Chapter 8: Chapter 7: Bats In The Night

The air between them crackled.

Mira straightened slowly, exhaling steam.

Her cheeks were flushed, and mana flickered visibly across her skin—threads of silver-green light dancing from her rapiers to her fingertips.

She rolled her shoulders.

"Alright," she said, voice low. "Try not to die, vampire."

The runes along her rapiers pulsed.

Ten percent. That should do it, she thought.

The vampire tilted his head slightly, one eye narrowing.

"I see you have a good sense of humor, Saintess," he murmured.

Mira said nothing.

Her blades glowed brighter—wind magic crackling at their edges.

She moved.

Faster than before. A silver-green blur.

Her first strike forced him to parry with both arms. The next nearly broke his guard.

And yet, he chuckled. Teeth flashing. "You can't kill a vampire with brute force."

She ignored him and aimed a slicing kick toward his knee. He barely dodged, stepping back into a guard stance—but too late. Her rapier grazed his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood.

It hissed against his pale skin.

He raised a brow—surprised.

And Mira’s mana surged again.

Fifteen percent.

The air warped around her. The breeze became a gale.

She rushed him, striking with the force of a small tempest. The vampire met her halfway, claws clashing against her blades in bursts of steel and wind.

"You fight like heroes in fairy tales," he said between strikes. "But you're still mortal."

Mira's response was a blast of compressed wind from her rapiers.

He flew backward, flipping mid-air, and landed lightly on a branch high above the clearing.

"You're good, Saintess," he called down. "Too good—" he snapped his fingers "—but I’m not an ordinary vampire either."

The shadows around him swirled.

A cloud of bats exploded from behind his cloak—black wings and shrieks flooding the glade.

Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, swarming toward Mira in a living storm.

She blinked.

"Tch. Cheap trick."

She whirled her rapiers, forming a vortex of slicing wind around her—a protective spiral that shredded the incoming swarm.

But a few slipped through—biting, clawing, distracting.

And through the chaos, the vampire descended like a thunderbolt.

Claws wreathed in darkness.

He struck.

Mira blocked the first swipe, barely dodged the second, and caught a third across her left arm—blood flew, but she gritted her teeth, twisted, and landed a counterblow across his ribs.

Twenty percent.

The ground fractured beneath her.

Her aura exploded outward—gusts of wind and mana spiraling like a divine storm.

The bats screamed and scattered.

Even the vampire was blown away—his eyes widening slightly.

"Such strength!" he whispered. "Unbelievable!"

Mira advanced.

Every step cracked the forest floor. Her gaze glowed brighter, unwavering.

She raised her sword—and with a whisper, the very air behind her split.

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A massive wind spear formed—twisting, razor-sharp, humming with power.

She hurled it.

The vampire hissed, summoning a barrier of black mist—but the spear shattered through it, slamming into him and sending him tumbling across the clearing like a ragdoll.

Smoke rose from where it struck.

He got up, coughing, blood on his lips.

And laughed.

"I admit—I underestimated you, Saintess," he said.

He wiped his mouth, then pointed a clawed finger at her.

Dark symbols lit up around him in a circle.

Arcane. Old. Hungry.

"But I have a job to do," he said, voice lower now, tinged with thrill. "So let’s end the dance here."

A ball of dark fire lashed out—huge, wild, destructive.

Mira’s face hardened, voice pitched sharp.

"Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with fire in the woods?"

She drove her rapiers into the ground—arms outstretched as a red sigil formed before her.

Mana surged down her limbs. She aimed directly at the incoming flame.

She shouted a single word:

"Inferno!"

The air crackled—then burst with crimson flame.

But it wasn’t like the vampire’s wild, demonic fire.

This one was focused. Controlled. Spiraling with intent—burning, but not chaotic.

Her eyes narrowed. “This is not going to end well.”

Two fires—crimson and black—collided mid-air.

A flash of pure white tore across the glade as the explosion bloomed like a miniature sun—vaporizing trees, rocks, soil.

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Everything within a dozen meters vanished in an instant.

The shockwave thundered outward, flattening the forest for a hundred yards.

Clouds split.

Wind screamed.

Silence followed.

Then—ashes.

Cinders drifted down like snow, glowing softly in the moonlight. The clearing was gone, replaced by a smoking crater of scorched earth and molten roots.

From the haze, a figure rose.

Mira.

Smoke coiled off her shoulders. Her sleeves were torn, and a faint burn traced her cheek—but her eyes were steady.

Mana shimmered faintly across her skin.

Her rapiers returned to her hands with a soft hiss of wind.

She stood tall.

Across the crater, something shifted.

A black shape, kneeling.

Then rising—slowly, shakily.

The vampire emerged, cloak in tatters, blood streaming from his brow. His chest heaved.

He looked at her—truly looked—eyes burning with a new intensity.

Not amusement. Not curiosity.

But acknowledgment.

And a hint of fear.

He wiped the blood from his chin and gave a hoarse chuckle. “What... was that?”

Mira rolled her neck, wincing slightly. “Fire Magic. What else?”

He stared a moment longer—then noticed something glimmering on the ground.

Fragments of a crystal.

A green one.

The same one he and his goons had been chanting over earlier.

"Damnit. There goes my work for tonight." He murmured.

Mira followed his gaze. “What exactly were you doing earlier? That crystal—what does it do?”

The vampire didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the shattered shards, green slivers scattered like broken dreams.

Then he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“A pity,” he muttered. “Took me weeks to prepare that.”

Mira took a step forward, blades still in hand. “You’re avoiding the question.”

His eyes flicked to her.

“And you’re awfully nosy for a Saintess.”

She didn’t flinch. “You performed a dark ritual near my town. If you think I’m going to let you walk away—”

“You can't stop me, Saintess.” His tone dropped—quiet, but firm. "You're powerful, but not that powerful, yet."

He gave her a long, unreadable look.

Then turned.

“Wait,” Mira snapped, lifting her blade.

He paused mid-step, his back still to her.

“I’m not done with you,” she said. “Answer me.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then—the vampire said softly: “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Before she could speak again, shadows swirled around his form.

Dozens of bats exploded outward, wings beating furiously as they filled the air with shrieks and smoke.

Mira raised her arms to shield her eyes—but by the time the last echo faded, he was gone.

Only the wind remained.

From above, his voice floated down—faint, but clear, as if spoken beside her ear.

“I’ll be seeing you soon... Saintess.”

And then—silence.

The night reclaimed its stillness, the stars blinking through the smoke.

Mira lowered her blades, eyes scanning the treetops, but there was no trace of him. Or his goons.

Just the crater. The crystal shards. And the weight of something unfinished.

She sighed slowly.

Then turned her gaze to the ground where the green crystal had shattered—its faint light gone, but the lingering mana still buzzing faintly in the air.

Something had been sealed here.

Or summoned.

Whatever it was, it hadn’t been finished.

She clenched her jaw and whispered, more to herself than anyone:

“…I’ll be seeing you too.”

Meanwhile, back in Mermaid’s Cove—

The night had been calm.

Too calm.

Lucien reclined near the second-story window of the inn, nursing a half-drunk glass of cider. The fireplace downstairs crackled faintly, its warmth doing little to ease the tension tightening his chest.

Outside, moonlight spilled across the cobblestones in cold, silver streaks.

Cassian sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping a coin with rhythmic precision. Flick. Flick. Flick. The metal's dance kept time with the ticking wall clock.

Then—something shifted.

A breath in the wind. A subtle tension in the air.

"You feel that?" Lucien asked, sitting up straight.

Cassian’s head turned instinctively toward the jungle, eyes narrowing. “Mana surge...”

Both of them froze.

Then—

Boom!

A flash lit up the horizon—white tinged with crimson—followed by a blast that shook the inn's wooden frame.

Gasps rang out below. Plates clattered. A baby began to cry.

Lucien was already up, cloak swinging over his shoulders.

Cassian rose slower, his voice heavier. “Someone’s fighting out there. Strong. Maybe A-class... no—S-class.”

“S-class...” Lucien echoed, his gaze locked on the distant treeline, still flickering with firelight. “In a sleepy fishing town like this? Intriguing, don’t you think?”

Cassian joined him at the window, watching ash drift like glowing snow. “Your Highness, we need to get you somewhere safe. We're not equipped for a S-class encounter.”

Lucien's expression hardened. “It’s her.”

Cassian turned sharply. “Her?”

“The Saintess of the South.” His voice was low. Certain. “It has to be.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Even if it is, we can’t be sure whether she’s friend or foe. And we still don’t know who or what she’s fighting.”

Lucien was already at the door.

“Bring your sword,” he ordered, voice clipped. “We’re heading into the jungle. I’m not sitting on my hands while a battle like that happens in our backyard.”

Cassian hesitated, then exhaled. “This is a terrible idea, Your Highness.”

“Then you’d better stay close,” Lucien said, vanishing down the stairs.

They moved like wind.

Past startled villagers, through the lantern-lit hall, and out into the night—toward the jungle glowing with firelight, smoke coiling into the stars.

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