"I'll protect you from now on!"
"Huh? Protect me? Do I need that?"
"But even the Hero King needs companions!"
"Mmm, fair point. Then I'll grant you the rank of Warrior."
... ...
A cold moon hung like a polished mirror.
Silver light spilled through a mile of frosted sky.
It poured into the narrow alley. Eaves sliced it clean. Half the bluestone was day, half was night.
Crimson Blossom stepped out of the dark. Her lower body hid in shadow. Her upper body bathed in moonlight, cut sharp as a blade.
The moon on that tall woman seemed dyed blood-red. It reeked of bad omens.
Ominous, in the literal sense.
Ye Weibai watched. Even without opening his Eye of Misfortune, he could smell it, thick enough to drip.
Unlike the silver-haired woman and Stardust, her Misfortune felt rich yet unrooted.
It didn’t sit in her bones. It drifted around her body, like armor wrapped tight. It never quite touched her skin.
It was a strange sensation.
He was about to open the Eye of Misfortune when she spoke.
"You—"
Her voice was hoarse and cold, like ice cubes scraping a glass.
"Are you the Imperial Tutor?"
Imperial Tutor. The one from the Hero King’s legend. The teacher, the guide, the one who shaped the King.
She asked it. Her tone allowed no doubt. It sounded obvious, like the world had always been this way.
Then she went still, waiting for Ye Weibai to answer.
"So what if I am? So what if I’m not?"
"If not, you’ll die. If you are, you’ll die too."
Her cold voice hummed inside the helmet.
That meant dead either way?
The black Demon King smiled.
Bright as a blade. Eyes lit like stars. Moonlight made them glimmer.
He looked at her and murmured, "Then come try me."
Boom—!
The roar crashed through the narrow alley like rolling thunder.
Force blew apart. Blood-red iron boots split the ground. Gravel spat like sparks. White shockwaves fanned out.
The calm moonlight shattered. It splashed across the walls on both sides.
In the chaos, her black lance streaked out like a bolt of dark lightning. It carried crimson chill. It stabbed for Ye Weibai.
It was fast, spear-cutting fast. Faster than that silver-haired woman. It reached his brow in a blink.
Ye Weibai smiled and didn’t move. His pupils held the scarlet figure. He showed no guard.
But the instant the black lightning was about to kiss his skin, it recoiled like a spooked viper. It snapped back, even faster than it came.
Boom—!
An invisible weight smashed down an inch in front of him. The bluestone caved a finger deep.
The dent shone smooth as a mirror, as if some giant millstone had ground it clean.
"Oh? Interesting." Ye Weibai tipped his chin.
Her reaction was fast. A hair slower, and she’d have been pinned. The strike was formless, yet she slipped it without thinking. That was pure battle instinct.
Strong. Crimson Blossom was strong. Pity—
He watched the red figure whip back, sketching trails too quick for normal eyes. His eyes saw them clear.
"Pity, not strong enough."
He lifted his right hand and flicked back, as if shaking water from his fingers.
Whoosh—!
Air reversed into his palm. Wind rose in spirals. The street’s breath thickened, sticky as webbing. It netted Crimson Blossom.
An unseen hand closed around her.
The red blur slammed an invisible wall of air. She froze mid-sprint. Then she slid, dragged helplessly toward Ye Weibai.
Clack-clack—!
Iron boots scraped the stone with a tooth-aching shriek.
Boom—!
The spear flipped and slammed into the ground.
The shaft bent in a shocking arc. Sparks ripped from the tip. She still couldn’t stop.
All her armor screamed. Inside the helm, the woman stared up at the black-haired boy.
An Imperial Tutor is support among the Hero King’s companions. The weakest there is— How can he be this strong?!
Unless— No— Whatever the reason. For him, I must— I have to—
Whoosh—!
The spear tore free and stabbed into the wall. Losing leverage, the red-haired woman pinwheeled toward Ye Weibai.
Her face under the helm was death-calm. Her hair streamed. Mid-spin, her armor began to shed by itself.
Like thawing snow, the red plates at her boots and calves melted away. Pale legs flashed, bare as moonbone.
She wore nothing beneath.
Ye Weibai narrowed his eyes. Not at the curve, but at the breath that surged out when the armor vanished.
Something wrong. A tide that felt like a warning bell.
Thoughts flashed. She was already on him.
Then—
Boom!
In midair, she tore free of his grasp on the world. She rode the spin. Her unarmored right leg cracked like a whip at his throat.
The Demon King pressed his right hand down. Invisible mass fell like a slab of sky.
This time, she moved like someone else. Power spiked by several folds. She only tilted a hair.
The whip-kick didn’t slow. It scythed for his neck.
Ye Weibai’s senses were needles. He felt it at once.
His weight hadn’t been resisted. It had been canceled. A more unsolvable force had nullified it.
That force rose with the shedding of her armor.
"Tsk."
He frowned. His right hand flashed to his cheek. He caught her ankle.
Boom—!
Wind detonated by his face. It didn’t stir a hair.
He stopped the strike with ease. His palm tightened. His fingers rasped on sleek skin.
He read the texture. He confirmed his guess.
"You looking to die—?!"
She took his touch as insult. Frost flared in her eyes. Her face sank, black as still water.
Her body shrank into a tight coil. She rolled into his arms. As she moved, the armor on her right arm weathered away.
Sun-kissed skin met cold air. She raised that arm. Left hand locked her right fist. Her elbow turned into a lance. Her whole weight dropped.
She hammered for Ye Weibai’s gut.
Thud!
Ye Weibai lifted his right knee. It smashed into the crashing elbow.
Her elbow slid off. Her right fist darted on, punching for his right waist.
At the same time, her left hand—its gauntlet gone God-knows-when—flattened to a blade. It struck from his blind angle, viper-fast, for his heart.
With her right leg trapped, her left knee didn’t hesitate. It drove for his groin.
In that suspended breath, every inch of her became a weapon.
Most nobles learn the upright way of kings. Knightly grace first. But this woman—
Crimson Blossom. Highborn, a noble’s daughter.
What did she live through to master a style nobles would spit on as shameless and foul?
... ...
... ...
