Kazel followed Saya, still half-wondering where she was dragging him.
"You know," he said, flicking his wrist free with a light motion, "you could've just asked me to follow instead of treating me like a sack of millet."
Saya didn't even glance back. "You'd have wandered off halfway through."
"True," Kazel muttered under his breath.
They passed under the archway. A black-and-silver plaque read:
"Curved Blade Sect"
Kazel slowed his step.
(…Curved Blade?)
Saya finally turned around, a hint of sheepishness in her smile.
"You never told me you were with the Curved Blade Sect," Kazel said, voice low.
"You never asked," she replied, as if that made it better.
"Don't they hate me?" Kazel raised a brow. "I may have tossed a few heads around recently. One of their elders was at my execution."
"Correction," Saya said, hands behind her back, "he watched. He didn't act."
"Comforting."
She led him through the inner courtyard. Disciples wearing fitted uniforms — robes cut at the thigh and secured with sashes, katanas resting along their backs or waists — paused mid-step as they saw Saya. A few bowed. A few whispered when they noticed the stranger beside her.
Kazel took it all in. (Their gait, the way they stood, even how they rested their blades… It's efficient. Disciplined.)
"This place…" he muttered. "It's not built like a sect. It's built like a barracks."
Saya glanced over her shoulder with a shrug. "It's just a branch. The headquarters is in the East Range. This is more of a training post — a dojo for outer disciples and field agents."
"You sound like you know it well."
"I was raised near the main grounds," Saya said simply, leaving it at that.
Kazel narrowed his eyes. (So she's not just some wandering blade.)
Disciples wearing fitted robes moved about, many pausing when they saw her. Some bowed slightly. A few stared outright at Kazel, murmuring behind their hands.
"Do they always act like this when someone drops by?" Kazel asked.
"Not usually. You're just... newsworthy lately," Saya replied.
"I suppose decapitating mercenaries and mocking Agabah does have a ripple effect."
She led him past a small shrine, where incense burned low and steady. Then to a hall lined with sliding doors. She gestured to one.
"Wait here."
The sliding door opened with a gentle shfft, revealing a man seated cross-legged on a raised mat.
His hair was tied in a neat warrior's knot. A single curved blade rested across his lap, its scabbard black with a faint crimson lacquer near the guard. His robe bore a faint emblem—an abstract crescent—barely visible in the dim lighting of the room.
Kazel's eyes narrowed.
(You…)
It was the same man from Scale Dalgona. The one who stayed quiet when others boasted. The one who measured every move like a tactician. The same man Kazel had spotted during the expedition—among the few who made it back alive. And now, here he was, not just standing… but clearly waiting.
Nobu.
A flicker of recognition sparked in Nobu's eyes too, but he didn't speak. His hand simply hovered over his blade in that lazy, practiced way that told Kazel everything he needed to know:
If things turned hostile, Nobu would strike without a single wasted breath.
Saya broke the silence. "I brought him like you asked."
So it wasn't just a coincidence.
Kazel kept his smirk buried behind a calm expression. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
"So," he said coolly, "it is a small world."
"Without you, we all could have died there," Nobu said, voice calm but firm. His posture remained composed, but there was something in his gaze—weight, perhaps. Sincerity.
"Despite everything, I need to properly thank you."
Kazel stepped further into the room, his arms loosely crossed behind his back.
"Without your blade," Kazel replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I wouldn't get a satisfying ending."
Nobu's mouth quirked—just slightly. That was as close to a grin as a man like him gave.
"But your effort," Nobu said after a brief pause, "was much more potent. As potent as the Luminous Huntress."
That made Kazel chuckle under his breath.
( Comparing me to Ondira? Either you're sincere… or trying to test the weight of my pride. )
"You flatter me," Kazel said, tilting his head. "She's known for precision. I simply swing hard and follow through."
"No. You made a call no one else could," Nobu said. "We were scattered, frightened, confused. You moved as if you'd seen the ending already."
Kazel's smirk faded for a second. "I have. Many times."
Saya quietly took a seat in the corner, watching both of them closely. There was a reverent air in the room now, but also an underlying sharpness—like two swords resting just within arm's reach.
Nobu narrowed his eyes slightly. "Have you integrated with that beast?"
Kazel gave a slow nod.
Saya's head snapped toward him, blinking. "You—when? You didn't even—"
"I see," Nobu interrupted gently, as though confirming something he had long suspected. "You are special indeed."
"Everyone is," Kazel replied, a half-smirk forming. "Mine just shines at the right time."
Nobu let out a quiet chuckle. "I suppose being humble is not your forte."
"Never was," Kazel said, his smirk lingering.
But the amusement began to slip from Nobu's eyes. "However, I've heard what happened before I made my journey here. Whispers... about you. That you've run into a problem. A dire one, I might say."
Kazel chuckled again, casually. "I wouldn't go as far as using the word dire."
But this time, he chuckled alone.
Saya's brows furrowed slightly. Nobu remained quiet, gaze fixed and steady. The silence that followed was thicker than before.
"...Young Master Kazel," Nobu finally said, his tone more formal, more somber. "This place is not like the Land of the Lamb. Here, the Second Moon Sect alone holds more weight than all the sects you claimed to crush. You must understand—there is a gap, like the one between Rare beasts... and Epic ones."
Kazel didn't flinch.
"I've faced worse, Nobu," he said, his voice like stone. "Even the roar of ten thousand men won't shake me. I've kissed death more times than I've kissed women."
Saya's eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat.
"You... you're not boasting, are you?" Nobu's voice came low, barely above a whisper. There was no mockery in it. Only awe.
"Wha—" Saya stammered, her lips parting slightly.
Kazel leaned forward then, elbows on the table, his blue eyes cold and focused. "I don't boast, Nobu. I promise."
And for a brief second, the room felt like it dropped in temperature—no wind, no noise, just the quiet weight of truth.
The scrape of steel outside rang again—sharp, rhythmic. The sound of iron biting air, followed by the dull thud of feet on stone.
Kazel turned toward the window, arms folded. He watched as two youths exchanged blows in the courtyard, surrounded by a semicircle of outer disciples who cheered and jeered in equal measure.
"Are you interested in a spar?" Nobu asked casually, stepping beside him.
"Sadly," Kazel said, his tone dry, "I've run out of a sword."
"I'm not talking about a sword," Nobu replied, already reaching behind to unsheathe a blade—a familiar one. It gleamed in the light, stained faintly with the memory of battle. The same sword Kazel had once wielded to slay an Epic beast.
Kazel turned slowly to face him. "You want to challenge my halberd?"
Saya gulped from the corner, sensing the shift in air.
Nobu's smile was calm, but the edge of anticipation was clear. "Is that hesitation I hear?"
Kazel chuckled. "I don't hesitate, Nobu. I dominate."
Saya was already dragging the furniture to the corners. "Please don't destroy the floor…"
The two warriors stepped into the now-cleared center of the room.
With a flick of his finger, Kazel summoned his halberd from his spatial ring. It materialized in a shimmer of cold steel, the weight of it grounding the space.
Nobu raised the blade he once wielded, now fully his.
Kazel's grip tightened slightly on the halberd shaft. "I can see you've been waiting for this."
"Is it too obvious?" Nobu asked, smile faint.
"Only to someone like me."
The distance between them closed into a five-step stand-off—neither side brash, neither side foolish.
For a moment, neither moved.
Just the whisper of breath, the tension of poised weapons, and the eyes of Saya, caught between worry and wonder.
Then—
Creeeaaak...
The sliding door cracked open, slow, deliberate.
An elder, dressed in the gray-trimmed robes of the Curved Blade Sect, was just about to step in. His expression calm, posture composed, clearly expecting a quiet visit.
But the moment the door hit its hinge—
BOOM.
A gust of wind tore through the room.
Two forces collided without even clashing blades—Nobu's wind: sharp, elegant, like the draw of a katana in moonlight. Measured. Disciplinary.
Kazel's wind: explosive, erratic, pressure surging outward like a typhoon forced through a needle's eye. The air distorted. Dust rose from the tiles.