Using the jian’s scabbard, he deflected Sphinx’s sneak attack with a quick swipe. The cold blue hue raced with static. A mixture of frost and energy crackled upon contact. If Sphinx was shocked, he didn’t show it. Instead, he returned it with impatience

“Hmph.” He pressed down again, shoving Lark towards the floor.

“You’re such a cheat. But I got my ways too!” Lark slammed the short sword into the ground, the same way Salene had done it, and it stuck inside a small crack made from the abomination’s earlier stampede. The metal attracted the electricity shimmering off the broadsword.

Sphinx smirked. “I see...”

Using the short sword as a post, Lark swung out with a rapid kick. The sole of his shoe, which knocked Sphinx’s footing, became covered with ice. Letting out a hiss, Lark stomped the floor and rotated out the sword to throw it as an electrified dagger. It traveled like a magnet to another magnet, and Lark rushed in after, arms raised—however.

The short sword smashed into pieces upon contact and Sphinx, without letting Lark unsheathe the jian, shot out, kneeing him in the stomach.

Stars flitted behind Lark’s eyelids. “Urgh—” Holding onto his side, he grunted, “You fucker…”

Sphinx peered down at him. “Get up.”

Lark’s once firm and handsome face suddenly twisted into a feral scowl as he broke free from the floor. No trace of caution in his charge; the veins in his neck bulged, and he lunged with such ferocity, surely, the light and thin jian would break within one use. A swift slash and he found himself matched with a half-amused Sphinx, their swords agleam in the dead air.

Dammit, he was going wipe that grin off that face! Sweat trickled down the middle of his forehead. His brows pinched together while holding the jian at a stalemate.

How's he so strong!? Even with his longer reach, he couldn’t push back, and his own back was nearly breaking from the pressure. He forced more power into his lunge while surging energy from his chest into his arms. His feet barely scratched the pavement and still…there was that damn grin.

“Rule one point five: a thin blade like a jian should really be used with only one hand and the scabbard for support. It shouldn’t be used for a full-on brawl.”

“Argh! Enough with your fake guidelines,” Lark roared, feeling his anger pulsate from his bruised rib. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but Sphinx had a knack for getting him riled.

“Rule two,” Sphinx continued with his chin up as if taunting ‘can you really handle the next part?’

It was his last chance. Lark braced his sword arm when Sphinx’s eyes closed and began unzipping his shirt pocket. His heart nearly popped out his chest, realizing something off was happening with Sphinx’s grip when it loosened.

“Use magic.”

Sphinx’s eye color changed into a fiery blue tint. “The difference between normal and abnormal, you should realize it soon.”

Before Lark could even form words, the broadsword radiated bright waves of cold-red crests down the sword’s edge.

“If you can’t even do this, the starting line will be further, and you will be set on fire…careful.”

Inside the floating, cold-red waves, plumes of heat like lava gushed forth.

Based on hard science and empirical knowledge, one will often pull away when touching something painful like a hand on a hot stove. Out of reflex, the receptors in our skin detect a stimulus, creating an impulse which then sends a message to the brain to get the fuck out before you even feel pain. Yet, Lark glued to his weight, knowing if he backed away, Sphinx would butcher his arms.

Fear mounted in his shaking limbs as the red aura reached the inflection point between the jian and the broadsword. The defining moment came in waves, which swelled and laddered down the sides of Lark’s hands. Screams paralleled the blurring script on steel, which melted into obscurity.

The broadsword sliced through the middle like a hot knife through butter—and Sphinx didn’t dare to hold back, slashing down with preternatural ease. No hesitation present in his eyes.

Ah. So this is why Wangshi wouldn’t let me hold a knife for the longest time…Lark couldn’t help but gaze down at the gash running down his abdomen in disbelief. The pain hadn’t registered, despite having half his stomach split open and a puddle of blood began to form at his feet.

“Y-you w-won’t even give me a hint?” The last part came out as a low hiss. He had snorted through his nostrils while spewing blood which seemed to drip from his brain. With a thud, his body folded over down to his knees.

Sphinx kept his word. All the excess heat seemed to come from out of nowhere, transforming his body into a landscape of flames, interspersed with mild transitions of an extreme chill. Electricity seemed to dance off his skin.

God, the pain of molten-level burns would kill a normal person. There was a 75% chance that, just maybe, SIM was forcing him to live through these excruciating moments, so that he can experience, live maybe while enduring the exposure…he was so fucked.

“Even when you die, and you don’t understand a thing, that’s just the outcome. Don’t waste time concentrating on living when you’re hopeless.” The anomaly in Lark’s life said, rather coolly. Silver irises returned to Sphinx’s normal face. He sheathed the blood-stained sword back inside its case. Without batting an eye, he chided, “You lose this round, Lark. Two more to go.”

Lark’s face paled almost to the color of Sphinx’s milky skin as his vision telescoped. Even so, he held his head up high, so that he could breathe slightly and not be smothered by his own blood. The splitting pain kept him awake for a while longer. A mingled expression of wonder and terror stirred inside him; the same feeling he got when he saw the mixed magic combination of Wangshi’s Wind Needles and Mishka’s Blaze tear apart the five-story slime. Well, he was the unlucky slime in this story.

I have no idea why I trust you so much. Sky had said to him after that match.

You really shouldn’t have believed me when I said everything is going to be okay… Lark recounted the moment before Mishka disappeared in front of their eyes. I’ve lived a mostly spoiled life when I could have anything I ever asked for, but when it counted the most…

He didn’t have the power to reverse the situation. An outpour of guilt crashed over him as in his final moments. The feeling of going under numbed his limbs to his core like taking a cold bath in the middle of July. It’s happening again, he thought as he shut his eyes to sleep, mentally preparing himself for COSMO’s reload screen.

“Hurry up!” The familiarity of Mishka’s voice resounded in his head. “It should act according to your will…”

Mishka? His eyes rolled, not quite open.

"When will you be back Lark? Bark bark bark."

The cute, young voices of the twins floated up to his ears. ‘I don’t know, but soon,’ he wanted to reply. Lark coughed, choking on his own blood, the back of this throat gurgled like coffee grounds grinding in the mud.

Their barking slowly muted, then came the low, murmur of a wise old man. Wicca Vicar… it’s how we use the strength inside of us to turn the tables…

Strength? Did he have any—he wondered.

It’s actually the power trinity… I believe in you.

Wangshi…That’s right. People were waiting for him. He was their hope, and they were his.

Bounded to his hand was Wangshi’s half-broken jian, and with the little power left in him, he clenched the handle.

He cried out.

—Rrraaaaaaaaaaa!

“…Very well, you finally got the response I’m looking for—the master worthy of SIM.” Sphinx said no more. His thin smile explained the rest as he watched the mark on Lark’s chest glow with reverie.

Lark’s entire body dripped with sweat. His gray shirt hung open from where Sphinx had cut him and one could see a small patch of slime, which could easily be mistaken as a large cotton ball, overlay the large gap. Above the trauma, his tattoo glowed bright red.

Aside his grilled arms, to say the least, the sword was also doing something strange. The last character on the blade activated. Its fine boxed strokes lit up; two squares linked together as if completing a puzzle, and a small burst of light covered not only the sword but all of Lark’s blood on the ground. Within the burst of light, straggled lines formed a magic circle. The wind lightly scattered around him as the light veiled his wounds. Every single drop wrapped in the dense white light sucked back inside his body.

Color returned to Lark’s face and he was already standing up. “I’ll be sure to remember, a sword injury like this is survivable.” He gestured to his filleted body. Wiping his chin, Lark spat out a clot of blood stuck in his throat.

“We’re not in a medical drama.” Sphinx laughed in a sing-song kind of way, which meant he wasn’t going to bother to explain what just happened, and asked instead, “But you’re out of weapons, what do you plan on doing?” The broadsword jutted halfway out of its sleeve.

“I’m not sure, but right now I feel I can do about anything,” Lark boasted and proceeded to take on the training stance Wangshi had taught him earlier. Feeling the surge of heat expand inside his chest, a rugged smile curled on his lips—this was the strength he needed. “I think I get it now… the difference.” He imitated Salene’s grand gesture with the melted sword. “Ready?”

Sphinx’s approach remained impassive. Nonetheless, both their swords laid out in the open. Of course, they were and were not evenly matched. Sphinx had Lark’s body type and stats, but he had the experience and knowledge which Lark lacked. Despite this, he didn't feel discouraged. In fact, the newfound energy roiled inside his chest, threatening to tip over like ships in a storm, and he found himself slightly drunk from its power.

Suddenly, a chair flew out of the large bay window on the second floor of the library. It crash-landed only a few feet away from them, followed by a deafening roar. The three monsters were on a rampage it seemed.

“Don't get distracted.” Sphinx pulled in next to Lark, rotating the sword hilt.

Lark dipped low avoiding the swipe by a hair’s breadth. “I wasn't.”

Two forward steps, then one back-turn, and Lark was able to dodge again. It was like keeping the ball away from a defender, he thought, except he had to keep Sphinx’s claws at bay. Sphinx drew into his pace.

Slide back, back, step and turn…

Duck, duck…and goose—Lark paused mid-step, allowing Sphinx to cleave his shirt wide open.

“Y-you…” Sphinx stuttered when Lark stopped moving suddenly. This time, blood spilled from his collar bone down to his hip. His gray shirt soaked in red.

The wound left on his belly hadn't completely stitched together and now, there was another one, leaving a deep gash in a seatbelt impression. This, Sphinx simply couldn’t understand. Why he’d stop, and why he was so happy about being cut open again?

“You look confused…” Lark said, meanwhile the contents of his shirt’s pockets spilled out.

“Let me tell you, I used to be the ace of my soccer team. It's easy for me to do a bait and release and see through your simple attack patterns.”

He pointed at his flesh wound, letting the blood drip over the sword. The uneven edge of the jian still sharp.

All the gears in Sphinx’s head looked like they were spinning uncontrollably and a trace of concern fell over his face.

Eyes tinged red, Lark retracted the weapon behind his shoulder, eying the spot where a part of his shirt fell.

The difference? Sphinx wasn't talking about normal versus abnormal, not really anyways, but just now, he might've figured out how to separate mana and spiritual energy. His revolver borrowed spiritual energy to form flame-like bullets, which felt raw and cold as when he gave over his soul to Nympha.

Magic felt airy and swishy. It affected the very air around them, making it bend, shape, and appear with radiant colors. As long as he could visualize what he wanted, he felt in total control—nevertheless—it was just an educated gamble. Before Sphinx realized what he was up to, Lark sliced down into empty air; the half-bladed jian vibrated with energy.

“Burst.”

A jet of hot air blew over—kicking up the pile of coarse, sparkling sand hidden underneath his shirt.

“Item: Vampire Dust (magic)(rare)

Cursed magic object. Must be handled with care, less you want to decay your fingers.

Attracted to blood. Decaying effects avoided by feeding users’ own blood to it.

Can be obtained when a vampire or monster with vampiric qualities is killed by fire magic.
Purity: 70%.
Harvested by Arelli Ulu
Known uses: alchemy, warding”

“Aren't you forgetting that we have the same blood type?” Sphinx’s voice remained calm, despite his robes fluttering briefly as the dust climbed over his skin.

“I’d pay closer attention,” Lark said and flashed a low-mocking grin. “There's a slight difference.”

Sphinx’s flesh began to crack at Lark’s words. “What a nasty guy.” His voice held nothing but shock and admiration.

“I hope you really know who you're dealing with Sphinx. Once I go for something, I won't let anyone else have it.”

“I know. Looks like, you don't need to do two more rounds. I’ll let COSMO handle the rest…” With those final words, Sphinx’s body fully disintegrated, disappearing into the dust itself.

The bloodless jian shattered in Lark’s grip. In return, he bent over to pick up the broadsword. The gap between his broken skin completely closed and the soft, cotton ball slime couldn't be seen. “I really have to thank Gushi again.”