John and his companion regarded us with an air of quiet authority, beckoning us to take a seat with a gentle wave of their hands. As I met John's gaze, he extended a hand in greeting, his eyes circling with warmth, and I responded in kind, our palms meeting in a firm handshake. In that instant, John's attention drifted to Vale, his expression shifting to one of subtle intrigue.
"What's the reason for the Shura and his friend to meet us?" John asked in a curious tone.
Vale raised the glass to his lips, the pristine water catching the faint glow of the room's lanterns as he sipped it with measured deliberation. His gaze drifted to the sword held in John's hand, the blade a whisper of darkness in the dim light, and his eyes lingered there before turning to regard his companion with an air of pensive curiosity.
"Introduce your friend," Vale requested, his voice a low, courteous murmur.
"He is my brother, Ran – a mage who wields a sword, and presently stands at Level 13 echelon, much like myself."
"You aren't blood brothers, right?" I inquired, my curiosity punctuating the silence.
'I know they're not related because we four were a team once in my past cycle, but I don't know about their story,' I told myself.
"We aren't bound by blood, but fate intertwined us like brothers. Abandoned as infants, we found each other in the streets – I caught him pilfering a loaf of bread, and he fled into an alley where I confronted him. Instead of anger, he offered me half the bread, and our bond was forged in that forgotten corner."
'They shared it like an emotional backstory,' I mused to myself.
"So what's the reason for your visit?" John asked, while Ran savored his steak with evident relish.
"We're trying to recruit a team to join a clan that's famous for its achievements."
"And?"
Vale turned to John, his hazel eyes – pools of autumnal warmth that could be called breathtakingly beautiful – locking gazes with him. I too found myself ensnared by the quiet allure of those eyes, until a jolt of awareness shook my head clear. When I looked back, Vale was smiling, his lips curving with a hint of knowing amusement.
"Currently, our team consists of myself and my friend, the current Shura."
"Shura?" John exhaled. "You announce it like it's a title of respect."
I let his mockery pass unanswered, a soft sigh escaping my lips. Vale, still smiling, rose and began to approach John, but a sword suddenly materialized, barring his path. I turned to find Ran, his expression serene as he deftly wielded the blade with one hand while the other continued to savor his steak. His calm voice broke the silence.
"If you wish to propose something or speak with us, keep your distance. We don't tolerate strangers invading our personal space – it's a risk we can't afford to take, letting outsiders get too close."
"Fair point." Vale backed off, seating himself beside me. "So, the plan is for us to join the Abraham clan's security division as a team."
"Abraham clan?" John asked. "But how are we supposed to join? They'll test us, right?"
"To join their security division, we don't need a test or anything – we just invoke our name, and we're in, as soldiers. Honestly, their security division's like... disposable muscle. They don't care about the individuals, just the loyalty."
John's hands clasped beneath his chin, his gaze – emerald pools of intent – locked onto Vale as he posed the question, his voice a solemn melody that hung in the air.
"Alright, we'll join you. But what's in it for us? We know the Shura's stronger than us, but what about you?"
Vale rose, his sapphire locks cascading like nightfall, his hazel eyes aglow like faceted gemstones. Clad in a tailored suit that whispered elegance, he turned to John, whose skepticism lingered like a shadow. With measured steps, Vale glided toward the exit, paused, and regarded John with a gaze that was both tranquil and expectant, his voice a soft melody:
"What are you waiting for? Don't you want to know how strong I am?"
John, taken aback by the sudden shift in atmosphere, trailed Vale out of the café, Ran a silent shadow in their wake. I remained seated, my gaze drifting to the ceiling as memories swirled like wisps of smoke – my goal, a beacon in the darkness: to return home. How many years would unravel before I stood at my family's threshold once more? How many lives would be spent, how many deaths endured, to bridge this chasm and reclaim what was mine?
***
A youth in tailored finery stood poised, his sapphire locks framing hazel eyes that shone like polished jewels. Opposite him, a young man in simple whites and cottons, his brown hair ruffled, green eyes burning, gripped a sword in steady hands – and took his stance, blade arched like a crescent moon.
The other, elegant still, hands casually pocketed, his sword secure in its scabbard slinging low across his chest, watched him. Then, in a swift, fluid motion, he unsheathed his blade, cast aside scabbard and baldric alike, raised his sword, and mirrored the other's stance – steel whispering its readiness, a twin echo of intent.
***
I beheld Vale and John, solitary figures in the desert's heart, a stone's throw from Argenta's city bounds. They took their stances, and the duel unfurled like a silken thread.
Vale launched himself skyward, weaving a spell of fire that hurtled toward John – who weathered the blaze with unexpected resolve. Alighting, Vale closed in; John raised his sword, a shield of steel... but Vale, a fleeting shadow, vanished from his front, reappeared behind, and struck – a treacherous kick that sent John stumbling, not to yield, but to fuel the tempest of their clash.
'Why did he kick him instead of making him surrender?' I wondered to myself.
Vale's palm unfurled, birthing a golden lightning that streaked toward John – evaded in the final flicker. John countered, blade flashing; Vale parried, heel strike... but John dropped low, sweeping Vale's legs. Yet Vale vanished from the tumble, reappeared behind John, and struck – a driving blow, sparing the surrender sword's cold kiss.
As John scrambled up, Vale loomed, sword arched for the kill... and met his gaze: a smile played on John's lips, the quiet glow of one who'd found a match.
'This cycle started 3 days ago, and Vale was supposed to be Level 14 echelon. Maybe he can hide his true strength from the academy. From the way he fought, he is simply stronger than Level 12 echelon, which is where I stood by cultivating mana and recovering the powers I lost in the previous cycles.'
The whisper of Vale's strength lingered in my thoughts, and in that moment, he turned – eyes locking onto John, and the other two, his voice a placid brook cutting through the stillness...
"Welcome to Ni Tian Meng."