Path of Glory

5

“Who are you?” She crossed her sabers and sent a slash of purple light toward the person who was standing in her way.

A shrill cry echoed throughout their surroundings, and the cross-shaped cut turned into a soaring bird of prey with a massive wingspan. When its claws touched the ground, they cut through it as easily as a tailor’s scissors cut through cloth. The wide wings produced echoes so powerful that they reached the walls of Sukhashim and easily left long scratches on the magical rock.

Along with her Technique, Arkemeya released her True Kingdom of the Twin Sabers and, with a reverse slash of both sabers, sent out two more attacks, which turned into huge beaks. All this power, which even made the orcs who were a few miles away turn around, splattered against a lone white sword. The short blade first sliced through the bird in one motion, and then the waves of white fire that spread out from it shattered the beaks as well.

“What…” Arkemeya collapsed to her knees. All her power, for which she’d almost sold her soul to Helmer, was useless.

“Who... are you?” She repeated.

The girl who appeared out of nowhere didn’t answer Arkemeya’s question. She was beautiful. Arkemeya had lived most of her life among the Dah’Khasses. She had succubus and incubus blood in her, and she’d seen beings so beautiful that any artist would’ve given their left hand for the opportunity to sketch them. However, never before had she met a girl this breathtaking. Her beauty was natural, not only connected to her appearance, but also something that was invisible to the naked eye. She was graceful, her pink skin visible between the white strips of fabric she was covered with, her white hair adorned by a golden tiara. Her face was oval, with delicate cheekbones, elegant brows, a perfectly proportional nose, and a high forehead. Her red lips were sensuous all on their own, without any help from alchemy. Her green eyes, framed by dark, long lashes, were gentle and distant. Long, narrow ears peeked out from under a shock of hair. At first, Arkemeya had thought she was an elf, but the girl’s power structure was too different for her to be one.

“Who are you?” Arkemeya repeated yet again.

The girl said nothing. The wind, which had brought a blizzard with it, made the silver necklace she wore on her elegant neck sway. It flashed with a bright light. Silently, she turned around, walked up to the swordsman and Hadjar, then plunged her sword into the ground next to them. A roaring stream of white fire, swirling violently toward the sky, hid the two silhouettes from view. As soon as the wind started blowing again, she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.

 

A

 few cars sped down a deserted street. Brakes screeching, they tried to make a narrow turn. Fortunately, there were no crashes.

Boreas smoked and watched the people walking along the sidewalk and complaining that winter had begun so suddenly. Well, it wasn’t like it was unusual for the northernmost metropolis of the world to be snowy at the end of December.

As he puffed out a cloud of smoke, Boreas watched the gray trickles spiral and disappear into the snow and clouds. He loved this city — its granite bridges and embankments, its spires and domes, the dark river that cut through it, the new bridges that glowed like Christmas trees at night, the parks and gardens, and the architecture and atmosphere.

“Is this my heaven?” Boreas drawled, lowering his cigarette. “Or my hell?”

The blizzard caressed the roofs of the buildings and the cars parked at the curbs. At this early hour, there weren’t many passersby, so almost no one complained about it.

“You’ve been running from me for a long time.”

Hadjar looked up. In front of him stood a woman with black hair, dark eyes, and a beautiful face. She was wearing a white fur coat that went all the way down to her black leather boots.

“We’ve met before,” she said. “At the lake. You should’ve died. But you ran away… I don’t like it when people run from me.”

Hadjar took such a long drag that his lungs tingled. He puffed out another cloud of smoke. For a few moments, it resembled a ring, and then it dissipated.

“Is this a dream? Or am I actually dead?”

The woman came closer. She reminded him of the Spirit he’d met in the oasis — she shared her features with the most beautiful women he’d ever met. He wondered who had given her hair the color of a moonless night.

The cigarette burned his fingers, but he took a drag anyway. Searing the filter and skin, he enjoyed the way the fire gnawed on them. He loved winter. Once upon a time, at the hospital, one of his few pastimes had been to watch the frost decorate the windows with various patterns. Then, when he’d wandered around the world while disabled, during winter, he’d even managed to communicate with people. When it had been cold, everyone had wrapped themselves up in warm clothes, and he, a freak covered in layers of clothing just like everyone else, had been able to talk to other people.

“Today, I’ll take back what was always rightfully mine.”

The woman took a step forward. A sword appeared in her hands.

“So, I’m not dead yet,” Boreas sighed, throwing the butt of his cigarette into a trash can. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of the frosty air. It wasn’t as clean as it was in the Nameless World. Here, it was polluted, smelling of something pungent mixed with plastic and high-quality steel. Sometimes, he’d missed this air.

The woman lunged forward. Her attack was no less skilled than that of an experienced swordsman. Although, it would probably be harder to not become proficient when one practiced swordsmanship for countless ages.

He dodged with the ease of someone avoiding a petulant child’s tantrum. It was worth noting that the woman had mostly practiced her swordsmanship against opponents who could hardly move a finger at the time. In midair, she turned around and kicked off a lamppost. Leaping over a bench, she landed right next to him. Her black blade came down toward Boreas’ head.

The woman took a step forward. A sword appeared in her hands.

“So, I’m not dead yet,” Boreas sighed, throwing the butt of his cigarette into a trash can. He lifted his head and took a deep breath of the frosty air. It wasn’t as clean as it was in the Nameless World. Here, it was polluted, smelling of something pungent mixed with plastic and high-quality steel. Sometimes, he’d missed this air.