The ancient tower collapsed. That fortress had stood for a millennium, yet crumbled tonight in battle. Gildreas clenched his fist. A fall from dozens of meters and hundreds of tons of stone couldn’t kill a Death Servant—he was certain of that. His gaze swept toward the distant plaza. The black miasma had already breached the flames’ blockade, advancing relentlessly toward the Consul’s mansion.

Fire raged across the square. Thick smoke choked the sky. Sparks swirled on the wind, painting a scene straight from hell. Two soldiers stood frozen on the street, eyes wide with terror as the black miasma crept through the inferno. Clad in gray light armor—the standard gear of Seralni’s guard—they’d long lost the will to fight.

“We’re done for,” one soldier moaned, clutching his head. “How can we defeat a monster like this?!”

“Hey! Get up!” his comrade yelled. “At least run for it!”

“Run? Where to? It’s over. Everything’s ruined. We’ll all become sacrifices to the Fallen God… trapped in purgatory forever…”

A sword gust cleaved through the flames. Ice spears followed, striking the miasma cloud. Even as most had surrendered hope, others still fought. Rasputin chanted incantations, unfolding a magic circle midair. Moisture gathered around him, crystallizing into ice spears within the array. He launched them at the miasma, weakening the enemy. Beside him, Theris unleashed martial arts. His magic-infused greatsword released a razor-sharp shockwave, splitting the flames and shaking the miasma core.

“Damn it,” Theris growled, tightening his grip. “This could go on forever!”

“My magic’s nearly gone,” Rasputin ceased casting. “A mage dying from mana exhaustion isn’t a joke. We must retreat.”

“Shit!” Theris raised his sword, roaring orders. “Abandon the plaza! Full retreat!”

Swordsmen and guards stopped feeding the fires. They abandoned their firewood carts, fleeing toward the Consul’s mansion. At the road’s end, a valiant female swordsman stood guard.

“My turn,” she declared, raising her sword to her chest. “Divine Might, Manifest!”

Sacred light enveloped her, coalescing into gleaming silver armor. Immense power erupted from her petite frame. Golden hair whipped in the mana storm. Aimee pointed her blade backward, bracing for a full-power strike. Mana swirled around the sword, forming a radiant column. Guards and swordsmen scattered from the stone-paved road. The pitch-black miasma advanced, undeterred.

“Heaven-Sundering Flash!” Aimee activated her technique. She swung her sword down with all her might. A blinding slash tore through sky and earth, splitting the miasma cloud in two. The shockwave shattered the entire road, cleaving the city wall in half before slamming into the Abyssal Magic barrier. The bisected miasma revealed its core.

A girl shrouded in miasma. Her shadowy form seemed like darkness incarnate.

“A Death Servant?” Aimee raised her sword. “No… this mana level hasn’t reached that tier yet.”

The black-clad girl shrieked—a piercing sound that shattered every remaining window on the street. Her figure blurred into lightning, charging at Aimee. Steel clashed under the moonlight. Longsword met wavy-bladed dagger, sparks showering like falling stars. Aimee gritted her teeth against the pressure, then countered with blinding speed. A thunderous *clang* echoed. Sparks flew. The black girl stumbled back, shrieking wildly as her miasma-wreathed body trembled.

“Death Servant!” Aimee leveled her sword. “State your name.”

“H-Hilda…” the girl rasped from her throat.

“Good. Hilda.” Aimee rested her blade on her guard. “I am Esmeralda. Sword Saint of Hamodia. Champion appointed by War God Balder. If you seek fame, come take my head!”

Hilda shrieked again. Guards who hadn’t fled clapped hands over their ears. Every window of the Consul’s mansion exploded into glittering shards under the moonlight. Rasputin, arriving late, hastily erected a barrier around the mansion. Theris could only watch helplessly.

Battle resumed. Longsword and dagger clashed fiercely under the moon. Esmeralda danced a dazzling sword dance, her blade fracturing into a thousand flashes that engulfed Hilda. The dark girl slashed wildly with her dagger—fast but unskilled, like an amateur. Only the miasma armor constantly surging from her feet saved her from being diced by the Sword Saint.

“Sturdy defense,” Esmeralda disengaged, preparing her technique. “Steel Sever!”

Azure mana coiled around her sword—a common warrior skill usable with any bladed weapon. Her blade shot toward Hilda’s neck at impossible speed. The light sliced through the black miasma but was blocked at the last instant by the wavy dagger. Even so, the shockwave sent Hilda flying into a bakery storefront.

Esmeralda glanced at the blood on her blade and smirked.

*Winning. She’s weaker than expected. Against Mad Blade Iduchi, I’d lose right now. Even without techniques, he’s terrifying—centuries of battle, ten thousand warriors slaughtered. Talent can’t bridge that experience gap.*

Rubble shifted. Hilda rose, miasma still armored around her. Esmeralda clicked her tongue. *A neck wound like that, and she moves fine? Are all Death Servants monsters?* In the next second, Hilda lunged. Her figure vanished. Esmeralda raised her sword—only to find the girl already inside her guard. At the last millisecond, Esmeralda twisted her blade, deflecting the dagger. But the tip still pierced her sacred armor, slicing her abdomen.

Blood sprayed. Esmeralda gritted her teeth and retreated. Hilda pressed the attack. Within the black miasma, her eyes gleamed with savage joy. As the dagger aimed for Esmeralda’s heart, a distant sniper shot struck true—hitting the wavy blade and knocking it off course. Bleeding from her shoulder, Esmeralda retreated again. She looked toward the ruins. Beneath the moonlight, a silver-haired girl aimed a 20mm railgun.

*First shot hit!*

Mio lay prone in the rubble. Left hand steadied the railgun’s frame. Right index finger rested on the trigger. Her crimson right eye peered through the scope. Fragment of Creation energy rampaged within her. Even in this danger, she’d materialized the railgun. Reaper’s power fused with her soul, slowly taming the Fragment’s rampage—but using it now carried immense risk. She cycled the bolt, ejecting the spent electromagnetic primer. White coolant hissed from the gun’s vents. Mio loaded a new primer and depleted uranium round. Adjusting aim using drone data, she targeted again.

Fierce combat raged before the Consul’s mansion gates. Wounded in shoulder and abdomen, Esmeralda fought desperately. Hilda thrust her wavy dagger relentlessly, her movements growing smoother, her strikes increasingly unpredictable. She was evolving mid-battle. Even with War God Balder’s blessing, Esmeralda was losing ground. Then—a distant sniper shot struck Hilda dead-on. The spinning 20mm round eroded against the miasma barrier. It didn’t pierce, but the impact threw Hilda off balance.

“Steel Sever!” Esmeralda activated her technique, delivering a diagonal slash to Hilda’s right shoulder.

Blood sprayed. The black girl wailed. Esmeralda pressed the advantage, thrusting her sword through Hilda’s small body before the miasma could seal the gap.

*Clang!* Metal shattered. Hilda had severed Esmeralda’s longsword with her dagger. Stunned, Esmeralda leapt back, gripping the broken hilt. Moonlight glinted on the blade embedded in the girl’s chest. Blood flowed down the fuller, pooling beneath Hilda’s feet.

*Is it over?* Esmeralda raised her broken sword.

But the impaled Hilda merely swayed. More miasma gushed from her feet, swelling the cloud back to its original size. Esmeralda clenched her jaw, watching the expanding darkness. Her sword was broken. She couldn’t unleash Heaven-Sundering Flash.

Hoofbeats thundered. Gildreas galloped up on horseback. He tossed his own longsword to Esmeralda. “Use this! End it!”

“Thanks, Grand Captain!” Esmeralda caught the sword. She pointed the blade backward. Immense mana erupted from her body, forming a swirling vortex.

“Heaven-Sundering Flash!” She uttered the activation phrase. A blinding slash split the black miasma in two.

The dissolving miasma revealed a black-haired girl in a tattered dress. The broken sword pierced her chest. Her wide black eyes stared emptily. Esmeralda froze. *This girl… she’s the Forbidden Child I saved with Mio that night!* But enemies were enemies. Even a child—she was an apostle of the Fallen God! Evil must be judged. Justice must prevail. The God of Justice watched her. Cold steel flashed. Esmeralda swung without hesitation.

“Sorry… Lord Yao Ye…” Hilda whispered. “I failed you…”

Her head flew skyward. Crimson blood sprayed under the moonlight. The headless body swayed once, then collapsed before the Consul’s mansion gates.

*Clip-clop. Clip-clop.* Hoofbeats faded as Gildreas rode back to the gates. Moonlight bathed Esmeralda, sword in hand, staring silently at the small corpse.

“We won, right?” he asked.

“I suppose.” Esmeralda lowered her head, golden bangs shadowing her eyes. “I need to be alone. Handle the rest.”

“Understood.” Gildreas nodded. “Leave it to us.”

Esmeralda sheathed the sword. She walked toward distant ruins—where a tower had stood just minutes ago.

“Stuck-up bitch, putting on airs!” Theris stomped over, scowling. “Does she really think she’s the Sword Saint?”

“She *is* the Sword Saint. Undeniable.” Gildreas glared at him. “Slaying a child isn’t pleasant—even if she’s a Death Servant. Could *you* swing without hesitation? One moment’s doubt, and that ‘bitch’ would be dead now.”

He removed his cloak, draping it over the girl’s body.

Theris shrugged and turned away, bumping into Rasputin as the mage dispelled his barrier. The bald wizard met his gaze and shook his head wearily.

“The crisis is over, Grand Captain.” Rasputin approached Gildreas. “Allow me to offer highest respects to the Hamodia Swordsmen. After the Sword Emperor and the Archmage, you’ve slain another Death Servant.”

Gildreas didn’t reply. He only stared at the blood on the ground.

A faint smile touched Rasputin’s lips. He walked over, picking up the wavy-bladed dagger lying nearby. But the eerie blade dissolved into miasma in his hands, vanishing completely. Rasputin stared at his empty palms, disappointment etching his face.

As if signaled by Hilda’s death, the ominous red magic circle hovering over Seralni flickered and crumbled, fading into nothingness.