Chapter 9: The Earfolk. (2) – 2/2

My actions hadn’t changed—I was still focused on blocking her attacks and striking whenever I spotted an opening.

And yet.

“This is getting easier.”

More than that.

I wasn’t just defending myself anymore.

I was learning. I was picking up on the way she attacked, memorizing the flow of her strikes.

Her movements started to shift.

The wild, indiscriminate swings from earlier became more refined, more deliberate.

I realized something else: I had assumed her weapon’s design made it difficult for her to move fluidly with both hands, but.

“Dual wielding?”

It wasn’t as hard as I thought.

Still, there was no time to relish the thought.

My head felt like it was on fire, and my heart ached with a dull, suffocating pain.

And yet.

For some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

Rishiel hadn’t been taking the fight seriously.

For her, it was as if she were out for a casual stroll.

When she first laid eyes on Han Yuseong, she felt like she had stumbled upon a rare treasure.

Rather than kill him outright, she had decided to toy with him, swinging her blade with that in mind.

She knew she could end the fight at any moment with a serious strike.

That confidence fueled her attacks.

But then.

Something changed.

Mid-swing, Rishiel felt her breath catch.

“Annoying.”

That’s how she felt, though she didn’t know why.

Han Yuseong’s swordsmanship was becoming increasingly precise.

What had started as raw, unrefined movements now felt deliberate—an execution so sharp it seemed like he could aim for her life at any moment.

“What is this?”

Rishiel saw him smile, as though he were thoroughly enjoying this moment.

What sent a chill down her spine wasn’t just his confidence—it was that his swordsmanship was evolving, mirroring her own.

It was as if his blade was adapting with each clash, learning from her.

His movements were becoming more polished.

Her head spun as the dual blades in his hands—once chaotic and uncoordinated—now attacked her with precision, as if crafted by a master.

“Was he ambidextrous all along?”

It was as if his earlier clumsy strikes had been a ruse.

Now, his technique was heavy, swift, and razor-sharp.

“This is getting…”

Dangerous.

No longer merely annoying, the fight was escalating into something perilous.

She felt like she was watching a monster grow before her eyes, feeding on her to evolve.

“I want him.”

And yet, at the same time, she felt an overwhelming urge to kill him.

These conflicting emotions surged within her, racing to the forefront of her mind.

She coveted him. That man, so dangerous and intoxicating.

But he was a rose made of thorns—a lethal poison that could kill anyone foolish enough to embrace it.

And so.

“Such a shame.”

Rishiel had decided—Han Yuseong had to die.

Her playful demeanor vanished entirely, replaced by a cold, deadly resolve.

She adjusted her stance, her eyes locking onto him.

“Take this.”

It was the secret swordsmanship of the Darkmoon family.

A technique far beyond what should ever be used against someone at Level 1.

But for a man like him, this much was necessary.

If she was going to kill him.

She would do it with everything she had.

Whoosh!

In the windless labyrinth, a soft breeze began to stir.

At the tip of her sword, a pale green light began to swirl, growing into a small vortex.

“Try blocking this.”

Han Yuseong likely couldn’t see what was coming.

But the elves, recognizing the deadly technique, worked frantically to keep his allies occupied.

Erme’s voice echoed from a distance as she shouted urgently, but she was too far to intervene.

Meanwhile, Theresa and Marcel wore panicked expressions, clearly grasping the imminent danger.

And then.

“What?”

Han Yuseong was smiling.

It was as if everything had gone exactly according to plan.

Slowly, he extended his hand, the motion strangely hypnotic.

For some reason, it all seemed to happen in slow motion, like watching the fragments of a fading memory.

His hand slipped into the darkness, vanishing as if it had melted into the shadows.

“Absolute Theft.”

His voice rang out softly, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

I stole something from her.

What I was after was her weapon—the silver rapier glinting in her hand.

The weapon faded as if it were being swallowed by the void, disappearing from sight.

At the same time.

“Got it.”

I felt it clearly, the sensation of grasping something.

When was the last time I felt this?

Not when I stole that bald merchant’s gold coins.

Lucia.

It was the same eerie sensation I’d felt when I had stolen the Obsession of the Villainess from her.

A sudden sense of foreboding gripped me.

And sure enough.

When I looked at my hand, I wasn’t holding a rapier.

Instead, I was clutching an intensely dark gemstone, its surface shimmering faintly like the night sky.

Thud.

Before I could even process what it was, the gemstone slipped from my grasp.

Rishiel stared at me, her mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“G-give it back…!”

I wanted to figure out what this black gemstone was.

But more urgently.

Shhh.

I instinctively brought the Blood-Soaked Dagger close to the gemstone.

It was a reflex, almost primal.

This object, something so precious to Rishiel—the most dominant figure in this fight—was valuable enough to be a hostage.

Rishiel seemed to grasp my intent. Her face darkened, as if she had just swallowed poison.

“…”

I didn’t let my guard down, keeping my gaze locked on her. But then—

Thud.

Rishiel collapsed onto the ground.

“W-what is this?! What’s happening?!”

Her voice came from behind me.

Startled, I spun around and froze.

There she was—Rishiel—but her form was strange, almost ghostly.

Her figure shimmered faintly, translucent like a phantom.

“…?”

That’s when I finally saw it—the thing I had stolen from her.

[Rishiel’s Soul.]

“What the hell?”

It was certainly going to be useful, but the absurdity of it all hit me like a ton of bricks.

I had stolen something truly bizarre.

My mind was reeling, but I snapped back to reality.

I was still in the middle of a fight.

Without wasting a moment, I dashed toward Rishiel’s collapsed body.

My target was the silver rapier glinting faintly in the dim light.

“—My Silver Eagles!”

Rishiel, now in her ghostly form, screamed in anguish.

But that wasn’t the important part.

The moment I picked up the rapier, it began to emit a faint green glow.

“Information.”

[Item]

Whisper of the Wind (B-)
A sword imbued with the blessing of the wind.
◇ Consumes mana to unleash wind-element magic.

“What? It’s a lower grade than the Blood-Soaked Dagger?”

It looked more impressive, but appearances could be deceiving.

Then again, the Blood-Soaked Dagger was a growth-type weapon.

While it didn’t seem particularly powerful now, it would likely become much stronger over time.

For now—

“I need to finish this fight.”

The battlefield seemed to be clearing up, but this was the perfect moment to make an impression.

After all, jumping in to help at the last minute tends to leave a lasting impact.

Fatal Allure (A) activated.

With a sensation like flipping a switch, my aura shifted.

I could see the elves’ bodies start to stiffen, their movements growing sluggish under its influence.

“Your leader is dead,” I declared.

Of course, that wasn’t entirely true—she was still next to me, muttering complaints in her ghostly form.

“If anyone else wants to die, go ahead and step forward.”

Please don’t actually try it, I thought to myself. My body still felt shaky, likely from the aftereffects of the fight. If anyone charged at me now, I wasn’t sure I’d hold out.

“…We surrender,” one of the elves finally said, lowering their weapon.

Thankfully, the bluff worked.