“One is under a contract for Al-Wa?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit in a rough spot…” L played with his peaked cap, tossing it around in his hands.

Kwazhak and L were sitting leisurely on the patio of Nutaarsaarsuk Teahouse, on the outskirts of Rümqî. Numerous hanging gardens swabbed the neighborhood in a layer of green, which contrasted with the sandy colors of the building complexes. Rare rain caused a downpour, covering the city with bluish gray. Damp drops slid down the arched roofs, collecting together in Azu sewage systems. Rows of apartments went on for miles, the outskirts still bustling with local traffic. Tiny people with umbrellas walked through the urban streets, the monument commemorating the Azu general who established Tasdaha was drenched in rainwater and offensive Khoit graffiti.

Inside, they were warm and cozy. It hadn’t rained since last year in Arvan Neg. L wore his winter police uniform, which included a long khaki trench coat, made of rich gabardine, and covered his arms and legs snuggle. Kwazhak clasped his teacup and sipped in slowly, enjoying the hot taste stimulating his tongue. The whiff of an earthly scent mixed with the musky aroma of the torrential rain.

“Does one want something to eat?” He looked up, with a warm smile.

“Pandesal.”

“Two loaves of Pandesal for the young officer.”

The Buhang waiter nodded and returned to the kitchen. Kwazhak then turned back to L.

“So, Officer Kiyomiya, would you care to explain one’s situation?”

“...”

“How old are you, officer?”

“Nineteen.”

“Well, one’s certainly youthful. This year, 1975, I will be twenty-one,” Kwazhak stated, “How did one become the enforcer of law?”

“Th- The CEO of Al-Wa gave me a letter of recommendation. But I passed the exam easily anyway,” L replied, resting his head on the table, looking off into the distance.

“Is one satisfied with this job? That being, the proctors granted you an officer of the city Kesat.”

“No, no,” L soon responded, his voice tensing up. “I’m not satisfied with this job. My goal wasn’t to become a police officer.”

“Hm? Then what is your plan?”

“Le Prince,” L gestured for him to come closer. Kwazhak leaned his ear towards him. “I want to destroy something called the Dineh Kazaàd. And this job has the key institutions I need.”

“Dihu Minjie!”

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Kwazhak sidestepped foot after foot and dodged the sahar that flew at him. At the same time, he pulled his blade around in a graceful movement. He sliced the ones near him. The spell ended, and more particles flew at him from Thiệu’s Hiryok. Kwazhak swiftly performed a shooting star. Diagonal cuts sang the wind’s song in a myriad of flashy blade work. With a shield guarding his back, he ran towards him, his sword following behind.

“Mahou Jyuuryok,” Thiệu held out his hand, and the particles obeyed him.

The room began to rotate as if it was an illusion. Kwazhak lost his balance as he fell to the ceiling. A saharic force grazed his scalp, blood dripping down his ear. Papers, mugs, desks, all dropped to the ceiling. The rule of gravity had changed. Standing up with a jump, they were on the ceiling. Kwazhak could feel the weakness of the panels on his feet. Mineral fiber, easy to break. His right eye was covered in a scarlet hue. His lungs felt a great strain. As if someone was pulling on them. Sharp sensations pierced his abdomen and torso.

Kwazhak took a great stance. Instantly he dashed towards the man that had L wrapped around Al-Wa’s grasp.

“Dihu Huanjin: Golden Dash,” His feet moved like clockwork. His sword glittered gold as he blocked with an X. He swerved to the right, his wound up arms releasing a slash to the left. Fresh wounds opened up, the blood trailing behind Kwazhak. Thiệu stepped back to dodge his slice. Kwazhak and Thiệu circled the room. They appeared as setsunatic flashes of gold and white. The drywall, ceiling, and floor became engulfed in flurries of cuts. Explosions boomed like lightning. The walls shook several magnitudes. Kwazhak noticed during his pursuit that Thiệu’s face was smiling. Was he enjoying it? Was Kwazhak not strong enough? For a moment, he considered using Cheng Ying.

“It’s not your fault.”

L was in an alleyway somewhere in the streets of Wakoku, in shade away from the sun. It was Zurgaa, the elliptic orbital month, and massive heat waves struck both continents with blazing temperatures from the nearing sun. Plastic and leaves melted on the sandstone floor, the scorching ground daring to burn anyone who comes in contact with it on bare skin. The square was empty, and shops were closed.

L sat embracing his legs in the alley, staring at the ground quietly as tears streamed down his cheek. Kwazhak was standing close by, the only noise being heard was the cicadas that buzzed in the distance.

“I’m sorry…”

“We did the best that we could. We’ve learned our lesson. From this, next year-”

“We killed those people, Kwazhak. Even if we tried to tell them that it was dangerous, they went on ahead and entered the tournament. I couldn’t save anyone…”

“We tried. One cannot change people’s hearts once their judgment is set in stone,” Kwazhak kneeled down and rested his hand on L’s shoulder, “We didn’t kill them. We attempted to save them.”

“...”

Kwazhak let out a sigh as he turned his back to the wall and sat on the floor next to him, dusting his blue hanfu. He then rested his head on the wall, gazing at the buildings and the clear sky.

“You know what my bodyguard, Mr. Khouw said to me once?” He continued, “Hard work doesn’t go to waste in the end. When one fails, thou wilt earn experience that overtakes those with success,” Kwazhak cited from classical Renhua, “We still have 1977, 1978, 1979, and so on to keep on trying.”

“... But we are toying with people’s lives, Laoyuang!... If this continues, we will have enough blood on our hands that even the auspicious maiden would look away from us…”

Kwazhak continued his pursuit. He took big leaps, one after the other. Gold particles trailed off his sword. Keep on trying. Keep on trying, he said to himself. Kwazhak took a huge gulp of air into his diaphragm, as saharic particles gathered towards him. His veins popped, gripping the greatsword with the strength to crush a siopao. Every spell that was sent towards him, he was to absorb it. Every deflection from the Hiryok, he absorbed it through his sword.

Taking every blow from saharic particles, his heart burned with energy. He could feel sahar entering him, and his chest felt immense pressure. Every swing, every block, would not go to waste. Even after all this time, he never landed a hit on Thiệu.

With flawless swordsmanship and an unarmed opponent, the duel ensued.