The Silence After Steel

Lior reacted a split second before the blade could slice his neck.

He jumped aside, the sheathed sword still in his hands.

Now he was facing his attacker. An older man—late thirties, maybe. He wore torn armor bearing the Velgrynd insignia, but that hardly mattered now.

How is he still alive? Just look at him...

The man was in terrible shape—breathing hard, body a mess of cuts and burns. His left arm was mangled beyond use. The rest of him didn't look much better.

"Hey, old man," Lior said, tightening his grip on the sword. "What do you think you're doing?"

The man spat blood, his voice ragged as he growled, "What do you think, kid? I'm going to kill the rat looting corpses."

Lior grinned.

"Oh? Is that so?"

He unsheathed the blade, pointing it straight at the battered warrior.

"Funny. You've already got one foot in the grave—but if you're begging to die, I'll oblige."

The man snorted.

"You're just a Dormant, rat. What can a normal little boy like you possibly do?"

Lior cocked his head.

"So what?" he asked. "You're just an Obsidian with a Kindled Core. Your Arcanum Pillar is probably Immanence—so what, you can beef up your body? Big deal."

The warrior blinked, momentarily stunned. His scowl deepened.

"I've seen fools before, but none as delusional as you. Knowing what powers I have won't save you."

He wasn't wrong. A Kindled core was two tiers above a Dormant. Dormants had undeveloped or inactive cores. Kindled ones had stable cores, allowing them to cast consistently.

Then there was Arcanum Grade.

Verdant—beginners. 

Crimson—disciplined novices. 

Obsidian—the trained adepts.

Obsidian users could manifest elements, sense killing intent, and utilize enhanced techniques like reinforced limbs. Combined with Immanence, this man should've been lethal.

Lior was in trouble.

Still, he pointed the sword directly at him, the blade catching the sun.

"Your power doesn't matter, monkey."

His steel-gray eyes narrowed as he raised his arm and sliced it through the air in a clean arc—mimicking a decapitating slash. The message was clear.

"You're already dead, fool."

There was a reason behind Lior's confidence.

The man was badly injured. His essence—nearly depleted.

Reading all those scavenged books was worth it.

Among the junk he'd found, one stood out: 

Beginner Principles of Arcanum, as taught in the First Cycle of the Academy of Sable Flame.

That book gave him a basic understanding of how magic worked.

And he had another reason to feel sure of himself.

He had lived many lives.

No magic on Earth, sure—but he had once been a trained soldier. A swordsman.

Though... it's been a while. When was the last time I held a blade? The French Revolution? No, after that. But that era stood out.

Kodachi resting on his shoulder, Lior extended one hand and curled a single finger toward himself, eyes locked, a mad smile spreading across his face.

"Come," he said. "Show me your Immanence. Just don't disappoint me."

The warrior's patience snapped.

"Alright. It's your death, then."

He dropped into a low stance. Right hand gripping a curved longsword. His mangled left arm dangling uselessly.

Lior's grin vanished.

He's serious. He's going all out... on a kid?

A faint glow flickered over the man's body. Life returned to his eyes.

He lunged.

In a blink, he was in front of Lior.

The sword came down—fast.

Shi—

Lior's instincts kicked to life.

He yanked the Kodachi up, one hand on the hilt, the other bracing the dull edge.

Steel kissed steel.

So heavy.

The impact rocked him. Pain surged up his arms.

He stumbled backward, barely avoiding the follow-up.

The blade struck the ground with a dull thud.

Lior glanced at his Kodachi. A fine crack split across the steel.

No more direct clashes. I have to play to my strengths.

The warrior attacked again.

Lior dodged, just in time. The sword slammed into the ground once more.

Yes. That's it. Horizontal or vertical—those are his only options.

The man's blade was powerful, no doubt—but with his condition, its versatility was limited.

One more downward slash. Just one more...

But then the warrior paused.

"Stop running, boy," he growled. "Fight me head-on!"

"Who said I'm running, pig?" Lior taunted. "You're just too slow to catch me."

He spun his finger in the air. "Alright, how about this—I'll handicap myself. I won't step back on your next attack. Fair?"

The man seethed.

"You little shi—"

Lior cut him off, finger curling toward himself again.

"Less talking. More fighting."

That should fool the old bastard.

The warrior exploded forward, rage twisting his face. A bulging vein popped on his forehead.

Before he could bring the sword down, Lior lunged.

Now they were face to face.

What is he doing? the man thought, momentarily caught off guard.

Lior knew better than to try a direct attack. The man would dodge or parry.

He needed something unexpected.

So he spat in the man's face.

It worked!

The warrior recoiled, stumbling back. With only one usable arm, he reflexively tried to wipe his eyes.

Lior didn't give him the chance.

He drove the Kodachi into the man's chest.

It sank deep—but not deep enough to kill.

The man howled in agony.

Lior jumped back, unarmed now.

The warrior dropped his own sword, clawing at the blade in his chest.

Oh no, you don't.

Lior pounced.

They crashed to the ground, a swirl of snow and dust.

He landed on top.

No weapon. No magic.

He bit the man's throat.

He bit hard.

Tear it open. Die, you piece of shit.

The warrior thrashed, fists pounding Lior's skull like hammers.

Once.

Argh!

Twice.

His vision blurred.

Thrice.

Blood stained the man's hand.

More hits followed—until the whole fist was slick with red.

Lior's grip loosened.

The man shoved him off, coughing, both neck and chest bleeding.

Lior landed hard, clutching the back of his head.

But when he looked up, he realized something.

He'd landed next to the longsword.

He reached for it.

Got it.

Barely.

It was almost as tall as him, and heavy as hell.

But damn, it's cool.

The man was trying to rise.

Kodachi still lodged in his chest. Breathing shallow. The faint glow around him—gone. His eyes were dull, barely clinging to life.

Let's end this.

Lior rose to his feet, dragging the sword through red-stained snow.

"Any last words?"

The man, now kneeling, simply shook his head. He had accepted it.

"That so?" Lior asked quietly.

He closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath.

Then raised the Odachi.

With all his strength, he brought it down in a clean, final slash.

One clean slash—

The man's head dropped on the snow.

Blood sprayed across the white.

He exhaled. No pride. No relief. Just silence. 

He retrieved his, now bloodied, Kodachi.

Then he turned away from the corpse, dragging the blade behind him.