Lightning and Shadows

Lightning erupted across the battlefield with surgical precision.

Jane stood atop Dmitri's earth pillar, electricity crackling around his twin daggers as he surveyed the chaos below. The nervous administrative specialist had vanished, replaced by someone who moved with the deadly grace of a born killer.

"Suppression pattern alpha!" he called out, lightning bolts striking in coordinated sequences that forced Kaguro's team to break formation. "Dmitri, barrier shift! Kaito, flame pressure on the left flank!"

His lightning wasn't wild or uncontrolled—each bolt was precisely calculated to herd opponents, disrupt attacks, and create openings for his teammates. This was someone who understood battlefield tactics on a level that spoke of real combat experience.

"Impressive coordination," Kaguro observed, deflecting a lightning strike that had been aimed not at him, but at the ground beneath his feet. The electrical discharge still sent numbing shock waves up his legs. "You've had proper training."

"Experience teaches faster than instructors," Jane replied, already weaving his hands in complex patterns. The air began to shimmer around him, and suddenly there were three Janes visible on the pillar.

Phantom arts—but not the dramatic, reality-bending nonsense I'd feared. These were tactical illusions, false positions that made targeting him nearly impossible while he coordinated our defense.

One of Kaguro's subordinates rushed the pillar, moving with inhuman speed up the vertical earth wall. All three Jane-images raised their weapons simultaneously, lightning crackling from each position.

The attacker hesitated for a crucial split-second, unable to determine which threat was real.

Lightning erupted from the center image—the real Jane—catching the climber in mid-leap and sending him crashing back to the ground with muscles locked in electrical spasms.

"Clean execution," Kaguro said with genuine approval. "Phantom arts used for tactical advantage rather than psychological warfare. Much more practical."

But even as Jane's techniques proved effective against the subordinates, Kaguro himself moved through our defenses like they were suggestions rather than obstacles. His curved blade carved through Dmitri's earth barriers with impossible ease, and Jane's lightning strikes seemed to bend around him rather than make contact.

"Focus fire on the leader!" Dmitri called out, sending a wave of stone spikes toward Kaguro while repositioning barriers to funnel the attack. "Concentrated assault!"

I poured fire into the coordinated attack, my chaotic flames adding volume if not precision to the assault. Jane's lightning joined the barrage, multiple bolts converging on Kaguro's position while his phantom duplicates attacked from different angles.

For a moment, it looked like we might actually land a significant hit.

Then Kaguro moved—really moved—and I understood why he was called the Demon of the Silent Blade.

He flowed through our attacks like water through a sieve, his sword work so precise that he deflected lightning bolts with the flat of his blade while simultaneously carving through stone projectiles. Not a wasted motion, not an ounce of unnecessary effort.

"Adequate teamwork," he said, appearing behind Dmitri's position without seeming to have crossed the intervening space. "But you're thinking in terms of overwhelming force. Sometimes precision is more effective."

His dagger—the same one that had wounded Dmitri—appeared in his off-hand and streaked toward my teammate's exposed back.

Jane materialized between them in a crackling burst of lightning-enhanced movement, both daggers rising to intercept the strike. For a heartbeat, he held the block, electricity playing along steel edges while his phantom arts created a dozen false positions that made targeting impossible.

Then Kaguro's sword moved in a casual arc, and Jane went flying.

Not killed—Kaguro was still showing restraint—but definitely out of the immediate fight. Jane hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb impact while his phantom duplicates flickered and disappeared.

"Your lightning techniques are excellent," Kaguro said, already turning back toward Dmitri. "But phantom arts require more concentration than you can maintain while engaging in close combat. Choose one or the other, not both."

It was advice delivered while systematically dismantling our coordinated defense.

Dmitri struggled to his feet, blood seeping through his makeshift bandages, but his earth techniques were already weakening from blood loss and exhaustion. My own fire attacks were growing more erratic as panic set in.

"Jane!" I called out. "You okay?"

"Still breathing," he replied, pushing himself upright with obvious effort. Blood trickled from his nose—phantom arts backlash from maintaining too many illusions under stress. "But he's right. Can't maintain coordination and complex techniques simultaneously."

"Then don't," Dmitri said grimly, raising another earth barrier as Kaguro advanced. "Pick lightning or illusions and stick with it."

"Lightning," Jane decided, his phantom duplicates fading as he focused entirely on electrical techniques. "More direct damage potential."

The change was immediate and noticeable. Without dividing his attention between two different arts, Jane's lightning became devastatingly precise. Bolts struck with pinpoint accuracy, forcing Kaguro to actually work to avoid them rather than simply deflecting them casually.

"Better," Kaguro acknowledged, his sword moving in tight patterns to redirect electrical strikes. "Focus produces results. But you're still not working as a true unit."

"What do you mean?" I asked, barely avoiding a casual swipe that would have opened my throat.

"You're three individuals fighting in proximity, not a coordinated team," Kaguro explained while simultaneously engaging all of us without apparent effort. "Real teamwork requires understanding each other's capabilities and limitations well enough to function as a single entity."

He demonstrated by exploiting the exact gaps in our coordination that he'd identified—attacking when Jane was between lightning strikes, moving through Dmitri's barriers during the split-second intervals between techniques, and forcing me into positions where my fire would interfere with my teammates' attacks.

"See?" he said, landing a non-fatal but painful hit on Dmitri's injured side. "Predictable patterns. Individual responses to group situations. Amateur mistakes."

Jane snarled in frustration, lightning crackling around him with dangerous intensity. "Then teach us better by fighting seriously instead of giving lectures!"

"You want me to fight seriously?" Kaguro asked, and for the first time, something shifted in his demeanor. "Very well. But understand—I've been showing you professional courtesy. True combat is considerably less forgiving."

The air around him changed, becoming heavy with potential violence that made my skin crawl and my instincts scream warnings.

"Last opportunity for wisdom," he said, his sword beginning to emit a low humming sound that spoke of techniques beyond normal swordplay. "Surrender the scroll, accept fair compensation, and continue breathing. Or experience what it truly means to face the Demon of the Silent Blade."

Looking at my teammates—Jane wiping blood from his nose, Dmitri swaying on his feet, both of them preparing to continue a fight we couldn't possibly win—I realized that our first guild mission was about to escalate beyond anything the Academy had prepared us for.

But despite the impossible odds, neither of them showed any sign of backing down.

Maybe that was what real guild work was about—not just completing missions, but refusing to quit when completing them seemed impossible.

"We're not surrendering," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my own voice. "Guild contracts are binding."

Kaguro nodded slowly, as if he'd expected no other answer.

"Then let's see what you're truly capable of when survival is no longer guaranteed."

His blade sang through the air, and the real fight began.