Hooo—whooo— After several heartbeats, the Magic Breaker storm finally blew itself out. The plain lay ravaged, rubble and pits like cratered moons. The earth was a torn hide, cut by a thousand knives, riddled with wounds.

A campfire had been dragged into that ruin. Its fierce blaze was shredded by iron wind, leaving only shy embers trembling in the leftover breath of the gale. Medith lowered her raised sword. On this continent, no Magic Breaker Circle could threaten her anymore; every storm here was a steed she’d already broken.

She looked ahead. A warrior in red armor stood in the battlefield’s heart, like a crimson cliff in a gray sea. A fearsome demon mask bared mouth and eyes. Her war-gear was a samurai warlord’s. In her left, a silver katana. In her right, a blood-red odachi. Black boots planted firm.

Medith’s gaze sharpened, a cold line of steel. This shape wasn’t the same as the first time she saw her on the Southern Kingdom’s border wall. Confusion pricked first, then thought followed. Could her Lawbreaking Ability shift with stamina? No... then why had the previous one—

“No need to guess.” Fangge’s voice was steady, like a bell under rain. “Lawbreaking Ability is just desire made flesh. Its form isn’t fixed. Someone longs for power, and their ability looks powerful.

“Someone longs for endurance, and their ability turns defensive.

“And there are those who trust their own strength. For them, Lawbreaking Ability stops being a burden and becomes pure instant force. Like Nameless.

“Of course, it isn’t whatever you imagine. It demands what most lack—will like iron.” Fangge gave Medith a lesson as clean as a blade.

Medith flicked a glance at Nameless. Memory tightened like a knot—the duel with Robert, the Magic Breaker he used without changing at all. “Fair. That matters to me. Then what does your look mean? Defense, or offense?”

Crack. Fangge tightened her grip on both blades. Her black eyes showed like bottomless wells, enough to make a heart shiver. “In my country, only the mighty wear red armor. And red bears another meaning.”

“Oh?” Medith’s expression asked for teaching. “It’s the highest respect to an opponent, and their finest requiem. Because their blood becomes this armor’s dye, making it brighter. More beautiful.”

Cling— Before her words fell, Medith flashed out like a streak of light. Her sword darted for Fangge’s chest. The thrust met a cross of steel; Fangge’s twin blades caught it.

“Don’t call me dirty. Battle’s kill or be killed. We’re not playing make-believe knights with lace and titles.”

“Of course. I’m no stiff samurai.” Fangge’s slash kicked Medith away like a wave. Medith detonated the air mid-flight. Her body spun and danced, turning in the sky into a storm of death rolling down.

Ting-ting-ting-ting— Whooo— The blade-storm she dragged through the air swept, chewing up everything in its path. That fine swordcraft, that unity of body and blade, shocked the onlookers like thunder over a lake.

“Ah—ha!” Fangge didn’t flinch. She whipped both blades back, then spun hard, dragging them into a cleave at Medith. The cut carried the weight of a mountain; if it landed, Medith would have to yield ground.

At the instant they were about to clash, Medith stopped spinning, sudden as a hawk folding wings. Fangge’s twin-blade strike, which should have pierced her, slid off by mere centimeters, like a stream turned by stone. She lost balance, and a huge opening yawned wide.

Medith wouldn’t waste a breath. She flipped and sprang above Fangge. She pressed a palm to that heavy war-helm, rolled behind her like water, then drove a sword clean through her chest.

“Ah!!!” The mercenaries gasped, faces pale as ash. None expected Medith to stop playing and skewer Fangge through the heart.

“How... could... she... guide my blade... force it off its line... ugh...” Fangge’s armor shattered like frost under sun, revealing a delicate, beautiful form beneath. Her eyes went distant. She toppled like a felled flower.

Iling moved faster than thought and caught her before she met the ground.