"Haah...Haah...haah..."
A sound of ragged breaths echoed amidst the sound of a clashing steel. The enemy in front of him was like no other.
Something was odd about her. How did this woman get so strong? Was she even human? Last time they met, she was weak, and afraid to enter some forest to chase after them, yet now, now it seemed she could cut down a mountain without breaking a sweat.
The blonde haired woman slammed her sword into his with monstrous strength sending him stumbling back. Before he could regain his balance the woman hit the ground with her fist causing the very earth to rise. Purple energy erupted from the ground like a geyser. He managed to get his sword up just in time to block it, barely.
"Kyaah!?"
"Princess!"
"Elizabeth!"
The same couldn't be said about his companions. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that the same attack he barely managed to block hit Elizabeth. She was cluthing the sword in her hand, barely leaning on it with a pained and tired expression on her face. Her leg was completely covered by the purple energy, causing her to scream in pain. They were fighting for hours through hundreds of enemies. Too much, was too much.
"Damn it!"
"Flustered, are we?" The woman chuckled as purple energy began to gather around her hand. "After all the followers you've taken down...you didn't think we'd come unprepared, did you?"
He gritted his teeth, clenching the grip of his sword. He had to do something. But what could he do? He was struggling just to keep up with her speed and strength, his arms were screaming in protest with each block. This was not a fight he could win, at least not one on one.
He looked back, Bedivere was running to Elizabeth, trying to help her and Morgana also seemed to be in dire straits, trying to create a barrier to protect them from a volley of magical attacks of all the followers of Tiamat nearby.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
There was no way he could last long enough for them to get away. There was also no route to escape. They were trapped.
His thoughts were interrupted as the woman suddenly vanished from his sight.
"....!?"
His eyes widened as he felt her presence behind him.
In an instant he turned his body to the side, barely managing to avoid the hand that was aimed directly at his heart. He could feel the air ripple as it passed his chest. He didn't waste a second. He swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing her to retreat a few steps. The woman clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"How annoying. Why do people always struggle? Just give up and die."
There was no time. No room for error. No room for thought.
Ethan's focus narrowed to the woman in front of him. He saw the smirk on her face, the casual disdain in her eyes. She saw him as an insect. A bug to be crushed under her heel. And maybe she was right. But even an insect could bite.
He shifted his weight, a feint to the left, but instead of following through with another swing, he dropped low, kicking out at her ankles. It was a clumsy, desperate move.
She sidestepped it with infuriating ease.
"Is that all you've—"
Her words cut off as he used the momentum of his kick to spin, his sword coming up from below in a vicious arc aimed at her torso.
This time, she wasn't quite fast enough.
The edge of his blade sliced through her side, not deep, but enough to draw blood.
The woman froze.
Her smirk vanished, replaced by a slow and cold smile that spread across her face.
"You're going to regret that."
Why was this woman so strong? The last time she was nothing. This made no sense.
He heard that barbarians were powerful, capable of even removing armor of their enemies with their bare hands, but then why didn't she kill them before in the forest when she had a chance?
"Ethan!"
Morgana's voice was strained and desperate. Something was wrong.
He glanced toward her.
"She has an ability that lowers our defenses! The longer we fight, the worse it gets for us!"
Hundreds of mages surrounded her, each one hurling spell after spell at her shimmering barrier. The air filled with streaks of light, crimson, yellow, violet, all converging on that single point. The barrier held, but with each impact it dimmed and had cracks spreading across its surface like a spiderweb.
Then it happened.
A concentrated volley of yellow light struck the same spot simultaneously. The barrier exploded into fragments of light. In that split second of vulnerability, a single yellow bolt punched through and slammed into Morgana's stomach.
"....!?"
Morgana's eyes went wide.
"Morgana!"
Ethan's heart stopped. He watched her crumple, the small body of hers folding in on itself as she hit the ground. Blood seeping out.
He wanted to run to check up on her, but the woman in front of him wouldn't give him that chance.
Shit!
The blonde woman's wound was already closing. Purple light knitting the flesh together. She took a step toward him, then stopped. Her gaze moved past him to Bedivere and Elizabeth.
"You know," she said, her voice casual and terrible in its calm, "I think watching you squirm is more fun. I've already lost everything. But it's fun to watch you lose everything, too."
She turned her back on him and walked away, leaving them to face hundreds of her followers instead.
Ethan stood frozen for a moment.
It was a reprieve, a cruel one. But a reprieve nonetheless. This was a chance.
"Bedivere! Get Elizabeth out of here and protect her! I'll go check up on Morgana!"
He yelled at the top of his lungs, hoping his voice would cut through the chaos.
Bedivere didn't need to be told twice. She slung Elizabeth's arm over her shoulder and began to half-carry, half-drag her away from the center of the fray.
"Morgana!"
Ethan bolted towards Morgana who seemed to be unresponsive. The followers of Tiamat were closing in on her. She was a sitting duck.
He threw himself between them.
"Get up!" he said over his shoulder. "Morgana, get up!"
He raised his sword. The first follower reached him, a wild-eyed man with a rusty axe. Ethan parried and slammed his sword's hilt into the man's temple. He dropped.
Another replaced him. Then another. He could handle one or two. But not a dozen. His arms felt heavy. Each block and parry took more effort than the last.
Several of them began preparing spells. He was about to be overwhelmed. It was only a matter of seconds.
He glanced back at Morgana.
"....."
She still wasn't moving. Her eyes were closed.
Fear crept into his chest. He was about to die. She was about to die. It was all over.
Three more followers were disarmed. Then two more. His sword felt impossibly heavy now. Blood ran down his arm from a cut he didn't remember getting.
His gaze swept over the chaos, looking for an escape that didn't exist. Then he heard it.
A roar split the air.
A massive dragon made of crystalline ice materialized above them, frost cascading from its form. It opened its maw and exhaled, a torrent of freezing air that swept across the battlefield. The mages surrounding them barely had time to scream before ice engulfed them, freezing them solid where they stood.
The temperature plummeted. Breath became visible in the air.
A figure descended from above, landing gracefully on the battlefield not far away.
The woman wore the robes of a mage, elegant and detailed with deep blues and gold accents. A wide-brimmed hat cast a soft shadow over her silver hair. An open book floated beside her, and faint traces of magic glowed around her hand.
The woman's eyes swept across the scene, taking in everything in an instant. The wounded, the surrounded, the desperate situation.
"...."
Her expression hardened.
The blonde woman, Lucy, finally emerged from the ranks of her followers. Her wound was completely healed now.
"The great Merlin herself. How touching."
Merlin ignored her and raised her staff toward the group of followers behind her.
A wave of cold erupted from her.
Their fight started.
Watching this, Ethan was relieved. The attacks were coming slower. The followers were pulling back, regrouping. It wasn't much, but it was enough. She had given him an opening.
But the relief was short lived. Morgana still wasn't moving.
"Morgana...please..."
He knelt down next to her.
His hands shook as he reached for her neck, pressing two fingers against her throat to find a pulse.
Nothing....
"....."
No, wait. There. A flutter. So faint he almost missed it.
Her heartbeat was barely there, like a weak thread ready to snap at any moment.
"No. no, no...come on!"
His voice cracked. He pressed harder, desperate to feel it again, to confirm she was still alive.
"Morgana, please. Please don't—"
The pulse fluttered once more, then seemed to fade even further.
"Fuck!" His hands moved to her shoulders, gripping them. "Morgana! Wake up! You have to wake up! I need you!" He was shouting now, "Don't do this! Don't you dare do this!"
She didn't respond. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted. The wound on her stomach, he forced himself to look, was bad. Dark energy still clung to it, pulsing with a sickly light.
His mind raced. What was he supposed to do? He didn't know healing magic. He didn't know how to fix this. the only person who knew some healing magic would be Bedivere, but she was so far away and busy protecting Elizabeth...
His breath came in short, rapid gasps. His vision tunneled. All he could see was Morgana's pale face, the shallow rise and fall of her chest that might stop at any moment.
"No, no, no, please..." His voice dropped to a whisper, his hands trembling against her shoulders. "I can't—I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."
"Ethan!" Bedivere's voice cut through the haze,"Ethan, we need to move!"
He didn't hear her. Couldn't hear her. There was only the sound of his own panicked breathing.
"ETHAN!"
Still nothing.
Bedivere shouted while still supporting Elizabeth's weight. She looked at the wounded princess, then back at Ethan kneeling motionless beside Morgana.
"We have to get to him, Bedi!" Elizabeth shouted.
They moved forward, fighting through the scattered followers who tried to block their path. Elizabeth could barely stand, but she swung her sword with gritted teeth. Bedivere fought one-handed, the other arm still supporting Elizabeth. Her bow was unusable in this close-quarters chaos so she had to rely on a dagger she kept strapped to her thigh.
When they finally reached Ethan, Bedivere grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard.
"Ethan!"
"....."
He didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on Morgana. His lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear.
"...can't lose her...can't...what do I do...what do I..."
"Ethan!"
Bedivere shook him harder, but it was like trying to wake someone from a nightmare. He was there, but he wasn't there. It was like this before, when he lost consciouness out of nowhere. However this time, he was wide awake.
"...she's not breathing right...the pulse...I can barely feel it..."
"Ethan, look at me."
"...I don't know what to do...I don't..."
His hands trembled against Morgana's shoulders, feeling the faint warmth that was slowly ebbing away.
***
**
*
"Ethan...at last the day has come. Today I will teach you the special swordsmanship passed down through the Britannia knights."
"Oh! All the practice with vertical and horizontal slashes is finally paying off!"
"Before you start learning, keep this in mind, Ethan."
Merlin's face had grown serious, her hand rested on his shoulder with unexpected weight.
"If you misuse this sword, a terrible future could unfold. This is the kind of swordsmanship it is. The essence of this sword is to neutralize the enemy without taking their life. Impressive, right?"
He remembered the disappointment that had sunk through his chest like a stone.
"Yes...that's impressive..."
But it hadn't been. Not really. He'd wanted power. The kind that could split mountains, that could end threats with a single strike. Instead, he was being taught to pull his punches.
"But Merlin, what kind of swordsmanship would lead to such a tragic future just by neutralizing an enemy? I can't really imagine..."
"The key to this swordsmanship is speed, with a draw so fast it can't even be seen, you strike nine points all at once."
Nine points. Disabling strikes. Techniques meant to incapacitate, to disarm, to leave enemies breathing and whole.
***
The memory dissolved, bleeding back into the present.
Why? Why am I doing this?
His mind raced backward through the months of fighting. How many times had they encountered the same enemies? How many faces had he seen twice, three times, four times? The knights of another kingdom, the barbarians, the followers of Tiamat. Lucy. All of them.
They kept coming back.
Over and over and over again. A cycle of mercy that had bought him nothing but more pain.
What's the point? What's the point of leaving enemies alive when they just come back to kill us? To kill innocent people? To kill—
His gaze dropped to Morgana. Her chest barely moved. The pulse under his fingers was very faint.
—to kill her?
His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms.
He'd followed Merlin's teachings faithfully. He'd struck those nine points thousands of times. Disabled, disarmed, neutralized. He'd shown mercy to people who deserved none, who would never show mercy in return. He'd been good. He'd been righteous. He'd done everything the way he was taught.
And for what?
His friends were bleeding. Elizabeth could barely stand. Morgana was dying in his arms. And he was here, helpless, while the blonde woman, Lucy, walked away without a scratch because even when he'd cut her, even when he'd had the opening, he'd pulled back. Some stupid and deeply carved habit had made him aim for a shallow cut instead of a killing blow at all times.
Neutralize without killing.
Show mercy.
Be better than them.
"....."
He thought of Lucy's face, that cold smile as she turned her back on him. She knew. She knew he wouldn't kill her or try to stab her in the back as she walked away.
She knew he'd been taught to hold back, to show restraint. And she'd exploited it.
"After all the followers you've taken down...you didn't think we'd come unprepared, did you?"
How many had he taken down? How many had he let get back up?
The followers surrounding them now, he recognized some of them. That man with the rusty axe, he'd fought him before. Left him alive. And here he was again, trying to kill Morgana while she lay defenseless.
What was the point of mercy if it only gave evil another chance?
What was the point of honor when his enemies had none?
What was the point of being good when being good got the people he loved killed?
"If you misuse this sword, a terrible future could unfold."
Merlin's warning echoed through his mind.
A terrible future. What could be more terrible than this?
He thought about the stupidity behind it all. Merlin's insistence on neutralization, on restraint, on mercy. What was it based on? Some belief that people could be redeemed? That enemies today might be allies tomorrow? That taking a life was some irreversible sin that would corrupt him?
But he'd seen no redemption in any of the followers they'd faced. They came back again and again, more hateful, more violent, more committed to their cause. They didn't learn. They didn't stop. They didn't deserve the chances he kept giving them.
Neutralizing enemies didn't end threats. It postponed them. Delayed them. Gave them time to regroup, to prepare, to come back stronger. It was strategic stupidity dressed up as moral superiority.
Disarming wasn't enough.
Disarming wasn't enough. Mercy wasn't enough. Restraint wasn't enough.
He'd tried it Merlin's way. He'd given it every chance. He'd followed her teachings faithfully for months, through countless battles, showing mercy to people who deserved none.
And all it had bought him was more problems.
No more.
His hands steadied. The trembling stopped. His breathing evened out.
He looked down at Morgana's face one more time. She was very pale. Barely breathing. Dying because he'd let her attackers live. Yet she was still beautiful. He didn't want to lose her. She was his best friend...maybe he felt a bit more even...
Never again.
His enemies wanted war? Then he would give them war. Real war. The kind where mercy was a luxury no one could afford.
"Ethan!"
Bedivere's voice finally broke through. She shook him again, harder this time, her other hand was desperately trying to heal Morgana's wound, with a faint green glow that barely seemed to be working.
His head snapped up. His eyes met hers.
Something in his gaze made her flinch.
Elizabeth on the other hand sighed in relief he was back to normal.
"We need to move, Merlin's holding them off, but we can't stay here. We need to get Morgana to safety."
Ethan looked past them at the battlefield. Merlin and Lucy were exchanging devastating blows, ice and purple energy colliding in explosions of light and force. The followers were regrouping, preparing for another assault.
"I'll make sure this place is safe."
Before they could respond, Ethan was on his feet. He turned to face the nearest group of followers, a dozen of them, some already preparing spells.
He didn't draw his sword with a flourish. He didn't adopt any of Merlin's stances. He didn't aim for disabling points.
"Swordbringer!"
The shout came from somewhere in the mass of followers. Then another voice picked it up, and another.
"The Swordbringer is coming!"
"Form up! FORM UP! KILL HIM!"
Ethan walked toward them. Not running. Not charging. Just walking. His sword hung loose at his side, tip dragging slightly against the damaged earth, leaving a thin line in the dirt.
The first group of cultists scrambled to organize themselves. A half-circle of bodies, weapons raised, spells gathering in trembling hands. They'd faced him before. They knew his patterns. Strike to disable. Disarm and move on. With this many numbers, they would be easily able to kill him.
They were wrong.
The first man lunged with a spear.
Ethan's blade moved in a horizontal arc that caught the weapon's shaft, but instead of deflecting it away, he stepped inside the man's guard and drove the pommel of his sword into his throat.
"....!?"
Cartilage crunched. The cultist's eyes bulged as he dropped the spear, hands flying to his neck.
Ethan didn't stop there.
His blade came around in a vicious backswing that opened the man from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, painting the ground crimson. The cultist collapsed in two directions at once, his body no longer whole enough to fall as a one piece.
"....."
The others froze for a heartbeat.
That was all the time Ethan needed.
He moved into them like a scythe through wheat. His sword found the gap between a woman's helm and gorget, the blade punching through and severing her spine. She was dead before her knees buckled. He yanked the sword free and spun, the momentum carried his blade through another cultist's outstretched arm.
The limb tumbled away, still clutching a dagger. The man screamed and staggered back, blood fountaining from the stump. Ethan's boot caught him in the chest, sending him sprawling. Before the cultist hit the ground, Ethan was already past him, driving his sword point-first through another attacker's sternum.
The blade went in relatively clean. Came out wet. He didn't even look to see the man fall. He was already moving to the next.
A mage began chanting, yellow light gathering between her palms.
"...!?"
Ethan closed the distance in three strides. His sword took her hands off at the wrists. The spell dissipated in a shower of sparks as she shrieked, staring at the stumps of her arms in disbelief.
He ended her disbelief with a thrust through her heart.
"KILL HIM!" someone roared. "KILL HIM NOW!"
They tried.
A barbarian with a war axe came at him from the side. Ethan ducked under the swing and drove his blade up through the man's jaw. The tip erupted from the top of his skull. He planted his boot on the corpse's chest and kicked it free, already turning to face the next threat.
Two cultists attacked in tandem, one high, one low. Ethan parried the high strike and let the low one come. The blade scraped across his skin, drawing some blood. His riposte caught the first attacker across the face, splitting it open from temple to jaw. The second attacker tried to pull back, but Ethan's sword found his thigh, cutting deep into the meat. The cultist went down screaming.
Ethan stepped on his sword hand as he passed, bones snapping under his boot, then brought his blade down through the back of the man's neck. The screaming stopped.
More came. They always came.
"No matter how sharp a blade is, it can't cut through something solid multiple times. Especially bones, tendons, and muscles are very tough, so if you don't apply enough force with a single strike, it'll get stuck."
Merlin used to say. Safe to say she was wrong. As always...
His blade moved through them as if their bodies were made of paper.
A knight in battered armor raised his shield and charged. Ethan's sword came down in an overhead strike that sheared through the shield's edge and into the arm beneath. The knight howled and dropped the ruined shield.
Ethan's follow-up strike took him in the side, blade crunching through ribs and into vital organs. He left the sword embedded there for a moment, using his free hand to catch a spear thrust aimed at his back.
He yanked the spear-wielder forward, and head-butted him so hard the cultist's nose exploded across his face. While the man was still reeling, Ethan reclaimed his sword from the dying knight and opened the spear-wielder's throat with a quick draw cut.
The body dropped, blood pooling rapidly beneath it.
"He's not stopping!"
"He's going to kill us all!"
"Fall back! FALL BACK!"
But there was nowhere to fall back to. Merlin and Lucy's battle had created a wall of ice and energy behind them. The only way out was through Ethan.
And Ethan wasn't letting anyone through. Not anymore. Everyone would die here.
A cultist tried to run. Ethan's sword took his leg off at the knee.
"Argh!!! Please! I surrender! I surrender!"
Ethan's answer was a thrust that silenced his please.
Another group tried to coordinate, five of them moving in formation. Ethan met them head-on. His blade wove between their weapons, finding flesh with every strike. A throat here. An eye socket there. A heart. A lung. A liver. Every strike found something vital, something that would kill quickly or bleed endlessly with a negative outcome for them.
Bodies fell around him. Some twitched. Some lay still. All of them painted the ground red.
A mage managed to complete a spell, a bolt of crackling energy that slammed into Ethan's shoulder.
"....."
He barely flinched
It burned him, seared his flesh, but he tanked it.
He crossed the distance between them in seconds and drove his sword through the mage's stomach, angling up into the chest cavity. The mage coughed blood onto Ethan's face.
This was the same kind of magic that hurt Morgana. The same spell. He twisted the blade, grinding it against bone and cartilage inside the mage's body. The mage's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. Ethan twisted again, then ripped the blade free, taking a large chunk of the mage's insides with it.
Another cultist. Another death. Another body on the pile.
They kept coming and he kept killing.
A woman with twin daggers got inside his guard, one blade scraping across his ribs. He caught her wrist, twisted until bones cracked, then drove his sword up under her chin. The blade erupted from the top of her head. Her eyes rolled back and she went limp.
He let her slide off the blade and turned to face the next one.
And the next one.
And the next one.
The followers of Tiamat who had been so confident, so numerous, were breaking. Panic spread through their ranks like wildfire. These weren't the calculated casualties of war. This was a massacre. This was one man carving through them like they were made of butter.
After what seemed like only ten minutes, hundreds of them lay dead. The ground was littered with bodies and blood. The air was thick with the smell of copper and death.
There were only ten or so remaining followers, all of them now frozen in terror, watching this monster in front of them who had just butchered their comrades. He was covered in blood, his own and theirs.
"Wh-What...What are you...?" one of the remaining followers stammered, voice trembling so badly the words were almost unintelligible.
Ethan didn't answer. He started walking toward them. Slowly. Deliberately. To instill as much fear in their hearts as possible before they died. Because that was what they deserved.
The sight of this blood-soaked figure walking towards them was too much. Their courage, fueled by zealotry and numbers, evaporated like mist in the sun. They broke.
One of them decided to run into the purple energy barrier that was separating Lucy and Merlin from the rest. IT was desperate attempt to escape through the one place that seemed to offer a path.
The barrier was not an exit. It was a wall of pure, hostile energy.
The follower didn't even have time to scream as his body made contact. The purple energy flared, engulfing him in an instant. His form flickered, then dissolved into nothing more than black ash that scattered on the wind.
That was the final straw.
"...."
Seeing Ethan and the barrier, the remaining cultists realized they were trapped between a rock and a hard place.
Following the first one's lead, two more made the same desperate choice. They sprinted for the barrier and shared a suicidal pact.
The result was identical. They didn't even slow down. One moment they were running, the next they were gone. Erased. Not even ash remained this time, just a faint shimmer in the air where they had been.
The others watched in horror. Escape was impossible. Surrender was futile.
"Go in it. Get out of my sight."
He pointed his sword at the barrier.
The remaining followers looked from the dissipating energy of their comrades to the blood-soaked man approaching them. Their decision was made. They had rather take the chance with the barrier than face him and suffer a gruesome death.
One by one, they ran into it, each meeting the same silent, instantaneous end.
Soon, the ground around him was empty of all but the dead.
Only the clash of ice and purple energy broke the silence of the massacre on the other side of that ice wall.
Elizabeth and Bedivere stared in horror at the scene before them. At the man standing amidst the carnage he had created. At the bodies, the blood, the sheer, overwhelming violence.
"Ethan..." Elizabeth whispered.
Her wound was throbbing, but it was forgotten in the face of this new, more profound terror.
She had known him for months. Fought alongside him. He was kind, sometimes a bit dense, but fundamentally good. She was the man she...loved. The man who was smart, who always tried to find another way, who held back, who refused to kill even when it was the most logical choice.
The man standing there now wasn't the Ethan she knew.
"Princess...what has he done..."
Bedivere's voice was shaky. Her hands, still trying to coax a faint green light into Morgana's wound, were trembling so badly the light kept sputtering out.
He didn't turn to look at them. His gaze remained fixed on the battle beyond the ice wall, on the two figures whose power had sundered the battlefield.
"Ethan!" Elizabeth called out again, louder this time.
He still didn't respond.
"Ethan, look at me!"
He didn't. He raised his sword, wiped a streak of blood from the blade onto his already soaked sleeve, and started walking towards the ice wall.
"Ethan, stop! You need to rest! Please!"
Elizabeth pushed herself away from Bedivere, ignoring the searing pain in her leg. She took a hobbling step forward, then another. She had to reach him. She had to bring him back.
Ethan simply raised his arm, and shattered the wall of ice that separated them from the ongoing battle.
The shards didn't fall to the ground. They hung suspended in the air for a moment, then dissolved into glittering mist.
The battlefield opened up before them.
Lucy and Merlin stood facing each other, chests heaving, both marked by the other's attacks. A shallow cut bled on Merlin's cheek, while Lucy's arm hung at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, but already knitting itself back together with that sickening purple energy.
Their heads turned toward Ethan as he strode out of the mist.
"Ethan?! Are you alright? Your arm—"
Merlin's eyes widened as she saw the field of death behind him.
What she had feared for months had finally come to pass.
"You... what have you done?"
Her voice was low. It wasn't an accusation. It was a question filled with a deep sorrow.
"I got rid of trash."
Lucy threw her head back and laughed.
"HAHAHA! So that's how it is! The swordbringer finally grew a spine! The great, righteous Swordbringer is a killer after all! It's hilarious! Absolutely hilarious!"
Ethan ignored her. He walked past Merlin, not sparing her a glance.
"Ethan, stop! This isn't the way."
Ethan stopped. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye.
"You told me that if I misused this sword, a terrible future would unfold. This is the terrible future for me. All because I didn't misuse is. I don't care about anyone else's future. This is what happens when your enemies get a second and a third chance. This is what happens when you choose mercy over actually doing what you need to do."
He gestured with his sword back towards the bodies littering the ground.
"Every single one of them, I've fought before. Every single one of them, I let live. And they came back to kill us time and time again. Not anymore. Now they're all dead. And won't be coming back again. Unless they get revived if that's even possible. Hopefully not. The only mistake I made was not killing them sooner to be completely honest."
Merlin's face paled.
"What are you even saying?"
"I'm saying your teachings are a fucking joke. A fairy tale for children who still believe in happy endings. I'm saying that I should have been doing this from the start. Everything would be over. All the cultists would be gone, kingdoms united, and everyone at peace. There is a need to purge animals that cannot fit in society. And you can't do that with neutralizing attacks."
"....."
He turned away from her and faced Lucy, who was watching the exchange with rapt attention. Her grin was wider than ever. Her broken arm was already healed, and she flexed her fingers as if testing them.
"Lucy."
"Yes, Swordbringer? Are you asking me out on a date perhaps? I will say yes."
"I'm going to kill you now."
Lucy's smile faltered for a moment, then returned, even more genuine than before.
"Finally! Finally something interesting!"
Just as she was about to charge, the air above them suddenly rippled.
"....."
Two figures descended from the sky, landing with enough force to crack the earth beneath their feet.
The first was a dark-haired woman, her figure barely contained by a revealing outfit that left little to the imagination. A red flower rested above her ear. Beautiful or not, this woman was one of the most dangerous enemies Ethan ever faced. Woman whose eyes were filled with sadism and malice.
Lisa.
The second woman had long violet hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Her outfit was equally revealing, emphasizing her curves that seemed almost exaggerated.
Rowena.
Both women surveyed the battlefield with the confidence of those who expected to find their victory already complete after laying down a perfect trap.
Instead, they found hell and the swordbringer ata the center of it.
Lisa sighed and put a hand over her breast. Seeing Ethan bathed in blood and standing amidst a sea of corpses, she couldn't help but feel excited.
"My, my. It seems our little swordbringer had his growth spurt. You are making it hard to resist...you." She licked her lips.
This made Ethan slightly uncomfortable.
Rowena's eyes narrowed. She looked from Ethan to the bodies around him, then to Lucy's healing arm and the tired posture of Merlin.
"Lucy, you lost control of the situation," Rowena said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "We told you to come here to kill them. Instead, you let the boy have a tantrum and gave Merlin time to show up."
Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were not.
"He didn't throw a tantrum. He became a man." Lucy replied, winking in Ethan's direction. "And this is much more fun than just killing them. Don't you think?" She gestured to the slaughter.
Rowena ignored her. Her gaze fixed on Ethan, analyzing him.
"Your heartbeat is elevated. Your breathing is shallow. You're bleeding from at least a dozen places. You're running on adrenaline and rage. You're not stronger. You're just more willing to kill. Which means you were always far stronger than you showed. Very appealing."
"A ripe fruit. We must harvest him before he rots."
Ethan didn't rise to the bait. His grip on his sword tightened, but he held his ground. his attention was divided between the three of them. He had just carved through a small army, but these three were on another level entirely. Even with Merlin at his side, the odds were not good.
Yet he needed to do what he needed to do.
Raising his sword overhead, he pointed it at them.
He needed to purge the world of those who couldn't be saved.
It was time to go on an apostle hunt.