Throne struck and retracted instantly, every blade aimed at the vital points of the chest and abdomen. This time, Throne used no incantations, no magic, and no dragon power; it was merely the most fundamental swordsmanship.
Yet, this swift swordplay left Millicent scrambling; she could only hold her blade vertically against her chest, parrying with small movements, unable to care about the bloodstains being carved into her arms. Defending only the vitals—not bad. Perhaps this was talent.
If the defensive movements were too wide, it would naturally be difficult to recover, and Throne could easily close the distance and decapitate her with a single strike. Clang, clang, clang. Sparks scattered, and within a few breaths, Millicent was pushed to the center of the plaza. Subconsciously, she cast a glance to the side and saw the fountain behind her. Oh no...
"Retreating is death; you must incorporate offense into your defense."
Throne, regardless of whether Millicent could hear him, paused his rapid stabs, lunged forward, and swung his blade down. But he saw that Millicent did not retreat again; instead, she rolled to the right. Swish—
The blade severed the arm of the fountain sculpture.
Throne's gaze shifted downward, seeing the young girl rolling toward him, her long blade sweeping across the ground. He instinctively lifted his right leg, feeling the force of the wind whistle past the sole of his foot, and then saw the girl twist the hilt of her blade to slash back at his left leg planted on the ground. This was incorporating offense into defense.
Throne didn't jump ten meters to bully her; instead, he lunged forward even faster, lightly tapping Moonveil against the ground, rolling like a pole vaulter, and that sword became incomparably heavy once more. Downward Slash! Bang! A sword mark two or three meters long was left on the flagstone, and it even severed a lock of red ponytail.
Millicent seemed unable to sense the killing intent and was not frightened by the blade that had slashed down right against her back. She took the opportunity to jump up, holding her blade with one hand, and leaped lightly to the side. Upward slash, wrap around the head, diagonal cleave, turn, drop to the ground, horizontal slash.
The series of movements flowed like water, and the blade light formed a rainbow garment in Throne's eyes. His response was simple: merely an all-out Ichimonji. Clang!! The beautiful, flimsy rainbow garment was directly severed. Millicent, who had just been dancing, was struck down onto the ground. The young girl glanced at Moonveil, which had stopped beside her neck, and looked up with a pout.
"Teacher, you're cheating."
They had agreed on a duel of sword skills, yet he had used overwhelming strength. It was like a child swinging a sword in front of an adult; no matter how brilliant the swordsmanship, one would still be slapped to the ground.
"Cough, cough, I never said I would hold back, but that last strike was interesting."
Throne released the blade.
That strike wasn't complete, but it had a shadow of Waterfowl Dance. Wasn't Malenia's swordsmanship just a storm of fury, turning people into minced meat before they could even catch their breath?
"Let's stop here for today. Do this a few more times, and your recovery speed will be very fast."
Millicent didn't notice that Throne had used the word 'recovery'.
She slowly climbed up, worked her shoulder that felt like it was falling apart, and turned her head to see a sorcerer striding over. Clap, clap. Edred applauded lightly, exclaiming with a sense of awe, "Truly worthy of being called legendary swordsmanship; it is indeed powerful."
Night Sorcerers were all proficient in close-quarters combat.
He was certain these two must be Flowing Swordsmen, because that last strike was very similar to Malenia's, and Malenia had learned from the strongest of that clan. Throne had intentionally let him see it. He had rich experience in dealing with such smart people; saying ten thousand lies was not as effective as letting him misjudge once on his own.
Clang—
He sheathed his sword and looked calmly behind him.
"Your Excellency, the Great Sage, peeping is not a good habit."
"Apologies, the situation is urgent, and I did not wish to interrupt you."
Edred bowed; it was truly an eye-opening experience. Who in this world practices with real blades? Were they not afraid of accidental killing?
this person was far too careless; what time was it, and he was still practicing swordplay? As a Sage, he fully respected the bizarre habits of various clans.
"Are they coming?"
"Very soon. The dragons are gathering in increasing numbers, and there are even Bloody Fingers hiding among the Tarnished."
Edred looked serious; lately, he was going bald from stress.
"That is normal; they have the advantage."
Throne appeared indifferent, merely saying casually, "Guard the perimeter. If all else fails, retreat into the town for urban warfare and fight house by house."
He was playing dumb. The Great Sage clearly wanted him to follow orders but found it difficult to force him.
The strong were always composed and not like ordinary Tarnished who could be summoned at will. Throne didn't want to run to the front lines to camp; it was meaningless.
"Precisely because they have such a great advantage, we must unite. Your Excellency, could I ask..."
Before he could finish, Throne already raised his hand.
"No need. I have my own way of fighting. Please rest assured, I will not flee in the chaos."
Edred's mouth twitched. They had only known each other for a day; where was the trust? Yet he simply could not force him.
"If Sellia needs to borrow the strength of others, I think those Tarnished would be more suitable."
Throne pointed to the side of the plaza, where a tall man holding a great hammer was standing—the visitor from Volcano Manor they had met on the road. Their eyes met, and they nodded in acknowledgment. The other man picked up his great hammer and turned to leave; he didn't look like he was planning to run. Him?
Edred had clearly checked the identity of every Tarnished and knew this person was extraordinary.
"You know him?"
"Met him when entering Caelid; he's an expert." Throne answered nonchalantly. He had actually met him twice, just in different disguises. Edred was not blind; he certainly knew this was an expert. Precisely because of that, he needed to gather the strong to act as a fire brigade.
He was pondering his wording when a Night Sorcerer walked over quickly and whispered a few words into the Great Sage's ear. The latter was clearly prepared to hear bad news, but his expression still changed drastically.
"The item is lost? What are you all doing?!"
"We don't know. All traps and barriers had no effect. Besides, it's impossible for the enemy to steal that item."
The Night Sorcerer looked like he was about to cry; who could have known? Could those sinners have returned? Damn, I forgot they had collaborated with the Kindred of Rot ten years ago. Edred's head ached instantly, and he could no longer care about Throne.
"Your Excellency, please think carefully. This time we might really die in Sellia!"
Edred left a parting sentence and rushed off in a hurry.
He came quickly and left even faster. Millicent glanced at him and whispered, "Did Miss Melina steal the item?"
"Don't use such an unrefined word as 'steal'."
Throne retorted, looking at the flustered Great Sage with a smirk.
"That item was something I deposited in Sellia in the first place."
The Great Sage's footsteps had barely faded when motes of light shimmered into existence beside Throne. Melina—now nearly a master thief—betrayed nothing in her expression, the practiced blankness adding another layer of mystery. Her gaze flicked to Millicent's disheveled state before locking onto Throne with lethal intensity.
"You call this swordsmanship training?"
"Ashina techniques have their own philosophy. You wouldn't comprehend."
"Wouldn't comprehend?"
Her fingers twitched toward hidden knives.
"Or are you just seizing the chance to bully her?"
"Don't be absurd. I don't indulge in pettiness."
"So you're claiming magnanimity now?"
Millicent wedged herself between them, damp hair clinging to her neck.
"Melina, it's alright. This... intensity is necessary. I don't have the luxury of gradual training."
"Don't let him gaslight you."
Melina's voice dropped, protective.
"And drop the 'Miss.' Just Melina."
The younger girl bit her lip. But you're the one constantly fooled by the teacher. She managed a nod.
"Calling you directly feels rude. May I say 'Sister Melina'?"
"Better."
Melina's hand settled on Millicent's shoulder, grip firm.
"I won't let this scheming bastard exploit you."
Throne observed them with icy amusement. Instant camaraderie, but the hierarchy's backwards now. And scheming? He preferred strategic.
"Enough theatrics."
He turned on his heel.
"Follow me."
The abandoned room smelled of mildew and old parchment. Throne shut the door, palm outstretched.
"The item. Now."
"Last time," Melina hissed, plunging her hand into her tunic. She flung the talisman at his face before producing two objects.
First: a staff. Two feet of weathered brown wood crowned by a ghostly blue glintstone, its flame-shaped core pulsing with cold fire.
Second: a palm-sized black box. Sellian sigils coiled across its surface in silver filigree, too precise for mortal hands.
Millicent edged closer, remembering Throne's mention of a Sellian deposit. He pressed the box shut without opening it.
Melina's teeth audibly ground together.
"You're still playing games?"
"Idiot. This seals magical signatures. Open it, and every Night Sorcerer in Limgrave comes knocking."
His knuckle rapped her forehead.
She swatted at his hand, furious but outmaneuvered.
"Then explain why I nearly died for a box!"
Sellia's library defenses had been brutal—invisible mages, rooftop chases, a dagger's width from capture.
"A stone."
Her nostrils flared.
"A stone warranted that security?"
"Not just any stone."
Throne traced the carvings. Inside lay Lusat's primeval glintstone, his second objective in Sellia.
Memories flashed—ten years ago, Lusat breaking free. How the mad sorcerer's unleashed power had nearly atomized him before Radahn's meteor strike saved the town.
Lusat died that night. Mostly.
Like all primeval masters, he'd achieved lichdom. The glintstone was his phylactery; find a vessel, and he'd resurrect. Worse, his original body had fully crystallized. This box didn't contain a relic—it held a star-core reactor.
Throne's magic had plateaued. No amount of study would push him further.
Time to cheat.
To advance further required the accumulation of time; perhaps one day he could reach the level of senior professors like Leon or Oritis. But this was meaningless to him. In terms of improving combat effectiveness, it was better to go cut down a few more Ancient Dragons; that was simpler and more direct. Fortunately, I also have two teachers.
Throne took out Sellen's research notes and turned to the last chapter. That was the unfinished primeval glintstone implantation magic sigil, which could be called the center of the entire research.
The complete form should use the primeval glintstone at the heart as the energy core, amplifying it through the magic sigils of the entire body to achieve the effect of a three-dimensional staff, stepping onto the path of a sorcerer's ascension to godhood. Of course, to deal with the current situation, applying all the research results in this notebook was enough.
"You two guard the door; I need to do something."
Throne waved his hand and kept taking out bottles and jars from the spirit-calling ring. These were all taken from the Caria treasury and were of higher quality than what he had commissioned someone to buy at the time. Flasks of crimson tears and other concoctions were all placed on the ground, within easy reach.
Millicent was still at a loss, while Melina simply made a face as if she had a toothache. Last time in Mistwood, she was the one guarding the door.
"Throne, you, you're doing it again?"
"This is the key to breaking the deadlock. Did you think I would dare to come to Sellia to seek death without any preparation?"
Throne snorted unhappily and looked at the two.
"Go quickly, don't delay my enjoyment of this pleasant time." Could that be called pleasant? Melina didn't know how to describe it. Was this man a masochist? Before she could speak, she saw Throne bite down on a handkerchief, lift his thin sword cleanly and decisively, pointing it directly at his own left chest.
"Millicent, let's go."
She had already guessed what would happen next.
She grabbed Millicent and left. The latter was still a bit confused, thinking to herself, what kind of sword technique required pointing the sword at one's own heart? At this moment, she heard the man's suppressed, extreme low roar, and her nose caught the heavy scent of blood. Just as she wanted to look back, her head was turned back by Melina.
"Don't look back, there's nothing to see."
Melina was expressionless. Even though she was used to seeing corpses, she couldn't stand someone as ruthless as Throne. Wait, could this still be considered human? She was right. No carbon-based life form could do such a thing; it was no longer as simple as having a heart as hard as iron. 'Cut a big hole in the chest cavity, but don't hurt the heart, otherwise it becomes suicide. After linking the magic sigils to the left arm, finally insert the primeval glintstone.' Throne's train of thought was very clear. After the experiment in Mistwood, he had already confirmed that Sellen's research was useful, but using a sharp blade to cut open the chest—that feeling was very unpleasant.
He watched quietly as the wound widened, drank the second sip of his potion, saw the heart beating within his ribs, and a bitter smile appeared on his face. The difficulty was greater than imagined. He didn't know if the flask of crimson tears bought from the Smoldering Church would be enough, but there was no turning back once the bow was drawn.
As his eyes turned golden, a thin layer of crystal covered the surface of his heart. The blade probed in, like a master sculptor—steady and resolute... Outside the door, Millicent wanted to look back several times, but each time she was blocked by Melina, and in the end, she had to give up her curiosity.
"Sister Melina, how long have you been following the teacher?"
This form of address made Melina smile slightly, but her expression was too dull, so it was hard to tell.
"It's been a few months, I suppose."