The sky looked overcast, and the wind around them felt restless; the gloomy atmosphere heightened the tension, sending shivers down their spines.
Suddenly, without warning, rain began to fall; dark clouds unleashed a cold downpour upon the ground.
The young man with black-and-red hair sprinted with all his might, aiming to close the distance to Verarin and test his skills and strength as a captain of the Knightley Queen.
With every step, he splashed through the puddles formed by the pouring rain.
He thrust his sharp spear forward, ready to pierce his enemy's body. But the attack was parried. Verarin swiftly maneuvered her sword, deflecting the thrust with precise angling and sending the spear's trajectory veering off course.
A spinning slash from Verarin forced the young man to lose his grip on the spear, sending it twirling through the air; his hands flew upward following the impact.
He had no time to retrieve his weapon.
"Damn it...!"
Seizing the opening he had created, Verarin immediately launched an attack.
He aimed his sword at a specific point on the young man's body.
He executed a precise slash, forcing the black-and-red-haired youth to retreat and dodge. However, the blade struck his abdomen first, slicing across his midsection and tearing through both his clothes and skin.
"Ack!"
His body was sent flying and tumbled across the ground; he coughed, and a trace of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Urgh!"
The blood splattered around him, dripping continuously and mingling with the rainwater. He tried to get back up, fighting through the pain inflicted by Verarin's sword.
Even as he struggled to rise, the young man with black-and-red hair let out an amused laugh, as if ignoring the agony.
He looked up and spoke to Verarin. "So, is this the extent of a Knightley Queen captain's power?"
"Surrender and obey my orders. You must accept your punishment for everything you have done," he replied firmly.
"I'm not one of your soldiers; why should I obey orders from someone who isn't even my superior?"
Captain Verarin fell silent—not because she was at a loss for words, but because what he said was true. Yet, rules were rules. The young man had to be punished for everything he had done at the Knightley Queen headquarters.
Upon hearing the word "superior," Verarin immediately wondered who had sent the young man there.
He promptly asked him,
"Who sent you here?"
"Huh?"
"You're acting according to your superior's wishes, aren't you? So, who sent you to commit an illegal act like this?"
The young man remained silent for a moment before doing the first thing necessary when severely injured: healing. He opened his right palm, and energy began to gather there.
He channeled the pure magical energy within him into both hands, releasing a force that formed a bright green circle spinning clockwise.
Verarin was instantly startled at the sight.
(Healing magic...?! Is that from an artifact...?)
The magical energy completely healed the wound on his abdomen; the area that had suffered a severe injury was restored in an instant.
"It's important for you to get information from your opponent, and the same goes for me," he said, breaking the silence.
He felt better now; the pain he had felt earlier had vanished.
The young man then looked back at Verarin, who was still stunned by the instant healing.
"Most criminals say the same thing: they won't reveal who their leader is or the mastermind behind their actions." He continued, "Because they don't want their leader's identity exposed."
"..."
"That's why I won't tell you. But don't get the wrong idea." The young man walked over and stopped beside his spear, which lay on the ground; he picked it up while continuing to speak.
"I am not a villain; I was merely defending myself after being attacked by you lot. Had you simply handed over the Staff of Miracle, none of this would have happened."
"The Staff of Miracle...?!" Verarin was instantly taken aback.
It turned out that the mysterious young man—with his black and red hair—had been targeting a legendary artifact heavily guarded within the Knightley Queen headquarters. That was the sole reason behind his actions. Verarin tried to compose himself and reflect for a moment, realizing that this entire ordeal—which could only be described as a massacre—had stemmed from that single objective.
However, his gaze instantly fell upon the Knightley Queen knights he had struck down. All of them were gravely wounded; some had even died from stab wounds.
He finally reached a definitive conclusion.
"After everything you've done... you don't deserve that legendary artifact! The Staff of Miracle is a legendary relic we have guarded across the ages—it has witnessed the rise of the Knightley Queen. I will never hand it over to someone like you!"
"Then, you are my enemy."
The rain began to pour even harder.
The two of them simply stood facing one another.
Raindrops pelted the ground ceaselessly, disturbing the small puddles forming between them. The sound of the downpour filled the battlefield, drowning out the lingering echoes of the recent clash.
The falling rain also beat down upon the bodies of the fallen knights.
Water streamed from their soaked hair, running down their cheeks and the sides of their faces before dripping from their chins. Their garments, once light, now clung to their bodies, heavy with the water they had absorbed.
Verarin's breastplate, previously dry, was now slick with moisture, with raindrops cascading off its lower edge.
Swords, daggers, and spears were likewise drenched by the relentless rain.
Then, the voice of the young man with black-and-red hair broke the silence. Though the sound was partially muffled by the rain, he raised his voice to be heard.
"There is a certain appeal to listening to the ceaseless patter of the rain."
Verarin replied with a hint of sarcasm.
"The coming storm will sweep you away from here... unless, of course, you choose to leave of your own accord."
"I'm not leaving; I'm going to get that artifact."
"Don't try it," Verarin retorted.
Both steeled themselves and drew their weapons against one another. The rain continued to fall. Neither moved at first, until finally, Verarin surged forward, and the young man advanced to meet her.
They sprinted through the rain, water splashing beneath their boots.
They locked eyes, each wielding their weapon with a similar grip yet employing distinct techniques.
The young man thrust his spear forward.
"Haa!"
But Verarin swung his sword in a horizontal arc.
"...!"
Their weapons clashed amidst the rain, sending a shockwave of aura—generated by the impact of the blades—rippling outward into the surroundings.
And so, the battle began anew.