The streets were quiet. Too quiet.
Gerald and I walked through the dim-lit alleyways, the echoes of the cathedral's chaos still ringing in my skull. The air smelled of damp stone and distant smoke.
*"So,"* I muttered, kicking a loose pebble. *"Unique classes. How rare are we talking?"*
Gerald scratched his beard, unfazed. *"Rare enough that the last time one popped up, I wasn't born yet."*
I blinked. *"Damn. That's… over a century?"*
***BAM.***
A sharp flick to my forehead sent me stumbling back. *"Ow! What the hell—"*
*"Brat, I'm only seventy this year,"* Gerald grunted.
I rubbed my forehead, staring. *"…Bullshit."*
Most would've guessed fifties, if not for the scar carving through his left eye like a crack in stone.
*"Hmph. Good. At least your eyes aren't broken."*
*"How do you do that?"*
***BAM.***
*"—Master! How do you *do* that?"*
*"Do what?"*
*"Always know what I'm thinking!"*
Gerald exhaled through his nose, the way a man does when explaining why fire burns to a particularly dull child. *"Kid, if you'd lived through decades of war, stood at the peak of swordsmanship, and *still* couldn't read an eighteen-year-old's thoughts, you might as well drown yourself in a latrine."*
I grimaced.
*"Anyway,"* he continued, rolling his shoulders, *"that Unique class of yours isn't half bad. The more effort you put in, the stronger you'll get."*
*"But—"*
A shiver cut me off.
Gerald's eye twitched. His shoulders went still.
*"…You hear that?"*
I didn't. Not at first.
Then—
***Click.***
A dozen boots settling on rooftops.
***Shink.***
Blades unsheathing in unison.
Gerald's hand drifted toward his sword. *"Hm. Forty High First-Class. Eight Blood Roses. And… two Masters."* He tilted his head, listening. He looked to the left where a man walk out of the odd thing was he seemed transparent? As if he was flickering in and out of reality *"Huh. They even sent an Executive. This might go south, kid."*
*"What?"*
*"in my youth walking through these amateur's would have been like taking a stroke in a meadow ."*
*"Wait, you're saying you'll—"*
*"Lose?"* Gerald barked a laugh, sharp as a whetstone. *"Kid. *Kid.* Who the hell do you think your master is?"* He cracked his neck. *"All I meant was I'll have to put in *some* effort. And it won't be *safe* for you if I have to go all out, well you and this side of the city."*
A voice slithered from the shadows.
*"Gerald of the Arch… I don't doubt your skill. But you forget—we're not here for *you.*"*
Gerald didn't flinch. *"You want to kill my student… but claim you're not after me?"* His grin was a blade's edge. *"Who are you kidding?"*
***Shing.***
Every assassin drew their dagger—sickle-shaped, serrated, leaving one arm still tucked in their cloaks.
Gerald unsheathed his sword *an inch.*
And stole the glimmer from every blade in the street.
The air turned to glass.
You could've cut the silence with a knife.
The First Strike**
The air *screamed*.
One moment, the rooftop was empty.
The next—the assassin was *there*, sickle-blade carving toward my neck with the inevitability of a falling guillotine.
I *flinched*—
—and the world *split* in half.
**"Melody of the Silver Moon."**
Gerald's sword left its sheath in a single, singing motion. Not just steel—*light* followed the arc, a silver streak that hung in the air like the tail of a comet.
The assassin's dagger *shattered*.
His body *kept moving* for half a heartbeat before the bisected halves peeled apart, cauterized edges glowing faintly before they crumpled.
No blood. Just the stench of scorched meat.
Gerald didn't pause. His boot *cracked* against the cobblestones, and the ground beneath us *trembled*.
**"Stay close, boy."**
The rooftops *erupted*.
---
### **The Dance of Blades**
Forty cloaked figures descended like a murder of crows, sickles glinting under the moonlight.
Gerald *moved*.
His sword was a living thing—a silver serpent that *danced* between strikes, each motion precise, each step measured.
A **Blood Rose** lunged, dagger aimed for Gerald's ribs.
**"First Verse: Piercing Rain."**
His blade *flickered*—once, twice, thrice—three silver needles of light lancing forward.
The assassin's dagger *splintered* mid-swing, his chest *punctured* in three perfect holes before he even realized he'd been hit.
The second **Blood Rose** came from behind, twin daggers weaving a net of death.
Gerald didn't turn.
**"Second Verse: Silver Waltz."**
His sword *spun*, a silver halo erupting around him. The assassin's daggers *disintegrated* on contact, her arms following a heartbeat later.
She screamed—
—until Gerald's pommel *crushed* her throat.
The remaining assassins *hesitated*.
Then—
***THUD.***
The **Executive** landed.
Tall. Silent. Cloaked in shadows so deep they seemed to *drink* the moonlight.
His sickle-blade wasn't steel—it was *void*, an absence of light given form.
Gerald exhaled, rolling his shoulders. **"Finally. Someone worth the effort."**
The Executive said nothing.
He *moved*.
---
### **The Duel of Silver and Shadow**
Their first clash *shattered* the street.
Gerald's sword met the void-blade in a storm of sparks, silver and darkness warring for dominance.
**"Third Verse: Dawn's Edge."**
His blade *flared*, a crescent of silver light slashing outward. The Executive *twisted*, his form blurring as he phased through the strike—
—only to reappear behind Gerald, void-blade lashing toward his spine.
Gerald *spun*, parrying at the last instant. The force sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, cobblestones *bursting* upward like shattered teeth.
**"Not bad,"** Gerald grunted. **"But you're still too slow."**
The Executive's response was a flurry of strikes—each one faster, each one *darker*, as if the very air corroded where his blade passed.
Gerald countered with practiced precision, his silver aura flaring with each deflection.
**"Fourth Verse: Falling Star."**
He *leaped*, his sword trailing silver fire as he came down like a meteor. The Executive *crossed* his arms, void-blades forming an X—
***BOOM.***
The impact cratered the street, dust and debris exploding outward.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
The Executive *surged* from the smoke, unharmed, his cloak billowing like a living thing.
Gerald *grinned*. **"Now we're talking."**
---
### **The Escape**
I *stumbled* back, the sheer force of their blows threatening to knock me off my feet.
This wasn't a fight I could witness—let alone survive.
I turned to run—
—only for a *shadow* to loom behind me.
Tall. Impossibly tall.
A hand, cold as death, clamped over my mouth.
The last thing I saw was Gerald's silver aura *flaring* like a dying star—
—before darkness *swallowed* me whole.
---
---