Resolution (IV)

  [Alert: The opponent ‘Angelica’ employs a highly aggressive combat style, she utilizes sharp thrusts enhanced by the explosive power of her unique skill. Battle data indicates that you are relative in swordplay, my calculations indicate a high—]

  That’s nice to hear, Aria, but it’s not what I’m going for here, this fight isn’t about ‘defeating her’.

  [...Error in judgement? I do not understand. Cyril, what is the objective then if not victory?]

  The objective is simple; we’re going to cheer her up!

  The mental declaration set his aura alight, the vicious surge of power spiked around his body and flung him forward like a rocket. Cyril’s body cut through the air, his blade whistling like a razor-edged gale. The distance keeping him from Angelica was breached in an instant and his opponent—still rooted in her stance — countered his advance with a fearsome sweep of her blade.

  He matched her attack with rivaling gusto and responded in kind with a vertical parry, but his opponent wasn’t done yet. As soon as their blades met with a thunderous clanking sound, Cyril’s body was forcefully driven back by the explosive trail of flames that spontaneously combusted from Angelica’s dull practice sword.

  The blast sent his feet skidding along the ground like a loose stone, by the time he completely regained his balance, his earlier advance was rendered completely useless.

  The space between them had opened up again.

  “Heh, bringing out one of your aces already, huh? That's impressive. It definitely doesn't look like something you could pull off unless your Index let you handle that kind of explosive power,” Cyril said, his smile widening at the sight.

  “You asked for it, remember? This is my Magna Art—Ira Ascanius. Should you really smiling right now? I’m about to fight for real.”

  The voice that called out to him carried no traces of hostility, but even so, it still sounded powerful, like it was demanding his attention instead of attracting it.

  The sound came from a dainty European girl standing just a few meters away. She had a petite figure with sharp, glinting blue eyes and a small round face that looked as if it had been sculpted by hand rather than formed naturally.

  She was on the shorter side of the spectrum, giving her the appearance of a delicate work of art—something that might break if touched.

  However, at the moment, that delicate impression was being overwhelmed by the undiluted essence of power. Her figure shimmered with a dim silver glow as tendrils of resplendent flames coiled and danced around her body, eventually converging on the dull blade in her hand.

  The weapon transformed, taking on the eerie likeness of arms from the end times.

  “Sorry, I guess I just got a little excited Angelica. You’re a lot stronger than I thought.” Cyril admitted honestly, shifting back into his stance.

  “That sounds like an admission of defeat to me, are you planning to back down after coming this far?”

  “Hardly, I was just singing your praises before. I actually do have an ace up my sleeve that’ll help me deal with this.”

  “Oh?” Angelica took a step forward, that alone was all it took for her body to start sending shimmering waves of heat into the air—hot enough to distort the space around her and prickle the skin of those nearby with an almost unbearable intensity.

  “Then please, by all means...” she began, the corners of her lips lifting with a small grin “...show me this so-called ‘ace’ of yours Cyril. Let’s see if it can really match my flames.”

  The flames flared with even more vivacity as if they were responding to her declaration.

  “Fine, it’s not like you weren’t going to find out about it sooner or later, partner.”

  Cyril’s aura—still shimmering fiercely—unleashed a brilliant surge of mana that twisted and swelled before taking form, morphing into a shroud of white flames that danced along his body and clung to his blade, mirroring Angelica’s own technique.

  “White flames huh? Are you trying to imitate me?” Angelica chuckled to herself. She was about to face someone who had willed a shroud of white flames into existence, and yet, her expression brightened for reasons she herself didn’t quite understand.

  “I like to think of it more as inspiration. Besides, wouldn’t we make the perfect team since we match now?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I’d have to see how your flames hold up against mine to sign off on it.” Angelica had spoken the words in a tone so blatantly rhetorical Cyril didn’t even need to respond, but true to his nature, he followed through with a playful smirk and a light shrug.

  “Do your worst princess.”

  “Worst is a bit of an exaggeration; I’m just going to rough you up a bit.” She leaned forward, sharpening her glare and poising her body for a powerful lunge.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Before a full second passed, Angelica's form flickered out of view—her silhouette vanishing as the distance between them collapsed. In the span of a single breath, the flaming girl was already upon him.

  Her blade sparked with a wave of hellfire after only one swing, it flashed towards the young man’s torso at a frightening speed, only for the horizontal sweep to be blocked by a vertical counter.

  Their blades met in a violent clash of bright flashes and sparks, vivid orange bursts intermingled with the dancing ivory trails and filled the once humble hall with vibrant glimmers of conviction.

  “Ohh! So you can block these pretty handily huh?”

  Mild amusement doused her initial shock, widening the small grin on her face ever-so-slightly. Angelica shifted her weight onto her left leg and continued undeterred, instead of a slash, this time she unleashed a flurry of sharp thrusting motions with her blazing blade.

  The blows lacked neither power nor precision, fueled by their master’s mettle, the sharp thrusts assaulted her opponent with the likeness of a gatling gun.

  She was too close for Cyril to gain any distance, and the blows were too fast for him to strike any kind of counter. In this situation, either of those options would have been ideal but Cyril was unfazed, in fact he was beginning to match her smile.

  Faced with the nigh-imminent loss, he opted for an approach that was completely nonstandard. Instead of making any attempts to retreat or defend against the onslaught, Cyril did the opposite—he advanced.

  As soon as his feet sprang forward, all other options were aborted.

  He met the sharp thrusts, flickering lunges, and fearsome arcs of the flaming blade with a practiced hand, each parry expertly deflecting the searing heat that licked at his skin. The air shimmered with firelight, embers bursting from each clash, casting radiant hues against the alabaster walls of the training halls as he fought to avoid being burned—or worse, impaled.

  Perhaps they’d gotten a bit too heated in the midst of things.

  Bam

  Angelica countered Cyril’s slash with a swift parry, sparks flying as their blades met. The instant she saw the glittering sparks intertwine; Angelica came to a sudden realization.

  Cyril’s expert parrying of her attacks was impressive, but even more peculiar was the waning shroud of flames wisping from her weapon. What had once roared like an infernal gale had dwindled to little more than a dim flicker after only a few clashes. It wasn’t a matter of running out of mana—she had plenty to spare.

  This was different, as if something were actively chipping away at her flames themselves.

  The sound of her opponent’s grounded feet wouldn’t allow her much time to think. She fell into a low stance, pooling more mana into her grip until the embers drawling form her blade sparked a bright orange.

  Once she was satisfied, she willed the flailing wisps of fire to condense along the swords span, then she charged forward to meet the powerful downward slash her opponent was about to unleash.

  Boom

  She stepped into range, swinging her sword upwards to match descending blow. The air shuddered from the clash, rustling the hall’s metal framework and sending the scaly creatures nestling in the nearby pond into a frenzy.

  Two distinct colors and wills intertwined decisively, neither showing any sign of yielding as their flaming blades clashed. However, to their detriment, a pair of simple replicas could hardly withstand such a showdown for much longer.

  Before either one of them could prevail, loud snapping sounds rang out, and immediately after, the luminous surge of power flowing from their blades vanished.

  “W-w-woah!”

  “Acckgh!!”

  A tumbling thud lulled the chaotic sounds of battle.

  After their last clash, the practice swords—enchanted beyond their means — snapped under the influence of such terrific force, resulting in both parties losing their balance and colliding into each other somewhat comically.

  “Owwww! What was that?” Angelica groaned wearily as she sat up on the strangely uneven surface beneath her. “Hmm? What’s this?”

  “Y-Young miss compose yourself at once!”

  Hearing that much emotion coursing through Yelena’s voice instantly made her whip around where she saw a strangely perplexed expression on her retainer’s face.

  “Compose...myself?”

  “Angelica...can’t...breathe...”

  Finally, she looked down to see Cyril sprawled out on the shiny wooden floor— eyes swirling like a carousel.

  “....”

  In the place of words came a cherry red color that filled her fuming face. It took her a while to process the situation, but once she did, her heart lurched.

  “C-Cyril why are you on the floor!?” She yelped, scuttling away with wide eyes as if she'd just seen a ghost.

  “You...fell on top of me just now.... when your blade snapped in half.” he gasped

  “Are you...alright?” she asked, her voice addled with a heavy dose of embarrassment.

  It took a second for him to respond with all the desperate gasps of air riddling his every breath, but eventually, he managed to prop himself up and give her a quaking thumbs up.

  Angelica chuckled a little, heaving the weight off her chest.

  All of a sudden, the entire room quaked from a heavy impact.

  The two challengers quickly registered the source of the tremor as something sharp striking the floor—though in truth, the object lacked any real edge.

  Yet, the force behind it—the sheer precision of its descent—made it seem as though the very air had been sliced apart. Cyril’s eyes hesitantly scrolled over to his right — the site of the impact.

  There he saw one of the very same practice swords he’d been using not too long ago, its tapered tip lodged firmly in the floor like an erect pillar. A large shadow subtly moved across his face as the aggressor stepped closer.

  Yelena Riot, the figure looming over him, teetered on the brink of her benevolence—so much so that Cyril swore he could see hellfire and brimstone flickering in her eyes.

  “Cyril Severin, it would be in your best interest to forget what just happened.” She whispered, her tone gelid.

  A cold sweat broke out on his face almost instantly, washing away the pain, disorientation, and—regrettably—even the surprisingly soft sensation he'd felt just moments ago.

  “S-sure. Consider it buried. Deep.”