He could feel the shadow mana all around him—thick in the air, curling at the edge of his senses. Even the onlookers outside the ring had begun to blur, their forms shifting like figures behind a veil. Sound, too, seemed distant, as if swallowed by the very mist that surrounded him.
Rifi's eyes narrowed, his breathing slow and controlled. There was no real danger here—this was just a spar—but his instincts didn't care. They screamed at him, warning him that this was unfamiliar terrain. It was the first time he'd faced a technique quite like this. Shadow mana wielding mages were rare.
But beneath the tension, he felt something else: anticipation. Excitement. He relished the chance to face something new.
Lightning arced gently across his body, responding to the faintest movement of his stance, ready to surge at a moment's notice. Normally, he would have already closed the distance—ended the bout with speed and overwhelming force before the enemy could settle into their rhythm. But this time was different.
This time, he stepped forward—deliberate, measured, and curious.
A blur darted to his left—then another behind him. Movement stirred within the haze, silent and smooth. Phantom images flickered in and out of view, each laced with a trace of Kiva's mana signature. To his senses, they felt solid. Real. Each one mimicked her presence with unnerving accuracy.
'What a terrifying technique,' he mused. 'If our power levels were even, I'd already be in serious trouble.'
From deeper in the mist, the subtle rasp of steel slipping from its scabbard reached his ears.
The sound came from the front—but Rifi didn't move. He knew better. 'Good try,' he thought, maintaining his stillness, carefully tracking every flicker of her presence.
He didn't have to wait long.
They all charged at him just moment after the sound rang out, each aiming for a different part of his body. The odachis of every Kiva—identical in stance and timing—closed in from multiple angles. Curiously, if their trajectories continued unchecked, several would slice through one another.
'They must be illusions,' he thought. 'Just gotta find the real one.'
And yet… he didn't trust that thought completely. He dodged two of the attacks and parried the remaining three in quick, fluid movements as he stepped back, giving himself breathing room.
'Hmm. Interesting,' Rifi noted, deflecting another wave of slashes while Kiva maintained the pressure. 'They're all real.'
He lifted one hand and unleashed a pulse of lightning. The energy tore outward, the air snapping with violent force as the shockwave blasted through the fog. For a fleeting moment, the veil parted—revealing five figures.
All crouched low, all moving in unison.
He fired a bolt at one of them. It vanished instantly, dissolving into a spray of dark mist.
The rest closed in—silent, lethal.
Then something strange happened. As he raised his lightning blade to deflect a downward slash from above, the odachi passed through without resistance. His lightning-enhanced reflexes kicked in, reacting just fast enough to pivot—but it was too late to fully evade. His mana shield, always active and wrapped tightly around him, absorbed the hit from. Only a small portiong of the odachi near its hilt struck the mana shield.
That's when Rifi understood.
'Illusions, yes,' he thought, eyes narrowing. 'But only the part that is imbued with the shadow mana can deal damage.'
Rifi pushed his senses to their limit—and then he confirmed it. He could faintly trace the shadow mana woven through the figures. Some were fully coated in it, thick with the shadow mana. But the one that had just struck him… its odachis length hadn't been fully infused.
'Interesting,' he thought. Knowing this helped his odds, but he still didnt know which one is the real Kiva with the real odachi.
In one fluid motion, he began deflecting the odachis of the echoes—targeting only the segments where he could feel the shadow mana concentrated. But with each exchange, Kiva adapted. She began limiting the length of the odachi of all the copies and herself that she infused, shrinking the aura until only a sliver carried the real threat.
Then he felt it—just barely. A flicker at the edge of awareness—sharp, visceral—as one of Kiva's odachis shifted. Not instinct, not thought, but something deeper. A phantom sensation that gripped him, just as it had when Kaelin's blade cut through his heart. She angled for a cut with the tip of her blade, just as Rifi was to guard against the part thick with shadow mana—exactly where she wanted his focus.
'What a deadly attack,' he thought in quiet awe.
But Rifi wasn't going to allow that. Recognizing the pattern, he adjusted in a heartbeat. As he deflected the odachi, he shifted out of the path of the odachis tip then he delivered a mana-infused strike aimed straight at her exposed abdomen.
Kiva blocked it, but the force sent her skidding back across the dirt. She didn't fall. Instead, she twisted, vanished, and melted back into the mist.
"That is one impressive fighting style," Rifi said aloud, his voice carrying across the haze.
From the fog, her voice answered—distorted, but steady. "Yet it wasn't enough to beat you."
He smirked. "I'm not so easy to defeat."
Lightning surged from Rifi's feet and exploded outward in a roaring surge, turning the ground beneath him into a spiderweb of scorched earth. The shockwave tore through the mist, scattering much of it—but Kiva was already gone, repositioning with practiced precision, leaving the ground before the attack even had a chance to reach her.
She came from above moments later.
Falling fast, her odachi reversed in her grip for a blunt strike. Rifi raised an arm, meeting her descent with a burst of lightning that caught her mid-air and hurled her sideways. Her shadow mana shield absorbed the brunt of the attack as she twisted, landing in a crouch with barely a sound, the mist already curling back around her like a cloak.
A flicker—this time from his left.
He struck.
Miss—the shadow dispersed into nothing.
'I like this more,' Rifi thought, a flicker of excitement cutting through his usual calm.
From the right—another blur. He fired again.
Another miss.
Then the real Kiva burst from the ground behind him, nearly undetected. Rifi barely sensed her—her presence perfectly veiled until the moment she emerged. Shadows peeled away as she surged upward, tendrils of mana lashing in her wake. Her odachi came in low, fast, angling for the back of his leg.
But Rifi dropped into a roll, lightning flaring from his back to propel the movement. He slid across the dirt, lightning blasts flaring out to intercept the shadow tendrils, and twisted to face her—now just beyond the edge of the haze.
Kiva straightened, catching her breath. "Are you even human with that reaction time?"
"I'm more impressed by you," Rifi replied, his voice calm but genuine.
She stepped from the mist's edge, exhaling slowly, the tip of her odachi gleaming faintly in the evening light.
"I'd be ashamed if I couldn't do at least this much."
Rifi's eyes stayed locked on her as she stepped free of the mist—calm, composed, her stance low and coiled, ready to vanish again in an instant. The haze writhed behind her like a living thing, as if it might reach out and reclaim her at any moment.
The air snapped.
Rifi surged forward, lightning bursting at his heels. His lightning blade crackled to life, sweeping in a wide arc, trailing sparks like a comet's tail as it tore toward her.
Kiva didn't retreat—she stepped in.
With fluid precision, she ducked beneath the slash. Shadow mana rippled around her, flickering like smoke caught in wind, dulling the harsh gleam of Rifi's strike as it passed over. Her body twisted in a half-spin, the flat of her odachi lifting at just the right moment to redirect his second attack before it could land.
But she was still too slow.
Rifi shifted mid-motion, planting one foot and redirecting his weight. He dispelled his lightning blade and brought his fist forward—straight into her ribs. The blow wasn't meant to break, but it drove the air from her lungs and sent her stumbling sideways.
She didn't fall. She twisted with the momentum, rolled through the dirt, and vanished back into the mist.
The haze thickened, swallowing her.
Rifi didn't chase. Not yet.
His mana senses extended outward, probing the field. Kiva was at it again—her echoes emerging through the mist, only this time more refined, more dangerous. She had begun weaving even greater concentrations of shadow mana into each illusion, blending her presence with tendrils of living darkness that lashed and struck alongside the copies.
A whisper passed his left. A flicker to his right.
Despite the coordinated assault, Rifi moved with surgical precision. Twin blades of lightning danced in his grip, crackling with each swing as he deflected strike after strike. Sparks flared as blades clashed—real and false alike—his movements too fast for most to follow. Arcs of lightning burst from his body in timed flashes, intercepting any attack that slipped through his primary guard.
"This won't work on me," he muttered, voice quiet but certain.
No reply came.
Instead, the mist surged—thicker, darker, heavier. It rolled forward like a storm tide, dragging with it a wave of shadow constructs layered in illusion and malice. Figures emerged—five, ten, more—each bearing her exact mana signature, each as sharp and swift as the last.
But Rifi didn't budge.
The air shifted. Lightning gathered—dense, volatile. Then it burst outward in a thunderous pulse. A radiant ring of energy erupted from him, splitting the mist apart with a deafening crack. Copies evaporated, scorched into fading trails of mana.
But something slipped through.
Perfectly cloaked in the chaos, one dagger carved through the edge of his guard, grazing his arm just as he shifted in the final moment. It struck the thick lightning-woven mana coating his skin—deflected, but not without leaving its mark on the shield.
Not deep. But real.
Rifi turned, eyes sharp. Kiva stood a few paces away, her blade lowered, breath ragged, a thin grin ghosting across her lips but it quickly turned into a frown.
"You're learning," he said, one brow lifting. "You almost got me."
"You don't have any openings," she replied, frustration and admiration mingling in her tone. "I couldn't even break through your mana coat."
He gave a faint shrug. "If I were Red-Core like you, I'm not sure which way this fight would've gone. Don't sell yourself short. But I've seen enough. Shall we call it here?"
Kiva nodded and sheathed her odachi in a single, fluid motion, offering him a respectful bow. "Thank you for the opportunity."
Rifi returned the gesture. "You've got sharp instincts. That shadow mana of yours—it's very usefull. It could save lives. It might save ours."
She straightened, her posture easing. "And you're more terrifying then what I heard. Fighting beside you will be an honor... Fighting against you would be a nightmare."
Mira, who'd been leaning on the fence nearby, gave an impressed whistle. "Note to self—stay on both your good sides."
Around them, the onlookers began to scatter, murmuring as they walked. Some wore stunned expressions, others exchanged hushed observations. The duel might've been brief, but it left a mark—a display of how even those divided by cores weren't always so far apart in threat.
Selmak approached, arms folded behind his back. He gave them a curt nod.
"Good to see you're all getting along. The rest of your team will arrive tomorrow," he said, voice dry. "Until then, try not to kill each other."
Then he turned and left, his footsteps quiet on the packed earth.
Rifi gave a small nod, satisfied. "Well, that was fun. But now I'll have to leave the two of you as well—being the leader of our little strike force comes with its burdens. We'll regroup tomorrow. Once the rest of the team arrives, we'll go over the operation in full."
Kiva dipped her head in acknowledgment, and Mira offered a lazy salute, already turning on her heel. The two walked off together, quiet words shared between them, laughter barely audible over the evening wind.
Rifi stayed a moment longer, watching the sun slip lower behind the rooftops. Then he turned and got to work.
The hours passed in a rhythm of silent obligation. Logistics. Reports. Deployment forms. Reviewing files on his team. Menial work, but necessary. He checked, cross-checked, and personally secured a pouch of mid-grade mana stones for each member of the strike group. Especially for a strike team, it is essential to quickly replenish mana reserves after battle and be ready for the next one as soon as possible.
As dusk deepened into night, Rifi made his way to the records office tucked away in the quieter wing of the stronghold. Only one scribe remained, hunched over a stack of ink-streaked parchment. The air smelled of old paper and mana ink.
Rifi gave two names.
"Rudeus. Lucilia."
The scribe blinked slowly, tired eyes scanning the request before disappearing behind the shelves.
Several minutes passed. The scribe returned, holding a thin stack of tattered documents.
"Nothing since Hepestus," the scribe said softly, apologetically.
Rifi nodded. "Thank you."
He lingered a while, fingers brushing the edge of the desk. They had been five once—five legionaries thrown together by circumstance, held together by duty and fading dreams. Two had died, taken by a beast too fast to stop. Only Rudeus and Lucilia had remained.
And now… maybe not even them.
He walked away without another word, footsteps hollow in the empty hall.
Whatever tomorrow brought—plans, traps, victories or deaths—he would be ready. He had no choice.
But as he stepped back into the night, wind tugging gently at his cloak, he let the silence press in.
He returned to the tavern.
Sure, he could've easily requested one of Suburana's officer suites—something befitting an Orange-Core mage. Luxurious quarters, high ceilings, polished stone, and attendants at the door. They would've granted it without hesitation.
But he didn't want that.
Instead, he returned to the small tavern where he'd spent the night before. The room was modest—cozy, even. A narrow bed, worn furniture, and walls that creaked whenever the wind pressed too hard. It wasn't much.
But it felt right.
Not because of comfort or convenience, but because of the quiet closeness it offered. The kind that stirred memories better left buried. The warmth of a home long gone. The echo of laughter when the world still made sense. When there were people waiting behind doors—sister, father, mother.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting the silence take hold.
He longed to join them—wherever they were now. There were nights when the pull of that thought was almost too strong to ignore.
But one memory held him here.
Just two words, spoken through blood and tears, from a voice far too young to be saying goodbye.
"Please live."
A final plea, whispered with her last breath. And it had never stopped echoing.
So he stayed. He lived. Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.