Stepping out of the manor and into the cool night air, Shiro lifted his head toward the two pale moons hanging in the sky. For a moment, the sight reminded him of the cavern. It was almost as if he had been transported back there.
His thoughts drifted.
'I wonder where those two ended up.'
The memory soon gave way to the events of his first loop.
The rooms that were assigned to them were too isolated. If the anomaly had been the one to kill him, it could have done so without anyone realizing.
Sleep was impossible now. Knowing that death could claim him at any moment, Shiro decided his best defense was to get a makeshift weapon or stay close to the guards.
As he walked farther into the courtyard, several guards were stationed around the mansion, keeping watch over the grounds.
"Hey, hold it right there!"
A broad-shouldered guard strode toward him, eyeing him up and down. "I don't recall seeing you before."
Another, younger guard approached and waved a hand dismissively. "Relax. He's one of the guests."
"My mistake," the broad-shouldered guard said apologetically. "Everything all right?"
"Yes. I just needed some air."
"Well, you're in luck. You can join us in patrolling the manor—"
Before the young guard could finish, the broad-shouldered guard smacked him on the back of the head.
"What are you doing, Brenn? Don't you want to keep your job? What if the lord sees you? And where's your helmet?"
"My helmet?" Brenn rubbed the back of his head. "I kind of lost it."
"Do you know how much trouble you'll get into if you flout the dress code?"
"I looked everywhere for it and couldn't find it. It got so late that if I kept searching, I would've missed the night shift entirely."
"Fine. Search for it tomorrow. Just be careful not to lose it again."
A sharp whistle suddenly pierced the courtyard.
"Gareth!!" The broad-shouldered guard looked across the grounds and turned toward Brenn.
"Keep an eye on the guest, and don't let him wander beyond the courtyard. It's late." He hurried away.
"Leaders, right?"
"Mm."
Brenn turned toward Shiro. "You know, I didn't think we'd have visitors after all the rumors surrounding this town."
"Rumors?"
"Don't mind me rambling." The young guard lowered his voice. "The folks say there was a woman who used to live here. Her brother drove her to her death, and they say her vengeful spirit never left. They claim they can hear her crying at night, sobbing and whimpering as though she's calling out someone's name."
Shiro's brow rose slightly.
"I've been here for a month and haven't seen or heard anything. I'm starting to think maybe the rumors aren't true."
Brenn stared at Shiro, who appeared to be around his age. "If I had to guess, you're here for the same reason I am, aren't you?"
Shiro stared at the enthusiastic young man. He couldn't exactly tell him that he was trapped inside a rift and tracking an anomaly, and that Brenn was not a real person, just an illusion conjured by the rift. The only thing he could do was go along with the assumption.
"Yeah."
The two continued strolling around the courtyard. Then a chill crawled up Shiro's spine.
This presence... It's a parasitic anomaly.
In the next moment, a shadow fell over them. Their heads snapped upward. A silhouette crouched on the balcony railing above.
"Stand back!"
Brenn shoved Shiro aside just as the figure dropped from the balcony with a downward chop.
Clang!
Steel collided with the shaft. The impact nearly wrenched the weapon from his grip, yet the guard remained firmly planted. The figure landed lightly, and the surrounding lanterns flickered once before plunging the courtyard into darkness.
"You're trespassing on the lord's property." Brenn tightened his grip. "Lay down your weapon and surrender."
The courtyard fell silent, save for the cold wind sweeping between them.
"Are you deaf? I said lay down your weapon and surrender. Or I will be forced to take you down." He pointed his polearm at the figure.
For a moment, neither moved. They remained locked in a tense standoff until the figure slowly stepped out of the shadows.
Moonlight revealed a figure clad in a tattered mantle and wearing the exact steel helmet the guard had been searching for. The dark blade of the axe scraped against the ground, scattering sparks as it advanced.
In the next moment, the attacker's fingers spread. He hurled a marble, followed by a flash of steel slicing through it.
BOOF!
Thick, grey smoke billowed outward, masking both Brenn and Shiro.
"Ugh! What is this?"
A moment later, something moved within the smoke. Shiro reacted on instinct, jerking his head left as something whistled past him before being shoved back by the guard.
"Move aside!!"
Clang!
Brenn's eyes narrowed. Why isn't he moving toward the mansion? Instead, he's here, where he'll be surrounded once the others arrive... Unless the target isn't the Patriarch.
His gaze shifted toward Shiro. But the guest...
A faint red ripple traveled along the shaft of his polearm. The attacker moved again with sudden, impossible speed. Brenn lowered his stance and charged.
Clang, Cling!
The axe missed its mark as Brenn twisted aside.
Why am I suddenly getting slow? Is this the effect of the fog?
The blade scratched his chest plate and grazed past his neck, leaving a thin line of blood. He kicked off the ground to avoid a fatal strike. Damn it, how much longer do I have to hold until they arrive?
The attacker hurled another marble toward the guard, then a blade flashed beneath the moonlight.
BOOM!
A flash of light tore at his sight.
"Argh! My eyes!"
The attacker struck his throat with the bottom of the poleaxe. He staggered, coughing violently. Before he could recover, a heavy kick slammed into his chest.
Thud!
His body flew several meters before crashing onto the ground. The polearm slipped from his hands.
Shiro barely had time to react before the attacker's attention shifted toward him.
In the boundary between life and death.
He grabbed the fallen polearm and deflected the blade etched with jagged, crimson vein-like inscriptions across its spine to his left, missing him by an inch.
Those markings. I have seen them somewhere.
With a sudden twist, he executed a clumsy thrust.
Cling!
The impact rattled every bone in his hands, sending him stumbling a few meters back before vanishing.
Shiro's eyes widened. It vanished?
He immediately assumed a battle stance, scanning the grayish surroundings.
Cold sweat formed on his forehead. The weapon felt completely unfamiliar in his hands. It was too long, too heavy, unbalanced. He could not rely on his vision or hearing in this case, only his heightened sense of presence from the long battles of his original world.
However, it seemed useless. The corrosive essence he was sensing was weak and barely registering, as if it was far away.
One second he stood in an awkward, knock-kneed stance, and the next, the attacker was above him, swinging the heavy blade toward his shoulder.
Shiro sidestepped, avoiding the strike by an inch. But the attacker had no intention of slowing. Slash after slash kept coming, each one growing stronger and faster than the last. Each time the axe struck the polearm, the impact jolted through Shiro's arms. Every fiber of his body immediately protested. His grip was becoming slack, his footing worse. He had no proper technique for this weapon; every movement required conscious effort.
He didn't try to overpower it. Instead, he focused on surviving each exchange.
He remembered watching Lloyd practice with his lance, the way he kept his hands positioned, the way he shifted his feet before thrusting, the way he recovered immediately after every attack. Shiro copied what he could. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.
As the two exchanged blows across the courtyard, his breathing became heavier. His arms trembled beneath the weight of the polearm. He lunged forward desperately. The attacker caught the polearm and pulled, forcing Shiro forward.
A flash of steel cut through the air. The axe struck deep into Shiro's right bicep.
"Ugh!"
Fresh blood sprayed, staining his shirt.
Gritting his teeth through the blinding agony, Shiro used the very momentum of the pull and drove his boot upward, slamming a desperate kick straight into the attacker's gut.
The attacker staggered backward. Taking advantage of his loss of balance, Shiro drove the tip of the polearm forward.
The attacker raised his axe to shield against the tip.
Crack!
The blade of the axe broke like porcelain.
The polearm's tip punched straight through the broken defense and drove into the figure's leg with his protesting right arm.
STAB!
Shiro violently pulled the weapon back.
"Argh!"
"So you're not completely mindless," Shiro snarled, his vision swimming with pain. "However, it's too late to abandon your host."
Shiro raised the heavy blade high, ready to deliver the killing blow.
However, victory was short-lived.
A dozen heavy roof tiles rained down from the estate like a barrage of daggers. Shiro was forced to throw himself backward, skidding violently across the dirt as the heavy clay tiles shattered into dust right where he had stood a second before.
By the time the dust settled, the attacker had vanished back into the night, leaving Shiro standing alone in the cold air, his chest heaving as the adrenaline finally began to fade, leaving behind a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
Across the courtyard, Brenn lay motionless on the stone, knocked completely out of the fight, while the shattered remnants of the roof tiles testified to the enemy's sudden escape.
Shiro's legs buckled slightly, his weight sliding heavily against the rough stone of the mansion wall as he tried to catch his breath. The blood from his freshly torn bicep seeped steadily through his bandages, hot and sticky against his skin.
"It's gone."
Then he heard them. The sound of multiple footsteps clanking against the cobblestone with each hurried step.
Lantern light spilled across the courtyard as a squad of guards rushed in. The broad-shouldered guard from earlier was at the front, his face grim with alarm.
"Secure the perimeter. Search the grounds. I want to know how they got in."