The comfortable life of the best swordsman

Through relentless successive attacks, the red-eyed woman left numerous wounds on the man's skin. None were particularly deep; all were superficial. Yet, the man's screams grew louder and more desperate. He felt as though he were in hell. The pain he was experiencing couldn't possibly be normal. What was this? Magic? An illusion? A mind trick? All possibilities raced through his mind. His conclusion was the woman's sword. That sword must be special. 

Cladia's relentless onslaught continued. Suddenly, the man vanished, reappearing about three meters behind her. He was proficient in magic. Pointing at the woman's sword with his hand, he uttered an incantation. In an instant, the blade in Cladia's hand began to glow red-hot. It had become unbearably heated. So much so that the tip of the sword appeared to be melting slightly. 

Naturally, Cladia could no longer hold the sword in such a state. She dropped it. The blade fell to the ground, its shape distorted. It had warped and lost its sharpness, now reduced to nothing more than a piece of deformed metal. 

This was a specialized spell, designed specifically to destroy an enemy's weapon. Casting it was draining and consumed a significant amount of magical energy, making it an unpopular choice among ordinary warriors. This type of magic was more commonly employed by support mages stationed in the rear lines. 

Cladia panicked. Losing her sword in the midst of battle terrified her, and she was heartbroken over its destruction. After all, Eimme had forged that sword specifically for her during a month-long training session. The weapon was deeply meaningful to her. Her anger surged. 

The man's face lit up with a victorious grin. He had destroyed his enemy's weapon. She could no longer fight effectively. Though his skin still stung from the myriad wounds, none were severe. He hadn't been crippled or bled excessively. He could keep fighting. 

Then, he realized his mistake—a foolish error. While teleporting between his previous location and his current one, he had forgotten to retrieve his sword. It lay on the ground before Cladia. The absurd pain he had endured earlier had clouded his judgment and caused this oversight. 

Cladia was furious—so furious that her anger seemed to distort the world around her. Of course, this was not literal; it was simply the illusion created by her enemy's fear at that moment. 

She noticed the sword on the ground. Leaning down, she picked it up. She swung it a couple of times into the air to test its balance and length. It wasn't perfect. It was clearly a cheap sword, but at the moment, it was her best option. She had no other choice. Still, the sword wasn't inoperable; it could serve its purpose. It remained sharp. And sharpness was the most critical trait a blade could have. 

With the sword in hand, Cladia began stepping toward the well-dressed, red-haired man. The man attempted to retreat. The cracks in the floor created earlier by the assassin's battle with Eimme were deep and covered almost the entire room. The uneven terrain made movement difficult. A careless step could mean disaster. 

Scattered across the shattered ground were numerous marble fragments of varying sizes. Cladia kicked one of the broken pieces, which embedded itself perfectly into the man's hand. She wasn't exactly sure how she had managed it, but she knew instinctively where to aim and how to strike. Was this another reward of her training? 

When the woman reached the man, she stopped. She raised her sword and swung to deliver the final blow. Once again, the man vanished. Cladia, now more experienced, immediately checked behind her, but no one was there. She couldn't see the man. 

Suddenly, a weight pressed down on her neck. It was the red-haired man. He must have teleported above her. His arm coiled around her neck, attempting to choke her. He was succeeding—but not for long. Cladia swung her sword toward his arm, slicing halfway through it. 

The move was perilous; the blade could have easily harmed her own neck. Such an end would have been embarrassingly absurd. But that didn't happen. Once again, the man let out a supernatural scream of pain, his grip loosening as he collapsed to the ground. 

Was he mistaken? Could it be that the cause of this absurd agony wasn't the sword Cladia had been wielding earlier? 

The man was at a loss. This time, his right arm had sustained a serious injury. Not only was the pain excruciating, but the arm was now unusable. He was weaponless and had exhausted his magical reserves. His frequent short-range teleportations and the spell he had cast to melt Cladia's sword had drained him completely. 

He used his mouth to pull out the marble shard embedded in his hand, as he couldn't use his other arm. The shard's edges were sharp, capable of functioning like a blade. 

At that moment, he noticed something else. Alize. She had suddenly recovered and was fighting the gray-haired woman. How had this happened? The answer lay in the whiskey bottle. He didn't know what was in it, but it clearly had healing properties. 

Using the last drop of his magical energy, he teleported to the table where the bottle was. Straining, he managed to grasp the bottle and began drinking. It tasted pleasant and went down smoothly, nothing like whiskey. 

He had only taken two gulps before the liquid was nearly gone. Wanting to save the rest for later, he stopped drinking and set the bottle aside. Moments later, his body began to heal. His energy returned. He stood up. Strangely, it wasn't just his body that had been rejuvenated; his magical power had also been restored. 

On the ground, he spotted a dagger. It was Alize's. Alize had always been fond of that dagger. Tossing aside the marble shard, he picked it up and teleported behind Cladia once more. He raised the blade and aimed for her neck. This time, he intended to kill, not capture. 

Though Cladia narrowly evaded the attack, a few strands of her hair and part of her ear were cut. She was bleeding. It hurt. But she had endured far worse during her time as a slave. She retreated. 

The man launched another attack, but the woman dodged gracefully, slashing him deeply in the abdomen with her sword. The man collapsed to the ground, his intestines spilling out. The pain he felt was indescribable. 

Cladia's success was due to Eimme's training. 

Suddenly, Eimme's voice echoed. 

"Are you okay, Dia? You're not hurt, are you?" 

With a simple gesture, he gently held the gem of the necklace around her neck and infused it with magical energy, enabling Cladia to speak again. Meanwhile, Yet was pouring some whiskey into the mouth of the wounded red-haired man at the back. Before approaching Cladia, Eimme had instructed Yet to heal the man. Eimme couldn't let him die, though Cladia couldn't be allowed to know this. The man still lay on the ground, drenched in blood. Yet had spread the entrails of another dead man around to maintain the illusion of death for Cladia. The man was merely unconscious. 

Emu had wanted the man alive. Though Eimme didn't know why, she had her suspicions. Emu was terrifying. Normally sweet and kind, Emu had a sadistic side that emerged only in special circumstances. Whatever fate awaited the man in Emu's hands, it was likely worse than death. 

Eimme recalled the old days of Emu's "training"—truly absurd. What Emu did wasn't training at all but sheer torment, taking pleasure in Eimme's pain. It was no wonder Glaznac feared Emu so deeply. Only Eimme, Luther, and Emu knew about those "trainings." Glaznac was the sole outsider privy to their secrets. For a moment, Eimme almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. 

The red-eyed woman sighed. "Yes... I'm fine. Thank you for asking." Her hair concealed the cut on her ear. Additionally, the breathing technique Eimme had taught her had already stopped the bleeding. The wound hadn't healed, but there was no cause for concern. Once they returned home, she could ask Luther to heal it. 

If I mention my wound now, Eimme will blow it out of proportion, Cladia thought. 

She nodded gently in affirmation. There was an odd tension in the air. Clearly, something was causing discomfort, unrelated to the recent battle between Cladia and the man. Cladia's cheeks were flushed, caught between feelings of embarrassment and sorrow. 

"What's wrong?" Eimme was perplexed by the strange atmosphere, visibly confused. 

"Emi... Your dress... it's torn. I can see through it." As she said this, Cladia's face turned an even deeper shade of red. She was so embarrassed she felt she might die on the spot. Yet, Eimme seemed entirely unfazed. 

"Ho? What's wrong? Want to see more?" She asked with a goofy smile but a serious tone. Cladia looked stunning. Eimme didn't understand why, but Cladia seemed more beautiful and alluring than ever before. A faint blush appeared on Eimme's cheeks. 

"W-what? What are you saying?" 

"You know... I've been wanting to tell you this since the moment we met: I love you, Cladia. Will you marry me?" She asked plainly, almost carelessly, with only a slight blush barely visible on her cheeks. 

"What?" Cladia froze. 

"Didn't you hear me? Then I'll repeat it: I love you, Cladia. Will you-" This time her voice sounded more sensual as she asked, though it was clear she was panicking. Why had she asked this now?! This was the most absurd and wrong moment to propose! She wished she could go back in time to stop those words from leaving her lips. Her cheeks flushed even deeper. 

"I heard you, I heard you! That's not what I meant!" Cladia interrupted her. 

"Then what is it? A-are you not going to accept?" Eimme's face went pale in an instant. It was as if all the blood had drained from her. She fell to her knees. "I-I thought that..." There it was. Her worst fear had come true. She'd been rejected. Of course, it was all a misunderstanding. It didn't even last long. Before Eimme could finish her sentence, Cladia stepped in. 

"I accept, I accept! But..." The gray-haired woman's face lit up again, as though she'd seen a glimmer of hope. Then Eimme noticed the detail in Cladia's response: "But." 

"But?" That damn word "but" obliterated all of Eimme's joy. 

"I mean, are you seriously asking me this now? Here? Two minutes ago, I just confronted my childhood friend whom I thought was dead, and I almost killed him. And this room... it smells like burnt flesh, there are corpses everywhere, and the place is falling apart. Walking is almost impossible. I mean... it's not romantic, do you understand? It's not romantic..." 

"What? This is totally romantic!" 

"No, it's not. How could this be romantic? Just look around. Can you take a deep breath?" 

"Sure!" She did as instructed, taking a deep breath. Her lungs filled with air—and she began coughing. The air was thick with debris from the crumbling floor and ashes from the cremated remains of the dead. It smelled terrible and made her nose itch. 

"See what I mean?" 

"Okay, okay. It's not romantic." Eimme paused for a moment before continuing. "S-so, you're saying yes, right?" 

"Yes." The response came swiftly. Cladia didn't even hesitate. Her face was so red it seemed as if steam might come out of her head. 

"..." Eimme couldn't find any words to say. 

She stepped closer to Cladia, gently took her chin, and lifted her face. She closed her eyes and kissed her. 

Their lips parted. Cladia took a step back. So many sudden events had unfolded in such a short time. Her brain was still struggling to process everything. 

"T-the person you were fighting... what happened to her?" It was clear she wanted to change the subject and disperse the awkward atmosphere. They could continue this at home, after all. This disgusting place was no place to continue. 

"She's lying over there. I didn't kill her. She might be useful later. She seemed talented." 

"What about the man? Is he dead?" 

"Yes. He should be. There's no way he survived." It was a lie. The man was alive. Eimme could hear his heartbeat and breathing. 

"Didn't your fight end too quickly?" 

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Your fight ended so fast. That man seemed stronger. It's odd that you defeated him so easily." 

"Thanks to the technique you taught me. The one that amplifies the pain from inflicted damage. That's why he aimed for my sword and-" 

"And?" Eimme was surprised. 

Eimme soon noticed something. The sword Cladia was holding. It wasn't the sword she had forged and gifted to her. Why was she using this sword now? 

"Hm? Dia. Where is the sword I forged for you?" 

"A-about that..." 

"..?" A bad feeling crept over Eimme. "D-don't tell me..." She dropped to her knees again. 

A single tear rolled down her cheek.