“Is that all?”

Ritya sucked in air desperately as countless beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks and fell from her cheeks. The pitch-black sword that she’d received had been a gift from Amelia when she and Bastiche swore loyalty to her and became part of her Circle. The witch had promised it would grant her strength, but even so, she found herself at the mercy of Marilyn.

“...You’re fighting a losing battle, Dame Marilyn. The moment Lord Bastiche gets here, I’ll be forced to kill you. If you surrender now, I’ll be able to at least convince my lord to spare you.”

“I doubt it, Ritya.” Marilyn said dismissively as she advanced toward her exhausted opponent. “Perhaps if his Crest bore an ability that was more powerful, you may have been right, but as it stands, I need only a single blow to fell you, and if I recall correctly, Lord Bastiche’s Crest does not inflict wounds retroactively.”

Ritya grit her teeth. Marilyn had called her bluff with ease. While she was covered in a handful of injuries, Marilyn was completely unscathed. Bastiche’s Crest would do little to turn the tide of battle.

“...So in the end, even you will look down on me, huh?”

“Look down on you?” Marilyn raised an eyebrow just as she raised her weapon. “Spare me the pity party, Ritya. Did you really think that changing the color of your sword would allow you to reach my level?”

Marilyn’s sword descended like a falling star, its stained silver blade aimed straight at her opponent. Had she been facing anyone else, she would have sought to bisect them, but she couldn’t do the same here. She couldn’t bring herself to kill Ritya.

Instead, the path that her blade traced would only cut through the shoulder of Ritya’s sword arm. Though it was an injury that could be easily remedied by the powers of a healing Crest, it would render the junior knight unable to fight as Marilyn made her escape.

...In the end, I’m not enough, am I? Ritya stared at the silver arc that cleaved through the air. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t prepared herself for this. From the very beginning, she knew she was not enough. After all, that was why she agreed to Amelia’s deal.

Ritya’s arm shot up, seemingly in desperation as she sought to shield herself from the blow. While she wore an armored gauntlet, they functioned more as protection against common soldiers or glancing blows to the hands. Against a senior knight like Marilyn, they would be utterly ineffective.

Marilyn’s blade would shear through it with ease.

“N-No!” Marilyn shouted in vain. It was too late for her to stop her own attack, and she watched in horror as her sword cut through Ritya’s arm completely.

While Ritya had succeeded in protecting her sword arm, the place where her hand had once been was now nothing more than a stump. Blood spurted incessantly and pooled on the ground around her feet, but she did not scream or howl.

“R-Ritya! W-Why!? I... I never intended to...!” Marilyn stared at Ritya in shock. She had never hated the girl. Rather, she wished to turn Ritya into a proud knight that would no longer have to tolerate Duke Revelo’s verbal insults.

Marilyn knew that Ritya harbored a deep sense of loyalty for Bastiche, but she never thought the junior knight would be willing to sacrifice even a limb just to see this insane plan through. Surely she knows that the moment the emperor discovers Lord Bastiche’s treachery, she’ll be executed along with him...

“...The price has been paid,” Ritya uttered monotonously. Slowly, she brought what remained of her arm to the flat of her sword, allowing the still-flowing blood to slowly fill the groove that ran across the length of the blade.

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“R-Ritya! What are you doing!? Quickly, we have to find someone and reattach your arm or—”

“I curse my body.”

“Nngh!” Marilyn winced as a sudden burst of black energy exploded from Ritya’s blade, sending her stumbling backwards. When she recovered, she watched in horror as Ritya’s severed arm rapidly dissolved into black sludge on the floor.

“I curse my blood.”

A hissing noise filled the air. The blood on Ritya’s blade blackened and boiled, evaporating into the air as pitch-black mist that slowly dispersed throughout the room.

“R-Ritya...! No!” Marilyn stared at Ritya in disbelief as the junior knight continued speaking in a monotonous tone, her eyes glazed over as if she had resigned herself to a fate worse than death, yet still sought to push on.

“I curse my soul.”

As those final words left Ritya’s lips, the black mist that cloaked the room was suddenly sucked into a vortex that formed at the stump of her arm, solidifying into the shape of her hand. Crimson lines spread throughout her new hand like veins, decorating its surface in intricate patterns.

One by one, she moved each finger independently before finally forming a fist and nodding to herself in satisfaction. She drew a deep breath, and only then did she meet Marilyn’s eyes.

“No...” Marilyn’s voice was barely more than a whisper as the last vestige of hope she had for Ritya’s redemption was torn from her heart. She had truly wished to raise Ritya into a proud knight, but she knew that would be impossible now.

Ritya’s eyes burned with a fervent anger, one that was magnified by the ugly red shade that replaced her once lustrous emerald. “I curse this world, and I curse you, Dame Marilyn.”

Marilyn scowled and pointed her sword at Ritya. There was nothing more to be said.

Both knights accelerated toward each other, their weapons clashing with such force that the room itself shook despite the walls being made of stone. Although they drew even for the first few blows thanks to Ritya’s sudden surge of energy, Marilyn quickly regained the upper hand.

While the strange ritual had granted Ritya enhanced physical abilities and regenerative properties that rapidly healed the wounds she’d sustained during the fight, her level of skill had remained the same and was woefully inadequate against a senior knight like Marilyn.

With a powerful blow, Marilyn knocked Ritya’s sword out of her hand, causing the weapon to clatter uselessly on the ground. She raised her sword again, but this time she spared her opponent no mercy.

Marilyn’s strike would split Ritya into two.

“For your own good, I’ll send you back to Aluvsha!” Marilyn roared as her sword crashed down on Ritya with the force of a falling mountain.

Thunk.

“...What?” Marilyn’s eyes widened in disbelief. Not only had her strike been stopped, but Ritya had caught the blade with nothing more than her bare hand. Despite it having been formed by a dark ritual, it shouldn’t have been able to withstand such a powerful blow at close range.

“There is no god who would embrace me now,” Ritya intoned. She tightened her grip on Marilyn’s sword, and the crimson lines that decorated her hand pulsed brightly, causing a sizzling sound to fill the air.

Though she was confused for a second, Marilyn quickly noticed the part Ritya was grabbing had begun glowing a dull red that was rapidly brightening. S-She’s melting it!

Panicked, Marilyn attempted to pull her weapon free from Ritya’s grip, but the junior knight was far too strong. In a matter of seconds, molten steel dripped from Ritya’s hand and onto the ground where it hissed angrily, the top half of Marilyn’s blade clattering to the floor uselessly.

As the senior knight stared dumbfoundedly at the useless stump of a sword she’d been left with, Ritya reached her other hand out toward her own weapon which laid on the ground. It shivered slightly before heeding her command and flying into her hand.

“Send Aluvsha my regards.” Ritya’s grip tightened around the hilt of her sword. She lifted it with ease, thrusting it at the center of Marilyn’s head.

Marilyn stared at the point of the black blade that was rapidly approaching her. In another second, she would be dead. But she didn’t want to die. Not while she still had to avenge her lord, and not while she still had to take responsibility for Ritya’s sins.

Though all she held was a broken sword, Marilyn refused to accept death.

I will live... So wait for me, Ritya. I’ll save you from what you’ve become.

No matter what, she would struggle until her last breath.

I swear it.