Allen looked at Ghislane, now just a few feet in front of him, and laughed heartily.
The killing intent that had gripped him during the chase and combat dissipated instantly.
It wasn't some Burreus bloodline acting up.
It was because the woman in front of him was a genuine Kenshin Ryū (Sword God Style) Ken'ō (Sword King).
He finally didn't have to learn swordsmanship from someone like Paul, whose sword speed was even slower than his own.
A true victory.
Of course, beyond that, there was also the emotional factor from the original plot.
Allen blinked, looking straight ahead at Ghislane, who was half-submerged in the swamp.
She had chocolate-colored skin, unkempt gray-black hair hanging down her shoulders, an eyepatch over one eye, and tall upright ears giving her a wild and spirited appearance.
Even drenched and bedraggled, she radiated sharp intensity.
She wore the same revealing leather outfit as in the original anime—so exposed it was uncanny. Yet not even the slightest sense of allure crossed Allen's mind.
Because this woman's arms were about as thick as his legs, and her towering build erased any connection to the feminine traits beneath the outfit.
Even while half-submerged, she was still eye-level with Allen, who was crouching.
All of it pointed to one thing:
Ghislane was strong. A very powerful Kenshin Ryū swordsman.
Yeah…
Which meant Paul really was impressive.
Even if he couldn't take a single strike of Allen's Mukōon no Tachi (Silent Blade) now—
It didn't diminish his achievements.
Ghislane silently observed Allen's changing expressions—his shifting emotions painted clearly on his face. Her gaze trailed from his expression to his body, then down to the hand that always gripped his blade.
A trace of admiration flashed in her eye.
She finally spoke in a low and steady voice.
"Allen, huh? Just as I imagined."
Allen blinked. "Imagined?"
Ghislane paused, as if wanting to say something more, but ultimately changed the subject.
"Sorry. I wasn't able to help. At best I could only draw Jade's attention by yelling like that."
Allen glanced at her serious face and chuckled.
"It helped a lot. Really."
Before him, faint smoke shimmered—
[Immediate Mission: Philip's Intentions and the True Mastermind—Completed]
[Contribution Score—Increased!]
[You saw through Philip's scheme early. As for tonight's twists, the staged kidnapping turned assassination, you've already formed your suspicions about the ones behind it.]
[And the extra variable you introduced—why would you need Ghislane to "hold the line" at all?]
[Who's standing in the swamp now? And who killed Nacule and Jade?]
[Hokushin Ryū Promotion: Saint Rank]
[What's more convincing than slaying two Hokushin Ryū Saint-level swordsmen within one hour?]
[Even your eccentric master, the so-called Hokushin Second Generation who's desperate to poach you from the Suijin Ryū (Water God Style) dojo, probably won't hold back on the praise this time.]
[Even if his promotions are known to be a bit… casual.]
[Assessment: In battlefield adaptability, you're a genius. The doors of the Kibaha faction are always open to you.]
[Said by Hokushin No. 2, not me.]
Allen's mouth twitched.
The uneven standards of Hokushin Ryū swordsmen were largely thanks to that very same Hokushin No. 2, who popularized the chaotic Kibaha style.
As long as someone had a solid foundation and clever practical ideas, even a mirror-covered clown could be named a Hokushin-ō (North King).
The system's evaluations were based on the overall average for each rank.
So it wasn't strange at all for Allen to be promoted to Hokushin Ryū Saint after slaying two Saints.
After all, there were way too many "Saints" in that school.
Apparently, there were nearly forty Hokushin-ō in the world.
Yet only one true Ken'ō.
Absurd.
Even Ghislane would cry at that.
Well, she didn't cry. But she did look down at Allen's extended hand, paused for a moment, then placed her large, calloused hand atop his.
She responded with sincere awkwardness:
"I didn't help at all. Are Miss Eris and the others alright?"
Her words pulled Allen out of his swirling thoughts. He blinked and instinctively held her hand.
"They're fine. I already dealt with the bandits. They're all—"
As he spoke, their palms fully connected. Her hand was larger than expected and so rough it reminded him of weather-worn rocks by the roadside.
And filled with power.
A sword king's strength, honed over years.
Power, yes—
Wait.
Too much power.
That thought had barely flickered in his mind when he realized—
He'd laid down planks over the swamp earlier for dramatic effect.
And under the planks?
Just swampwater.
No solid footing.
Crack—
The board beneath him snapped.
Ghislane, three times his weight, yanked him straight into the water.
Allen quickly flipped himself out of the muck—but now he understood why she hadn't moved this whole time.
There was no traction.
Her quadruped combat form couldn't function, and that red lubricant mixed into the swamp made all reactive force meaningless.
Even when he flailed, his body didn't budge.
Staying afloat alone meant Ghislane had masterful control over her dōki.
Rain pounded down.
Allen stared at the broken boards floating around him.
He fell silent.
So did Ghislane.
She eyed Allen, now covered in mud and completely unlike his earlier heroic self.
After some hesitation, she finally spoke—still completely serious.
"…Sorry."
"…No need to apologize. This rain should dilute the lubricant, right?"
"I already tested it. When I was fighting Jade earlier, I felt some traction before he threw more red goop in. Hard to say now. If they were still alive, we could ask."
Allen glanced at the two neatly arranged heads on the bank.
He swallowed hard.
For a moment, he couldn't tell if Ghislane was joking or not.
But when he turned, she was staring at the heads with a perfectly straight face.
He swallowed again.
"…Forget them. Dead is dead. So how much did he throw the first time? Do you remember?"
"He threw several. I didn't count."
"…Right. Then from the moment you got stuck to the moment you felt traction—can you estimate how long?"
"Let me think…"
A long pause.
"…Sorry. Can't really calculate."
Allen stared at the shattered boards drifting beside him, his lips opening and closing several times before he finally muttered a single word:
"Six."
(End of Chapter)
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