The twin short swords wrapped in Phey’s red flames.
The appropriately thick short swords, about the size of a girl’s forearm and neither too short nor too long compared to her arm length, were beloved blades that had accompanied Phey on her journey for a long time.
These two swords were magical weapons retrieved from the ruins where the bandits who had the girl stayed, on the day Aslan saved Phey.
On the day the girl first grasped these short swords, she became a fighting elf, and in less than half a year, she became a master swordsman.
A mere half-year; an impossibly short time for any being to become a master. Yet, after parting ways with Aslan, the girl continued to fight ceaselessly.
Seven years.
During this long period of struggle, the number of monsters and humans she killed was in the hundreds.
The twin swords that shared Phey’s struggles emitted eerie blood-red flames as they flew through the air.
It wasn’t just about swinging them. The girl’s reach was short—her swords were short to begin with, and so were her arms.
Thus, she crouched low. The priests’ superhuman vision caught three pairs of eyes following her. Sensing their gaze locked onto her, Phey leaped.
A light sound of jumping. The girl flipped herself upside down, planting her feet on the ceiling. To the priests, it seemed as if she vanished and reappeared on the ceiling.
“Wha?!”
As the priests froze at her sudden appearance on the ceiling, the girl immediately moved. She pushed off the ceiling and charged forward, wielding the two swords like sharp fangs or the forelimbs of a beast.
The sound of slicing wind followed the streaks of enemy light. The leading priest didn’t even have time to raise his axe before his eyes widened in shock.
Clang!
He barely survived thanks to a fellow priest who jumped in at the last moment. What blocked the twin short swords was the cold handle of a weapon radiating frost.
A glaive, two meters long with a blade resembling some animal’s tusk.
Even though its handle was made of wood, Phey’s sharp sword strikes couldn’t cut through it.
Blocked and unable to advance, Phey turned her body as if retracting her strike and stepped back.
Phey’s vacated spot was filled by a white death. Knowing instinctively not to touch it, Phey crossed her twin swords and leaped again.
Kagajang!
And then they clashed. As Phey darted around, kicking walls, floors, and ceilings, the priests sweated profusely while barely blocking her attacks and retaliating.
The counterattacks carried an unusual chill, and Phey instinctively knew she shouldn’t let the weapon touch her.
So Phey employed her usual tactic: strike and retreat. She quickly spun around while withdrawing her downward strike.
While spinning, she swung her swords, creating two circles of enemy light that violently repelled the incoming force.
“Ugh, what kind of power…!”
The muttered words of the priest. It wasn’t merely brute strength but a technique beyond comprehension—a thing the priests couldn’t understand.
Phey was well aware of her advantages in this regard.
The immense strength that could easily overpower an adult male despite her small stature, agility surpassing human limits, and swordsmanship reaching its peak.
There were many other factors giving her the upper hand against the priests.
Her seemingly weak appearance, the confined space, the clustered enemies, and their long weapons.
Though the chill emanating from the priests and their weapons was unsettling, enduring it was all that mattered.
Seeing the axe rebounded, Phey raised her sword.
Kagaga-gak!
The meeting of red flames and frost created steam that dispersed. By deflecting the incoming blade with a motion akin to drawing an X, Phey effortlessly redirected the axe.
As the deflected axe descended, Phey swiftly rolled her foot to launch herself into the air.
Phwack!
In mid-air, she delivered a knee strike, landing it squarely on the jaw. A blow no priest could ignore, shaking the brain and causing him to stagger. Seizing the opportunity, Phey stepped on his shoulder and leapt higher.
Chheek!
A glaive plunged into the spot where Phey had been. Piercing the wooden floor and scattering splinters, the girl was already gone.
“This… catch her!”
The alarmed voices of the priests spread, and amidst their cries, Phey calmly swung her sword. Blocking the incoming pulse with her blade and using the momentum to evade, she briefly swung her left-hand sword in a stabbing motion.
“Krrr-aaah!”
The tip of the blade grazed, and as Phey landed gracefully, a priest clutched his gouged eye socket and glared at her.
“You little bitch….”
As the flowing blood transformed into a handful of frost and dissipated, Phey stood there, her twin short swords dangling as she stared them down.
Each priest bore minor cuts on their bodies, while Phey remained unscathed.
Perhaps irritated by this fact, they gnashed their teeth momentarily before exchanging glances.
When their hostile gazes met, they suddenly charged. The force of their leap cracked the floor, sending splinters flying, and their raised weapons scattered a fierce, icy death.
“Kill her!”
With those words, weapons surged forward. Amidst them, Phey gripped her twin swords tightly and blinked. Her indigo eyes flickered faintly with malice.
The first to charge was the man wielding the glaive. Seeing the thrusting glaive, Phey sidestepped and struck the shaft upward. The slight miss caused the blade to deeply embed itself into the wall.
Booooom!
Leaving the frozen priest behind, Phey used her agile movements to lunge forward.
As she lunged, her sword sliced through a leg and continued its path. The moment the priest dropped to his knees, Phey leapt up and drove her foot into his chin.
Tchh!
An accurate and powerful roundhouse kick fueled by acceleration and weight.
Though not as versatile as Aslan in all forms of weaponry and martial arts, Phey possessed her own combat skills and swordsmanship that reached its zenith.
Had Aslan not existed, the title of combat master would have surely belonged to Phey.
Using the elves’ unique elasticity and tireless physique, Phey pressed the attack against the priests. The staggering priest became her first victim.
As the priest wobbled, Phey placed her twin short swords across his neck.
Like scissors cutting through paper, the crossing blades. When the other priests realized their comrade’s peril and shouted in alarm,
Sssshhh!
The intersecting sword blades severed the neck, and the severed head floated briefly before rolling on the ground. Following this was the shrill scream of two priests. Listening to their cries, Phey slightly covered her ears.
“No, Roden!”
“You cursed bitch! We’ll tear you apart!”
Tears streaming down one priest’s face, the others glaring fiercely at Phey. They now wielded the glaive and axe they had just pulled from the wall, charging forward.
At the moment Phey raised her weapon to meet them,
Ki-eek…
An irritating sound rang out.
Before Phey could process it, something unexpected happened.
Kwa-a-a-a-a-aang!
A burst of freezing air exploded into the void. The corpse of the priest, who moments ago had lost his head, detonated.
The spreading frost was a deathly white, filling the universe and marking the end for all living beings.
This death scattered, carrying immense pressure and mass. An impact like the universe itself solidifying and striking. Phey suppressed her scream, losing consciousness momentarily as she was flung back by the violent shockwave.
Kurrrrr, Kwaang!
The elf girl was crushed into the debris of the shattered laboratory, dust rising and swirling around.
Amidst the chaos, Phey lay with a severe injury stretching from her left eye to her left hand. Even one of the swords she held in her left hand had slipped from her grasp. The remaining sword in her right hand barely moved due to the freezing effect.
An unexpected strike. The elf girl hadn’t anticipated the self-detonation. Struggling to rise, she gripped her sword.
“Aah, Roden… for us…!”
“Your vengeance will be fulfilled! Wait for us in the compassionate embrace of our Lord!”
It was natural for the priests to cry out in anger upon seeing the elf girl standing among the wreckage.
The elf showed no interest in their melodrama, quietly closing her mouth and aiming her sword. Behind her, Anna sat, observing the entire scene with confusion and fear.
The frost from the Veil of Mercy wasn’t just frost. The elf endured it only because she was an elf; an ordinary human would have died instantly upon contact.
Despite the obvious pain, the girl didn’t utter a single cry and aimed her sword.
Elves, blessed by nature, could recover simply by touching the ground.
Thus, though serious, the injuries were recoverable.
But immediate recovery in battle was impossible.
The girl’s wounds were still critical.
Facing three priests simultaneously in such a situation, having inflicted this much damage was fortunate, but due to the critical injuries, she wouldn’t have another chance to recover.
Still, the girl did not retreat.
Anna watched the girl firmly standing and aiming her sword at the priest, and thought:
This girl severely lacks emotion.
In fact, running away would have sufficed.
Phey had no reason to protect Anna.
Their target was clearly Anna’s daughter, and Phey had no obligation to protect her.
Yet Phey was risking her life in a battle that wasn’t hers. Watching the breathless elf, who neither tired nor breathed, aim her sword with fervor, Anna trembled and asked:
“Why are you fighting?”
The priests cautiously tightened their encirclement. They had seen what Phey was capable of. Though her left arm, left eye, and the left side of her face were frozen, her renowned agility remained intact.
They approached carefully, intent on surrounding and hunting her.
Phey blankly stared at the priests.
As if gazing at something beyond them.
She gripped her sword straight again and recalled someone.
The image that came to mind was a face.
Emerald-green eyes, black hair, a face often lost in thought, marked by melancholy.
Then the memory of his habitual phrases surfaced.
Recalling those phrases, the girl sighed.
Who can fight here?
Who can defeat these priests?
Who can accomplish the task entrusted by Aslan?
Who is Aslan’s sword and his first companion?
The answer was only one.
Holding her sword diagonally, she turned her body sideways and aimed it at the priests. Her indigo eyes burned fiercely even as they froze.
“Because only I can.”
An unsuitable answer to the question of why she fights. But perhaps saying it was enough, as Phey faintly smiled.
Mocking the approaching death itself.
Anna saw this and sensed Phey’s resolve.
She also realized that Phey might die.
Two more priests remained. Not ordinary priests, but priests of the Veil of Mercy.
To capture a Veil of Mercy priest required the help of an exceptional wizard.
Killing them with ordinary weapons was nearly impossible.
Because the frost they emitted froze the body and stole life.
Only the power of the ancient gods or magic bestowed by them could resist it.
Anna clenched her fists at the nape of her neck, where she had recently worn a pendant.
This elven girl, who appeared to be no more than fourteen, was willing to fight.
On the other hand, Anna had no intention to fight.
Due to the potential damage to her daughter’s soul, which could never be reversed.
But deep down, Anna knew.
She had known for over a hundred years.
That her daughter had no chance of revival, just as she herself was broken.
That the decay and distortion of two hundred years hadn’t spared just her.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t understand why these priests were targeting her daughter’s soul now.
Being the daughter of the woman with the most mana in imperial history, and existing in a state of complete ignorance, her soul had value.
Surely, if she fell into the hands of the priests, a terrifying priest wielding both mana and divine power would emerge.
In that sense, the woman considered a possibility she had long avoided.
The possibility that her daughter had already been possessed by an evil deity.
An evil deity cannot approach those without physical form, but her daughter, whose soul was sealed within the pendant as a quasi-body, was vulnerable.
Her daughter was no longer the infant she once was.
The hardest thing is letting go.
Finally confronting the truth she had evaded until now, Anna shed tears.
The priests approached, focusing solely on Phey and ignoring Anna.
Phey smiled as she prepared to stab the priests with her sword.
Watching her profile, the woman summoned her mana.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she gathered it. Reflecting on two hundred years of life, she hoped for a miracle.
But there was no miracle.
She knew miracles weren’t reliable saviors.
Eventually, closing her eyes as she gathered her mana,
Zzzzzip!
She opened her eyes, forming a sphere of lightning in her hand.
Rough green light erupted, heating the surroundings, and the crackling electricity in her palm gradually took on a fiery hue.
It was formidable mana, comparable in power to a decent siege weapon.
As the mighty surge distorted all magical flows around her, the priests poised to attack Phey froze stiff.
They looked at the woman they had previously overlooked.
The woman hovered in the air,
with a sphere of fire crackling in her hand.
The powerful mana swept through the area, causing the pendant wrapped around Phey’s sword hilt to tremble faintly.
Unimaginable screeches assaulted her ears, and the woman wept, sensing her daughter’s fading soul.
“Sorry, baby.”
Before the tear could hit the floor and evaporate, the rotating sphere of fire in her hand grew larger and shot forward.
Kwaauuuk!
Burning oxygen in front of it, the condensed flame collided with the frozen priests.
For a moment, the frost in the priests’ bodies released intense steam before they were consumed by the flames.
Kwa-a-a-a-a-aang!
And then it exploded.
The roaring explosion shook the earth, and the two priests were hurled away, smashing into the floor and walls.
The woman wished as she watched the coughing priests struggling to stabilize.
“…I am Anna Helmenius. The mayor of the city of wizards and teacher to the 200 wizards residing in this city.”
As the priests shakily rose and gripped their weapons, the woman turned her palm downwards towards the ground and concentrated mana in her palm.
Gradually taking shape was lightning.
The woman, holding lightning in her left hand, spoke.
“This city is our land, within the jurisdiction of our wizards.”
As the lightning in her grasp disrupted the surroundings with bright blue currents, the priests grimaced and glared at the sight.
“For trespassing on our territory, harming people, and attempting to destroy the city, you are guilty!”
Zzzzip!
When the blue lightning finally formed a sphere, the woman solemnly declared.
“On behalf of this city, I sentence you to death.”
As the woman extended her hand, ferocious thunder roared out of the sphere.
Krrrrrrrrr!
In the blazing scene, all that remained identifiable were the torn corpses of the priests.
