A Distant Reverie

Chapter 73

Marine moved on instinct. Bloodlust poured from every inch of her body, unleashed at the person who was about to execute her companion. The thick, nauseating aura surged outwards like poisonous miasma, indiscriminately turning both friend and foe alike into a trembling mess.

Even the duke froze—his descending sword suddenly still as he spun around at the raging thirst for blood.

Marine reached for the pistol strapped to her thigh. In one swift motion, she took aim and pressed down the trigger. The custom augmented pistol fired an explosive round with a deafening screech. The high-pitch wail of the lead bullet soaring was so distinctively shrill that one couldn't help but be aware of its threat.

All of her actions so far were an intentional bluff—done for patter and flare to draw Duke Calon's attention. Marine wanted the duke to be aware of the imminent threat prowling at his back, one that would instantly bring him to death's door if he didn't give her his uttermost attention. She used her overwhelming presence as a distraction to pry the duke's focus from executing Suisei.

If he ignored her and executed Suisei, her sword would plunge the length of his spine. The threat of mutually-assured destruction. This was the gamble that Marine constantly risked her decisions upon.

Duke Calon flung himself out of the way as the bullet cut through the air. The lead ricocheted off of the ruins of the barricades before embedding itself into the fleshy remains of a fallen soldier.

Marine lunged at the brief opening she created. With a sword in both hands, she swung, sending out a flurry of steel from a myriad of angles and depths. Feints and thrusts were mixed in. Blood sprayed as a few of her slashes pierced through the gaps in Duke Calon's defenses. Sparks flashed in the vicinity from the deafening ring of steel clashing. Marine refused to slow down—relentlessly pressing her momentum, trying to wring out every second of her brief advantage.

He's starting to get used to my speed.

Her attacks were starting to land less. More and more of her attempts were getting blocked and deflected by Duke Calon's broad sword. The sword master was adapting to her erratic movements—the gaps between his reactions rapidly diminished as he began to anticipate where Marine was going to strike.

And he's not slowing down!

Although Marine failed to land any direct lethal strikes, the injuries accumulated on Duke Calon's body was not light. Viscid red drenched his armor and greaves, dripping and spraying with every clash and swing of their swords.

Still, the duke remained steadfast, seemingly unfazed by his deteriorating body. There were no hints of desperation, no panic, no perturbations of the mind that Marine could exploit. It was as if he was in a trance-like state with only the sword and his enemy in sight.

Marine grimaced, feeling her advantage gradually slip away. Suddenly, both of her swords were deflected before she was at the apex of her swing. Duke Calon anticipated her attack—and he arrived faster than she could.

"Ngh!"

Her wrists screamed at the weight of Duke Calon's broad sword. The strength of the duke was unfathomable. The bones in her hands creaked as Marine struggled to resist his attack.

A creeping dread suddenly crawled up her back. It was subtle, clinging onto the skin on her back, rapidly climbing upwards along the length of her spine. Realizing something was wrong, Marine instinctively retreated. Duke Calon's sword then pushed past hers into the ground. Suddenly, the sword sprung up in a wide crescent without losing a single bit of the momentum, as if it had sprung up against the paved stone of Fort Nyak's grounds.