“Lightning Serpent!” The gray-robed man dropped from midair. Blue bolts slithered from his sleeves, coiling as they shot toward Jim like hunting snakes.

Jim’s face stayed cold, his killing intent like winter steel beneath the black hood. Tenger felt the chill and knew—Jim was done playing.

Lightning slammed into the ground, gouging craters like steaming wells. Jim moved with razor footwork, slipping past every serpent. Not one touched him. Not even a graze.

The gray-robed man chuckled, sketching sigils in his palm. He rushed Jim like a storm breaking.

Jim watched him close in. No sword drawn. He rolled aside, sliding past the grasping hand, then drove a kick toward the man’s lower body, sharp as a spear.

The gray-robed man twisted into a strange angle and ghosted past the kick. He flashed behind Jim, two runes in his hand burning gold, pressing down toward Jim’s back like brands.

His palm hit nothing—only air. Jim stood just off his shoulder. A boot hammered in, and the man flew back, more amused than rattled, his movements clean despite Jim’s relentless feints.

Jim frowned. “If you won’t draw your sword, you’ll lose for sure.”

The gray robe clutched his bruised rear and sighed. “I just wanted to try some spells, okay?”

“With runes in melee, how’re you different from a knight? A ‘mage’ with footwork like yours?” Jim snorted, then thought of that mage who fought with two blades—Eli.

His face darkened.

The gray robe shrugged off his cloak. A silver half-butterfly mask hid one side of his face; his smooth jaw hinted a handsome man beneath.

He helplessly unclasped the iron rings on wrists and ankles—weights heavy enough to make jaws drop. He undid the collar at his throat.

Five sets of chains crashed down, stamping the earth like meteor marks.

He rolled his shins, bones singing. He smiled at Jim. “Alright. I’ll go serious. You ready?”

His voice fell. His figure thinned like morning mist, then faded, then vanished.

Watching from the side, Tenger sucked in a breath. “That’s… an afterimage?”

Jim drew in a heartbeat. His sword flashed up to guard his neck.

Clang!

A dulled knight’s blade lunged in. Jim’s long sword caught the thrust at the last inch. His focus sharpened like a hawk’s eye.

This guy was faster now. Stronger too.

“Oh?” The masked man seemed surprised Jim took that hit.

Jim slid aside, rode the pressure along the blade, and slashed back down the line like a wave crest curling.

Steel rang—two swords met. Jim’s hands trembled. The masked man bled off the impact like a reed in wind, then cut down with casual grace.

He smiled, receiving Jim’s flurry as if swatting falling leaves.

“Ride the Wave!” Jim stirred his Battle Aura. His long sword carried intent like a tide. He thrust at the masked man with sudden speed.

The masked man smiled. At the instant of the thrust, he ducked faster—like a swallow diving.

The blade hissed over his head.

He lifted his sword and tapped a point on Jim’s blade. Jim flipped on the spot, tumbling like a leaf in a gust.

The man mirrored Jim’s stance. His long sword carried a nameless pressure as it stabbed in. He murmured, calm, “Ride the Wave.”

“Nrgh!” Jim pivoted, raising his sword to meet it.

Thud!

Like being rammed by an unseen beast, Jim’s blade snapped at the masked man’s sword-tip. The broken half fell, nicking Jim’s hand as it dropped.

Jim gritted his teeth and retreated hard, steps skimming the ground like skates on ice.

The man didn’t chase. He stood with his sword sheathed, massaging his bruised butt, eyeing Jim. “Brat. Wanted you to swing at me so I could vent early, but no.”

Jim whispered a sword formula. The fallen fragment leapt back to his grip. He closed his eyes and listened to the blade like wind in pines.

The masked man blinked, unsure what Jim was doing. He sat down right there, pulled a small pouch, and uncorked a bottle. He drank, watching Jim over the glass like a cat at the window.

Jim’s eyes snapped open. He planted the broken tip in the soil. Layers of runes peeled over the fragment like frost.

“Sword Graveyard!”

A massive array blossomed across the field. Shards of broken blades rose from the earth like spirits called from graves. Jim grabbed a hilt; the flying fragments fused, and in his hands two perfect greatswords formed like twin mountains.

He tossed one to the masked man, then charged with the other, earth kicking up behind him like spray.

The masked man didn’t even look up. He finished the bottle. He leaned aside, letting the thrown sword hiss past. He flicked his wrist and lobbed the glass back at Jim.

The bottle streaked ahead of Jim’s sprint and stopped dead on his path like a hovering rock. Jim missed the cue and slammed into it.

Whatever that bottle was, it bit into his thigh like iron. Pain stung; he stumbled into a rolling fall.

The man was about to smirk—when Jim vanished mid-roll. He reappeared atop the sword he’d thrown earlier. He rolled, then hurled both blades at the man in a crossing arc.

It all happened in an instant. Even the masked man, caught mid-chuckle, reacted late. He dodged the first blade. The second kissed his shoulder, cutting cloth and skin like a cold crescent.

The masked man froze a beat, then dissolved into mist and drifted away.

Jim dropped to his knees. His breath raked out of him like saw-teeth.

Tenger let out a long breath. He smiled at the identical masked man standing beside him. “Master, that counts as passing the test, right?”

The masked man hugged his bottle, drowsy as twilight. He rubbed his eyes. “Tsk tsk. Jim, you’re a bit green. Thought you’d need months to clear this.”

He strolled to the panting Jim with a wicked grin. “Aiya. That was just a clone with zero power, and you end up like this. Jim, you’re kinda embarrassing.”

Jim ignored him and held out a hand.

The masked man lifted a shoulder in surrender. Jim’s favored long sword fluttered down, returning to his grip like a homing bird.

Tenger said, “Thank you for the training, sir. Our sovereign is waiting for us. We’ll depart.”

Tenger measured the man who had trapped his entire army in these mountains not long ago. He feared a sudden refusal like thunder from a clear sky.

“Mm. Seems about time. Go,” the masked man said, waving it off like a falling leaf.

Tenger brightened. “Then thank you for cultivating General Jim.”

“Eh, no need, no need. Go on, go on.” The masked man took another drink and lay back on the ground like a lounging fox.

“May I ask… your title?” Tenger ventured.

“Emmmmmmmmmmmmmm, call me the Sword Saint.”

“Sword… Saint?” Tenger wavered between doubt and delight, unsure if the masked man was teasing.

The masked man had no wish to explain. He tidied his clothes and walked away, light as mist.

Only after Tenger led the Ninth Prince’s forces out of the mountains did the masked man glance around. He smiled softly. “Ahahaha. Brats. Always make me nostalgic.”

A woman stepped from the fog behind him. “Oh ho. You’re back to your chuunibyou?”

He chuckled. “Heh. Darling, you’ve stayed here so long. Want to go play?”

She spread her hands. “What do you think?”

“Haha! Oh! Right, someone still needs a little help from me.” He traced a circle in the air. White light veiled it like moon-glow.

He flicked his finger. The ring flew through trunks of countless trees, like a white moth crossing a forest. Far, far away, it found Eli’s hiding place.

The white circle sank into Eli’s brow. His knotted frown eased like thawing ice. Relief washed across his face like warm rain.

The masked man smiled. “Little one, whatever fortune comes, it’s yours to grasp.”

..............................................................

“I wonder, Your Highness the Ninth Prince—what news have you received from His Majesty?” Yiyi, disguised as Eli, sipped tea, watching the Ninth Prince across the table.

Xili studied Eli. Something felt off, like a note out of tune. He couldn’t place it. He shook his head and blamed his own nerves.

“Mr. Eli, my father, the king… may pass within half a month.” Xili’s gaze grew heavy, clouds lowering before a storm.

Yiyi smiled. “Why are you so sure?”

Xili frowned. “You might not believe it, Mr. Eli. I have a special power. If someone will die within a month, I can see their remaining days.”

Yiyi blinked. “An Esper?”

“Yes. I’m an Esper. Though… it’s not very useful,” Xili said, scratching his head like a puzzled boy.

“Oh? Sounds decent. Why’ve you never mentioned it?” Yiyi asked, curiosity like a lifted brow.

“I can’t change death. I can only know when it comes,” Xili sighed, a wind sinking under the eaves.

Yiyi’s brows pinched.

Huh? Isn’t that power a joke? Is this guy chuunibyou too?

His earnest face made her hesitate. She nodded for now. “Mm. Leave that aside, Xili. You haven’t told me—when you went to the palace, did your father say anything?”

Xili sorted the swirl in his mind before speaking. “Father said most of the time, Third Brother handles state affairs overall. Nothing else seemed useful. Mostly he chatted with us about family.”

Yiyi caught the flicker in Xili’s eyes, a small dodge like a fish in reeds. She understood. “Alright. Looks like your prime rival has your father’s favor. What about your eldest brother—any stance?”

Xili said, “Eldest Brother just echoed Father. From start to finish, he never stated his intent.”

Yiyi narrowed her eyes and nodded. “I see.”