Defeat Means Losing Something Precious

This was all Kant had experienced in his life.
Looking back, it seemed that was it.
Though he had once possessed power, fame, and wealth, in the face of a healthy body, these external things felt utterly insignificant…

“Your Excellency, the Saint of Thieves.
Your Excellency, the Saint of Thieves…”

A soft voice snapped Kant out of his brief daze.
He looked at the girl before him, her brows slightly furrowed, and a faint apologetic smile spread across his plain, unremarkable face.

“Sorry, I got distracted just now…”

“Getting distracted on the battlefield?
That’s not something a qualified warrior would say.”

Felicia shook her head gently, clearly disapproving of Kant’s explanation.

“True. If Your Highness had struck just now, my head might already be rolling, right?”

His words were, of course, just teasing.
He knew full well that, given the elves’ proud nature, they would never stoop to ambushing someone in a moment of distraction—an act so lacking in martial virtue.
Especially not the most noble Elf Princess standing before him.
Perhaps his earlier lapse was partly due to this understanding.

Kant gave a slightly self-mocking smile.
But at this moment, the tension and confusion in his eyes had vanished.
Though his face still showed fatigue, his sharp, burning gaze blazed like ignited flames.

His life had its regrets, but he had no shame regarding his original intentions.
As a thief, he had earned the title of Saint of Thieves on this continent.
Most of the ill-gotten wealth he stole had been given to those in need.
Since he was destined not to leave this place today, he would let himself go all out one last time…

“I used to despise the title of Saint of Thieves.
To me, it was just a fancy way to dress up the image of a thief skulking in the shadows.
People’s perception of thieves remains stuck on the idea of a sly, cowardly rat in the sewers.
Due to my profession and methods, I rarely clashed directly with opponents.
Most of the time, I’d use tricks and schemes to neutralize them first, then strike decisively…”

Kant spoke as if recounting his past before his death, his face pale from blood loss but tinged with reflection.

“So, what is Your Excellency trying to say by telling me this?”

Felicia tightened her grip on her emerald longbow, her beautiful eyes narrowing slightly.

“What I mean, Your Highness, is that in the coming fight, I hope you’ll use your full strength.
I’m not one for direct combat, but this is likely my life’s final duel.
I’m tired of so-called ambushes from the shadows.
At the very least, in my final moment, I want to fall standing tall, honorably.
That’s my request…”

Kant’s voice and tone were calm, like someone who had seen through life, quietly stating his last wishes.

Felicia’s expression shifted, a ripple passing through her emerald eyes.
She let out a slow sigh, her demeanor turning serious as she nodded.

“I agree.
In the name of Felicia, High Princess of the Elves, I promise that in the coming battle, for whatever reason, I will give my all.”

Her golden hair swayed gently in the night breeze.
In the faint fluorescence, Kant’s face showed a relieved smile.
He lowered his head slightly, his black eyes carrying a rare humility and final gratitude.

Then, he raised his hand, placing the mithril curved blade he held in front of him.
He bit the hilt with his mouth, freeing his left hand to draw another identical curved blade from behind.

Seeing this, Felicia’s pupils contracted slightly.
A one-armed man, in his final battle, chose to end it wielding dual blades.

Was this foolishness?
Or was it the man’s final romantic gesture before death?

Felicia wasn’t sure, but she knew she had to take this fight seriously—not just because she had staked her title as Elf Princess, but because the man before her deserved her utmost respect.

The battle erupted in an instant.
In the dark night, Kant struck first.
The cool breeze lifted his tattered cloak, leaving only a blurry afterimage in his wake.
As a thief, Kant’s fighting style was akin to an assassin’s—fast, precise, ruthless.
And speed, as it happened, was what he prided himself on most.

The silver curved blade sliced through the air, its glint momentarily outshining the moonlight above.
At the peak of human speed, Kant closed in on Felicia in an instant, the sharp blade aiming straight for her delicate, snow-white neck.

Kant was fast, but the Elf Princess was no slouch.
She swiftly leaned back, dodging the strike with precision, wielding her emerald longbow nimbly as a close-combat weapon to parry his attacks.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!”

Faint sparks flashed in the darkness, the crisp sound of metal clashing ringing in their ears.
Blade met bow, and the surrounding air grew increasingly tense.

Felicia kept pulling back to widen the distance, leveraging her advantage as an archer.
Kant, meanwhile, relentlessly accelerated, closing the gap.
Against the clearly superior elven race, close-quarters combat was his only option.

Felicia drew her bowstring.
Though no arrow was nocked, the moment the string was pulled, emerald magic coalesced between the bowstring and body, forming a sharp, straight arrow.

“Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!”

The air whistled with the sound of breaking wind.
The elves’ supreme archery talent made it nearly impossible for her shots to miss.
Kant raised his blade before him, blocking and shattering the incoming magical arrows.
At the same time, his speed doubled, tripled, leaving increasingly blurry afterimages until his exact position became nearly impossible to discern.

As the pinnacle of human speed, Kant had a secret technique he took pride in.
By channeling magic in a unique way, he activated his cells and blood flow, enhancing his speed.
He called this magic Wind Spirit Moon Shadow.

The name might sound suspiciously like a cheat code from a game, but in truth, this skill was Kant’s life-altering trump card.
As a cripple missing an arm, his healthy legs had become his best asset for training, second only to his hands.

He recalled what his cheap master had told him:
His modified Wind Spirit Moon Shadow was better suited for physical movement and acceleration, maximizing the strength of his legs.
But his identity as a cripple remained his greatest burden.
The magic enhanced and sped up blood flow, and while a healthy person with all four limbs could optimize their body’s circulation, Kant’s missing arm disrupted that perfect cycle, throwing off his body’s coordination.

“Wind Spirit Moon Shadow is a fine secret technique for you.
Each stage doubles your physical speed.
But never exceed the eighth stage.
If you do, your body won’t withstand the strain and will collapse…”

Those were his master’s final words of warning, a survival rule Kant had always kept close to heart.
But this time, he cast aside fear and hesitation.
The outcome was already decided, so why worry about a life that would soon end?

His body pushed past its limits, faint sonic booms echoing in the process.
Wind Spirit Moon Shadow stacked higher and higher, his pale skin turning red and swollen from the strain.

From the initial fourth stage, it climbed—fifth stage, sixth stage, seventh stage!

At this moment, Kant’s attack speed had reached a terrifying 128 times normal.
This extreme speed blurred even Felicia’s vision.
The Elf Princess kept drawing her bowstring, rapidly predicting his position and landing points.
Her accelerated energy arrows forced him to dodge or react even faster.

Each time he swung his blade to shatter an incoming magical arrow, the recoil from the blade’s tip sent a jolt through his hand, making his blood surge.
His eyes grew bloodshot, the whites laced with red veins.
Blood oozed from the torn skin at the base of his left thumb.

Pain constantly assaulted his nerves, yet they were already numbed by the adrenaline coursing through him.
The blood loss made this fight feel exhilarating in a way Kant had never experienced, even if that thrill came at the cost of his life.

Finally, Wind Spirit Moon Shadow broke through to the eighth stage—a staggering 256 times normal speed, fast enough to seemingly slice through time itself.
The blade’s light cascaded like a waterfall from a mountaintop, like the killing intent of the white moon pouring down.
Deafening sonic booms rang out, trees and plants around them ravaged by the reckless destruction.
This frenzied fighting style was nothing like an assassin’s cautious precision.
The way he swung his blade, with the resolve of one who had nothing left to lose, carried the determination of a knight in a life-or-death duel.

At this moment, Felicia’s jade-like forehead was beaded with sweat, her expression utterly focused, her demeanor deadly serious.
This man’s strength ranked among the top three humans she’d ever faced.
Even without his earlier request, a warrior of this caliber deserved her full effort.

With that thought, the Elf Princess ceased relying solely on archery.
Golden magical runes danced in the air, triggered by her short, elegant chants resonating with corresponding magic.

Thick vines burst from the ground, ferocious thorns grew wildly, towering ancient trees shot skyward, and numbing floral scents filled the air…
A serious Felicia unleashed the profound magical heritage of the elven race.
Yet, these spells, which would trouble ordinary warriors, were nothing but fodder for Kant’s blade at the eighth stage of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, sliced into countless fragments.

As the unstoppable Kant closed in, a resolve flickered in Felicia’s emerald eyes.
Her emerald longbow glowed brilliantly, as if sensing her intent.
Multiple layered magic circles rapidly formed in front of the bow’s sight, boundless power gathering in her hands!