“Get out of my way, Edmund; would you rather stop me than prevent your sister from committing more sins than she already has?”. Nicolas yelled, trying to convince Edmund, but the man did not care.

Running his palm on the blade, he replied with his sword, “I don’t care, as long as I can bring you to master.”

“Master, old man. Whatever you call that man, he’ll always be a scum” Nicolas countered Edmund’s blade.

He dodged, “If not only for your soul, I gladly take your head for your insolence.”

“What the hell is going on with these souls talk? I don’t have a plan of joining your cult." Nicolas scooped some of the rocks, then threw them to Edmund.

Edmund did not give him any answers; they exchanged blows back and forth until they could taste their own sweat. He tried slashing his legs, but Nicolas evaded it with a simple backwards step.

“Didn’t you learn to not go for the leg?” Nicolas rejoiced, attacking from above. It was a sure win as his sword hurdled down, but another blade shouldered the impact.

“Darius?” Nicolas retreated.

“Stop right there, Darius, I’ll take it from here," another young man about his age presented himself, prepared with his own pitch-black sword while Edmund and Darius helped the others at war.

“And who could you be?” Nicolas raised his guard upon feeling an unearthly presence that he never felt since he encountered that bearded man from years ago.

“Matthew Terradin at your service," he said, charging in without notice.

Nicolas was both startled and confused. He almost thought that he’s looking at his own reflection. From the way Matthew stood, walked, and demeanor, it reminded him of himself. They are a spitting image if not for the sharper look in the boy’s eyes, pointed eyebrows, and blonde hair.

“Just who are you?”

“Me? I’m the one who’ll take you down." Matthew thrust his sword, which Nicolas barely shouldered.

“As if I would go down without a fight," he said, returning the blow.

The others around them was also busy with their own businesses; some grouped themselves into vanguard and marksmen at the back, while those who got separated are barely managing on their own. Blood dripping everywhere, bodies floating on the river—it was a war and those who lose their will to fight will surely die, skewered by a sword or bleeding to death.

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But although it might seem chaotic, suddenly everyone had stopped on their tracks. They stared like statues on a museum, keeping watch to those who passed, but it was a different sight for them.

They can feel each and every blow Matthew and Nicolas exchanged. It felt like a shockwave shaking their souls as if heaven and hell collides into each other.

One open chance and Nicolas managed to punch Matthew with the dirty trick he learned from Meriane, pinning him to the ground with only an option to block with his sword. Nicolas madly hammered his blade repeatedly like a bull on a rampage, forcing the boy to protect himself with his blade.

Little by little, Matthew’s sword began to creak and crack and the terrified look on his face shows that he had lost the will to fight. Finally, after a few more clash, his soul wavered, broke, and dissolved into the air. This gave the chance for Nicolas to slash the newcomer right in the neck.

But by the time his sword was about to chop the young man’s head, his sword stopped a few inches from the target as if they were repelled like two similar sides of a magnet trying to touch each other. He kept the force on, giving it all her might to plunge; his sword’s bright blue light flashed into the surroundings that it replaced the sun as it finally went down.

Before he knew it, he was flying into the air, landing 5 meters into the rocky riverside, rendering him immobile and Matthew unconscious.

“That you can’t do, Prince of Gregoria”, said the man with a familiar voice as he carried Matthew on his back, laughing as he watched Nicolas recall himself.

“What’s this? You can switch bodies now? You might have a younger, stronger body now but you still reeks the foul, rotten smell, old man.”

“Well, not that old now. Good to see nothing has changed; you still have that sharp gaze and tongue.”

“As if I would ever forgive what you did”, Nicolas uttered, feeling a severe headache as he used his blade for balance. “And what’s the deal with that boy? You tried doing charity work for an orphanage?”

“Ah, no, this boy is special—maybe not as special as you but close enough. We have a connection after all.”

“Special or not, now that you’re here, I’ll kill you”, Nicolas prepared to charge in when he heard Meriane screaming.

“They’re trying to kill me”, she cried as she reached the man’s side.

A familiar face in a horseback back behind her comes to view, together with dozen armored men donning a flag of Gregoria. Anton led their ranks; although not that much of battalion, their numbers were enough to even out the battlefield.

“You humans really do like postponing my entertainment and ruining my plans”, the man said. “I’m sure you know, but the next time we meet, your soul is mine”, he gazed at Nicolas before they finally disappeared into the veil of night.

Nicolas tried following them but his body protested, together with Anton’s firm grip on his arm.

“Enough, Nicolas, you are in no state to even defend yourself; moreover, fight.”

“What are you saying, He’s right there; I can finally kill him”, he angrily yelled at Anton as he tried to break free.

Anton tightened his grip even more, “So you’re just going to hand yourself to the enemy? would the Queen want that?”

“Why the hell do you even care. Why are you even here? did my father send you, Then go back and tell him that I’ll be fine. Not that he really cares. LET ME go.”

“Nicolas”

“ANTON, LET ME GO.”

“NICOLAS”, his former butler, slapped him with full force, hoping that with the pain he'd calm down, “We came with bad news”, Anton let him go, letting him fall to the ground. “You might want to sit down first”.