. "But so… slow."
Leonhardt turned just in time to block a blow to the back. He gritted his teeth. His arms shook under the pressure, but he refused to retreat.
"Too slow."
The assassin spun again, elbowing Leonhardt in the ribs before vanishing into the dark. A second later, he reappeared right above, dagger raised. Leonhardt rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the blade that cracked the stone beneath him.
He gasped for breath, his body aching.
But what hurt more — was the helplessness.
No matter how hard he tried, this man toyed with him like a child playing with a broken sword.
His hands trembled.
And just like that…
A memory resurfaced.
He was Haruto again.
Standing in the center of the dojo.
Final round of the Kendo Nationals.
Opponent in front of him calm, focused — while his sword was already knocked from his hands.
He lost everything that day. The match. The dream. The will to continue.
And now… again?
No.
Leonhardt's eyes sharpened.
Not this time.
A roar erupted from his throat as he gripped his blades and poured mana into them. His veins glowed faint blue, and the air around him buzzed with pressure. Dust swirled around his feet as he took a step forward.
The dark figure paused.
"Oh?"
Leonhardt launched forward — blades like lightning, steps exploding with power. His strikes were faster, fiercer, guided by raw instinct and pure will. He slashed upward, then twisted mid-air to crash down a double overhead — both swords glowing faintly.
The assassin blocked the first — barely.
Leonhardt followed up without hesitation — blade after blade after blade.
"I'm not… losing here!!" he shouted, bringing down a crushing horizontal slash with both swords.
The figure blocked again — but this time, the force pushed him back.
A flicker of surprise crossed the man's eyes. And then — a laugh. High, unhinged.
"Yes! Yes! Now this is more like it!"
Leonhardt clenched his jaw. He feinted left, ducked, then spun with all his might — sword aimed for the man's neck.
A blur.
A clean cut — not of flesh.
But of cloth.
The hood tore and fell.
For the first time, Leonhardt saw the man's face — pale like a corpse, eyes red as blood, and long black hair hanging wetly across his temples. The face of a predator who never needed to run — because nothing ever threatened him.
Leonhardt froze for a second.
So did the assassin.
"…Interesting," he whispered. "You're the first to see this and still breathe."
He smiled again — this time, not with amusement.
But with respect.
And then, it vanished.
His body tensed — no more games.
The next strike came like thunder.
Leonhardt barely brought up his sword — crack! — the impact shattered the floor under his feet and sent him flying.
Before he could land, the assassin blurred forward — slashing across Leonhardt's back. Pain erupted. Blood splattered the cracked tiles.
Leonhardt tried to roll — too slow.
A knee drove into his stomach.
He spat blood.
The assassin grabbed him by the collar, lifted him like a ragdoll, and slammed him into a pillar. The stone crumbled behind his back.
Leonhardt's swords dropped from his hands.
He gasped for air — his vision spinning, ears ringing.
The assassin's hand gripped his throat.
"You've earned my face," he said softly. "But that's all you'll get."
The pressure on Leonhardt's neck increased.
His eyes dimmed.
His hands weakly reached out — grasping for a blade that wasn't there.
No… I still… need to fight…
But everything… was going dark.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
End of Chapter 17.