POV: Nogare / Zentake
The northern wind carried the smell of ash and charred steel. Nogare's boots sank into the soft ruin of Bustleburg's upper district as he followed a trail of blood through the half-collapsed corridor. The faint echo of Zentake's footfalls trailed behind him, light and deliberate, like a shadow following its master.
At the end of the hall, a shape came into view—motionless, slumped against the wall. The flickering light of distant fires revealed Kuroba Rykeri, the rogue, collapsed in a pool of dark blood. His twin daggers lay beside him, one broken, one buried into the stone as if he'd tried to hold his ground to the last.
Standing over him was a Valerian elite soldier, cloaked in tattered armor that shimmered faintly with mana sigils. His helmet's slit gleamed red, reflecting the chaos outside. The elite turned his head slowly, locking eyes with Nogare.
"You're the leader," the man said. His voice was low, almost weary. "Then you die with him."
Nogare didn't answer. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his katana, expression unreadable beneath the drifting ash.
"Strong one," he murmured, half to himself. "Zentake—"
Zentake's body tensed, his right hand forming the sigil of his stance.
"—weaken him," Nogare continued. "Avoid direct hits."
Zentake moved before the words finished. He blurred forward, vanishing in a sweep of dark mist. The Valerian reacted instantly, raising his sword to block, but Zentake's blade didn't aim for flesh.
Zero Roshisutairu – Recovery Strike.
Steel clashed—not with armor, but at the joints between it. Each strike aimed for straps, buckles, and bindings. Sparks scattered like fireflies.
The Valerian staggered back as his shoulder plates fell loose, his cape shredded by invisible cuts. His enchanted armor cracked, the sigils on its surface dimming.
Zentake leapt backward, breathing evenly, shadow aura flickering faintly around his frame. "He's open, Nogare."
The Valerian roared. "You think you can cut me down with tricks?"
He lunged, blade cleaving the air with enough force to shake the floor.
Nogare stepped forward, drawing his katana in one smooth, soundless motion.
Limitless Future – Temporal Slash.
A flash of light. Then silence.
The two passed each other in a blur. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then—clang. The Valerian's sword arm twitched, barely nicked, his armor splitting along the seam—but not enough.
He turned sharply, fury glowing behind his helm. "Pathetic!"
Mana surged through his armor, glowing crimson.
Raging Armor – Reverse Aura!
The air distorted. The mana that wrapped his body began to twist, mirroring Nogare's own energy signature. A reflection skill. Every slash, every intent to kill, would rebound.
Zentake shouted, "Nogare! He's redirecting your fate itself!"
Nogare stood still, blade half-lowered, eyes narrowed in quiet recognition.
"Reflection of fate…" he murmured. "Then it's no longer his."
The Valerian charged. The weight of his step cracked the ground. Nogare's aura flared faintly, not with brightness—but with absence.
The world slowed.
Limitless Future – Fate Nullification.
Sound vanished. The rushing air, the clash of steel, the heartbeat—everything ceased to matter. Nogare moved like a shadow walking through time's empty frame.
He stepped past the Valerian, sheathing his sword in the same motion.
For a second, the soldier stood firm, his blade poised for a counter. Then his chest opened in a line of red.
The life left his eyes before he hit the ground.
The reflected aura faded like smoke on the wind.
Zentake exhaled slowly, stepping forward. "Fate nullification… that's no ordinary cut."
Nogare didn't reply. He was already kneeling beside Kuroba. The rogue's breath came shallow, irregular. His eyes fluttered open, catching the firelight.
"Boss…" Kuroba's voice rasped. "Did… we win?"
Nogare didn't answer right away. He pressed a hand to the man's chest—not to heal, just to acknowledge.
"You kept the gate closed," Nogare said softly. "That's enough."
Kuroba smiled faintly. His eyes began to dim.
"I… slowed him down," he murmured.
Then the breath left him.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The fires outside roared like a storm trying to fill the silence.
Zentake knelt beside Kuroba's fallen body. He didn't speak either. Instead, he began removing the Valerian elite's armor piece by piece, working methodically, almost reverently.
When he finished, he lifted the chestplate and inspected it, the cracked sigils still faintly glowing. "Good material," he muttered. "He won't be needing it."
Nogare rose, looking out through the shattered wall at the burning city below. His voice was calm, detached.
"Take his body," he said. "We're leaving."
Zentake nodded. He lifted Kuroba's body onto his back, adjusting the weight carefully, as though afraid to disturb what little peace the rogue had left.
The two walked out through the broken doorway, the corpses of Valerians at their feet. The wind carried cinders across the sky, painting them red as they moved south—toward the others, toward whatever waited next.
Behind them, Bustleburg continued to burn.
And somewhere in that fire, the name Kuroba Rykeri became one more whisper in Nogare's long list of the dead.