Math Is Magic

{ A FEW SECONDS EARLIER... }

Vincent advanced slowly through the wild clearing, his ruthless gaze fixed on the path ahead.

The tie, transformed into a deadly weapon, hung rigid like steel, yet softly wrapped around his right palm.

A shadow of madness glinted in his eyes as he obsessively followed the bloodstains scattered on the trees and the ground. These red marks were the only trace left of the young Prince in flight.

But the tracks suddenly stopped, dissolving into a mocking nothingness.

Without a trail to follow, Vincent halted, his face twisted into a snarl of anger.

'Damn it! Where is he hiding?' he thought, gritting his teeth.

Frustration consumed him, but he did not allow himself to linger too long. He took a deep breath and resumed walking, following the instinct that guided him along the same path he was already on.

'I still can't believe he escaped my first attack, especially considering he was turned away!' Vincent reflected, thinking back to the moment when the young Prince had eluded the fatal blow. 'But it doesn't matter! Lucky or not, he has no escape now!'

Suddenly, a noise shattered the silence of the forest: the soft crackling of leaves being stepped on. 

Vincent's eyes darted to the source of the sound, and his neck turned with the speed of a predator.

Before him, a tall, dense bush swayed slightly next to a gnarled tree trunk.

A mocking grin spread across Vincent's face.

"Heh! You shouldn't have moved, young Prince..."

With measured, inexorable steps, Vincent approached the bush. 

However, the rhythm of his walk made it clear that he wasn't in a hurry.

Or rather, he was, but the true pleasure of the hunt—something he would never let slip away for any reason in the world—lay in the very moment before the assured victory.

His elegant black shoes creaked on the damp ground, a sound that seemed amplified in the oppressive silence of the forest.

Each step was a prelude to the end.

Arriving before the bush, Vincent stopped. His eyes scanned the scene with a mixture of pleasure and morbid curiosity: the young Prince lay on the ground, face down, his body half-hidden by a blanket of leaves. His chest neither rose nor fell.

The stillness was complete, almost spine-chilling.

"Is he dead?" Vincent murmured, tilting his head, as if evaluating a poorly done work of art. "No, perhaps he's just unconscious. Well, it doesn't matter. The Boss wants his head, and he'll get it anyway."

With an almost theatrical gesture, Vincent lifted his sword-tie. The weapon shimmered under the dim light filtering through the foliage, the tip pointed towards the low clouds that seemed to be dozing above the forest.

The tension in the air was palpable, a suspended moment before the final strike.

A cruel smile spread across Vincent's thin lips.

"Goodbye, young Prince!"

And with a lightning-fast movement, Vincent lowered his arm, determined to sever both the bush and the lifeless body of his prey in one swift blow. 

The air split, heavy with a foreboding sense of blood and death.

'Now!' Mirac ordered himself, his mind working faster than the beat of his heart.

At the last moment, before Vincent's weapon could crash into him, Mirac lunged into a roll to the right. His body snapped with determination, rising to his feet before Vincent could react.

Vincent's tie-sword embedded itself into the ground with a dull thud, a blow that echoed like a hammer striking stone.

Vincent found himself off balance, caught off guard by the unexpected maneuver.

"What the hell-!" he exclaimed, his face a mix of surprise and anger.

But he didn't even have time to finish the sentence before Mirac immediately went on the counterattack!

With lightning speed, Mirac's right hand shot toward the pile of leaves scattered on the ground. Finally, as his fingers closed around the hilt, he drew his sword—the same one that had appeared suddenly behind him earlier, almost as if in response to his desperate need, when he was still hidden behind the bush.

'A sword?!' Vincent's face perfectly expressed his confusion. 'Did he hide it under the leaves? But where did he find it?!'

However, Vincent didn't have time to find answers. He was too busy trying to free his sword-tie, which had gotten stuck in the ground after his last strike.

And that moment—that brief moment in which Vincent struggled to recover his weapon—was a precious opportunity that Mirac couldn't afford to miss!

The young Prince didn't waste any time: he gripped the sword's hilt tightly, channeling all his determination to compensate for the lack of his left hand. It was the first time he had been forced to fight with only one arm, but he couldn't allow uncertainty to take over.

With a muffled shout, Mirac lunged forward, delivering a quick and precise slash at Vincent, aiming for his stomach.

Vincent, however, with a feline leap backward, managed to narrowly dodge the attack. Just at that moment, with a burst of strength, he finally freed his sword-tie from the ground, gripping it firmly with both hands.

However, that burst of strength caused him to momentarily lose his balance, forcing him to take a few steps back to regain his footing.

Mirac, at this point, did not stop!

He began relentlessly attacking the enemy before him, with a ferocity that seemed unusual for someone his age.

His blade sliced through the air multiple times, in an incessant series of strikes that tested Vincent's agility.

The latter, still slightly off balance, staggered backward, trying to keep a safe distance from the young Prince.

Every strike from Mirac was fast, precise, imbued with the experience gained over the past year, a tribute to the hard training and his will to survive.

However, despite Mirac's efforts, none of his blows landed.

He was running out of breath, and the weight of fatigue grew with each missed strike.

'Shit!' Mirac cursed to himself, sweating coldly in a desperate attempt to land any kind of blow on his opponent.

And then, suddenly, the inevitable happened.

Vincent regained his balance, planting both feet firmly on the ground. The tie-sword was now firmly in his hands, an extension of his murderous instinct.

With an evil grin, Vincent began parrying Mirac's blows with a strength that immediately turned the tide of the battle.

"You bastard!" Vincent roared, as he attacked with increasing ferocity.

Mirac was forced to retreat, his strikes growing weaker. His body, still young and strained by the battle, was beginning to give way. 

Although Mirac had stopped the bleeding from his amputated arm, he couldn't say the same for the internal injuries he had likely sustained.

Step by step, blow by blow, Vincent forced Mirac to retreat until he was back at the bush that he had used as a hiding spot.

The assassin showed no signs of slowing down, each blow vibrating with relentless ferocity.

"I don't know where you got that sword," Vincent snarled, "but it's completely useless! It's over now, young Prince!"

The words struck Mirac almost more harshly than the blade that constantly threatened to pierce him.

With a swift and precise movement, Vincent disarmed the boy, making him lose his grip on the sword. The weapon flew away, landing far out of Mirac's reach.

'Shit!' thought the young Prince, falling backward.

His body was now exhausted, every muscle taut with pain and fatigue. He felt his knees give way and his back hit the hard ground, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

Vincent didn't waste any time. With a fierce lunge, he closed the distance to Mirac, raising his sword-tie. His eyes gleamed with lethal light, and the cruel smile on his lips seemed carved from ice.

"DIE!!!" Vincent roared, as he delivered the final blow, a sweeping cut designed to decapitate the young Prince in a single strike.

The air thickened with tension. The world seemed to suspend itself in an eternal moment.

'Good…' Mirac thought, with a spark of determination flashing across his eyes in that split second. 'It's time to move to the next phase!'

With almost superhuman speed, he knelt. Not just to lower himself and dodge Vincent's attack, but also to stretch out his right hand, aiming to grab another object he had hidden beneath the leaves: another sword!

Earlier, in the few but precious seconds Vincent had taken to approach the bush, Mirac had devised a bold and intricate plan, a trap designed to surprise his enemy not once, but twice!

Indeed, using his "Multiplicative Touch" ability, Mirac had decided to duplicate the sword that had magically appeared behind him.

Although the calculation required had been slightly more difficult than the one to multiply the magical gauze, Mirac had managed to solve the operation just in time.

Thus, after murmuring the correct answer, the sword had begun to vibrate faintly in the palm of Mirac's hand, until it split in two like a cell undergoing mitosis.

The charm of the splitting process had left Mirac momentarily stunned by his own powers, but he had quickly regained his composure.

After generating the second sword, Mirac had hidden it quickly under a blanket of leaves, along with the first one and his body lying on the ground.

His plan had been well calculated: on one hand, Mirac had wanted to simulate a state of total inertia to lower Vincent's guard; on the other, he needed to conceal his weapons, thus preparing the double lethal counterattack.

And now, after the first sword had flown away, Mirac grabbed the second one. 

But he had no more spare weapons, so this was his true and final chance! 

Making a mistake would mean certain death!

And Mirac definitely did not want to die!

"This is for Mr. Foss!!!" the young Prince shouted, with a fierce intensity that revealed his thirst for vengeance.

With a lightning-fast jump to the left, Mirac positioned himself strategically.

He changed his grip on the sword, spinning it skillfully as he prepared to strike.

With a half turn, he launched a direct attack, aiming to pierce Vincent's head. The blade cut through the air with incredible speed, a silver flash that seemed destined to end the fight.

For a moment, Mirac felt a smile spread across his face, a spark of triumph.

'It's done!' he thought, already savoring the victory.

But reality proved to be cruel and unforgiving.

The instant the tip of the sword was about to strike its target, Vincent raised his left arm with chilling precision, protecting the right side of his head.

The blade, which should have pierced Vincent's skull, instead impaled the palm of his left hand. 

Blood splattered, but Vincent showed no sign of weakness. On the contrary, a vicious grin twisted his face, as if the pain were nothing more than an annoying inconvenience.

'SHIT!' Mirac was frozen, unable to believe it.

For an eternal moment, he watched the enemy, who still had his sword impaled in his hand.

Mirac's plan had failed.

But before the latter could release his grip on the sword and attempt another desperate escape, Vincent lunged again with the speed of a predator.

His foot moved in a powerful arc, hitting Mirac straight in the stomach and making him spit blood.

The impact of the kick was devastating: an explosion of force that sent Mirac flying backward.

In the blink of an eye, his body slammed violently against the rough trunk of a tree, the sound of the crash echoing like thunder in a storm.

And after that, the battle was now over.