The Sanctuary’s Shadow Duel

The night was still, and Vero City’s opulent central district lay deep in slumber. Everyone knew that tomorrow would bring the partner confrontation segment of the divine official selection, necessitating a good night’s rest so they might descend to the eastern district’s arena early and secure prime viewing seats.

However, the Moon-Marked Sect’s Sanctuary was anything but peaceful. Its inner courtyard teemed with guards and clerics, who had formed a tight circle around the central open space, their voices a low hum of speculation directed at the two figures within.

“Shall we begin?”

Saranya tucked her arms, cradling her longsword, her short boots tapping a rhythmic beat against the ground.

Phillo tossed his red hair back, and with a sharp gaze, he strode towards Saranya. Coming so close their faces were almost touching, his tone became low, vicious, and hostile.

“Perhaps we should first discuss our respective demands?”

“Hah?”

“If I win this duel, I’ll publicly expose that witch and send her to the stake in Vero City Square… but rest assured, it won’t implicate you. After all, I wouldn’t want to upset Lady Paresha…”

“After we throw that witch into Humiliation Alley in the lower city, torment her for seven days and seven nights, cut out her heart, and burn her to a charred corpse, why don’t you find yourself a new master and start licking the soles of my lady’s boots?”

“You… what… did you say?”

Saranya’s irises contracted sharply, like punctured balloons, as vivid red blood vessels spread wildly across her eyes, resembling a spiderweb.

An intense killing intent radiated from her entire being. She clenched her sword hilt, the blade clattering within its scabbard with a harsh scraping sound.

Phillo offered a sneering smile.

“Heh, what a terrifying expression. You fallen witch’s dog, do you deserve those comrades and colleagues who fought alongside you through life and death?! I will expose your hypocrisy, let Lady Paresha see your true face. You’d best pray that by then, she’ll still be merciful enough to take you in as the lowest, most abject house s*ave!”

“……”

As Phillo spoke of her comrades, Saranya’s demeanor twisted into something even more grotesque and perverse. She was first enveloped by intense self-reproach, which then morphed into boundless malice and fury. Her lips twitched twice, stretching into an exaggerated, wide grin. Though dimples usually graced her cheeks, they now appeared not sweet, but like two hideous indentations, while her vocal cords and throat vibrated, emitting a guttural, beast-like growl.

‘Oh, how I wish to sever this man’s limbs, rip open his belly, hang him with his own intestines, crush his balls, and after reveling in his screams, extract his spine to boil into soup…’

‘How vexing, indeed. Is it better to drink the soup, or hollow him out and preserve him as a specimen for leisurely appreciation…? Such soft, beautiful red hair is truly rare…’

“What, are you afraid? If you are, then have your master apologize to Lady Paresha, and we can call this whole thing even!”

“……”

Two crimson streams erupted from her nostrils, dripping, patter-patter, to bloom into tiny, exquisite blood flowers on the ground.

Saranya raised a hand to wipe away her nosebleed, then stepped back, creating distance from Phillo, as a cold glint began to slowly extend from between her crossguard and scabbard.

“Phillo, for you to have risen to the highest rank of Silver-Armored Divine Guard in the Sanctuary, you must have had a remarkable teacher. Who was he?”

“The ‘Dragon-Spine Swordsman’ of the Imperial Central Officer Academy, old Master Gorey von Kleichirens, holder of the Eight-Pointed Star Swordsman Medal. You must know what that means, don’t you?”

“Did that old geezer ever teach you not to threaten someone you can’t possibly defeat?”

As her blade emerged, Saranya’s gaze grew even colder, her face seeming to freeze over with frost.

The Eight-Pointed Star Swordsman Medal, true to its name, was held by only eight of the most revered swordsmen in the entire Empire, excluding the deceased. Phillo had not lied; Gorey was indeed one of them.

“Insulting a Grandmaster of Swordsmanship? You dare!”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Saranya dropped her dull leather scabbard, stood straight, and raising her longsword vertically, its tip pointing skyward, performed a forehead salute to Phillo.

Phillo’s expression hardened, and he returned the salute with an identical motion.

The onlookers fell silent.

Both acknowledged each other with a nod of their swords, then assumed their stances.

Phillo adopted a stable, wide-legged stance, extending his arms before his chest, his sword pointing directly at Saranya’s face. This was the low Long Point stance, allowing him to firmly hold the body’s centerline, threaten Saranya with his sword tip, and flexibly respond to his opponent’s attacks.

Saranya gripped her longsword like a hammer, then suddenly lunged forward, breaking into a run. As she rapidly closed the distance to Phillo, she raised her sword to her ear, forming a high Roof stance. Her speed increased further, and she charged directly at Phillo, accompanied by a tremendous whoosh of displaced air, her sword’s trajectory clear: it aimed for the right side of Phillo’s head, near his ear!

Saranya’s initiation was incredibly swift, and her dashing speed astonishing, seemingly granting her the upper hand in an instant. If Phillo were to be struck by this powerful, heavy slash, his head would undoubtedly burst open, leaving him sprawled dead.

Saranya’s movements were exceedingly agile, yet Phillo refused to believe in such ill omens. With a loud shout, he swiftly raised his longsword high, its blade extending before his forehead like a sharp horn. Crossing his arms, he mobilized his entire body, preparing to meet Saranya’s cleave with a fierce Ox stance!

To Phillo’s surprise, halfway through her advance, Saranya’s sword hilt continued to drift behind her head. Finally, the blade hung down her back, transforming into a Rage stance—a posture where the sword is carried on the back, poised for a powerful, rotating strike. She was clearly about to spin her body and unleash her longsword, delivering a furious strike even heavier than before, a blow potent enough to chop away the longsword above Phillo’s head and forcefully penetrate his body!

Phillo was already drenched in sweat. He had no time to switch stances and could only grit his teeth, pulling the sword hilt down from above his head again, forcefully pushing the blade towards Saranya in a desperate hope to intercept her slash.

“Ah?!”

Again, to Phillo’s astonishment, the two swords never collided in mid-air. Saranya’s sword had changed its trajectory once more at the last moment; both of her feigned slashes were mere deceptions. The blade drew a circle behind her back, then, like a venomous snake, revealed its fangs from the other side of her body, suddenly switching directions to thrust towards Phillo’s chest!

“Caught you~”

Legion Commander Saranya curled her lips, her voice a soft, teasing murmur.

“Agh—”

A sharp pain lanced through his chest, and warm blood stained his collar. Phillo choked, feeling as though his soul had left his body.

“Eh…?”

Phillo looked down, discovering that Saranya’s sword tip had only barely pierced his skin, not penetrating further into his chest.

With a grim expression, Saranya savored Phillo’s rapid, adrenaline-fueled gasps, gently twisting the sword hilt and pushing the blade a little deeper into his body.

“Hiss— No… I surrender!”

Phillo shook his head frantically, forgetting even to dodge, his words of surrender tumbling out.

“You surrendered?”

“I surrendered…”

Although Phillo was not a coward, his survival instinct caused his lips to tremble and his body to move uncontrollably, instinctively releasing the weapon in his hand.

“Good~”

Saranya withdrew her longsword from Phillo, then seized his fiery red hair, her fingernails digging deep into his scalp.

“Now, shall we discuss my demands?”

The onlookers fell into a deathly silence, the air filled only with the collective gasp of the audience.

Beneath long lashes, tyrannical whirlpools churned within Saranya’s pupils.

“I want your arms and legs, all four of them. I will turn you into a human torso, throw you into that Humiliation Alley you spoke of, and let you experience that… taste, for yourself. If you somehow manage to emerge alive, I wouldn’t mind taking a little more time to preserve you as a specimen, to present as the most exquisite gift to my mistress…”

“Wait, wait…”

“Haha… hahahahaha— Waa… waaaah hahahahaha— I want it now!”

Saranya bared her teeth, letting out a sharp, sinister laugh, her pristine canines gleaming menacingly in the moonlight.

She raised her sword, a silent sigh escaping her. She finally understood her mistress…

‘That ashen, desperate look on the faces of the weak when they beg—it’s truly exquisite…’

“Saranya.”

A young girl’s clear, cold voice suddenly echoed in her mind. Saranya trembled, and the twisted, tyrannical desire in her heart shattered instantly.

She released Phillo, then numbly turned her head, seeing a petite figure emerge from the shadowy corridor and step into the Sanctuary’s inner courtyard, bathed in hazy moonlight.

“Mistress…”

The longsword in her hand clanged as it fell to the ground, and several crystalline tears streamed down her cheeks, reflecting the soft silver light.