"Doesn't matter who it is!" Lucas groaned. "The problem is—what do we do now?"
Originally, with the map in hand, he'd planned to control the flow of battle, striking with perfect information. But now not only were their own coordinates exposed, they had effectively become everyone's target.
Even if no one could wipe them all out, killing just one of them would be worth as much as eliminating an entire team. With that kind of temptation, surely some players would risk it all to hunt them down.
"Isn't that even better?" Dehya cracked her knuckles, her grin fierce. "Now we don't have to look for anyone. We just sit tight and let them come to us."
To be fair, if it were just a few ordinary teams—three or five squads, maybe a dozen people total—Lucas might indeed have been confident in wiping them all out.
But the match had only just begun. With the most contestants still active—and plenty of strong ones among them—being surrounded could easily turn the tide against them.
"If you're planning something," A said, tapping the map where several red dots were rapidly converging on their position, "I'd suggest you do it fast. Our guests... are almost here."
Indeed, while not every red dot on the map was moving in their direction, at least seventy to eighty percent showed signs of converging toward them.
In other words, there wasn't much time left to come up with a plan.
"I have an idea," Lucas said, a thought flashing across his mind. "Why don't the three of us split up?"
He had a point. If they stayed together, they'd become everyone's main target. Once surrounded and overwhelmed by numbers, they'd be in serious trouble.
If they split up, the pursuers would be forced to divide as well—maybe giving them a chance to break through the encirclement.
More importantly, it was safer not to put all their eggs in one basket. Even if one of them got caught, the others might still have a shot at victory.
A's strength was still unknown, while both Lucas and Dehya were formidable in their own right. However, they were both better suited to fighting solo, and there wasn't much coordination between them. It would make more sense to fight separately.
"I don't mind," Dehya shrugged. "When I was doing missions out in the desert, I took down more than thirty bandits while running."
"What about me, then?" A touched her cheek and sighed. "You two are skilled fighters, but I'm just a weak woman. If someone corners me, wouldn't I be done for?"
Lucas and Dehya exchanged a look. The latter snorted. "Oh, drop the act. I bet you're the one hiding the deepest."
A stuck out her tongue playfully. "All I can do is protect myself. As for killing and earning points, I'll leave that to you two."
"There's not much time, so let's move," Lucas said, then paused as something occurred to him. "Wait—what about the map?"
Their coordinates had already been exposed. Even if they threw the map away, that wouldn't change. Besides, keeping it would allow them to see others' positions and avoid danger.
Without hesitation, A tore the map into three pieces with a sharp rip. "Problem solved—one for each of us."
"What are you doing!?" Even Dehya, usually so brash, gasped. "That's a treasure! Can it still work after being torn apart?"
"No, look…"
Lucas took one of the fragments. The visible area had shrunk, but he could still see the red dots nearby.
"So it still works?" Dehya clicked her tongue in amazement. "Can we tear it into more pieces?"
"This is a treasure, not scrap paper," Lucas muttered. "Anyway, we'll each head in a different direction. As long as we take down six more opponents, we'll qualify and get out of danger."
They didn't waste another word. The three finally left the tavern, exchanged quick glances, and then dashed off in three different directions.
——
Meanwhile, at the tournament venue.
Kujou Sara set down her notepad and glanced at Yae Miko beside her, frowning slightly. "Lady Guuji, are you sure it's alright to add a rule like that on the fly?"
Indeed—the rule that acquiring the map would reveal one's coordinates wasn't part of Raiden Shogun's original setup. It had been Yae Miko's sudden idea.
"Don't you think the old rules were boring?" Yae Miko spread her hands with a grin. "A bunch of people running around like headless flies—who thought that was entertaining?"
Raiden Ei, who had been silent the whole time, said calmly, "I made that decision. Do you have a problem with it?"
"I knew it—it was you, you block of wood," Yae Miko teased without a hint of fear, flashing a sly smile. "Well, now I've made your boring tournament much more interesting. No need to thank me. After all… we're good friends, aren't we?"
Raiden Ei said nothing, but she couldn't deny it—the once tepid audience had grown lively again. Lucas's team, having just left the tavern, instantly became the crowd's new focus. Their live footage was moved to the most prominent display.
Because the three had split up, the screen was divided into three sections.
"It's Dehya!" In the stands, a group of mercenaries from Sumeru cheered loudly, ignoring the stares from others. "Let them see the might of the Flame-Mane Lioness!"
"Huh?"
Not far away, Klee blinked in confusion as she stared at the section showing A. "That person… looks like Mommy!"
"What?" Jean, sitting beside her as her guardian, looked startled. "You mean Lady Alice? That's impossible. Why would she join the Transmission of Heart tournament? You must be mistaken."
"No! Even if Mommy's wearing a mask, I can still tell!" Klee's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That's definitely her! She must've come to surprise me! Yay!"
Jean narrowed her eyes, studying the woman on the screen carefully. Even with half her face hidden, Alice's unforgettable beauty was still recognizable. And that radiant golden hair—shining like the sun, just like Klee's—left little doubt.
Jean didn't know why Alice would show up in a place like this, but then again, Klee's mother had never been someone who followed common sense. Nothing she did could truly be called surprising.
——
Just as Lucas had guessed, the red dots on the map split into three separate pursuit routes, each tracking one of them. However, since the map had been torn apart, its power seemed weakened—the coordinates lagged by several minutes. That meant Lucas could only roughly estimate his pursuers' direction.
Of course, he wasn't simply running away. With his speed, he could easily outrun most competitors; if he sprinted for one minute, the average fighter would need ten to catch up.
He deliberately slowed down to "lead them around," letting his pursuers exhaust themselves while distancing them from one another. Once someone got isolated, he'd strike.
With his strength, it wouldn't normally require this much strategy—but this match wasn't about victory. It was about removing the Ring of Manipulation. Playing it safe was the better choice.
"Hey! Stop running!"
Just then, a rough shout echoed from behind him.
"If you're a man, face me head-on!"
Lucas turned his head. A man dressed as a samurai stood before him, gripping a fine-looking katana and pointing it straight at him.
"Don't even think about running. You're already surrounded."
Sure enough, two more samurai stepped out from the sides, closing in. Their robes were of the same style—patched here and there, but immaculately clean.
They were clearly impoverished samurai. Such people were not uncommon in Inazuma. With the nation's policies constantly shifting in recent years, noble families and merchant caravans alike had drastically reduced their demand for swordsmen, leaving many warriors without employment.
Some had become wanderers with no fixed work, drifting from place to place. Others had abandoned their honor entirely, turning into sea bandits who survived by looting and killing.
Judging by their appearance, these three were likely among the former.
Still, anyone able to keep pace with Lucas wasn't ordinary.
"I wasn't planning on running anyway," Lucas said with a smile. "So, are you three coming at me together?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" the samurai barked, furious. "Don't insult the pride of a samurai! I'll fight you one-on-one!"
Oh? So he actually had principles.
"I am Mifune Satoshi, disciple of the Iwakura Style—Advanced Transmission," he declared solemnly. "I do not draw my blade against nameless ghosts. State your name."
Iwakura Style?
Lucas remembered that name well. He'd encountered it several times in the Simulator.
The Iwakura sword school had once been renowned throughout Inazuma, its disciples countless. But over time, it fell into decline. The previous headmaster even dissolved the style altogether, erasing its legacy from Inazuma's history.
Lucas hadn't expected to meet one of its disciples here.
"My name is Lucas," he said, finding the man's straightforwardness rather likable. He had plenty of time to finish off all three anyway. "Very well. Let's have a proper duel."
Mifune Satoshi drew his katana with a sharp metallic ring. "Draw your blade!"
Lucas hesitated briefly, then unsheathed his own weapon—the Fujin Prototype.
The moment Mifune laid eyes on that oddly shaped thing, he froze, then roared in anger. "Are you mocking me!?"
"Not at all. It's just the only thing I could find," Lucas replied truthfully. "Otherwise, I'd be fighting you bare-handed."
"Okazaki Kunihiko," Mifune said to another of his companions, "lend him your blade."
The samurai named Okazaki Kunihiko, clearly the junior disciple, hesitated but eventually stepped forward, handing over his katana with visible reluctance. "That's a fine sword. Be careful with it."
These weapons must have been provided inside the arena, but to samurai who cherished their blades like their own lives, even a temporary sword was precious.
Lucas nodded, drew the katana, and said calmly, "Then allow me to experience the swordsmanship of the Iwakura Style."
A sharp gleam flashed in Mifune's eyes as he lunged forward. The Iwakura Style lived up to its name—its strikes were as steady and unyielding as bedrock, its balance of offense and defense nearly flawless, leaving almost no openings.
In sword schools like this, disciples were ranked according to their mastery:
Basic Transmission—those just entering the path.
Intermediate Transmission—students who had learned formal techniques.
Advanced Transmission—masters who had grasped the inner secrets of the style.
And at the top, Full Transmission—those granted permission to teach the school's arts and found their own lineages.
Mifune Satoshi was an Advanced Transmission disciple, a shihan-dai of the Iwakura Style. Though not among the best of the best, his swordsmanship was formidable enough to earn respect even among seasoned warriors. No wonder he'd managed to keep up with Lucas and still have the stamina to fight.
Unfortunately, his opponent was far beyond his level.
Despite the relentless flurry of attacks, Lucas met every strike with effortless precision. Before long, Mifune realized something was wrong. He retreated two steps, eyes wide.
"You… You're using the Iwakura Style! Are you an Intermediate disciple of our school?"
The Iwakura Style had once flourished in Inazuma, and it wasn't unheard of for those who'd received Full Transmission to teach techniques to outsiders.
However, even among those who'd studied under the style, mastering a few superficial moves was already rare. Yet the man before him displayed mastery on par with his own.
That was because Lucas once obtained the talent [Iwakura Style – Full Transmission]—granting mastery over all Iwakura techniques and increasing sword proficiency by twenty percent. Using the same techniques against their practitioner was no challenge at all.
"Something like that," Lucas said lazily, not bothering to explain further. "You don't mind if I use Iwakura swordsmanship against you, do you?"
"If it's a test of Iwakura's techniques, you can't possibly defeat me!" Mifune declared firmly. "My dream is to restore the Iwakura Style! If I can't even surpass an Intermediate disciple, what right do I have to that dream?"
"You said you're an Advanced disciple," Lucas said, narrowing his eyes. "Then you must have mastered all of the style's secret techniques, haven't you?"
Mifune, ever honest, answered, "No. There was one legendary ultimate technique—Tengu Slash. It's been lost for generations. If not for that, the Iwakura Style wouldn't have fallen so far."
A single lost technique capable of deciding the fate of an entire school—such was its power.
"Then…" Lucas switched his grip, holding the blade in an unorthodox stance. "Would you like to see that legendary technique for yourself?"
"You… You know Tengu Slash!?" Mifune's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! Even the last headmaster failed to master it!"
"Here it comes."
Lucas swung the blade. A blinding arc of silver light swept through the air, slicing past Mifune Satoshi in an instant. The flash was so bright that the other two Iwakura disciples had to shield their eyes.
"Tengu Slash!"
As his words faded, Lucas slid the blade back into its sheath. Two sharp cracks rang out. Something dark and foul-smelling fell to the ground—a crow, cleanly bisected in midair.
It twitched its wings weakly for a moment, as if still unaware of its own death, before finally falling still.
The legendary Tengu Slash—a sword technique swift enough to cut down even a flying Tengu.
Of course, there were no Tengu here. Only an unfortunate crow had happened to cross its path.
"It's true… that was an incredibly fast strike," Mifune Satoshi murmured. "But Tengu Slash isn't merely meant to fell birds midair."
"M-Mifune-senpai!" Okazaki Kunihiko, who had been watching from nearby, cried out in alarm. "Your… your arm!"
Mifune blinked, lowering his head. To his shock, his left arm lay severed on the ground.
Lucas's sword had been so fast that he hadn't even noticed the cut until now. Only when the searing pain finally reached his brain did cold sweat begin to bead on his forehead.
He hadn't even seen Lucas move—let alone block the attack. If Lucas could take his arm that easily, then his head could've rolled just as effortlessly.
"Well?" Lucas flicked the blade lightly, his voice calm. "Do you believe me now?"
Whether what he'd used was truly Tengu Slash didn't really matter anymore. A sword art that exquisite would be considered a supreme technique in any school.
"Ha… hahaha!"
To everyone's surprise, the one-armed Mifune suddenly burst into laughter. Even Lucas and his two fellow disciples stared in disbelief.
What was going on? Had their senior finally snapped?
"This is fate! Heaven's will itself!" Mifune shouted. "The heavens do not wish the Iwakura Style to perish—our revival is at hand!"
"Hey now…" Lucas tilted his head. "Don't tell me you just learned that move by watching it once."
Lucas's Tengu Slash had been a system reward—a top-tier sword art ranking just below the Raiden Shogun's Musou no Hitotachi. If Mifune could master it with a single glance, the Iwakura Style would never have fallen into obscurity in the first place.
"I'm far too dull to ever grasp the secrets of Tengu Slash," Mifune said, shaking his head. "But you… you are the one who can carry the torch of our school! Please, take up the mantle of the next head of the Iwakura Style!"
"Why me?" Lucas sighed helplessly. "Don't you already have a headmaster?"
"The headmaster? You mean that coward Iwakura Mitsuteru?" Mifune let out a long, bitter sigh. "He's the one who destroyed the Iwakura Style. When the Vision Hunt Decree came, he handed over his Vision without resistance. After that, the disciples lost heart. He disbanded the school entirely and went to serve as a tactics instructor for the Tenryou Commission. How could we ever acknowledge such a man as our master? He's nothing more than a dog of the Shogunate."
A Vision was born from human will—and when it was taken away, that will often crumbled.
Mitsuteru's surrender of his Vision must have broken him, leading to the downfall of the Iwakura Style.
"After that, the school splintered. Disciples scattered across Inazuma," Mifune said, his gaze heavy with sorrow. "To them, Iwakura was their home. I joined the Transmission of Heart to restore our style—to give my brothers a place to belong once more."
Lucas began to understand. Thanks to his experiences in the Simulator, he did indeed have some connection to the Iwakura Style. And Mifune's determination stirred something in him.
Still, he hesitated. "I'd like to help you, I really would—but I have no idea how to act as a headmaster. Besides, I'm from Liyue. I can't exactly stay in Inazuma forever."
Seeing that Lucas was moved, Mifune's face lit up. "There's no need to worry! The title of headmaster is only in name—you wouldn't need to handle daily affairs. And as for nationality, the Iwakura Style has no rule against outsiders. You've mastered our swordsmanship and even command the lost secret art Tengu Slash. No one is more qualified than you to lead us."
That flattery went straight to Lucas's ego. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he said, "Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I could lend a hand. But how do I get the other disciples to recognize me as the new head?"
"That's simple," Mifune explained. "Iwakura Mitsuteru still holds the sacred blade Thin-Edge Amakumo, passed down through generations. It's the symbol of the Iwakura headmaster. He's also competing in the Transmission of Heart. If you can defeat him openly and honorably, as a true samurai should, he'll have no choice but to yield the sword—and with it, every disciple will accept your leadership."
Even without his Vision, Mitsuteru remained a formidable warrior and a strong contender for advancement. If Lucas kept winning, their paths would likely cross soon enough.
"I see." Lucas nodded. "If I meet him, I'll do as you said. If not… well, that's out of my hands."
Overjoyed, Mifune turned to his companions. "Shimada Shichirouji, Okazaki Kunihiko—pay your respects to our next headmaster, Lord Zen'in!"
Every Iwakura headmaster bore the title "Zen'in." Though Lucas hadn't officially taken the position, Mifune's respect for him was already boundless.
The two disciples hesitated at first, but after witnessing Lucas's breathtaking skill—and sharing their dream of restoring the school—they finally bowed together.
"We pay our respects, Headmaster!"
"Hold on, hold on," Lucas said, half amused. "You're getting ahead of yourselves. I haven't accepted anything yet. Get up."
"No need," Mifune said quietly. "We have nothing left to give our new master. The only gift we can offer… are our three lives. Please, take them yourself."
Their purpose had always been to revive the Iwakura Style. Now that Lucas had appeared, their mission was fulfilled. There was no reason to go on. Offering their deaths to grant him points was all they could do now.
Lucas wasn't one for empty sentiment. Seeing their resolve, he didn't hesitate long. He nodded slowly.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll make sure your deaths are quick and without pain."
Just as Lucas sheathed his blade, ready to grant the Iwakura disciples their wish, Shimada Shichirou suddenly spoke up.
"W–wait a moment!"
"Shimada!" Mifune Satoshi barked. "Don't tell me you've lost your nerve!"
Even though dying here wouldn't mean true death, the feeling of being killed was exactly the same. To die in battle was one thing—but sitting still and waiting for the end tested anyone's courage.
"It's not that," Shimada said, shaking his head solemnly. "I have one small request. If possible… I wish to die beneath the Tengu Slash."
For disciples of the Iwakura Style, being struck down by their school's greatest secret art would be an honor worth dying for.
To be honest, using Tengu Slash wasn't something Lucas could do lightly. Like in a game, every skill consumed a certain amount of energy—whether you called it internal power, mana, or chakra, it was all the same thing.
The stronger the technique, the greater the drain. Even with Lucas's current strength, this kind of ultimate move wasn't something he could casually throw out like a normal attack.
Still, it was their dying wish. Lucas nodded. "Alright. Leave it to me."
Shimada's expression eased. "Please… do it."
"Tengu Slash."
Once again, Lucas's blade carved a wide, gleaming arc through the air. When the silver light faded, all three kneeling disciples had been cleaved cleanly in two.
His strike had been so fast that Shimada's head, as it rolled to the ground, still managed to whisper, "Such speed…" before closing its eyes in peaceful satisfaction.
Even if it had been real death, to die beneath such flawless swordsmanship would have been an honor beyond regret.
Lucas glanced down at the katana in his hand. It wasn't a legendary weapon, but its craftsmanship was solid. For a moment, he considered taking it with him to replace that ridiculous Fujin Prototype—but after some thought, he changed his mind. Instead, he planted the three blades upright before the bodies, forming makeshift gravestones.
He was just about to leave when he heard heavy, rapid footsteps approaching. Turning, he saw a massive figure leap into view.
"Haha! Gotcha!" the man shouted.
Lucas looked closer—the tall, broad-shouldered man with twin horns and a goofy, gleaming smile could only be one person: Arataki Itto.
And his weapon… wasn't his usual massive club, but a frozen swordfish nearly a meter long, its sharp, spear-like snout glinting dangerously in the light.
Only someone like Arataki Itto would use something like that as a weapon.
Lucas almost wanted to laugh, but then remembered his own Fujin Prototype—and decided he didn't have room to talk.
Trailing behind Itto were two familiar faces: a calm, handsome swordsman and a cheerful young man from Ritou. Kaedehara Kazuha and Thoma.
Quite the lineup—a single team made up of half of Inazuma's most recognizable men.
They must have followed his coordinates here. With their combined strength, it wasn't surprising they'd caught up.
"Huh?"
When Itto finally got a good look at Lucas, his excitement turned to surprise. "Wait a sec—you're that guy who saved me the other day!"
Lucas blinked, then remembered. Back when he and Shenhe had been wandering through Inazuma, they'd stumbled into a restaurant opening and accidentally helped save Itto from being arrested by Kujou Sara. He hadn't expected the oni to actually remember.
"Oh, it's you," Lucas said with a grin. "That was nothing worth mentioning."
"Well, this puts me in a tight spot," Itto said, scratching the back of his head. "Taking you out would earn me three points, but doing that'd make me the kind of guy who stabs his savior in the back!"
If it had been any other team, Lucas would've already drawn his blade without hesitation.
But this trio was a different story. Itto might be a bit of an airhead, but he was tough—really tough—and not easy to put down.
Kazuha, on the other hand, might not be his equal in raw strength, but in a pure sword match—where they couldn't use elemental powers—he'd still be a difficult opponent.
And Thoma… while not the strongest, would make the fight longer than Lucas would like. He could win, sure, but it would take time—and if others arrived mid-fight, things would get troublesome fast.
"No need to overthink it," Lucas said, shaking his head. "A match is a match. You can make your move."
At this point, there was no choice but to fight. If he could finish them quickly, he'd get the points he needed to advance.
But Itto suddenly waved a hand. "No way! A real man puts loyalty first! You saved me once, so I'm gonna pay that back!"
He turned his back to Lucas, facing Kazuha and Thoma with a serious look. "You two aren't part of the Arataki Gang, so I can't order you around. But this guy's my brother now! I'm asking you—no, begging you—to let him go. But if you won't…"
He dropped into a stance, planting his feet and brandishing his swordfish like a great blade. "Then I'll fight you myself!"
You had to give it to him—the guy might be a simpleton, but he was the kind of friend you could count on. Even if it meant turning against his own teammates, he refused to forget a debt of gratitude.
Kazuha and Thoma exchanged a look—and both smiled.
"What a coincidence," Kazuha said with a calm laugh. "He's my friend too. I was just thinking that if you decided to fight him, I'd have to stand on his side. Now that you've said this, I don't have to hesitate."
"No problem on my end either," Thoma added with a shrug and a grin. "I only joined the Transmission of Heart because my lady asked me to. She told me to assist Brother Lucas as much as I could."
Unlike the straightforward Arataki Itto, both Kaedehara Kazuha and Thoma were sharp and composed—one calm and measured, the other quietly calculating. The instant they saw Lucas, they'd already started thinking of ways to help him.
If Itto hadn't blurted out exactly what he was thinking, the two of them might never have found the right words to start with.
"So we're all on the same side after all!" Itto said after a brief moment of surprise. He slapped his thigh and burst out laughing. "Brother Lucas, looks like you're in luck running into us!"
Lucas's expression turned a little strained, his smile awkward. "Yeah… I guess so."
He had already been prepared to fight to the end, but with the three of them talking like this, attacking first now felt… impolite.
Still, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The three before him were far tougher than the Iwakura disciples he'd faced earlier. If possible, Lucas would rather look for easier opponents to handle instead.
"In that case, let's part ways here," Thoma said with an easy smile. "But be careful. I doubt you've seen the last of your pursuers."
Just then, Kazuha's ears twitched slightly. His expression sharpened. "Someone's coming."
"What? How can you tell?" Itto tugged at his own ears. "I don't hear a thing!"
"I'm not listening," Kazuha replied calmly. "I'm feeling the flow of the wind. Three of them. Moving fast—and strong. Not weaker than we are."
"If they're chasing from this direction…" Thoma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then they're probably after Lucas."
"Alright! I've decided!"
Itto clenched his fists and grinned. "Brother Lucas, you go on ahead! We'll hold off your pursuers. And hey, we're three points short of advancing anyway!"
Lucas almost wanted to suggest that they all stay and fight together—four against whoever was coming—but since they weren't on the same team, taking credit for the kills himself would be uncalled for. He nodded instead.
"In that case, I'll leave it to you three. I'll head out first."
The number of contestants would keep dwindling as time passed. The longer he lasted, the better his odds became.
Once Lucas was gone, Itto started stretching his shoulders and cracking his knuckles, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Wonder what kind of opponents we'll get this time! I call dibs on the strongest one!"
"You can have all three for all I care," Kazuha murmured, watching Lucas's figure disappear into the distance. "Still… I really would've liked the chance to cross blades with him properly."
Thoma shielded his eyes with one hand, looking toward the horizon. "Well, speak of the devil—it looks like they're here."
Sure enough, three figures were rapidly approaching.
But when their faces became clear, both Itto and Kazuha froze in surprise.
"Shinobu?"
"Lumine?"
Indeed, the trio consisted of a blonde girl in a white dress, a green-haired woman wearing a demon mask, and a brown-haired beauty with a pair of fluffy dog ears atop her head.
They were Lumine, Kuki Shinobu… and a female Gorou—known here as "Hina."
Though she and Gorou shared many features, Lumine didn't make the connection. Beastkin weren't common in Inazuma, but they weren't unheard of either.
"So…" Thoma scratched his head with a wry smile. "Am I the only one here who doesn't know anyone? That's kinda embarrassing."
Kazuha's eyes softened slightly as he looked at Lumine. "If possible," Lumine said quietly, "I'd rather not fight you."
They weren't close, but they weren't strangers either.
"A match is a match," Kazuha replied calmly. "Friendship has no place in competition. If you want to pass, you'll have to defeat the three of us first."
Before Lumine could answer, Itto suddenly stepped forward, his face lighting up. "Shinobu, I—"
"I know what you want to ask," Shinobu interrupted, frowning slightly. "Where I've been, why I'm competing in the Transmission of Heart… I'll explain later. Right now isn't the time—"
"No, no, that's not what I meant!" Itto waved his hands wildly, eyes fixed on the dog-eared girl beside her. His jaw practically dropped. "I just want to know—who's this lovely lady? What's her name? How many people are in her family? Is she seeing anyone—"
"You idiot, don't get so close!" Shinobu sighed helplessly. "You're scaring Miss Hina."
"Hina, huh? What a beautiful name!" Itto said dreamily, swallowing hard. "I can't bring myself to raise a hand against such a delicate flower! You two take this one—I'll sit out!"
Itto wasn't being lecherous—he was simply too honest for his own good. For some reason, this "Hina" gave him a strange sense of warmth and familiarity, and he couldn't bear the thought of fighting her.
But to Hina, his words sounded like mockery. Her expression hardened with anger. "Don't underestimate me! Take this!"
She leapt forward, drawing a short blade from her waist, and lunged straight at him.
Though Hina's true weapon was the bow, she hadn't found one suitable for the match. The short blade would have to do. And in her transformed state, her strength and speed had increased dramatically. To improve her combat ability, she'd been practicing close-quarters combat as well.
Itto was caught off guard. He hadn't expected such a fragile-looking girl to suddenly attack. Acting on instinct, he lifted his frozen swordfish and held it across his chest.
Though it was just a fish, it was frozen solid—hard as steel. Rumor had it that a gangster's brother in Inazuma had once beaten someone half to death with a frozen fish, so it would do fine for blocking.
But then—crack!
With a single swing, Hina's short blade sliced the swordfish cleanly in two.
A sharp jolt numbed Itto's hands. For the first time, he realized that the girl before him was anything but fragile.
"Well?" Hina raised her short blade, eyes sharp. "Will you fight me now?"
Before Itto could respond, a whistling sound tore through the air—a single arrow, speeding toward them from afar.
"Watch out!"
Without hesitation, Arataki Itto threw himself in front of Miss Hina, swinging half a frozen swordfish to cleave the incoming arrow clean in two.
"Well, aren't you impressive."
From the bushes ahead, six or seven figures emerged, each armed with bows or crossbows. The man leading them held a musket, smirking as he said, "Didn't manage to catch that big fish, but taking down a few of you should still earn us plenty of points."
"So many people?" Lumine frowned. "They can't all be on the same team. Why are they grouped together?"
Even a small team of three often struggled to stay united—so for this many to work together was indeed strange.
"These are the elites of the Inagawa-gumi," Kuki Shinobu said coldly from the side. "Watanabe Masaru. I didn't expect you to join the Transmission of Heart."
Indeed, the man leading them was none other than Watanabe Masaru, the Inagawa-gumi's young leader.
That explained how he had managed to gather his subordinates and arm them with so many ranged weapons.
Unlike the Arataki Gang—a group of carefree wanderers—the Inagawa-gumi were true yakuza. For them to participate in a martial competition like the Transmission of Heart was already suspicious enough. And the fact that he'd brought several of the gang's top fighters meant there was certainly another motive behind it.
"Kuki Shinobu? You're still hanging around with these guys?" Watanabe Masaru shook his head. "You've got real skill. Why not join us? Our new boss won't treat you poorly."
"So the rumors about the Inagawa-gumi changing leadership were true," Shinobu frowned. "Don't tell me your participation is because of him?"
"That's right. With our support, the boss can't possibly lose." Watanabe raised his musket and aimed at her with a sneer. "Fire!"
He didn't recognize the others, but he knew enough of Shinobu's and Itto's strength. Better to weaken them from afar first before closing in.
But before they could act, Arataki Itto roared, "Everyone stay behind me! I, the great Arataki Itto, will protect you all!"
It wasn't just because he loved showing off—he also wanted to leave a good impression on "Miss Hina."
"In that case," Watanabe smirked, "aim for the big one!"
In an instant, arrows and bolts flew toward them. Itto took a deep breath, gripping the two halves of the frozen swordfish and spinning them with the wind, batting down every single projectile midair.
His strength was already formidable, but now, driven by adrenaline and pride, he fought like a raging bull. Eyes blazing red, he charged toward Watanabe's group, shouting, "The great Arataki Itto is invincible!"
Watanabe's men had never seen such ferocity. Before they could fire a second volley, Itto had already barreled through them, scattering their formation completely. Shinobu and the others exchanged glances, then dashed forward as well.
Any one of them alone could have handled the Inagawa-gumi fighters—but together, the battle ended in seconds. The thugs were swiftly defeated, leaving the clearing silent once more.
"Hahaha! The great Arataki Itto is just too amazing!" Itto bellowed. "The Inagawa-gumi? Pathetic!"
"You idiot," Shinobu rolled her eyes. "You're only this bold because you can't die in here."
"Still… I fought like my life depended on it," Itto said weakly—then his face suddenly went pale, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud.
Blood began seeping through his clothes. Alarmed, Shinobu quickly pulled his jacket aside—only to see a gaping wound in his chest, bleeding heavily.
"I… I guess one slipped through after all…" Itto gasped, drenched in sweat. "Miss… Hina… before I die, there's something I need to tell you…"
Hina blinked. She didn't particularly like the big oaf, but since he had just risked his life for everyone, she crouched beside him. "Go on. I'm listening."
Itto's heart leapt. "I…"
Before he could finish, a loud pffft! echoed from beneath him. A strange stench instantly filled the air.
Everyone froze. A few dark lines appeared on their faces.
Itto, the source of the sound, turned completely to stone. The words he'd meant to say evaporated. Even someone as thick-skinned as him was mortified beyond belief.
"When a person's dying, they sometimes can't control their body," Shinobu sighed, shaking her head. "Also—I told you to stop eating so much natto."
With that, she took a deep breath, drew her dagger, and plunged it into Itto's chest—ending both his suffering and his embarrassment.
And earning herself another point.
"Uh…" Thoma finally broke the heavy, awkward silence. "So… are we still fighting?"
"Forget it," Lumine said, shaking her head. "We've already earned enough points taking these guys down. And after fighting side by side, there's no reason to turn on each other."
"By the way," Shinobu said casually, "Hina, our boss actually seems to like you. He's kind of dumb, but he's a decent guy. Would you… be interested in getting to know him?"
Shinobu was clearly trying to help her leader out, seeing how he'd fallen for Hina.
"Why would I want to know him?" Hina asked blankly. "And… what was his name again?"
If Arataki Itto could hear that the woman he'd nearly died protecting didn't even remember his name, who knew what expression he'd make?
Even Shinobu couldn't help thinking her boss really didn't stand a chance.
"Miss Kuki," Kaedehara Kazuha said with a soft smile, "I'd advise you not to trouble yourself further. This Go... Miss Hina likely isn't very interested in men."
At the word 'Go', Hina's ears perked up. She quickly turned to look at Kazuha, who merely nodded slightly and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her to keep quiet.
Unlike the straightforward Lumine, Kaedehara Kazuha—though seemingly serene—was in fact sharp and calculating. From the first moment he saw Hina, the canine traits she carried had caught his attention.
Just now, he had deliberately slipped out the word "five," and as expected, Hina's face changed instantly. That reaction only confirmed his suspicion.
Still, Kazuha remained calm. The fact that Gorou had somehow turned into a woman was most likely tied to his mysterious lineage. Since she had chosen to change her name and hide her identity, Kazuha saw no reason to expose her. He had merely dropped a subtle hint.
――――
Elsewhere, Lucas was making his way through a dense forest.
As time went on, the illusion crafted by the Raiden Shogun was steadily shrinking, and the number of remaining contestants continued to dwindle.
Some had already earned enough points to advance.
"Almost there…"
Lucas came to a halt, deciding not to move any farther. Unfolding a fragment of the map, he saw only a handful of red dots nearby—and judging from their spacing, they likely weren't part of the same team.
In truth, it was rare for an entire team to advance together. Many fell apart due to internal conflict—or perished in battle.
Now, there was no need for him to keep running. He could simply wait for others to come to him.
One red dot was already close—likely hiding somewhere within the forest.
Feigning ignorance, Lucas sat down as though taking a break. Then, a chill raced up his spine. On instinct, he rolled to the side just as a spear of ice slammed down from above, stabbing into the exact spot where he had been sitting.
Before he could regain his footing, a cold aura swept through the clearing. From the thicket ahead, a figure emerged, accompanied by a voice he knew all too well.
"It's been some time. Your strength seems to have improved."
It was a tall, silver-haired woman—elegant and beautiful, her cool poise only amplifying her allure. Her figure was slender yet full, even surpassing Shenhe's in certain ways. In short: delicate branches, heavy fruit.
"Ro… Rosalyn?"
Recognizing her face, Lucas blinked in surprise. "How is it you?"
Indeed, it was none other than La Signora, who had previously split up from Shenhe and Yura during their last mission. Whether in the Simulator or in reality, the two of them had already shared more than one… unconventional encounter.
Truthfully, it had been only about a month since their last meeting, but so much had happened since then—countless battles, countless simulations—that seeing her again now almost felt surreal.
"Everyone has their own reasons for being here," La Signora said evenly. "What's wrong? Do you intend to uncover everyone's motives?"
Lucas thought for a moment, then replied, "If I'm not mistaken, this must be a Fatui assignment too, isn't it?"
"Correct." La Signora nodded slightly. "It makes no difference if you know. I'm here to win the championship. I just didn't expect that the one who killed the three-point target… would turn out to be you."
"I see." Lucas exhaled softly. "That's a relief."
"A relief?" La Signora frowned. "We're enemies now!"
"Because the Fatui made us enemies," Lucas said with a grin, "not because you actually want to kill me. Am I wrong?"
A faint blush rose to La Signora's cheeks. "So what if you're right? Either way, we'll have to fight eventually. I might as well finish this early."
Lucas's voice softened. "If you fail your mission… would the punishment be severe?"
"You—why are you asking that?" La Signora stammered slightly, biting her lip.
"If that's the case," Lucas said seriously, "then I can let you kill me. I don't want you to get hurt because of me."
"I don't need your pity!" she snapped. "I'm a Fatui Harbinger! Even if I fail, no one dares lay a hand on me." Her words were sharp, but deep down, something warm stirred. Still, she forced herself to sound firm. "So, what about you? Why did you enter the Transmission of Heart?"
"For this." Lucas raised his wrist, showing her the Ring of Manipulation. "You already know—I need to get this thing off me. If I can meet the Raiden Shogun, her 'Musou no Hitotachi' should be able to sever it."
Of course, La Signora knew what the Ring of Manipulation was. That contraption had been one of the Doctor's twisted inventions, something he'd dredged up from who-knows-where. She had warned Lucas about how dangerous it was—she just hadn't expected him to try removing it this way.
"Hmph. So, we both have something we're fighting for. No reason for either of us to hold back." La Signora extended a hand, gathering a sharp spear of ice in her palm. "Besides, even if you go all out, you might not be my match."
Her understanding of Lucas's strength was still stuck back in Mondstadt. She had no idea how far he'd come since then.
After countless battles in the Simulator, Lucas's power had advanced by leaps and bounds. Among the eleven Fatui Harbingers, he could now confidently surpass more than half of them.
And La Signora—the Eighth Seat—was certainly among that number.
"Wait a minute!" Lucas said quickly, eyeing the ice spear forming in her hand. "Aren't we supposed to stick to martial combat only? Doesn't this… count as cheating?"
"The Raiden Shogun's little tricks can't suppress my power," La Signora replied coldly. "And if no one sees it, then it doesn't count as cheating, does it?"
With a snap of her fingers, a roaring blizzard rose up around them, sealing both of their figures in a swirling wall of snow. From outside, the entire space looked like a hazy white void—nothing inside could be seen.
La Signora's ability to use elemental power didn't mean she had broken free from the Shogun's suppression. The Raiden Shogun's restriction only sealed the power of the Vision. The Cryo energy La Signora wielded came from her Delusion—just like Lucas's own elemental strength, which didn't originate from a Vision at all.
And so, neither could be restrained.
Meanwhile, outside the illusion, murmurs of confusion were spreading through the audience stands.
As the number of contestants dwindled, the number of screens broadcasting the matches had decreased as well—now, less than half of them remained active.
On one of those remaining screens, the image suddenly turned completely white, like static snow on a broken television.
It was, of course, the blizzard La Signora had conjured. Yet according to the rules that Kujou Sara herself had announced, contestants were forbidden from using the power of their Visions within the arena.
On the raised platform, Kujou Sara frowned slightly. "General, what should we do?"
It was obvious someone had used elemental power—an undeniable violation. But the problem was, if they acknowledged it as such, it would imply that someone had managed to overcome the Raiden Shogun's elemental suppression. That, in turn, could tarnish the Shogun's authority.
"There's no need for alarm," Yae Miko spoke up before Raiden Ei could respond. "To add some unpredictability to the competition, the General intentionally introduced certain special events. This blizzard is one of them."
The audience immediately relaxed. Understanding dawned, and their reverence for the Raiden Shogun grew even deeper.
"Well?" Miko returned to Ei's side, her voice playful. "Not a bad excuse, wouldn't you say?"
"Unnecessary," Ei said coolly. "Sara, find out who violated the rules and disqualify her."
Before Sara could act, Yae Miko shook her head. "Why bother? Don't you think these centuries-old rules could use a little change? If this were only a contest of martial skill, it would be dreadfully dull. Look—aren't the spectators enjoying it?"
Raiden Ei's nature—charitably described as principled, or less kindly as rigid—had always resisted change. For hundreds of years, she had pursued the path of Eternity; anything that contradicted that concept, such as "change," was difficult for her to accept.
She didn't reply, only shook her head and sank once more into silent thought.
――――
Before long, the entire forest had been engulfed in the blizzard La Signora created. It not only concealed the fight from outside eyes but also strengthened her power—after all, this was the perfect battlefield for someone wielding a Cryo Delusion.
Lucas, however, stood calmly amid the storm, a faint smile on his face. "So you really do intend to fight me? Fine then. Consider it a little encore for our reunion."
"Take this!"
Without hesitation, La Signora lunged, her ice spear stabbing out in a swift, precise arc.
Unlike Shenhe's refined, graceful spear techniques from Liyue, La Signora's style carried the raw brutality of Mondstadt.
In Mondstadt's history, the sword was the weapon of nobility—while the spear was the tool of slaves and gladiators. Compared to the elegant artistry of swordsmanship, Mondstadt's spear arts were vicious and pragmatic, every thrust aimed to kill.
La Signora had chosen to settle things here precisely because, within this illusion, death carried no real consequence. She could go all out without fear of truly harming Lucas.
Her spear rained down like a storm—but Lucas didn't flinch. He simply drew something from his belt and met the blow head-on, blocking it firmly.
La Signora froze for an instant. She had expected Lucas to have improved, but not enough to parry her strike so effortlessly.
What stunned her even more, however, was what he was using to block her.
That… that was a—
Her face flushed scarlet. "You—what in the world are you holding!?"
"This?" Lucas said matter-of-factly. "It's called the Fujin Prototype. What can I say? It's all I could find as a weapon."
Unlike Dehya, La Signora had seen that particular bizarre item on Lucas before. A quick deduction told her exactly what that Fujin Prototype was for.
In other words…
I could beat you with a stick like this.
"You… you're insulting me!"
Fury blazed in her eyes. In her left hand, she conjured a second weapon—an ice sword—and charged again, spear and sword striking in tandem. "Then face my wrath!"
Among the Fatui Harbingers, La Signora's fighting style leaned more toward that of a sorceress. Yet her centuries of experience also made her a formidable close-combat fighter. Her attacks crashed down like a storm. Though Lucas could parry them, countless cracks began to spread across his improvised weapon.
It wasn't as though the Fujin Prototype had any real combat value, but as a man, Lucas still didn't want to see the thing snap in half—it would feel wrong on several levels.
Still, since she'd already broken the rules, there was no need for him to keep holding back either.
A soft blue light flared in his palm, and in the next instant, greenish-blue flames ignited along the length of his makeshift weapon.
"Impossible!" La Signora's eyes widened. "You can use elemental power too? Don't tell me—you have a Delusion?"
The flames came from the body of a Bifang—a creature whose fire burned with spectral light, not red but blue-green, cold and deathless, a flame that clung and consumed until nothing remained.
Lucas didn't answer. He simply swept his weapon through the air, and the blue fire devoured La Signora's weapons, melting them into vapor in an instant.
Startled, she leapt backward, widening the distance between them. Then, with a flick of her fingers, a dozen ice lances materialized above his head and plunged downward like meteorites.
Lucas spun his blazing weapon in a blur, the Bifang's fire cutting through the descending shards. Each one burst into mist, shrouding his form in drifting snow.
"He blocked that too?"
La Signora's brows knit, her emotions twisting in a tangled mix. On one hand, she was genuinely proud of Lucas's rapid growth; on the other, her pride as a warrior refused to accept defeat.
She was just about to unleash her next strike when something suddenly shot out from within the mist—so fast she barely registered it. Her reflexes were sharp, though, and instead of dodging, she simply reached out and caught the projectile midair.
"Cheap tricks won't—" Her voice cut off in surprise. "Wait… what is this?"
That's right—the "hidden weapon" La Signora had just grabbed was none other than the Fujin Prototype Lucas had been using moments before.
She'd only caught a distant glimpse of it earlier, but now that it was right in front of her—and the strange texture in her hand, firm yet yielding—her cheeks flushed bright red.
Just as she was about to throw the thing away, a sudden buzzing sound filled the air. The Fujin Prototype began vibrating violently in her grip.
La Signora had never encountered anything that vibrated at such an intense frequency. Stranger still, it wasn't just her hand—half her body began tingling and going numb from the vibrations alone.
The sensation felt like touching a live wire. La Signora couldn't even let go if she wanted to.