Rivane had become obsessed with "Honor Duels."
It wasn't because of those extra 300 points, though that was certainly generous. What truly intoxicated her was the sense of ritual, stripped of the chaos of the battlefield, a return to the purest form of confrontation.
Amid the roar of gunfire and the chaos of war, finding an opponent who shared the same pursuit of skill, and in the moment their eyes met in mutual acknowledgment, performing a silent, lethal dance.
She began actively seeking out such opportunities. No longer satisfied with sniping from a distance, she had grown infatuated with close-quarters duels, the kind where blood was tasted on the edge of a blade.
There were no rapiers in this game, but she found a substitute: the standard-issue military sword used by the Imperial Guard.
Heavier and clumsier, lacking the nimble grace of fencing, the humming force-edge still delivered a kind of violent beauty when it cut through armor and flesh.
She practiced switching seamlessly between sniper rifle and power sword, learning how to use precise shots to herd an opponent into the close-range distance she'd already chosen, and how to finish them off with the blade in a way that carried that final sense of ceremony.
She savored the process. She savored the shock on her opponent's face when they realized a "sniper" had closed the distance on them. She savored the recoil through her arm when her blade split open their armor. She savored the crisp chime of the system announcing "Honor Duel Kill."
It reminded her of fencing in real life, yet it was utterly different. In a fencing hall, duels had rules, referees, rituals of beginning and end.
Here, in these "Honor Duels," the rules were blurrier and the stakes were real. That sense of skirting the edge between life and death was more raw, and far more addictive.
Sixty-sixth minute.
Rivane had just driven her blade into the chest of an elite rebel assault trooper with a vicious thrust, in the corner of an abandoned warehouse.
Her opponent had tried to drive her back with a shotgun, but she'd anticipated it, sidestepping most of the pellets, and her blade found the gap in his line of fire with precision.
[Rivane used a Power Sword to kill an elite rebel assault trooper]
[Honor Duel Kill! +300 points!]
[Cumulative Honor Duel Kills: 66]
The instant the number ticked over, she felt her heart skip in time with that chime.
Sixty-six. On her pursuit of this most extreme form of one-on-one combat, she had already sent sixty-six opponents to their graves.
Then, without any warning, the world turned purple.
It wasn't a sudden overlay, but more like dye dropped into clear water: thick, vivid, sweetly fragrant purple began spreading from the edges of her vision, swallowing up all her UI, the battlefield scenery, even muffling the gunfire in her ears.
This purple wasn't dark. Instead, it shimmered with a hallucinatory gloss, as if made up of countless tiny, writhing particles of sensation.
It brought a slight dizziness, not nausea, but the kind of feeling you get when you're slightly tipsy, when the world goes soft and its edges blur.
An interface unlike anything she'd seen before coalesced before her eyes.
Its border was a relief carving of flowing silk, entwined limbs, and rose vines blooming to the point of decadent excess, with motes of glittering desire drifting down from it.
The background was layer upon layer of translucent gauze, behind which countless graceful figures seemed to dance and entwine in an eternal embrace, sending out faint, soul-stirring sighs and laughter.
At the center, an emblem of overwhelming allure and beauty, formed from the fusion of a heart, a rose, and a woman's profile, radiated a warm, moist glow that made the heart race.
Lines of text, as if brushed into being by a passing feather, written in ornate, curling script that seemed to breathe in sweet little gasps, elegantly emerged:
[The Dark Prince... has sensed... your 'joy'...]
[The Lord of Pleasure... has listened... to the rhythm of your heartbeat...]
[Your thrill... in chasing... a powerful foe...]
[Your shiver... of delight... in the moment of victory...]
[Your longing... to make every battle... a piece of... 'art' worth savoring...]
The text seemed to carry a "scent," a blend of musk, fine wine, and a seductive, decadent sweetness.
[The graceful and... eternal... Lady Sallis...]
[Loves... every child... who knows... how to appreciate 'beauty'... and pursue... 'the ultimate experience'...]
[And you... soul that pursues... ritual and... a performance of self...]
[Are exactly... the 'color'... the Palace of Pleasure... craves...]
The heart-and-rose emblem suddenly bloomed with a dazzling, intoxicating purple light!
[The Great God of Art and Love! Sovereign of all the world's pleasures! The sole Queen of the Pleasure Temple!]
[Has cast upon you... a smile... of appreciation...]
[Legendary Quest, Activated!]
[Quest Name: Sixfold Sensation]
The quest details unfolded in a languid, seductive tone, every word seeming to tease at the nerve endings:
[Quest Objective: Over the next six independent matches, complete match after match of meticulously crafted 'feasts of the senses.'
In each match, starting from the sixth minute, you must execute six enemy elite units (officers, special forces, player characters, etc.) via 'Honor Duel.'
Executions must be precisely timed, exactly one kill per minute, no earlier, no later. At the exact moment the sixth minute ends, the sixth elite must fall. Six matches, thirty-six meticulously choreographed 'death waltzes' in total.]
[Current Progress: 0/6 (matches), 0/36 (elite kills)]
[The Prince's Gift: Upon accepting this quest, Sallis will grant you a touch of her favor.
You will gain the 'Sensory Sharpening' effect: a modest boost to dynamic vision and hearing, enhanced ability to anticipate enemies' subtle movements, a 15% increase to attack speed and combo fluidity when using melee weapons, and a brief boost to movement and reaction speed after each 'Honor Duel Kill.'
This effect lasts until the quest is completed or fails.]
[Quest Declaration: To challenge a powerful foe and savor victory, this in itself is the highest form of pleasure.
But true art lies in 'control': controlling the rhythm, controlling the stage, controlling your enemy's fear and hope, and finally... controlling the moment of their death.
Go, dear dancer, go and weave your dance of death upon the battlefield. Let every swing of the blade, every shot fired, become a perfect beat to please the goddess. Remember, the God of Love and Pleasure always loves her most radiant child, the one who best knows how to savor 'the process.']