A Powerful Foe

It's been five days since we went our separate ways.

In that time, I've clawed my way up to level 60—nonstop slashing, killing, surviving.

Monsters came at me like waves, and I cut through every single one.

The rare ones? They paid off big time.

Now I'm sitting on 40,000 gold coins, soaked in blood and hard-earned.

Even after all this time, I haven't found a single clue about Zeyna's sister.

I let out a tired sigh, the weight of it pressing against my chest.

Just how are those two doing now...?

I miss you, Zeyna… more than I'd like to admit.

Seraphine pouted a little, her arms still wrapped around me.

"It's been weeks—maybe even a month—since we last saw each other. And now that I finally do, you look so down. What happened to your usual spark?"

"I'm looking for Zeyna's sister," I muttered.

Seraphine blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "Zeyna? Who's that?" she asked, her tone curious—maybe even a little mad.

"A… companion of mine," I replied, glancing away, flustered.

She stared at me in silence, her gaze sharp. I could feel her eyes boring into the side of my face. Then, with a small huff, she looked away too.

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms. "I'll help you."

"Really?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "What would you gain from helping me? I'm just taking your time away..."

Seraphine's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and something softer, but before she could respond, she waved a hand dismissively.

"Shushhhh," she muttered, her voice tinged with annoyance.

I caught a glimpse of her cheeks turning a little red, and she quickly looked away, clearly trying to hide it.

"I'm doing this because I want to," she added, her tone softer but still carrying a bit of that fire. "Now stop overthinking everything."

I nodded, letting out a small smile. "Okay," I said, my voice light.

Seraphine glanced at me, her face flushing slightly, but quickly turned away, a soft pink hue coloring her cheeks.

"Just... don't make me regret this," she muttered, trying to sound tough but not quite pulling it off.

I chuckled softly, appreciating the effort she was putting into hiding her feelings. "I won't," I reassured her.

She didn't say anything more, but the silence between us felt different now—more comfortable, more... connected.

A few moments later, I glanced over to see Yuna happily perched on Seraphine's shoulders. They both laughed together, like companions who had known each other for years. Seraphine seemed to have lightened up, her usual seriousness replaced by genuine amusement as she steadied Yuna on her shoulders. Yuna giggled, playfully poking Seraphine's cheek and making her laugh harder.

It was a surprising sight—Seraphine, usually so composed, looking so carefree. I couldn't help but smile at the scene, feeling a warmth in my chest. It was nice to see them so at ease with each other.

The afternoon sun beat down on us, casting long shadows on the ground as the stranger's voice cut through the air, serious and unwavering. "What are you doing here?"

The guy stood a few feet away, his katana hanging at his side. He looked around my age, maybe a little younger, with a cool, calculating demeanor. His eyes never left us, his stance alert like he was ready for anything. It felt like he was sizing us up, trying to figure out if we were a threat or just another group of people to ignore.

I raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his sudden appearance. "None of your business," he said, a cold edge in his voice.

I exchanged a quick glance with Seraphine, who was already watching the guy with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?" I asked, stepping forward, my voice calm but firm.

For a moment, the stranger said nothing. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his katana, a silent warning. There was no warmth in his gaze, just sharpness, like he was prepared to cut down anything that came his way.

Seraphine crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. "What do you want? We're just passing through."

The guy's lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk. "Get lost," he said, as though the conversation was already over.

I stepped closer, unwilling to let him dictate the terms. "Explain yourself," I said, my voice unwavering. "You don't just show up out of nowhere and act like we owe you something."

"Tsk," the man muttered, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous intensity. In one smooth motion, he dropped into a precise samurai stance, katana ready. His gaze locked onto me, cold and unwavering.

Without warning, he spoke, his voice calm but dripping with deadly resolve. "My name is Senkoku Hakurai."

The words were a declaration, as if he were laying down a challenge, his stance rigid and filled with the promise of a fight. The air around him seemed to hum with tension, and I could feel the weight of his readiness to strike, the kind of warrior who had already accepted the potential cost of battle.

And without a moment's hesitation, he dropped into a stance, voice steady and sharp like steel.

"Slash."

The word was barely out of his mouth when he vanished.

A blur of motion—too fast for the eye to follow—then the sound.

SHIIING!

I ducked on instinct, breath caught in my throat. A gust of wind brushed past my head, and behind me…

A massive, wrecked building stood frozen—then groaned.

A heartbeat later, it split cleanly in two, collapsing in a roar of crumbling debris and dust.

I turned back to him slowly.

What the hell was that?

He dropped into another stance—but this one felt different.

It wasn't the calm, graceful pose from before. No, this one was wild. Unpredictable. Like a beast about to charge.

His legs bent low, muscles coiled like springs. One hand clenched at his side, the other resting gently on the hilt of his katana. But he wasn't drawing yet.

He was waiting.

Watching.

A single bead of sweat slid down my temple as I realized—

He's not just gonna slash.

He's going to rush me... and then draw at the last second.

A tackle?

No—a draw-slash at full speed.

Deadly.

"Try to survive this one," he muttered, voice low, eyes locked on mine.

He blinked—gone in a flash.

In Senkoku's thoughts:

"Silvermoon Tyrant Scripture—First Style: Sliken Rift."

The wind split.

In that instant, I activated my skill—Phantom Dash—my body vanishing sideways, sidestepping at an inhuman speed.

But even with all that speed—I wasn't fast enough.

A sting flared across my side. Blood sprayed.

He grazed me.

I spun, landing a few feet away, one knee down, hand clutching my side.

He's not just fast. He's precise.

Senkoku stood still again, katana drawn, blade humming lightly as if still singing from the slash. His eyes were focused, serious. The stance of someone trained not to kill—but to end.

"You dodged?" he muttered. "Not bad…"

As I looked down at the ground, my breath caught in my throat.

A clean, perfect line carved into the earth—straight as a ruler, slicing through broken concrete like it was paper.

I didn't know how to react. My mind froze.

That could've been me.

If I hadn't moved when I did… if I'd hesitated for even a second…

The chill ran deeper than the cut on my side.

That wasn't just speed. That was mastery.

I clenched my fists, still feeling the sting from the graze on my side.

"What level are you…?" I asked, my voice low but steady. I had to know.

Senkoku didn't even glance at me. His expression stayed flat, cold.

"Why?" he said, almost bored. Then he shrugged. "Well, doesn't matter."

He stepped forward, sheathing his katana with a clean click.

"I'm level 80. Already done with my fourth awakening."

My heart sank for a second.

Fourth awakening?

What kind of monster was I up against?

I let out a deep sigh, the weight of exhaustion, frustration, and confusion pressing down on my shoulders.

My grip tightened around the dagger in my hand, the chain coiled loosely at my side like a waiting serpent.

"Skill: Whipslash."

The chain snapped to life with a metallic screech, the blade at its end hurtling forward—fast, precise, deadly.

But in the blink of an eye, Senkoku moved.

A subtle step. A twist of his foot. A shift so clean it was like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times.

The chain sliced past him, missing by a hair.

He stood there untouched, eyes calm, katana still resting in its sheath as if mocking me.

"You're slow," he muttered, voice as sharp as his blade.

My eyes narrowed. The ground beneath us trembled slightly from the force of my missed attack, and dust lingered in the air.

His stance shifted again—low, precise, ready.

He wasn't playing anymore.

And neither was I.

As I barely avoided the first strike, I staggered backward, my heart racing. But Senkoku was relentless. He rotated his body swiftly after the first style, and with a practiced motion, his katana came crashing down in a wide arc.

The strike barely missed me, but as I rose, ready to counter, I saw him sheath his katana in one fluid motion. The sound of the blade sliding into its scabbard echoed in the tense air—clang.

In an instant, everything around me shifted.

Senkoku's voice cut through the stillness like thunder, "Second Style: Full Moon Bloom."

Before I could even react, the air around me exploded with slashes. Phantom blades surrounded me, rotating in a perfect circle. The air hummed with the sharpness of each strike. They swirled in unison, drawing closer, forming a deadly cage around me.

My body stiffened, panic setting in as I realized I had no way of escaping. The force of the strikes was overwhelming—each slash like a blade of moonlight, sharp enough to tear through anything in its path.

I swung my sword, desperately trying to deflect the barrage, but the slashes moved faster than I could think. Each one grazed my skin, leaving behind a burning sensation. I was forced into a frantic dance, ducking and dodging, but it felt like the slashes were everywhere, coming from every direction.

The circle tightened. Senkoku's skill was so precise, so deadly, I could barely breathe beneath the pressure. I had to find an opening. If I didn't, there was no way I'd survive this.

I stood there, barely able to keep my balance after Senkoku's relentless assault. The weight of his attacks was starting to wear on me, and I could feel my energy reserves draining. Just as I prepared for another strike, everything shifted.

Without warning, I felt a burst of warmth envelop me—Seraphine's voice, calm and commanding, cut through the chaos.

"Mana Shield!"

A brilliant blue aura exploded around me, a force that shimmered like the surface of water, just in time to absorb the impact of Senkoku's next strike. The force of the blow rang through my bones, but the shield held strong. I was saved—saved by the lady who had stayed by my side all this time.

As I steadied myself, still catching my breath, Seraphine stepped in front of me, her presence a wall of unyielding strength. Her eyes glowed with fierce determination.

"Flare Blast!" she yelled, raising her hand to the sky.

A fiery inferno erupted from her palm, a monstrous orb of flame that surged towards Senkoku with terrifying speed. The heat was unbearable, and the flames danced like they had a mind of their own. Senkoku, without hesitation, unsheathed his katana, ready to strike again.

"Third Style: Crescent Moon Slash!" he declared, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

He swung his katana in one fluid motion, sending out a crescent-shaped energy wave that tore through the fireball with ease. The flames were extinguished in an instant, but the force of the explosion still sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking both of us back.

I stumbled, barely able to stand, but Seraphine's shield held strong, protecting me from the worst of it.

Senkoku's eyes glinted with amusement, but there was no fear in his gaze. He was unfazed, like a warrior who had already seen the very limits of battle.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted, his tone mocking as he stood poised for his next move.

I couldn't help but glance at Seraphine, grateful for her strength. Without her, I'd be nothing but a casualty in this fight.

"I won't let you die here," Seraphine whispered to me, her voice steady, a promise in her words.

With her at my side, I knew that I wouldn't face this challenge alone.

Yuna floated beside me, eyes narrowed, tense. Sunny blinked into view from the inventory space, her tone unreadable. "Need a hand?"

I didn't look back. "No. This one's mine."

Seraphine stepped up, fire coiling around her fingers like it was waiting for the order to burn. "You sure?"

I exhaled slowly, eyes locked on Senkoku as he shifted into another stance, deadly calm.

"Appreciate it," I said, voice low. "But not yet. Stay back—let me finish this."

Senkoku's eyes narrowed. "You're planning something," he muttered, katana sliding free with a chilling hiss.

The moment I dodged his first strike, he vanished—blinked straight to my blindside.

Fast.

But I was faster.

Phantom Dash.

I surged sideways in a blur, barely scraping by his blade. My hand snapped forward—Whipslash!—the dagger chained in mana arced clean through the air and crack!—it landed.

Pierced through the side of his armor.

He staggered, the force rattling his stance, his eyes flicking to the gash.

Got you.