Chapter 47: Warm-Up

The spear in her hands was a masterpiece of brutality and elegance, designed solely for combat. Its sturdy shaft was forged from aged metal, accented by ornamental rings and details that provided a secure grip. At the upper end, a long, razor-sharp steel blade emitted a faint bluish glow, nearly imperceptible to the naked eye.

"The weapon's balance seems tailored for taller individuals, but that’s not an issue. It’s good to have a familiar weapon back in hand."

The lucky find lifted her mood, but once again, her opponent’s voice grated on her nerves.

"Cleo, answer me, dammit! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" John’s furious voice roared through the room.

In response, the sharp sound of steel slicing through the air reverberated. The spear, guided by firm fingers and steps so light they seemed to float, shot with lethal precision toward the center of John’s chest.

"Tsk!" A click of the tongue was all the man could muster before blocking the sharp tip with his fists at the last moment.

Given the force of the attack, one might expect an explosion of blood, but that wasn’t what happened. A faint look of surprise flickered across Cleomel's face. The spear, which should have had enough strength to pierce a mere hand, was now being pushed back by fiery fists.

"Surprised? Did you really think I wouldn’t learn from my mistakes, Cleo?" John growled, a sarcastic smile stretching across his face. "I’m not going to block your attacks unprepared like last time."

Leaping backward, Cleomel observed the bluish flames dancing around the man’s arm. Her amber-orange eyes narrowed, and, mirroring John, a feral smile spread across her scarred face.

"Of course not. I just didn’t expect to get a chance at revenge, that’s all."

Ignoring John’s confused expression, Cleomel charged forward. With a ferocious thrust, she lunged with the spear. The rapid succession of movements created the illusion of an unrelenting steel rain, clashing against the wall of fire.

Their exchange of moves far exceeded the speed a person without mana mastery could follow. Sweat subtly trickled down both their faces, their breathing quickening as neither was willing to be the first to yield.

"If possible, I’d rather not have to bury someone with potential," John said, forced to retreat to avoid being cornered against the wall. "Why don’t you tell me why you’re doing this?"

"Shut up and fight." Her voice, rough and as cold as the steel of her weapon, was all John heard before a kick landed squarely in his stomach.

"Argh?!"

Being hurled into the back room at the cost of a wall collapsing under the impact of his body, John felt the air violently expelled from his lungs, followed by a searing pain that overwhelmed his senses. The sudden attack, breaking the established rhythm of thrusts, had caught him entirely off guard.

Spitting out the crimson liquid pooling in his mouth, he forced himself to move despite his body’s protests. In battle, standing still was tantamount to inviting death. Rising to his feet with a guttural groan, he swung a kick at the nearby table of documents, sending it hurtling toward his opponent.

With a single, fluid motion, Cleomel carved a lethal arc through the air, slicing the wooden furniture cleanly in two. Yet, from the now-exposed gap, a split-second blind spot, a thin streak of lightning shot toward her.

The crackling preceded the blinding flash. The high-speed electrical current, powerful enough to scorch human flesh on contact, surged toward Cleomel’s face.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," John muttered in shock, both hands continuing to channel the lightning, his dry laugh betraying a strained smile. "You’re tough for someone who couldn’t stop the girl you were supposed to protect from being taken!"

Amid the electric onslaught, Cleomel, her brown skin glinting under the faint bluish glow of an aura encasing her, stood unmoving. Though the currents seemed to dance across her skin, they failed to penetrate her magical barrier.

"Your group sure loves surprise attacks, don’t they? Let me guess—are you planning to shoot a poisoned arrow at my back next?"

Cleomel’s calm tone carried an undercurrent of mockery as she studied John’s reaction, piecing together the meaning of her words.

"You... how do you know that...? Was it you!?"

The lightning ceased abruptly. John lowered his arms, his gaze darting to the unconscious young man with glasses lying in the corner of the room. The report he had just received echoed ominously in his mind.

"Tell me, you bastard—was it you?! What did you do to them?!" John’s furious voice rang out, the bluish flames roaring back to life around his arms.

"What do you think?" Cleomel’s lips curved into a sly grin as she lunged forward once more, spear clashing against fire in a cacophony of destruction.

Steel collided with flames, the wooden room trembling under the intensity of their battle. The raw rage and hatred etched onto both their faces were genuine, fueled by an unyielding desire to destroy the enemy before them.

"I see it now—it was you! You’re after the girl, aren’t you? How did you find us?!"

Another flurry of blows followed in rapid succession, their combat prowess allowing them to hold their ground against one another. Yet, their skill was also why the stalemate persisted.

Despite their apparent equilibrium, it became clear one of them was at a disadvantage. When Cleomel attempted to strike at John’s exposed leg, his flaming fist smashed into her face.

She refused to let a single grunt of pain escape as she staggered backward, forced into retreat while deflecting his offensive strikes with her spear.

The arrogant movements John adopted as the fight continued made one thing evident—he had fully grasped Cleomel’s weakness.

Spears were not meant for close-quarters combat when the space is too small.

The weapon’s length, its greatest advantage on an open battlefield, became a crippling liability in confined spaces like corridors and small rooms. The walls restricted her movements, and the low ceiling prevented her from delivering wide, sweeping attacks.

John’s confidence surged as he pressed his advantage, the room echoing with the relentless clash of fire and steel.

From the very beginning of the fight, confined within the walls of that house, the girl was undeniably at a disadvantage. For this reason, John never even considered changing their battleground by moving outside.

"I held back, expecting you to have some kind of magic up your sleeve, but it doesn't seem like that's the case." After deflecting her spear downward with the back of his hand, he observed her movements. Her thrusts and sweeps were restricted, limiting her options for attack. Taking advantage of this, John sidestepped the upward strike he knew would follow without even needing to look, delivering another punch to Cleomel’s face.

“You’re one of those idiots who focus entirely on physical enhancement with mana instead of actually learning magic, aren’t you?”

As if to repay the earlier kick he had taken, John capitalized on the brief opening after his successful hit and delivered a well-placed blow to Cleomel’s stomach.

“Aaargh!” This time, not even biting her lip could stop her body’s protest, and the girl collapsed to the floor.

“Concentrating all your mana on fortifying your body all the time might give you a defense tough to break with magic alone, but if I just break it another way, it’s as good as useless.”

Laughing as he watched his opponent use her weapon as a crutch to get back on her feet, John brushed his red hair back.

"Anyone can reinforce their body with mana, but seriously, is that all? Where do you think you can go with such basic attacks?" His words came out with some difficulty, his breathing heavy.

Fatigue was undeniably eating away at his body. Though he was a mage specializing in short-range spells that led to physical confrontations, he wasn’t accustomed to such intense, speed-reliant battles.

Standing up again, Cleomel spun her spear with her right hand before gripping it firmly and letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Seriously, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while: you talk too much.” Cleomel’s voice carried a tone of resignation, as if tired of repeating herself. Wiping the blood trickling from the cut on her cheek with her hand, she cracked her neck.

“A fool who doesn’t listen... What a pity. If you had agreed to join me, I could’ve taught you how to truly fight a batt—!”

John knew she would attack during his speech; his stance was already prepared to block the spear thrust heading his way. He was confident he could defend against it.

But then why?

Why did the attack he had blocked so many times before now seem beyond his reach?

Blood spilled. Staring at his left hand, now aflame with three fingers dislocated from the impact he failed to block, John felt a chilling dread crawl down his spine. His mind, unable to process the pain, instinctively directed his gaze to the opponent approaching him with unhurried steps.

“Do you think I’d have discarded the sword if I cared about the confined space?”

One step followed another, but as those feet hit the ground, the opponent who had been on the other side of the room was suddenly beside him.

“Thanks for being such a good sparring partner.”

The spear whistled through the air. Instinct overrode all logic, forcing his immobile body to block the strike that would have severed his neck from his head. That blow was limited, John knew— His opponent was unable to channel the full force of the spear as there wasn’t enough room to swing properly.

And yet, the impact's force far exceeded his expectations. His inefficient stance caused his legs—his body’s main support—to give out once again, sending him flying without a chance to react.

“What...?”

The man, who felt everything around him spin from the blow he couldn’t fully defend against, paid the price with five broken fingers on his left hand.

In a panic, he frantically scanned the room. On the wall opposite to where he now stood, a perfect line had formed along the path the spear's blade had traveled, the cold wind from the mist outside creeping into the room. Seeing this, his understanding finally clicked. To execute the attack, if the lack of space posed a problem, it was simply a matter of creating it.

"I'm going to speed things up, okay? Now it's the other hand."

Using one knee to prevent his entire body from collapsing, he rolled across the floor to regain distance. The woman standing motionless in front of him took a single step and was immediately by his side. Just as she had warned, his right hand, engulfed in flames, clashed against the steel spear. However, her movement was so fast that John couldn’t assume a proper stance.

“Aaaaaargh!”

Along with his scream, his other hand had been shattered by the impact. Staring at his twisted fingers, the composed man finally cried out in agony.

"I don't want to waste healing potions just to stop your bleeding, so I'm using the spear's shaft to avoid tearing off your fingers," she said, her dull orange eyes reflecting the coldness in her voice. Each step toward John made his body tremble. "Of course, if those broken fingers hurt too much, we could just take both hands. Your incredible magic flames should be perfect for cauterizing the wounds, don’t you think?"

Glaring at the man sprawled on the floor, Cleomel spun the spear several times in her hand. She had finally grown accustomed to the weapon's weight and shape, the spear's mana conductivity pleasing her more with each passing moment.

"See? With your mouth shut, you're a poet."

Her lyrical tone reached him, and John paralyzed with fear, could only stare in panic. His initial thoughts of panic had solidified into a certainty of death, and all his will to fight shattered. His adrenaline-soaked mind, too numbed to fully process the pain from his broken hands, forced him to stand and flee in terror.

Cleomel observed John’s desperate attempt to create an escape route, watching the dying man drag himself away, channeling all his remaining mana into fortifying his body.

"You know..."

Her solitary words preceded a single step, her body instantly appearing at John's side.

A solitary hand clamped down on his head, her fingers gripping his skull with such force that it could have crushed a massive boulder. With one decisive motion, she slammed his head into the stone floor with merciless impact. Gray dust spread in all directions, and the now-cracked floor trapped John’s head, leaving him completely unconscious.

"For someone who spent the entire time complaining that continuous body reinforcement with mana is useless, you relied on it awfully quickly when your life was on the line."