67 Chapter 67
The storm hammered down, rain blurring the edges of the clearing. Mud sucked at Aruno's boots, but he moved like it was air. Each step calculated, every swing precise, controlled. Durandal sang in his hand, black lightning tracing the edge, shadows bending around it.
The masked figure shifted, katana now drawn with a fluid motion, steel sliding from its sheath without sound, yet the world seemed to hear it all the same. His purple eyes pierced through the storm, measuring Aruno with a predator's patience.
CLANG! Their blades met. Sparks hissed into the rain, steam rising as water and blood sizzled on metal. Aruno twisted, letting the force roll through him, countering with a low, cutting swing. Mud exploded around them with each strike.
CRACK! A tree branch split under the shockwave, splinters spraying like needles. Thunder rattled the mountains. Aruno moved faster than the eye could follow, Durandal tracing arcs of darkness through the rain.
The masked warrior leapt, landing back atop the shattered roof of the shack. BOOM! Wood splintered beneath him. He descended again, katana slicing through the air, cutting streaks in the storm itself.
Aruno didn't speak. His eyes glowed, a single thought burning through him. Kill or survive. But it wasn't survival. Not anymore. It was the Ghost moving, flowing, stripping away hesitation.
WHOOSH! A swing that could have cleaved a mountain, blocked by Durandal with a shower of sparks. Rain hissed as the blades collided again, metal screaming over the storm.
Void whispered once, a soft thread in Aruno's mind, almost drowned by the tempest. "Move like the shadow… be the Ghost."
Aruno's hand flexed. He stepped forward, boots carving through mud. Lightning illuminated his form. Red eyes, dark hair plastered to his face, cloak billowing behind him, Durandal drawn in a single, deadly arc.
The masked figure responded instantly, katana flashing, but Aruno met every strike. Strike after strike. No words. No hesitation. Only the storm, only the clash of steel, only the two forces testing the limits of flesh, blood, bone, metal, and will.
A final strike from the warrior, descending like a guillotine. Aruno didn't flinch. He sidestepped, spinning, Durandal humming as it sliced the air past the scabbard, rain and mud scattering.
Silence followed. Only the storm remained.
They stood apart, breathing hard, soaked, mud and blood running together across their skin. The masked figure's katana hung back at his side. Aruno's Durandal dripped black lightning into the mud.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Just the storm.
Just the stare.
Two predators recognizing one another.
Purple eyes glimmered. Red eyes glowed back.
And in that instant, both knew the battle was not over.
Their blades met again, a sharp clang echoing across the clearing. Aruno pushed forward, muscles tensing as he swung Durandal low, forcing the masked figure back a step.
But then, instead of pressing the attack, the figure straightened and simply began walking away. Not running. Not sneaking. Just walking, each step deliberate, measured.
Aruno froze, hand gripping Durandal. He didn't move. He didn't speak.
Void's voice cut through his mind, incredulous. "What… what is he doing?"
Aruno's chest heaved, red eyes narrowing. "I don't know. He's… leaving?"
The figure's pace never faltered. Every motion controlled, purposeful. His purple eyes glimmered beneath the wide kasa. Not a word. Not a gesture. Nothing but movement.
Void's whisper was tense. "Aruno… he's not running. He's… deciding when to finish this."
Aruno's jaw clenched. "Then we wait. I'm not letting this end unfinished."
The masked figure disappeared into the distance, leaving only the echo of a clash and the weight of unanswered questions.
Aruno's red eyes lingered on the retreating silhouette. "This isn't over. Not by far."
Void remained silent, letting Aruno sit in the aftermath of a battle that had shifted everything.
Aruno stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the faded silhouette. The rain blurred the distance, but nothing could wash away the weight of what had just happened.
Void's voice finally broke the quiet, dry and incredulous. "Well… congratulations. You just got abandoned mid-duel by a guy who could probably erase mountains with his katana. Not exactly the courtesy most people show."
Aruno's lips twitched, almost a smirk, though his red eyes stayed sharp, unwavering. "He left. Doesn't mean the fight is over. Doesn't mean I failed."
Void let out a short, exasperated laugh.
"Sure, sure. 'The Ghost' doesn't chase ghosts. Got it. Just… next time, maybe we don't get left hanging like a fool in the rain."
Aruno exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. The Ghost wasn't a name. It wasn't a title. It was a truth. Every hesitation, every thought of mercy, every ounce of doubt had been stripped away in the storm and in that clash.
"I am the Ghost," he murmured, voice low but steady. "I move where no one can reach. I strike when no one expects. And I survive… because I must."
Void hummed, approving yet still sardonic.
"Finally. Cold, sharp, untouchable. Classic."
Aruno didn't respond with words. He simply tightened his grip on Durandal, letting the rain run off its blade and soak into the mud beneath him. Every drop mirrored the clarity forming in his mind. The Ghost had awakened fully.
And somewhere deep inside, Void's voice lingered, just enough to remind him of the absurdity of the world even when nothing else seemed funny.