The remaining patrons of The Tipsy Hydra, those who hadn't already made a hasty retreat, flattened themselves against the walls, becoming part of the shadows as they desperately tried to escape the brewing storm. Riko settled into her stance, her black sword held loosely but ready in her grip, its dark steel a stark, grounded contrast to the fading holy light that still clung to Ronan like a stubborn afterimage. She wasn't just looking to defend herself; a cold, determined resolve had settled within her. She was ready to do more than just prove a point. She was ready to end this.
Unexpectedly, Ronan hurled his glowing sword. The blessed steel spun through the air like a silver buzzsaw, a classic, flashy feint designed to draw the eye and force a reaction. But Riko's Kokugan wasn't fixated on the weapon; it was locked onto the brilliant white lines of Ronan's body, tracking his movements as he surged forward in the wake of his own glittering distraction. She sidestepped the whirling projectile with a practiced ease that spoke of countless near-misses, letting it slam with a resounding thwack into the wall behind her, embedding itself in the aged wood. She pivoted instantly, her senses screaming as Ronan arrived exactly where she predicted, his mana-charged fist colliding with the flat of her blade with a deafening clang.
A shockwave of pure force erupted from the point of impact, blasting the remaining mugs off the nearby tables, sending shattered pottery skittering across the floor. Ronan snickered, his face contorted in a manic grin inches from hers, the stench of his sweat and righteous fury assaulting her nostrils. "This⦠this is what the kingdom puts its platinum on?" he sneered, his breath hot against her cheek. "A blind cripple? I should seek out scum like you more often! Easy coin!" He poured on the power, his muscles bulging and flaring with raw mana, forcing Riko to lose precious ground, her boots scraping against the rough floorboards.
Just before her precarious posture broke, she dropped low with surprising agility and kicked him hard in the groin. The Holy Knight's smug expression dissolved into a choked grunt of pain and shock. As he instinctively doubled over, Riko slid effortlessly under his flailing guard and drove her other foot into the back of his knee, the sharp impact sending his leg buckling and him stumbling forward like a puppet with its strings cut.
"SON OF Aâ!" Ronan roared, his face now flushed a furious red, a mixture of pain, surprise, and profound embarrassment. He ripped his embedded sword from the wall with a grunt of effort and charged again, swinging in a wild, telegraphed horizontal arc clearly meant to cleave her in two. It was a clumsy, rage-fueled attack, lacking any of the precision he had displayed moments before. Riko met it with impossible grace, leaping onto the flat of the descending blade, her weight perfectly balanced. She landed with the lightness of a feather, using his own weapon as a precarious springboard, and drove her fist with all her focused power into his face. There was a sickening, wet crunch as the impact shattered his nose, sending a spray of bright red blood across his pristine white armor.
She pushed off his face, landing silently on the dusty floor. Her perception flared, the adrenaline sharpening her senses even further. The sickly purple taint in his aura was no longer a subtle haze; it was a raging storm, brighter and angrier than before. He was feeding his corruption with his pain and fury. Before she could fully process the implications of that terrifying realization, Ronanâs hand shot out with surprising speed, grabbing her by the ankle and yanking her off her feet. He swung her around like a weapon and hurled her across the room. She crashed through a line of already weakened tables, the splintering wood digging painfully into her left arm, a sharp, stinging reminder of her own vulnerability.
He gripped his recovered sword with both hands, the holy mana flaring around him like a miniature, wrathful sun, casting harsh shadows across his bloodied face. "I'm going to kill you," he snarled, his voice thick with hate, "and then I'm going to crush your blind head beneath my heel!"
Riko pushed herself up, wincing as she pulled a long, jagged splinter from her arm, leaving a trail of blood. But as she looked up at the enraged Holy Knight, a faint, confident smirk, almost invisible in the dim light, touched her lips. He was predictable when he was angry.
From the relative safety of the sidelines, the S-rank leader, his initial fear now replaced by a surge of defiant adrenaline fueled by the injustice he had witnessed, clenched his fist. "YOU'VE GOT THIS, RIKO AKARI!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the ravaged tavern. "KICK THAT BRUTE'S SHINY ASS!"
Ronanâs head snapped toward the unexpected support, his focus momentarily breaking. "You're⦠you're rooting for this scum?!" he sputtered, his face contorted in disbelief. "She's a wanted criminal! Aiding and abetting her is treason! I could chop you all in half where you standâ"
His furious threat was abruptly cut short by a sharp grunt of pain. A small, black-hilted daggerâthe one from Riko's hip that had been all but forgotten in the chaosâwas now embedded deep in his thigh, just above the knee. He had been so focused on his dramatic pronouncements and threats towards the onlookers, so blinded by his own self-importance, that he had never perceived her throwing it.
The split second his eyes flicked down in shock and confusion was the only opening she needed.
Riko was already in front of him, moving with a speed that seemed impossible for someone who was supposedly blind. A hard right hook, fueled by her pent-up frustration and a lifetime of brutal training, snapped his head back with a sickening crack. He desperately tried to shove her away to create some breathing room, but she ducked under his clumsy, panicked push and drove a vicious, rising uppercut into his jaw, the force of the blow sending the Holy Knight airborne, his body arching backward like a puppet on frayed strings.
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The remaining S-rank party erupted in a triumphant roar. "RIKO! RIKO! RIKO!"
Their spontaneous chants seemed to pour a tangible energy into her, a surge of validation and support that momentarily eclipsed the throbbing pain in her arm. She met the falling knight in mid-air with a final, devastating punch, delivered with every ounce of her remaining strength, square in the center of his gleaming breastplate. The sound of his holy armor cracking echoed through the ruined tavern like the snapping of a dry branch as he was blasted backward, sailing clean through the already gaping hole in the back wall he had so carelessly created moments earlier.
The party let out one last, unified, triumphant shout: "RIKO!"
She landed on the splintered floor, breathing heavily but with a grim satisfaction settling over her. Without hesitation, she unclasped her sword's scabbard and tossed the entire thing high into the air towards a stunned Lyra. "Lyra! Now!"
The adrenaline of the brutal fight had burned away the last vestiges of the ale-induced haze from Lyraâs mind. Her bright green eyes went wide with understanding. She leaped onto a relatively intact table, catching the airborne scabbard and sword hilt in mid-air with surprising dexterity. Riko was already charging through the hole in the wall.
Ronan was struggling to rise from the crater his undignified landing had created in the muddy street outside. He saw her coming, a white-cloaked blur of focused intent, and tried to raise a mana-imbued hand to block. It was useless.
Lyra, channeling every last dreg of her remaining magical power, slammed her hands onto the hilt of the black sword. "ENLIGHTENMENT!" she roared, and the blade in her hands erupted in a blindingly pure white light, so intense it momentarily bleached the world around them. But as she watched, a strange, flickering red flame began to lick at the base of the blade, crawling upwardsâa raw, untamed power that was undeniably not her own. She didn't have time to question its origin. She poured every ounce of her will into the weapon and hurled it towards her charging friend.
The sword flew, a streaking comet of pure white light intertwined with a volatile, dancing red flame. Riko caught it mid-stride, the handle burning against her calloused palms, and brought it down in a single, fluid, final horizontal arc. The empowered blade struck Ronan on his side, right where his breastplate had already been compromised. There was no dramatic explosion, only a deafening CRACK as the combined forces of Lyraâs holy magic and the mysterious red energy consumed his remaining mana and shattered his once-pristine armor. He was thrown violently across the street, tumbling through the dust and grime before finally skidding to a halt, unconscious and utterly defeated.
Lyra jumped down from the table, wiping sweat from her forehead with a shaky hand. She looked at Riko's sword, which now lay glowing faintly on the ground where her friend had dropped it. There were fresh, black burn marks etched into the leather of the handle, and the base of the blade pulsed with a faint, cherry-red light, still radiating an unnatural heat.
"Rikoâ¦" Lyra muttered to herself, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and concern as she watched her friend emerge from the dust cloud surrounding the fallen Holy Knight. "You are something else entirely."
But the brief moment of hard-won victory was abruptly shattered by a new sound.
A heavy, rhythmic clang... clang... clang echoed from the direction of the royal palace. Each footstep was a deliberate declaration of power, hitting the cobblestone street with enough force to send faint tremors through the ground. Lyraâs face went pale. Riko, her body aching in protest, instinctively wrapped a protective arm around her friend, pulling her back towards the relative cover of the ruined tavern. The splinters in her own arm were a dull, manageable throb compared to the new, overwhelming threat her senses were screaming about.
"A Royal Knight," she whispered, her mind racing. They don't act without a direct command from the King himself. His orders must have been just to retrieve Ronan. He's not my target... not yet. To her Kokugan, this new figure was nothing like the corrupted Ronan. There was no sickly purple taint, only a blindingly pure, oppressively perfect white outlineâa being of immense, disciplined power, a walking embodiment of unwavering authority.
The Royal Knight, clad in unadorned, matte black steel armor that seemed to absorb the very light around him, came to a halt beside Ronan's still form. As he walked past the gaping hole in the tavern wall, his gaze sweeping over the scene with cold, detached assessment, Riko instinctively gripped the hilt of her discarded sword, preparing her weakened body for another impossible fight.
The knight scoffed, a low, dismissive sound that held no humor, without even breaking his stride. "You can let go of your sword, Muganome," his voice, deep and resonant, seemed to vibrate through the very air. "Iâm not here for you. If I were, you'd have been dead where you stand before you even registered my approach."
Before Rikoâs enhanced senses could even scream a proper warning, the world around her seemed to subtly shift. The air directly in front of her shimmered and displaced. The Royal Knight was simply there, his smooth, unadorned helmeted face inches from her own. The sheer speed of his movement was so absolute, so far beyond Ronan's mana-fueled bursts of speed, that her precognitive perception had failed her completely for the first time since her training began.
He chuckled, a low, metallic sound that sent a shiver down Lyra's spine. "I won't hurt you," he stated, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. "I prefer a fight where both combatants can give their absolute all. Butâ¦" His voice dropped, losing all trace of amusement, replaced by a deathly serious intent that felt heavier than his armor. "...if I receive the direct order from the King to kill you, Riko Akari, I will not hesitate for even a single breath."
He backed away as quickly and silently as he had appeared, his unnervingly focused gaze falling upon Ronan's unconscious form. A disappointed sigh, heavy with unspoken judgment, escaped his helmet. He grabbed the defeated Holy Knight by the neck of his bloodied armor, lifting the considerably larger man as if he were a misbehaving child, and began to drag him roughly towards the distant silhouette of the royal palace. In moments, his heavy, rhythmic footsteps faded into the morning air, and he disappeared into the bustling city, leaving Riko and Lyra alone amidst the wreckage.
Lyra let out a shaky breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Riko stood still for a long moment, looking down at her own trembling hands, the adrenaline slowly beginning to recede, leaving a dull ache in its wake. She turned to Lyra, a slight, grim smile touching her lips.
"Iâll get stronger if I need to," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. "But at least for today⦠we're still alive."