Final Duty

I stood there, frozen, trying to process the absolute absurdity of what I’d just witnessed. Iris Midgar—the legendary, supposedly peerless Iris Midgar—had been taken down in a single damn strike.

Living in the Underworld, you get used to seeing some pretty wild power scaling. I know people who could wipe the floor with a girl like her, sure. But even if I called up the strongest Spellsword in my rolodex, could they actually one-shot her?

Not a chance.

Unless it was a total fluke or a literal stab in the back, it was statistically impossible. Which meant my reality was currently breaking. If Jimina really just ended the match that quickly, then by default, this random nobody was the greatest Spellsword I’d ever seen.

A brat like that? Pulling ahead of me?

Nothing ruins a man's pride quite like being leapfrogged by a snot-nosed kid. Before I knew it, my shock had curdled into a nasty, simmering jealousy. My brain was basically screaming "System Error" and trying to reboot into a reality where Jimina sucked.

It had to be a fluke, I told myself. Or maybe just bad chemistry? Maybe Iris was just having an off day. She’d been acting like a total weirdo the whole match—freezing up, circling him like a confused puppy, being weirdly cautious. She was probably sick, or maybe the kid was using some kind of cheap, underhanded trick. I had a whole list of excuses ready to go.

But my gut wasn't buying it. My instincts were already waving the white flag.

I’d realized something terrifying: Jimina and I weren't even playing the same sport. His entire theory of combat, his fundamental philosophy of "the sword"—it was all on a different level. I could spend the next several hundred years grinding in a training hall and I’d still never touch him. His style was... well, it was a masterpiece. He’d taken the best parts of every martial art and distilled them into something dangerously refined.

Even as I tried to deny his talent, a part of me was looking at his swordplay with the wide-eyed wonder of a little kid. It had this demonic quality to it, a magnetic pull that fascinated anyone who called themselves a warrior—just like my old master's blade used to do back in the day.

I ground my teeth until they creaked.

I refuse to accept this. The kid wasn't the strongest yet. Not by a long shot. I’ve seen some heavy hitters in my time, and I still haven't seen the full power of The Cult’s Highest Executives. Compared to them, Jimina was nothing. Right? Right.

"Lady Beatrix, what did you make of that... performance?" I asked, practically begging her to talk some trash.

Beatrix was staring at Jimina, her blue eyes peeking out from under her hood. There was no scorn in her gaze. Only... admiration.

"...I want to fight him," she whispered.

"Huh?"

Before I could ask her if she’d lost her mind, the entire arena erupted into a frenzy. I looked down toward the stage, and my jaw hit the floor for the second time today.

"Rose Oriana..."

My face twisted into a nasty sneer. So, the little fugitive finally decided to show her face. What a moron. The Oriana Kingdom was already a lost cause, and the King was nothing more than my personal meat-puppet. I already had the nation's core in the palm of my hand. For a princess to wander back into the lion's den without realizing she'd already lost... well, talk about naive.

I pulled my hand up to hide my grin and stepped out of the Special Room, bringing the King of Oriana along for the ride.

"My dear Princess Rose. You’ve finally decided to come home," I called out.

There was a single staircase connecting our booth to the arena floor. I started the long walk down, keeping the King right beside me.

"Rose, you have done well to return. Now, come here," the King said. Of course, those weren't his words. They were just hollow, soulless sounds I’d programmed into my shell of a monarch.

As we descended, I signaled my goons with a quick look. Get ready to grab her.

Rose started climbing up toward us. Her voice was trembling, and her eyes were a watery mess. "Father, I’ve come to apologize. For everything I’ve done... and for what I’m about to do. I’ve made mistakes, and I know I’ll probably make more. But as the princess of the Oriana Kingdom, and as your daughter... I have to walk the path I believe in."

I saw it then—the shift in her eyes. That wasn't the look of a girl surrendering; it was pure, unadulterated determination. I immediately took a tactical step back, shoving the King in front of me.

Go ahead, Your Majesty. Be a good human shield. As long as I had the Puppet King, my plan was bulletproof. She wouldn't dare do anything with him in the way.

"I shall forgive your sins," the King said.

Wait. I didn't tell him to say that.

"Thank you, Father," Rose whispered.

Then, the world sped up.

Rose drew her blade in a blur. I reacted instantly, diving behind the King’s back as my subordinates lunged forward. But she was too fast. Way too fast.

What—?!

She left everyone in the dust. Her rapier flashed out, driving straight through the King of Oriana’s heart.

"As a princess, and as a daughter... this is my final duty."

The King’s arms, which had been reaching out as if to hug her, lost all strength and flopped to his sides. The rapier had punched clean through his chest and—son of a—!—it was buried in my own abdomen.

"Thank you for everything, Father," she said, her voice cracking.

She yanked the blade out. Blood sprayed from the King’s heart like a fountain as he collapsed into a heap. Tears were finally streaming down her face.

"Y-YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!" I screamed.

Blood was pouring out of my gut, too. It wasn't a fatal hit, but that wasn't why I was losing it. My puppet was dead. My leverage, my masterpiece, my entire plan—it was all shattered on the floor.

"CAPTURE HER! KILL HER! DO SOMETHING!" I shrieked at my men.

Rose didn't even try to run. She just stood there, pressed the tip of her rapier against her own throat, and looked at me with a sad, final smile.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—

My face went pale. If she died now, I’d have nothing left to salvage. "S-Stop! Stop it right now!"

She braced herself to drive the steel home. But then, a voice cut through the chaos.

"—So, that is your choice."

A flash of movement, as graceful as a dance, swept through the air. In a single stroke, Rose’s rapier—and the swords of every guard closing in on her—were batted away like toothpicks.

Standing there was Jimina. The "ordinary" guy.

"Y-You’re..." Rose gasped.

He didn't look so ordinary anymore. Not while he was holding that sword—a Jet-black Blade as deep and unforgiving as the midnight sky.