"What is that?!" Koniya’s balance still unsteady, and Nora’s attack came again like a sudden squall.

Koniya ground her teeth. "Don’t push me too far!" She raised her long whip and lashed the air madly; blade‑edged wind cracked, crack‑crack‑crack, tearing the sky.

Meanwhile, the whip curled into an iron halo, wrapping her round like a fortress.

Nora steadied, then slid back in a breath’s span. The spinning ring spat a storm of spikes like iron thorns.

She’d already fallen back several meters, yet the iron brambles howled on, an air‑shattering hiss knifing straight for her.

Ting‑ting‑ting— Nora twisted and slipped, her daggers flashing. She batted the incoming thorns aside, sparks skipping like fireflies.

But the rain was too thick. She knocked most away, yet several slashed her. A few bit a full centimeter into flesh.

After a long ten seconds, Nora was tattered, breath ragged like wind over reeds. Blood striped her body; several spikes buried in tender flesh. The wounds were not light.

Koniya’s spinning death waltz finally slowed. The crimson whip withered before the eye, then drooped and coiled limp. Half its spikes had melted away, leaving it eerily bare.

"Ha! You overreaching—" Her words froze. Winter kissed her throat as a silver dagger tip pressed against it.

That sharp, cold taste of death tightened her breath like ice in the lungs.

Nora snapped a knee up, knocking the whip free, then booted it away—skittering several meters like a chased snake.

"You lost." Blood ran in rivulets down Nora’s face, yet not a muscle flinched; she wore an ice mask, as if the wounds belonged to someone else.

"You…" Cold sweat slid down Koniya’s back. The aura before her wasn’t like any foe she’d met. This was a storm‑touched madwoman.

Only lunatics savor battle. With her, you dance on a knife‑edge—one misstep, and the world goes dark. Her daggers hunger for vital points; block and live, fail and that’s your whole story.

Koniya’s whip and forms looked savage, yet they’d skimmed past vital spots. Now she felt the dagger owner’s killing intent like a north wind flensing bone.

"Do you know how I deal with prisoners—cold as frost on fallen leaves?

My Lawbreaking Ability compresses air. Do you know how I use it—like squeezing a storm into a fist?

Have you ever seen wind pressure driven into a body, then explode—do you know how they die?"

"I start with a small cut across the chest." Nora drew a cold line in the air, her left dagger hovering over a bare strip of Koniya’s skin.

"Then I pull, and flick a miniature Cyclone straight into you.

Inside, it spins like a mill of storms—ten thousand blades chewing. It shreds and wrings your organs. In that span, you taste the most extreme pain mortals know."

Nora leaned to her soft, pink ear and spoke in a voice like winter steel.

Koniya froze like carved wood, arms raised, trembling without end.

"That’s just the opening act. I’ll keep the reins tight, make sure you don’t die too early.

Then comes phase two. I open your chest and feed in a dense charge of compressed wind.

That pressure sits like a fragile glass orb; a touch, and it bursts.

It collides with the Cyclone’s leftover blades. Then you burst like a smashed watermelon—bang—"

"Uhh… huu…" Koniya’s mind blanked. Her gaze fogged, her spirit scattered to the winds, and her red lips turned ash‑gray.

"Koniya—let her go—" Her companions braced to charge, but the Lita Sisters loosed several arrows. They landed right before the women’s toes, kissing the tips of their high heels.

The arrowheads sank into concrete and vanished from sight. Their aim stunned—precision down to a hair’s breadth.

"What’s wrong—start trouble and can’t stomach losing?" Rita’s voice was cold. Her bow drew full, the string thrumming like a caged hawk.

"You…" The women burned but held their tongues. That one volley cut off any thought of resistance. Besides, they were in the wrong.

Medith’s phoenix eyes swept the ring. The crowd and other guild members had watched with relish, but Nora’s ice and words felt lethal; for a moment, she worried this would end in a corpse.

"Nora, she insulted our Crimson Sunset Guild and the Commander, and she harmed our people. What’s the verdict?" Medith asked, knowing the answer.

Nora caught the cue. "Guildmaster, I say the crime merits the blade. No trial needed."

"Good. Let the blade fall."

Nora moved, and the dagger drew down hard. For an instant, the world held its breath. No one believed she’d truly pull.

"Enough. First day of a new guild—blood’s ill luck. Give me some face and end it here, eh?" At the hair’s breadth, two powerful fingers pinched Nora’s blade.

"Hm?" Nora blinked. A man near thirty stood there—face mapped in scars, black hair spilling to his shoulders, sapphire eyes locked on her like a hunting wolf.

"Uncle Serpent… the Guildmaster of the Black Serpent Guild!" someone in the crowd breathed.

Uncle Serpent wore a smile like smoke. "Guildmaster of the Crimson Sunset Guild, they’re members of Crimson Rose. They meant only a ‘welcome party,’ no malice.

We’ll all be family from here on—heads up or down, we’ll keep meeting. Give me face and let this pass, alright?"

"Ah… it’s not pettiness. She strutted in, insulted my guild, and hurt my people. I’m in a bind, vines tangling my hands…"

"Lies! You started it…" someone spat, sparks in the words.

"Let it be, Guildmaster. They’ll pay what’s due." Uncle Serpent’s gaze slid to Medith, a serpent’s glint hinting at threat.

Medith wasn’t naïve. The game had been played, the lesson struck. "Since that’s the case…"

Nora let Koniya go, her frost‑cold hands loosening.

Koniya sagged to the ground like a beached fish, the look of one snatched back from calamity.

"Since everyone’s gathered, here’s a word. Our Crimson Sunset Guild is very ‘welcoming.’ If you want to drop by, we’ll greet you warmly, like a hearth at dusk.

Want to sign up? Come interview soon. Slots are limited; the gate closes when the courtyard’s full."