As if driven purely by instinct, Riven's body leapt backward.
WUSHH!
The slash sliced through the air just inches from his face—so close he could feel the cold gust graze his cheek. His breath caught in his throat. A heartbeat later, he had already retreated several meters, eyes wide, chest rising and falling uncontrollably.
Cold sweat drenched his temples and back. From that one brief clash alone, he knew—if he stayed within close range, he would die.
How did he know I was going to strike from that direction?
The question echoed in his mind.
Did the man possess some kind of sixth sense? Could he detect aura, breath, or the subtle shift in air? Riven didn't know. All he knew was one thing—he was fighting something far beyond his reach.
"I let you live earlier…" the man's voice was hoarse but filled with rage, "why are you standing in my way now?! Do you even know who she is?!"
Riven didn't answer immediately. His gaze locked onto the figure before him, monitoring every twitch, every possible opening. But his lips parted, and his voice came out flat.
"Do you regret sparing me?"
A low growl followed.
The man gritted his teeth. His eyes—once sharp—were now filled with blood and ruin. "I… made a mistake. I should have killed you right then."
Riven began stepping sideways, slowly moving away from his previous position. He circled the man, his movements slow and measured, like a young wolf stalking a wounded bear.
But Riven knew—no matter how broken his enemy appeared, one wrong move could end him.
The man's body began to sway. His breathing grew harsh. The light in his eyes began to fade. Yet like a flame clinging to the last inch of wick, it still burned—fueled by rage and a madness-like resolve.
Suddenly, the man raised his sword.
"Don't interfere with my mission…!" he roared.
He slashed the blade forward—into empty air.
ZRAAAAKK!!
The air split. The ground in front of him cracked open into a deep fissure. Wind exploded in every direction.
Riven dove to the side, nearly thrown by the shockwave that followed. When he looked back, his eyes widened. A massive tree had been cleaved clean in two from root to crown, like it had been cut by an invisible giant blade.
What the hell was that…?
But Riven had no time to dwell. The man swung again—left, then right, then a diagonal cut.
WUSHH! WUSHH! WUSHH!
Invisible wind-blades tore through the night air.
Riven ran, circling the man while narrowly dodging each arc. But the man, though his body was on the verge of collapse, kept turning—tracking Riven with terrifying precision.
"DON'T STAND IN MY WAY!" he shouted again, his voice ragged with fury and pain.
"I WON'T LET THEM DIE FOR NOTHING!"
Riven tightened his grip on his sword. His feet nearly slipped; his shoulder stung from a glancing wind slice. But his ears caught the words.
Them.
His comrades.
Was this man… the last one left?
"That woman…" the man yelled again. "She's not human! She's the REINCARNATION OF DESTRUCTION!"
The words came out like a curse dragged from the pit of his throat. Every syllable was spoken with unwavering conviction, burning with rage and vengeance.
And Riven saw it.
The man's body was breaking down.
His steps staggered. His vision blurred. Even the way he stood looked unstable, like an ancient tree waiting for one final gust to bring it down.
He was dying.
Riven could feel it—if he could just hold out, he could win.
But like any wounded beast, the man wasn't finished. As long as he lived, he remained dangerous.
"She's a madwoman… a bloodthirsty monster… who delights in pain! If she lives, the world will end… she must die… SHE MUST DIE!"
Riven held his breath. His eyes flicked to the edge of his sword, which was beginning to glow—not with flame, but with something else. Energy. A faint golden light shimmered along the blade—cold, but gentle. Like a whisper telling him not to fear.
He glanced toward the distant house. Behind its thin wooden walls, Mira and that woman were waiting.
And if the man was right—if that woman truly was the harbinger of destruction—
Then why did she look like a victim?
Why was her body covered in wounds?
Why did she seem… like someone who had been tortured and discarded?
But there was no time for doubt.
The final slash came.
SRAAK!!
A wave of wind rushed toward him—larger than the others.
The man's vision was fading. He could no longer see clearly.
Yet his attack… remained deadly.
The slash tore through the air, and Riven knew—he couldn't dodge this one.
He stood firm, holding his breath.
The attack came.
Invisible—but undeniable.
CRAAK!!
Riven raised his sword.
The golden light that had once been faint suddenly flared.
His sword… was alive.
A burst of brilliance exploded from its blade, radiating a chilling aura that pierced to his very bones. And then—a faint, voiceless whisper echoed through his mind.
"Crysthalis."
It was a name he had never heard.
But somehow… he knew.
It was his sword's name.
And with that name came knowledge. Form. Power. Instinct.
The wind wave vanished within Crysthalis's glow—dispersing like rain evaporating in sacred fire.
Riven felt no pain.
He was still standing.
Still alive.
And his hands, moving on their own, swung Crysthalis forward.
SWAAAKK!!
A wind blade shot forth—not seen, but sharp as divine steel.
It tore through the air.
The man's left arm was severed.
Blood sprayed. The man stared, expression blank—stunned.
But Riven gave him no time.
He dashed forward. Only a few paces separated them. The man tried to move—but his body wouldn't respond. He tried to cry out—but his breath had run dry.
Crysthalis pierced.
Straight into the chest.
Right through the heart.
SRRRKKK—
Riven drove the blade in to the hilt. Their eyes met in a silence that froze the world. No words. Only the looming presence of death between them.
The man's body slumped.
But… just before it fully collapsed—
He smiled. A hateful, broken smile.
His cracked lips moved.
And with a whisper barely audible, he said:
"…I hope… you're ready for the consequences…"
Riven froze.
And a heartbeat after those words passed—
The man fell.
And the night returned to silence.
The wind stirred once more.
Riven stood still. Crysthalis remained in his hand, stained with blood. His chest still heaved, but he knew—the battle was over.
Or perhaps…
It had only just begun.