How could this be!

Mio clutched the wound in her abdomen, gasping for breath. Normally, her body healed rapidly—even severe injuries mended faster the graver they were. But this time, the horrific open wound refused to close. Blood poured endlessly. Her vision began to blur.

*Get up!*

She screamed inwardly, forcing her body to move. Suddenly, torrents of memories flooded her mind. Iduchi’s devoured left hand—consumed by the Fragment of Creation—was fusing with her. Black sludge oozed from her wound, spreading into a dark marsh beneath her knees. Mio knelt at its center, struggling to quell the raging darkness within. Faded visions erupted like a volcano: a lush oasis, dark-skinned desert warriors, a white palace, and a golden dome glittering under a blue sky…

Iduchi’s memories.

Mio lifted her head, locking eyes with the bandage-wrapped horror before her. Iduchi glared back with lidless eyes. His left hand was regenerating—but far slower than before. Then, the Death Servant’s form overlapped with a young man: dark skin, white tattoos etched across his face and body. Mio realized—the desert warrior *was* Iduchi.

“Mio!” Aimee lunged from behind, tackling Iduchi. Her breastplate was dented from earlier strikes, her back scarred. The War God’s armor had dimmed, its divine protection nullified. Death Servants could shatter godly blessings—Chosen Ones always fought at a disadvantage.

“Aimee, fall back!” Mio raised her sword. “Iduchi! Your opponent is *me*!”

“Get lost, trash!” Iduchi hurled Aimee aside. “Mio—! I don’t know how you earned the Almighty’s favor, but it ends here. You die today!”

“I’ll drag you to hell with me!” Mio grinned savagely through the pain. “Come on!”

They charged simultaneously. Steel clashed—a deafening crack. Mio skidded back three steps but regained balance instantly, crouching to block Iduchi’s second strike. With only one scimitar and his left hand still regenerating, his attacks lacked variety—but to humans, he remained deadly. Under the scimitar’s pressure, Mio dropped to one knee. Blood gushed from her abdomen.

“Die!” Iduchi activated his martial skill. “Steel Sever!”

Blue light sheathed his blade. Pressure spiked on Mio’s sword—*snap!*—the liquid-metal blade shattered. The scimitar carved through her ribs, hurling her backward.

A gash stretched from collarbone to hip. Mio crashed into Lucius’s shield wall, coughing blood. Two mortal wounds would kill anyone else. Yet Mio gasped desperately, crimson froth on her lips. Death still refused her.

“Still alive?” Iduchi twirled his remaining scimitar. “A monster. I’ll have to take your head.”

A longsword suddenly flew from the Imperial ranks, embedding itself between Iduchi and Mio. Marshal Moura had thrown her blade.

“Fine steel,” Aimee yanked it free, shielding Mio. “Thanks, Marshal!”

The Sword Saint radiated fierce battle aura. Crimson light flared in her eyes—bolstered by the Puppet War King’s blessing.

Combat reignited. Iduchi and Aimee blurred into a storm of clashing steel. Mio struggled upright, dragged behind the shield wall by two soldiers. A medic rushed to bandage her, but she shoved him away, stumbling toward the front lines.

Fanna strained to maintain the barrier. Corpses clawed at its surface, cracking the magic. Drawn by the duel, they wore tattered armor—warriors in life, still yearning for strength even in death.

“Pressure’s too high,” Fanna frowned. “This fight summoned fallen warriors. They’re far stronger than ordinary dead.”

“Prepare to engage,” Moura ordered calmly. “Deploy squads. Eliminate those attacking the barrier.”

Orders rippled through the ranks. Imperial soldiers—except the main gate defenders—attacked the corpses. Arrows pierced skulls. Red-eyed infantry advanced in formation, spears driving the dead back.

At the gate, the duel reached fever pitch. Aimee danced with lethal grace; Iduchi snarled, scimitar flashing. Steel blurred in a dizzying exchange.

*Clang!*

They broke apart simultaneously.

“Worthy of the Sword Saint title,” Iduchi’s lidless eyes narrowed. “Your skill has reached peak mastery. Ten more years, and even I might not defeat you easily.”

“Flattery won’t save you,” Aimee wiped blood from her lip. “Today, I *will* cut you down!”

“Hmph.” Iduchi relaxed his shoulders. Bandages unraveled, revealing charred flesh—horrific burns, unhealed patches. His eyelids and lips were gone, exposing yellowed teeth and bloodshot eyes. Yet as the last bandage fell, his body regenerated rapidly. Seconds later, a dark-skinned desert warrior stood before them.

“That attire…” Fanna gasped. “A warrior from the Desert Kingdom?”

“The Desert Kingdom?” Moura frowned. “It fell 300 years ago. Southern Federation invaders burned its cities. No survivors.”

“One survived,” Fanna stared at Iduchi. “But he’s no longer human.”

Beyond the shields, Aimee faced the reborn Iduchi. White trousers, a golden sash, bare torso inked with white tattoos. Gold earrings. A shaved head gleaming darkly.

“Whoa! Handsome upgrade!” Aimee grinned. “Warrior!”

“Appreciated.” Iduchi’s smile held less madness. “I can assume this form once a year. As respect for the Sword Saint, I’ll crush you at my peak.”

“Bring it.” Aimee raised her sword, fearless.

They vanished. Sparks flashed—steel met steel. For seconds, they flickered in and out of sight, clashing too fast for human eyes. Only blurred afterimages remained. Mio, shoved to the front, gritted her teeth. Her enhanced eyes tracked them. Though it seemed even, Aimee was being overwhelmed. Restored to full power, Iduchi was beyond her.

Aimee stepped back, stance coiling: “Heavenly Demon Flash!”

Black energy ripped horizontally across the street. Houses split cleanly at the base. Iduchi merely raised his scimitar—deflecting the blast effortlessly. Exploiting Aimee’s brief recoil, he counterattacked. Mio fired her pistol, but Iduchi dodged the bullets, vanishing—then reappeared behind Aimee.

A breeze stirred. Golden strands of hair drifted to the ground.

“It’s over.” Iduchi’s voice was flat. “Sword Saint. A worthy fight. I’ll remember you.”

*Thud.*

Aimee’s head hit the dirt. Her headless body knelt, blood geysering into a crimson mist.

“Aimee!” Mio tore free from Lucius, stumbling to cradle the severed head. Tears streamed down her face like broken pearls. Darkness surged within her—a volcanic eruption. Her friend, stolen again. Her outstretched hand, powerless. She cursed the world. Cursed her weakness. Cursed fate’s cruelty.

Curse!

Curse!

Curse!

Curse!

Curse!

Black whirlpools swallowed Mio’s will. Kneeling in Aimee’s blood, she threw her head back in a wordless scream. Then—a silver flash. Her neck parted. Silver hair floated on the wind.

“A final mercy,” Iduchi sneered. “Reunite in the afterlife.”

*Thump.*

Mio’s head rolled into the blood pool. Her crimson eyes dimmed, losing focus. Behind the shields, Moura shut her eyes tightly. Fanna covered her mouth. As the strongest here, they understood human frailty against Death Servants.

But black sludge gushed from Mio’s neck. Her body melted—her fallen head dissolving like molten candy. Pure darkness formed a pitch-black marsh. Iduchi instinctively raised his scimitar, sensing danger.

*ZAP!*

A searing particle beam vaporized his torso. Gauss Rifles roared—bullets shredded him into rags. Bandages swarmed, rewrapping his form. Lidless eyes glared at the marsh. Figures rose from the sludge. Thick mud slid off armored bodies—black combat gear, helmets shaped like ghostly masks. Night-vision lenses glowed eerily in the hollow eyes.

“What *are* these things?!”

Before Iduchi reacted, Ghostface soldiers split left and right, Gauss Rifles blazing. Bullets tore through him. A soldier with a plasma rifle aimed—its particle accelerator flared. A high-energy beam vaporized Iduchi’s upper body. A scimitar flash—*thwack!*—the soldier’s head flew off. Iduchi smirked, watching the invaders melt back into sludge.

But more Ghostface Special Forces emerged endlessly. They charged without fear, firing calmly. No matter how many Iduchi killed, the marsh birthed replacements. The Ghostface Army was the Night Watch’s shield—expendable flesh. They surged forward, ignoring casualties.

“Tch. This is endless.” Iduchi beheaded another soldier. “Retreating.”

His body dissolved into black miasma—and vanished.