Chapter 59: Intervention

Blood flowed from her arm like rain cascading off a roof, glistening under the equally crimson night sky.

Jeanne ripped apart the blood-drenched sleeve at the gash, removing the fabric from her entire upper arm, and clamped a corner between her teeth. Hastily, she bound a makeshift bandage around her arm, where the bone was just barely visible.

"Too bad I didn't cut your tongue," the Inquisitor said, her smile twisted with a wild fervor, as if the neck of  the Hound were beneath her guillotine, and her sword was connected to the rope raising the blade.

Blood meandered down the delicate chin of the black-haired woman. She gave a nonchalant shrug, her blade descending as she extended her arms expansively, as though to embrace either an old friend or a lover. With a smile, she took a small step towards Jeanne.

Jeanne inhaled deeply, filling her burning lungs with the chill air. Her breathing sounded like the wheezing of a rusted bellows. She licked the sweat that trickled past her lips, tasting the slightly bitter saltiness, and then she stretched her arm, which felt slightly numb.

The wind ceased, and the gray mist began to spread again, enveloping the narrow alley, engulfing her boots like a blizzard, and shrouding the Hound who stood opposite her. Jeanne could smell the stench of rotting flesh in the fog, mingling with the bitterness on her tongue.

In the blink of an eye, the Hound leapt forward, her blade tearing through the mist as if imbued with sorcery.

Jeanne raised her sword to block, the clash of blades echoing like thunder, accompanied by the buzzing of metal vibrations that seemed to threaten to tear open the wound in her upper arm even further.

Pain.

The contest of strength brought sharp pain, the vibration of metal rendered her already numb arm feel unbearably heavy and unexpectedly exhausting. Sweat drenched her hair and clothes, but Jeanne remained unmoved, focusing solely on her opponent. Her hands firmly gripping the longsword, veins bulging in her wrists as she resisted the downward thrust of the other blade. The explosion of spell collisions reverberated above, black shadows and white flames intertwined under the blood moon, flickering incessantly—as if cheering.

I will kill you.

The blades separated, then kissed again, clashing like the jaws of a dragon. The sharp edges grazed sweat-soaked skin and clothing, spinning in the light of the crimson night sky.

Each inhalation felt like swallowing a blunt knife  down her throat, yet Jeanne's smile persisted, her lungs seemingly transformed into a boiling, fiery furnace, and still, her smile persisted. The surrounding noise was subdued, as if coming from a distant world, the towering walls on either side receding into the distance, blending with the fog, everything growing blurred. In Jeanne's eyes, there existed only the intersecting flashes of swords and the thin skin on her opponent's neck, along with the faint green veins beneath.

The artery.

Jeanne knew what it was—just let those pale green lines fully open, and a person would easily walk towards death.

They resembled two shadows intersecting, or rotating geometric forms. Intermittent straight lines and arcs wove together into a dynamic abstract composition, contorting the surrounding fog amid the resonance of metal.

They hacked and slashed like two she-wolves, cutting, slicing, and thrusting, sending sprays of blood and opening glaring wounds.

A slash marred her left cheek, exposing her white teeth; her right waist was torn, displaying a distinct, palm-length gash. Jeanne saw the Hound extending her slender fingers towards the moonlight, abruptly dropping into a crouch, her longsword sweeping over the woman's head, only to be followed by the Hound's blade at Jeanne's feet. With a forceful leap backward, blood sprayed, her ankle opened with a five-fingered long laceration.

Landing.

The Hound charged after her, her long blade turning into a gleaming whirlwind, grazing her cheek, sliding towards her sword arm.

Jeanne drew a deep breath, bending low as she swung her sword horizontally with force, simultaneously delivering a kick to the Hound's blood- and sweat-soaked ankle. In response, the Hound raised her knee to intercept the blow, striking Jeanne's waist where muscle and skin had already ruptured.

The pain made her feel alive.

Both staggered unsteadily for a moment, then swung their weapons fiercely in an instant.

One sword, two swords, three swords—Jeanne swung each with the force to cleave a person in half, bones and all.

The Hound stumbled. She leapt back with a movement no human could achieve, turning in the air like an owl, crouching on a horizontal bar more than five meters above.

The cheers of spells grew even more intense.

Jeanne swept the sweat-soaked golden hair from her forehead back, her full chest heaving against her empty abdomen. She lowered her body, flexed her numb and aching arm, and calmed her fiery, furnace-like panting.

"You sure can jump high, are you some kind of monkey from the woods?" Jeanne spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, mocking her in a hoarse voice.

"If I didn't jump high, I'd be croaking with you," the Hound shrugged.

The smile vanished.

A hoarse voice shouted, "JUMP BACK!"

It was Salser's roar...

Jeanne quickly retreated, her foot, slashed by the blade, stepping into a pool of blood, nearly slipping. Her body exposed to the incoming gray-black beam—while a white cobra, swelling wildly as if about to explode, closely trailing behind, swift and radiant, yet significantly slower than the beam.

No...

The next moment, the sound of tearing drowned out the echo of the beam piercing the earth.

The Shadow Throne's spell was suddenly interrupted, the tearing sound signifying the disruption of the Warren. A flint longsword appeared out of nowhere beside the black-robed figure, cutting off the priest's opened Warren.

The Hound woman looked up, then clicked her tongue in disappointment.

It was a warrior of the T'lan Imass—Chavazon Turan. He stopped the Shadow Throne priest's spell, then landed beside Salser like a wisp of smoke.

At this moment, the narrow gap was surprisingly quiet.

"A T'lan Imass?" The priest's voice was full of suspicion, "What are you doing here?" His shadow-formed lower body floated in the air, like black fog. He shook his head, "I didn't think you'd intervene in such matters."

Taking this opportunity, Salser descended from the sky to Jeanne's side. A white snake, wreathed in flames, coiled around them, its mouth agape like a grand vestibule, a forked tongue dangling menacingly. "Can you move? If not, I'll have to carry you," he asked. "Chavazon might not be able to hold them off, but he can buy us the time needed to make our escape."

Jeanne first glanced at Viola to confirm she was unharmed, then nodded, her expression calm.

"Right. I am presently unable to mend the cut upon your face, so it must remain for the time being," Salser paused, then added, "Furthermore, Chavazon has entrusted me with a token, which I will hand over to you once we get out."

"You're talking way too much," Jeanne said with a grin, her left cheek slashed open, revealing white teeth that looked quite eerie.

"This is an intervention due to the alliance," Chavazon said in a voice like grinding bones, "I don't want to attack you, I'm just providing an opportunity for my alliance partner to leave."

⏴ Previous chapter 丨Main丨 Next chapter ⏵

🔮Discord