I, Guinevere, am going to crush you, you curry stick, today!

In an instant, Guinevere had also made her decision. No matter what your intentions were, the runes were drawn on stone. As far as she knew, no matter what kind of rune magic it was, whether it was runes or anything else, it always needed a vessel to be effective. Even if there were highly skilled magicians who could draw runes out of thin air, they were masters at the very top of the pyramid, and there might not be one left in a hundred years. If you really encountered one, you could only lament your bad luck.

Since magic requires an object to function, destroying the object instead of dismantling the spell is a viable solution. With that thought, she kicked a small pebble, sending it flying, and with a "whoosh," drew her sword. A gentle breeze stirred, and the girl softly said, "Sword, oh sword, this is doing a good deed. My companions, and so many others, are in danger. As the saying goes, saving a life is better than building ten cathedrals. Help me, just once..."

Whether the sword truly possessed sentience or not, it seemed to have taken these words to heart. The blade trembled slightly, and amidst the humming sound, a faint radiance suddenly appeared on its surface, a light that resembled the faint yet bright starlight in a clear night sky.

"thanks."

Guinevere smiled slightly at the sword, then looked up again, her eyes now serious. She still held the sword in one hand, but her free right hand seemed to unconsciously grasp something, her fingers tightening and then loosening. At the same time, she stepped forward, and as her shadow fell on the largest rock, the sword whistled through the air and slashed down!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Heroes of the Past (Part 2)

click -

The sword's edge first touched the invisible barrier, as if landing on a thin film of water. The force of the strike was slightly hindered, but the starlight on the edge suddenly intensified, becoming even brighter than before. The sword's edge also seemed to become even sharper because of this light. Pressing down, a series of cracking sounds, like shattering glass, rang out, and the barrier broke in response. At the same time, countless crystalline fragments flew out with the sword, suddenly turning into countless tiny flames under the sunlight.

In that instant, the scene she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye seemed to stretch endlessly: the barrier shattered, countless crystalline fragments flew out, reflecting a rainbow of colors in the sunlight. This light then ignited, elongating and extending, transforming into the shape of hundreds of arrows formed of flame, aimed at her. The swirling wind gradually intensified, the sword's edge cleaving through the barrier without pausing, slashing down at the giant rock below.

Swish, swish, swish—the arrows took shape, shot out, scattering sparks along their path, landing on the branches and leaves with a crackling sound. In just two or three breaths, the arrows rained down like a dense storm, each aimed at a vital part of the human body. Coupled with the raging flames, let alone a hundred arrows, even if only one hit, it would probably be fatal here.

Guinevere pursed her lips, slashed her sword at the boulder with a loud bang, sending stone chips flying. Her sword sliced ​​through the boulder like a hot knife through butter, cutting down without any hindrance. The rock split open on both sides, and runes appeared—a sword strike!

At the same moment, the surrounding air seemed to contract for a split second, a fierce wind arose, forming vortexes that swayed the first batch of rockets off course. A few, however, were not completely deflected, grazing past her and leaving charred marks on her clothes. The second wave of arrows followed closely behind, the wind howling like a roar. The girl tilted her head, a wave of heat hitting her face, and two or three strands of her hair, already charred, fluttered in the wind.

Her gaze remained fixed on the large rock in front of her, without wavering for a moment.

The rune lasted less than a second under the blade before being shattered into pure magic and dissipating. The surrounding rockets were now in their third wave. The first two waves had mostly been deflected by the wind, leaving only minor damage to the girl. However, with the third wave of attack, the sudden gust of wind finally showed signs of weakening.

As for the arrows that had been carried in other directions, or embedded in the ground or trees, they were engulfed in raging flames. From within the fire, even more arrows emerged, hurtling towards her with a terrifying whooshing sound. Dense and endless, this time it was as if a wall of fire was being pushed towards her—

"Tsk..."

Guinevere clicked her tongue softly, tossed the seed she was clutching in her palm, and retreated swiftly. The seed transformed into a large cloth, offering some protection from the incoming rain of arrows, but it was riddled with holes. Flames spread, and just two or three seconds later, with a sharp tearing sound, the entire cloth was ripped apart, the fragments scattering and burning to ashes in the flames.

But the girl turned her body, and her longsword had already cleaved the second stone.

The five stones—two large and three small—seemed to be arranged in a specific pattern. Her two sword strikes targeted the two largest stones, a deliberate choice considering that most people would start by destroying the weakest point. If she were the one who created the barrier, she would likely do the same. Perhaps for this reason, the destruction of the two stones and the disappearance of the runes didn't trigger any new spells; the only attack she received was the fire arrow that appeared when the barrier was broken.

Although the endless stream of rockets was troublesome enough, Guinevere couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Especially since she sensed that the battles at the other two locations had stopped—as the first rock was destroyed, the eight black dust figures on Tristan's side vanished without a trace, and when the sword had just cleaved the second boulder, the skeletal boar that was wrestling with Artoria collapsed to the ground with a crash. The boar, unable to control its strength, crashed headfirst into a tree and clutched its head… It was a pity she didn't witness it firsthand.

Within the reach of the wind, one can form a general impression of what is happening in one's mind, but it is never as real as seeing it with one's own eyes. Guinevere couldn't help but feel a little regretful, but the situation was urgent, and this thought of "anything is fine" only flashed through her mind. She looked up, and in front of her, the wall of fire was rapidly pushing towards her!

Although she wasn't injured by that volley of fire, the flames had already spread and started burning everything around her. The fire was clearly getting large, and if it wasn't stopped quickly, it could engulf the entire forest. Even if there weren't laws against arson at this point, people had invited her to subdue the demonic boar—a great service to the people—and she ended up burning down the forest instead…

She retreated rapidly, the wall of fire closing in just as quickly. The heatwave was so intense it almost distorted the surrounding air. She took a deep breath. "The wind—"

The sword she held in her hand suddenly became hazy and indistinct. The howling wind around her suddenly stopped, and as Guinevere's voice rang out, several layers of wind wrapped around the sword. In an instant, the magnificent sword seemed to have vanished into thin air—this was a technique she had created in her spare time, imitating the barrier of the Knight King Wind King from her previous life. However, with her current magical skills, she could not maintain this effect for long, so she usually used a different method.

"—Fly!"

With a flick of her left hand, the wind force, compressed to its limit, was suddenly released. A raging storm swept across the sky, like a giant beast opening its mouth, swallowing the wall of fire whole—before her eyes, the fire arrows extinguished silently, disappearing without a trace in the blink of an eye. Her back slammed against a tree, she coughed, leaned on her sword against the ground, and took a couple more breaths.

Having died once doesn't mean one can take life and death lightly. Even with three or four decades between two lifetimes, one isn't necessarily at the age of forty, free from confusion, calm, and confident. Besides, how many people in this world truly grow with age? Whether in past or present lives, most have seen and heard of those who live mediocre, meaningless lives. Perhaps I'm slightly better than them, or perhaps there's no difference, but when faced with a life-threatening crisis, no matter how much courage I muster beforehand, fear will still linger in my heart when it arrives.

Flames rushed towards her, and she had truly experienced the pain of being burned or even burned to death. She had considered the possible traps and schemes beforehand, but after unleashing her sword, she acted almost instinctively. As the wall of fire pushed in, she had a move that seemed to be able to deal with it, so she used it to see what would happen. Everything was decided in the blink of an eye. Until this moment, the wind extinguished the flames that had almost burned her body, and everything seemed to be over. She stood there, her breathing even, but the hand holding the sword was trembling slightly.

"Ha... Only by going through life and death can one become a true master... Although I understand this principle, the scary things... are still scary."

That was several years ago, when she was about six years old. Seeing her father teaching her older brother swordsmanship in the courtyard, her yearning for chivalrous adventures and righteous deeds resurfaced. For the next few days, she begged her father to teach her swordsmanship as well. In a sense, this era was both very open and very conservative. A commoner with exceptional skills could become a noble knight overnight, and if a king committed a truly heinous act, a knight could kill him with a single sword stroke without consequence; instead, it would be celebrated as a heroic deed. The distinctions of status seemed less rigid than in later generations, but on the other hand, this openness only applied to men.

Ten years ago and ten years later, there were many differences between the reigns of Uther and Vortigern, but there was one thing in particular—there were no female knights in their courts.

Of course, this cannot be solely attributed to people's stubborn thinking. In an era of scarce productivity, food was limited, and women's physical strength was inferior to men's. Even after significant training, their effectiveness on the battlefield remained limited. Furthermore, the differences between men and women created inconveniences in various situations. While there were certainly many famous witches and magicians, the most famous being Merlin, witches and knights held different positions in people's minds.

Considering all this, Guinevere didn't hold out much hope when she asked her father for permission. She had already received the Nine Witches' Seal and intended to dedicate herself to this path, becoming a model witch of the new era, embodying the Five Virtues, Four Beauties, Eight Honors, and Eight Shames. However, a sliver of chivalrous spirit within her still compelled her to make the request. Unexpectedly, after two full days of mental preparation, Leodogland readily agreed as soon as she began.

"Your brother learned the swordsmanship passed down through generations of the royal family, which only the kings of each era could learn. I cannot teach you that. But when I was young, I traveled to various countries and learned a swordsmanship. If you are determined to learn it and are willing to endure hardship, I will teach you. But Fina, you must remember—there are two kinds of swordsmanship in this world. One kind is used to deceive people. This kind is easy to do. Look at all those people carrying swords, whether they are knights or swordsmen, eight or nine out of ten of them are just using this to fool people. The second kind of sword is the one that can truly be used."

"If you want to learn the first type of sword, I can teach you now, and with your talent, you'll soon be stronger than most people in this castle. Oh... want to learn the second type? Well, first, you have to answer one question for your father. Only after you answer that question will I teach you how to use a sword..."

"what is the problem?"

……

……

The flames crackled and popped, spreading in all directions, the fire slithering across the ground like snakes, and between the trees, faintly visible, it looked as if strips of bright red cloth were being pulled apart.

Guinevere opened her eyes.

Before them, two large rocks had been shattered and lay scattered on the ground. Three smaller rocks remained, but it seemed that only the runes on the two large rocks were what truly held together the black dust monsters and the skeletal boars.

But she shifted her body slightly and looked at the tree behind her. On the trunk, about the thickness of a bowl, a flame had somehow broken out, and the flames formed the outline of a rune: "Ansaz (Message) —"

Two lines of flames suddenly appeared from the middle of the tree, connecting to two other trees. Her gaze swept across the area, and the same flames formed long lines, encircling the clearing. It looked somewhat like a boxing ring from a television show in her past life. Her eyes flickered as she looked at the other trees in turn.

“Ingwaz, Nauthiz…”

“Elhaz”.

She remembered clearly that the rockets, blown off course by the wind, hadn't hit the last tree. This meant it was a setup the enemy had planned from the start. The barrier was breached, the rockets wounded the enemy; if the person who breached the barrier were in the rubble, the narrow corner and a sudden volley of fire would at best result in serious injury. Moreover, the runes on the three small stones seemed connected, perhaps also targeting those inside the barrier; she had simply avoided this fate because she hadn't entered it.

But the true purpose of that rocket barrage wasn't to kill enemies or set the mountain on fire, but to set off the four runes on the tree. And at this moment, Guinevere finally realized the significance of these runes.

Ever since learning this was the moon, she had been diligently recalling every aspect of her past life related to it, even the smallest things or those she would likely never use in her lifetime. She wrote everything she could remember in a small notebook she carried with her. She would flip through it occasionally to reinforce her memory, thinking she might need it someday… and that's why she was able to recall these four runes now. These… had appeared in the game…

"Shallows of Sizhi... What kind of joke is this..."

As the lines of fire formed a circle, four runes appeared, and the green leaf pattern on the back of her hand vanished, her connection to the wind abruptly severed. For the girl, who was accustomed to sensing her surroundings through the wind, this moment brought a strange sense of being utterly abandoned in a corner of the world. She looked at the back of her hand, then at the scene before her, and gasped, "Are you kidding me…?"

The wind is gathering.

At the same time, purplish-black dust also gathered. This dust, which seemed to have come from nowhere, drifted down from the sky and settled between the three small stones, gradually transforming into a pitch-black figure.

It resembled a blob of ink in the shape of a human, complete with hands, feet, mouth, nose, and facial features, but placed on a black silhouette resembling a human, it only evoked a sense of dread. More and more black dust drifted over, forming the shape of a spear on one side of the figure.

The figure reached out and grasped the spear.

This scene seemed to overlap with a scene from my memory.

"I wish I hadn't come..."

He inhaled deeply, his chest almost bulging to its limit, and then exhaled with a sigh.

Guinevere loosened her grip, the sword falling to the ground, before she gripped it tightly once more. Her palms were sweaty, and beads of sweat dotted her forehead, but she couldn't tell whether it was from the surrounding flames or from the cold sweat seeping out of her from the menacing killing intent emanating from the person before her.

"Hey, I think the difference between humans and wild animals is that humans can think. We can try to negotiate instead of starting with fighting. Look how short I am and how tall you are. If I attack you, it would be a heroic sacrifice, a glorious defeat. But if you attack me, it would be bullying the weak, an unfair victory..."

She chattered away, but even she didn't know what she was saying. She was just trying to ease her tension. The dark figure, however, remained silent, dragging his spear behind him, and walked towards her step by step.

"Let me tell you, I have powerful backers. As the saying goes, even when beating a dog, you have to consider its owner. You'd better... Ah, of course, I don't mean I'm a dog, and you're not a dog either. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is..."

The spear tip left a bright spark. The steps were initially slow, but quickened, and after a few strides, it was almost a run. The tall figure appeared in an instant, and with a flick of the arm, the spear slashed forward with a "whoosh!" At the same moment, Guinevere swung her sword: "The little dog who hit first is a dog!"

Gun and sword exchanged blows in mid-air. Amidst the ear-piercing metallic clang, the sword pressed down hard on the gun shaft, and the petite figure used the force to retreat, rolling twice on the ground before running back the way she came!

P.S.: Diligent Qingbai, Transformation!

Chapter Twenty-Five: Heroes of the Past (Part Two)

The Four Branches Shallows, one of the few spells used by a certain blue spearman, is quite well-known, at least among enthusiasts. But whether he recognized the rune spell first and then guessed the identity of the dark figure in front of him, or the opposite, is hard to say for sure—there's no time to think about it now.

She swung her sword and exchanged blows with the spear thrusting at her. In the blink of an eye, her body spun several times in mid-air like a top, then landed unsteadily and ran towards the direction where Artoria and the others were.

Even after practicing swordsmanship for nearly ten years, and consistently winning more challenges than losing in Scotland, Guinevere never considered herself a top-tier expert. Bullying obviously weaklings was one thing, but when faced with an evenly matched or clearly stronger opponent, she lacked confidence and her first reaction was to turn and run. Of course, this behavior could also be interpreted as "a wise man avoids dangerous situations," or even a "strategic retreat"—preserving one's life before making further moves is not shameful, rather than dying meaninglessly.

But as she turned, the runes on the tree and the encirclement of flames came into view, and she vaguely understood that this time there might be no way to avoid it. She ran a few steps, then veered to the side. The spear whistled towards her, and she retreated again, intentionally avoiding the raging fire. She bent over and lowered her head, trying to crawl under the line of fire, but it was as if she had bumped into a soft and elastic cushion. She was not injured, she felt no pain. The "cushion" standing there seemed to be simply blocking her way and preventing her from leaving.

"The warriors in formation are not allowed to retreat—"

She turned and swung her sword, striking the runic tree with a resounding clang. It felt as if she had hit a piece of hardened steel; her entire arm went numb, her hand ached, and the sword trembled. Had it not been a renowned sword, it would likely have been chipped. Guinevere exhaled, feeling frustrated. She looked up, but the burly, dark figure hadn't pursued her. He stood there, the tip of his spear touching the ground, his voice erratic, almost like the sound of wind blowing through a room on a rainy night.

"...Warriors who see this formation are absolutely not allowed to retreat. This is the Four Branches Shallows, a great taboo for one-on-one duels passed down among the knights of Red Branch."

The familiar words stirred a chord in her memory: the Red Branch Knights, an organization active in Ireland four hundred years ago, even predating the renowned Fiona Knights. Why would their forbidden zone appear here? This place is separated from Ireland by a sea… Unable to communicate with the Holy Seal, their connection with the wind severed; otherwise, they could try leaving through the sky. She wondered if Artoria and the others had noticed the flames here. Perhaps they were on their way, but even if they did, they might not be able to break the forbidden zone… She should have known better than to come. Who was the bastard who did this…? A variety of thoughts rushed in and out, she stared intently at the dark figure holding the gun, who turned to look at her.

Fine dust particles continuously detached from the dark figure and drifted into the air. But it raised its spear, the tip of which was faintly visible in the black mist, and the sound of the wind was indistinct, like a sob: "Come—fight."

The moment those words were spoken, the girl closed her eyes briefly. Dust clung to her golden hair, and the tears and burn marks on her clothes made her look somewhat disheveled. There was no wind in the enclosure; the flames burned silently, occasionally punctuated by a crackling sound and a spark, making the atmosphere even more still. The dark figure held a long spear, pointing it in their direction, yet remained silent, as if adhering to some ancient rule, awaiting a response from his opponent.

After the words were spoken, the atmosphere fell silent. In just a few seconds, with a click, Guinevere, who had been holding the sword in her left hand, quietly switched it to her right, freeing her hand. She dabbed the cold sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, unbuttoned the scabbard at her waist, and the scabbard fell into her palm.

Compared to the sword it was stored in, the design of this scabbard was in no way inferior. It was predominantly golden with blue accents, and there was a line of text written in Elvish on the front—unfortunately, the girl couldn't understand it.

She held a scabbard in one hand and a sword in the other. Her figure was slender, and the firelight flickered. The sword stood upright in front of her, and the scabbard hung at her waist. Her posture was simple, but she suddenly exuded a powerful aura. "I'll fight... I'll fight... I'll fight..." Her wrist spun twice with the increasingly rapid pace of her speech. At the same time, the sword and scabbard separated and pointed diagonally at the ground. A faint starlight had appeared on the blade.

The shifting light made the figure holding the gun appear even darker, like a small silhouette of the night, swaying in the afternoon sunlight.

"bring it on……"

As if answering her previous question, she parted her lips slightly and spoke softly, but her voice was gentle and her tone was calm, and the panic from before was nowhere to be found.

next moment.

In the hunting grounds, light and shadow flashed by, guns and swords clashed once more!

*****

With a loud crash, amidst the billowing dust, the skeleton, which had maintained its boar-like form, collapsed and shattered into countless fragments. Artoria paused, her iron sword still on the ground. She took a few steps back from the swirling dust, watched for a while, and only breathed a sigh of relief when she was certain the enemy wouldn't get up a third time.

From the start of the battle until now, in a short time, she has been using the effects of her magic to keep the skeleton boar under her control. Often, a single sword strike is enough to stop the latter's charge or even send it flying. To outsiders, the battle may seem like a one-sided affair with no suspense, but Artoria herself knows that this intense outburst cannot be sustained for long.

For some reason—she'd heard Merlin mention it in a dream, though she was ashamed to admit she hadn't fully understood, only knowing she seemed to have some connection to the dragon race, some kind of gene or heart, which granted her a magical power far exceeding that of ordinary people—but even with inexhaustible magical power, this body had its limits. She swung her sword, forcing her opponent back, but her wrist, elbow, arm, and indeed her entire body, all bore the corresponding pressure and suffered wear and tear. The techniques of power generation and absorption taught by Hector and Merlin could minimize this wear and tear, but for her now, the short burst of power, the intense conflict and suppression, had already exhausted her entire strength.

If the battle continues any longer, her advantage will gradually diminish, potentially leading to a stalemate or a slight disadvantage. Of course, she won't be defeated by such a brute-force opponent, but a tough fight is inevitable. And against an opponent who heals so quickly after being injured, she can't find a way to win for the time being. But judging from the current situation… it seems Fina has made progress.

Thinking of her noisy travel companion, she smiled slightly. This smile, however, was one she herself didn't even notice. After a couple of seconds, she touched the corner of her mouth with her finger, shook her head, turned around, and walked in a certain direction. It wasn't the direction of the village. She reasoned that even if the village was in danger, the knight named Tristan was closer and would likely lend a hand. More important right now was that Fina had gone to break the trap, and seeing the boar's carcass collapse with a crash, she should have succeeded, but she hadn't received a message from him.

During their travels, they each had their own secrets, but they didn't hide much from each other in other matters. Fina was reluctant to elaborate on the origin of the Nine Witch Mark, but she did briefly mention its uses: it allowed her to manipulate wind to a certain extent, detect her surroundings, and transmit messages through the wind. Given Fina's personality, once she accomplished something, she would immediately send a message to boast and insist on a reward—initially asking for something like a lap pillow or a hug, but after being refused several times, they finally compromised and settled on a pat on the head. Three minutes for important matters, one minute for trivial ones…

Fina was discussing and pushing the topic forward with a serious expression, which made Artoria somewhat amused and exasperated. However, she could accept it if that was all. Seeing Fina's pitiful appearance—even though she knew it was mostly an act—she still nodded in agreement.

…It's one thing for people of the same sex to do this, but in her eyes, he should be a man! Thinking about this, he sometimes gets distressed. What if Fina confesses to him like the other girls in the village before? Then he thinks again that he's overthinking things, and he's almost becoming as "shameless" as Kai. This "shameless" adjective came from Fina, and because it was so apt, she immediately labeled Kai with it.

No news of praise arrived, which suggested something might have happened. Fina wasn't weak, but Britain was in too much chaos; anything could happen. Thinking it over, he grew worried, sheathed his sword, and decided to go and meet up with Fina. Not knowing where she was, he took a step, purely on instinct. Merlin had said his intuition was exceptionally accurate; when unsure what to do, following his instincts was enough.

Thinking this, I continued walking, and soon I saw the coded message left by Fina on a tree trunk. My confidence grew, and after walking a little further, I saw a flicker of firelight in front of me—the forest was on fire? The fire was not large, and there was no sign of it spreading to the surrounding area. It seemed to be just crackling and burning in a certain area.

She drew her iron sword again, slowed her pace, and, using the trees for cover, slowly approached. Suddenly, a crisp metallic clang rang out from ahead, like several blows exchanged in the blink of an eye. A thought struck her, and she quickened her pace. After a few steps, the view opened up before her: a clearing dotted with rocks, several trees with strange runes painted on them, and flames connecting them—it looked like a hunting ground set up by a king.

In the "hunting ground".

Two figures suddenly collided, one tall and one short. The taller one was entirely black, with fine black dust constantly peeling off his body as he moved—it was unclear whether he was covered in dust or whether the figure itself was made of dust. He held a long spear, also black, which swung with a powerful force that created a chilling aura.

The other person was none other than Fina. Her clothes had more than a dozen cuts, large and small, covered in blood, and she was also injured on her forehead, with blood flowing down. Her left eye was also a little swollen, but Artoria's gaze only lingered on these wounds for a moment. The other person seemed a little different. What was different...? She was slightly taken aback, and then she noticed the reason for the sense of unease in her heart.

Fina was holding the sword with her right hand at this moment.

Once, a few brief exchanges took place around the campfire:

"Fina...aren't you left-handed?"

"I've never said I'm left-handed."

"Then...why do you use your left hand to wield the sword?"

"This one……"

The girl kneeling beside her wore a bitter smile. The night was cool and still. The question that had remained unanswered then suddenly became clear—Fina, sword in one hand and scabbard in the other, passed by the figure wielding the spear. Artoria hadn't systematically studied spear techniques, but her adoptive brother was highly skilled. During practice, she'd heard him share some spear-handling tips. While spear techniques included sweeping and striking, the truly powerful was the thrust—

The dark figure thrust forward with both hands, the spear trembling as it shot straight out. That point of sharpness, seemingly narrow, was utterly unavoidable for anyone facing it head-on; it was too fast…

Fina seemed to dodge to the side, but the gun had already stopped in front of that spot, making it look as if the girl had taken the initiative to go forward.

With a flick of her spear, Fina's body flew into the air. The longsword in her right hand shone brightly, and the scabbard that should have been hanging at her waist was now in her left hand, resting downwards—Artoria had seen this move before.

On the day of their first encounter, before her departure, she and her sworn brother were preparing dinner in the kitchen. As she came out with potato pancakes, she saw the girl and Hector sparring with wooden swords. They exchanged blows three times, and during the third exchange, Fina, too, was suspended in mid-air. Her sword dipped downwards, she spun, and her body shifted in mid-air, the wind whistling as her clothes billowed. The surrounding firelight flickered. In her gaze, two figures passed each other, a spear rising and then suddenly stopping, as if a dragonfly had landed on its tip.

Artoria held her breath.

In that instant of their collision, the girl's entire body spun around several times involuntarily, following the scabbard in her left hand. It was during this spinning that the longsword in her right hand flicked lightly and deftly, slicing open the throat of the dark figure.

In the hunting grounds, Fina fell to the ground, bounced up, and then rolled a long way, emerging from under the burning fire cord. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, when she came to a stop, she was lying right at her feet.

Blood gushed out, obscuring her other eye, which wasn't swollen. The girl raised her hand to rub it, then stopped, blinking hard a few times. She met her gaze; that look held little joy for victory, initially only relief at surviving, but slowly turning to surprise: "Al..."

She called out softly, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

P.S.: Hehe, everything ended as planned. No middle or lower parts, sorry to disappoint you all, hehe hahaha—Speaking of which, I had a lot of fun writing these chapters, and looking back, I'm quite satisfied. But inevitably, it's more like a wuxia story than a Western fantasy. Some readers might find it a bit of a hodgepodge. I remember someone saying about Qiu Ye, "If you skip the fight scenes, it's passable," but my proudest part is definitely the fight scenes! (blushing)

I was so conflicted about this that I almost gave up on my previous book, *Joan of Arc*, but now I'm much more accepting of it. I'll try to explore different writing styles in the future, but generally speaking, I've been reading martial arts novels since I was five, so this style is deeply ingrained and hard to change. If you find it readable, that's great. But if you really find this style awkward and can't stand it… please be understanding and get used to it. Otherwise, just skip it and remember to vote with your recommendation tickets and monthly tickets! Hehehe, isn't this kind of shamelessness a bit like a professional writer's style?

Chapter Twenty-Six: Chaos (Part 1)