Vergil observed the scene before him with that same calm air he wore when something amused him more than worried him.
The training ground still reeked of fresh blood and burnt iron, the ground cracked and stained scarlet—a fresh reminder of the duel between Ada and Ingrid.
In the center, Ingrid tried in vain to reattach her own arm. The limb hung grotesquely, its regeneration failing completely. Frustration was etched on her face—not pain, but pure embarrassment.
Vergil arched an eyebrow, his voice thick with irony.
"So... Ada defeated you that easily?"
Katharina, standing a little further back, gave a soft laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Yes," she replied, amused. "Even with the disadvantage, I must admit... Ada was a surprise."
Ada, sitting on one of the broken pillars, calmly wiped the blood from the blade of her katana. Her expression was cold, her gaze impassive—as if the fight had been nothing more than a practice run.
