Blood arced through the air in a graceful curve, spattering the ground.
*Thud.*
The two girls fell to the earth almost simultaneously, their gazes fixed on the sky. The light of life had faded from their beautiful eyes, sharp swords piercing their hearts and foreheads, pinning them to the ground. Yet their faces still bore that joyful smile from moments before, as if the end had come too fast for them to comprehend.
*Hmph…!*
Sidvie let out a cold snarl, drawing a shaky breath before tightening her grip on the black leather straps, trying to reel her swords back.
She failed.
*Hmm?*
Weapons she had wielded with effortless ease now felt as heavy as a thousand jin, stuck fast as if clamped in a vice. Sidvie could not move them an inch. What was happening?
In that instant, she heard gasps rise from the crowd.
"By the Grace of the Saints—what is this?!"
For the Wester soldiers on Crimson Fortress, the past few moments had been a brutal plummet from heaven to hell. At first, they had held little hope for the two girls. But what followed had defied all expectation—the sisters had not only held their own against the fearsome Gifted Knight, but seized the upper hand, reigniting the soldiers' spirits in an instant. They had suffered two humiliating defeats in quick succession, and though the sisters were not Wester soldiers, they stood on their side now. And with their beauty and innocence, the men had readily cheered them on.
But just as the soldiers prepared to roar their triumph, fate had twisted again. Sidvie's final strike had turned their blood to ice, plunging them into a cold, dark abyss of shock and helplessness. This time, the emotion stirring in their hearts was not the frustration of defeat, but grief and outrage. These girls were so young—gone in an instant, and they could do nothing to stop it. A crushing sense of powerlessness and sorrow overwhelmed them.
This evil Sith fiend—she would even slay children!
The soldiers cursed her furiously, young hotheads raising their longbows to take aim at the monster. But in that moment, their eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
A slender arm rose.
Clad in a white sleeve, it lifted slowly—and as if answering a silent call, another equally slender arm, covered in a black sleeve, rose on the far side. They twitched once, as if confirming each other's presence, waving in a quiet greeting—then curled back to grasp the hilts of the swords piercing their bodies.
"By the Grace of the Saints—what is this?!"
A soldier cried out, his voice cracking. Many dropped their weapons in shock, but no one spared them a glance. All eyes were fixed on the battlefield below, on the two girls who should have been dead, their bodies run through by sharp steel.
They were not dead.
The girls reached out, gripping the four sword hilts, and pulled them free from their bodies one slow inch at a time. The blades were far longer than their arms, making the act an arduous one—but they moved with unshakable patience. Once the swords were free, they reversed their grip, using them as crutches to prop themselves up, and rose to their feet, unhurried.
"…!!!"
Sidvie's jaw tightened, a cold dread creeping over her. Though her eyes could not see, she perceived the world around her with acute touch and hearing—and now she understood why her swords would not move.
They were alive? Impossible! She had struck their vital points without fail! The sensation of steel piercing flesh and bone still lingered on her fingertips. How could they stand again?
Panic flickered in Sidvie's chest for the first time. She twitched her fingers, trying once more to reclaim her swords— and failed again.
Then, two sweet voices sounded at her sides, soft as wind chimes.
"Big sister, that hurt."
"Big sister, that was so painful."
Messiah and Semia held the swords in both hands, flicking them casually to shake off the blood. The wounds on their foreheads closed at a visible speed, vanishing without a trace, not even a scar left behind.
"Striking the heart and head at the same time."
"Cruel, but effective swordsmanship."
"We've never felt anything like it before."
"But it made us so happy~"
The girls smiled at each other, their tinkling laughter ringing out, then raised their hands in unison.
"Now, big sister, the game is over."
A flash of silver light.
Sidvie's expression changed, and this time she chose to retreat, her petite frame darting backward in a blur. The swords the twins hurled flew through the air, tracing the exact path they had come, and slid neatly back into the scabbards on Sidvie's back. A soft *click* sounded as all four blades locked into place—and Sidvie's body swayed once, then steadied itself on the ground.
"Come play with us again sometime, big sister~"
"It's a promise, okay? Don't back out~"
Before anyone could blink, Messiah and Semia were standing side by side once more, just as they had when they first appeared. The only difference was their parasols, now held at their sides instead of pointed forward—a silent signal of their resolve.
"…!!!"
Sidvie's chest swelled with an instinctive retort, her chin lifting defiantly—but in the end, she said nothing, spinning on her heel and walking away. The twins made no move to stop her, turning to run back toward the right flank, their laughter echoing behind them.
The onlookers on both sides were left bewildered, unsure what to make of the clash. Was Sidvie the victor? The girls had not only survived, but seemed unharmed, walking away as if nothing had happened. But to call her the loser felt equally wrong—both sides had held back, showing no desire to continue the fight. For most, the outcome was a mystery. The battlefield was too far for all but high-ranked swordsmen to see the details clearly, and the fight had unfolded in a flurry of motion. The sisters had seized the upper hand early on, but Sidvie had turned the tide in the end—so perhaps it was a draw?
Finally, the Wester soldiers broke into cheers under their officers' lead. Regardless of the truth, it was a much-needed morale boost. The girls had held their own against a Gifted Knight, fighting her to a standstill! Gifted Knights were not invincible! And judging by the twins' carefree demeanor as they left, they clearly still had strength to spare. Sidvie, by contrast, had departed in silence—proof enough, to the men, that she had been the lesser of the two.
The Sith army was quick to cheer as well. Though the ending had been ambiguous, Sidvie had dominated the fight for the better part of it. Her quiet retreat was of no consequence—was this not simply her usual demeanor?
Neither argument held water, but it mattered not. Morale was all that counted, and as long as the soldiers believed they had a chance to win, no one would dare point out the contradictions. To do so would be to court disaster.
To the roar of the Sith soldiers' approval, Sidvie walked back into the camp, her restraint suit refastened around her body, binding her arms tightly once more. Her face remained pale and cold, paying no heed to the cheers as she moved silently through the camp to the central command tent—where Lindilot was already waiting for her. The princess offered a soft smile, placing a hand on Sidvie's shoulder before turning to address the cheering soldiers.
"Warriors! We all saw it—we witnessed General Sidvie's bravery once more! She stood alone and achieved a glorious victory! And if she can do this, so can we! Wester will not stand in our way! Nothing will stand in our way! We will crush all obstacles and claim the victory that is ours!"
Lindilot raised her right hand high.
"All for the Sith!"
"All for the Sith!!"
The soldiers roared their allegiance, and Lindilot smiled gently at them before leading Sidvie into the command tent.
The tent was spacious and empty, and the moment the flap closed behind them, Lindilot's calm, gentle smile vanished, replaced by anxiety and urgency.
"Sidvie—how are you? Are you hurt?"
"Sister… I…"
Sidvie's cold facade crumbled at Lindilot's question, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She tried to speak, but a mouthful of blood burst from her lips, and her petite body collapsed, her legs giving way, falling straight into Lindilot's arms.
"Stay with me, Sidvie! How do you feel?"
Lindilot held her tightly, her voice a tense whisper. The distant cheers of the soldiers still drifted through the air, sounding bitterly ironic now.
"They're… so strong, sister…"
Sidvie gasped for air, her teeth clenched tight. She had suffered countless hidden wounds in the fight, and the twins' final combined charge had left her with no time to dodge. Though she had unleashed her true power in that split second, she had been unable to fully block their attack. To the onlookers, it had seemed as if she had repelled their strike—but only Sidvie knew the truth. Before the parasols had been sent flying, their overwhelming power had surged through her swords and into her body, two torrents of unyielding force that would have reduced a lesser warrior to pulp. And the final blow—the impact of the four swords sliding back into their scabbards—had transferred all their momentum to her injured frame, a devastating blow that had pushed her to the brink.
"Their power… it's too great…"
Sidvie's face twisted with frustration. She had never believed she could be defeated—but now she was forced to admit it.
"I did not unleash my full strength, but what I did use was on par with theirs. Even so, I could not hold them back. Sister, their understanding of a Gifted Knight's power is far deeper, far more refined than mine. I cannot stand against them in a fair fight—not anytime soon. Even with my Gifted Aura active, the outcome would be uncertain…"
"I know."
Lindilot nodded, cutting her off gently. As a Gifted Knight herself, she had seen every detail of the fight, every wound Sidvie had suffered. This was no time for recriminations. She lifted Sidvie's body carefully, laying her down on the couch in the tent and tucking a blanket around her, letting out a soft sigh.
"How long will you need to recover?"
"At least three to five days."
Sidvie's face twisted with bitterness.
"They did not strike my vital points, so rest and healing will be enough… but sister, I think they did it on purpose."
"I know."
Lindilot smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Sidvie's forehead.
"But now is not the time to dwell on it. Rest, Sidvie. Leave the rest to me."
"Yes… sister."
Sidvie nodded, falling silent. A moment later, her eyes fluttered closed, and she slipped into a deep sleep.
*Sigh…*
Lindilot stared at her with a mix of helplessness and affection, exhaling slowly before standing and walking out of the tent. Her expression hardened once more, the resolute face of a battlefield commander returning.
"Send the order—we make camp here. I will be consulting with General Sidvie on our next moves. Do not disturb us unless it is an emergency."
"Yes, Your Highness."
After dismissing her attendant, Lindilot returned to the tent, her brow furrowing as she gazed at the sleeping Sidvie.
She had never had a clear sense of the Doomsday Knights' true power—until now. Kael had unleashed his Gifted Aura and still fled with injuries. Sidvie, even holding back, had been left gravely wounded. The Knights' strength was far greater than she had imagined. But war was not a game for one or two warriors… yet.
Lindilot's jaw tightened as she walked to the table, pulling out a sealed intelligence report from the royal capital.
"Let us hope… it is not too late."
She murmured, her eyes fixed on the words written within.
"Brother!"
"Dad!"
Two bright voices rang out as Messiah and Semia ran to Blake, throwing themselves into his arms. They clung to him, one on each side, their small heads nuzzling his chest like playful little animals.
"Did you see us?!"
"We did so well, right?!"
"That big sister was so mad~"
"But she's still no match for us!"
"Of course I saw you."
Blake smiled, reaching out to stroke their hair.
"You were perfect, as always. My proudest girls, Messiah and Semia."
*Hee hee…*
*Hoo hoo…*
The sisters' eyes crinkled with joy, soft laughter bubbling from their lips.
"How long will our little lady be bedridden?" Blake asked.
"With her strength? At least three to five days."
"Seven to eight at the most, for sure~"
"Excellent work."
A proud smile tugged at Blake's lips.
"Our task is done, then. And now…"
"Master, what do you plan to do next?" Ophelia asked, standing nearby, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Now…"
Blake frowned, opening his mouth to answer—then his gaze shifted to Charlotte, who was walking toward them.
"Charlotte? What is it?"
"Master, urgent intelligence."
Charlotte held a crystal glowing with magical light, her voice calm and steady.
"Word from the Twilight Forest—King Wester V has led thirty thousand royal guards on a personal campaign. They are marching along the Golden Trade Route, heading straight for the Twilight Forest."