The slum area, situated on the southwest shore of Silver Lake, comprised of several city blocks featuring low-rise apartment buildings, which stood between three to four stories tall. Surrounded by water on three sides, the area was inconveniently far from downtown, the guilds, and all three main gates. Residents here enjoyed low real estate costs but faced lengthy commutes of over an hour or two to get to work. The knights also found patrolling this location a nuisance, which contributed to its descent into a near-lawless zone.
After securing his horse at a nearby stable, George wandered to the lake's edge, where he found himself on a small, secluded peninsula, surrounded by the tranquil waters of Silver Lake. Indulged in melancholy, George sat on a rock, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Silverlake City. Mana-powered lights illuminated the downtown area and many residential districts, brightening the eastern sky. Weary of the city's politics and the Kingdom's weight, George turned westward, putting the city's fluttering lights behind him. He gazed up at the twinkling stars, pondering the insignificance of his existence. Behind him, a lurking shadow silently drew closer. Suddenly, in a flash of swift, blinding motion, the shadowy figure thrust its sword toward George with deadly precision, aiming squarely for his back.
As George invoked, "Divine Spells: Iron Wall, Reinforced Blade," he swiftly rotated one hundred eighty degrees and executed a precise, horizontally angled Iai, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a powerful slash, and deflected the rear attack with a resounding, metallic "Clink!"
"Hello, Leslie," George greeted his assassin with a hint of sadness.
Leslie, with the stealth spell engaged, took advantage of the night and blended into the shadows. Without a word, the deadly shadow continued its relentless attacks on George, who skillfully deflected them all with ease.
When the king neglected to write him a letter, George had a gut feeling. Deep down, given his insider knowledge of the kingdom's ruthless, pragmatic workings, George knew this outcome was inevitable. For he, himself, had completed missions to eliminate his lower-ranking former comrades. Nevertheless, a part of George clung to the hope that the king, whom he had loyally worked for in the past two decades, would value and treasure him as an important asset. "Perhaps, not writing the letter served as a warning to me, telling me to be careful," George thought, rationalizing a reason he knew to be false.
A tinge of nostalgia filled George's voice as he said to Leslie, "This, I suppose, marks the end of the Royal Covert Division's era." Even though the missions were tough, the four original members of the division, including George and Leslie, had fostered a strong, enduring bond. Following in the footsteps and the guidance of his former mentor, George had strived to be an exemplary leader, providing mentorship and inspiration to those under his command.
With an abrupt cessation of her assault, Leslie countered, her voice laced with an air of dark confidence, "This is your end, not the division's. I'll remain here, vigilant as ever."
"You know, I was really thinking about it, whether I should just let you stab me in the back," George said to Leslie bitterly.
"Why didn't you?" Leslie asked back. The two started a conversation, as if their earlier deadly clash had been nothing more than a casual hello.
George himself did not know why, but at that last moment, his survival instinct honed over two decades just acted on its own. At a loss for words, he asked in return, "Would you?"
"Yes. This is just karma and an invitation to Heaven, or maybe Hell," Leslie responded without so much as a hesitation. "I'm sure His Majesty will eventually send someone for me as well."
George lowered his head, indulged in thoughts. After a moment, he raised his head, meeting Leslie's eyes, and said with a bitter smile, "Sorry, but in the end, I've decided I want to live."
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"It's ok. I'll make it as painless as possible," Leslie said with a gentle smile.
"It looks like only one of us will walk away." George said.
"Umhmm…" Leslie gazed up at the night sky, pausing for a moment in contemplation. Then, she said, "If I fall, and if the headmaster is still alive, tell her that I had fulfilled my dream and became a righteous chivalrous knight."
George smiled and said, "Same here," and readied his fighting stance.
The two former comrades, once childhood friends, clashed in a flurry of blows, each aimed for each other's vitals. With each slash, they remembered playing knights as children in the orphanage. With each blow, the memories of their youthful sparring sessions stirred in their minds. Here, George executed a "Three Point Thrust" from the Thousand Blades School, which Leslie helped him master. There, Leslie executed the Cross Slash, which George practiced with her late into the night right before the rank-up exam. They remembered the first time they held hands while shopping in a mall; and they remembered their first kiss in front of the beautiful sunset. Marriage had been a topic of discussion for them. However, everything was now in the past, and regrettably unchangeable.
A fight to the death usually wouldn't last this long. Yet, seemingly reluctant to claim each other's lives, the duel dragged on, surpassing the half-hour mark. The two shadows of death, feared by many, having claimed countless souls from their victims, now danced atop the shimmering Silver Lake, illuminated by the distant, twinkling lights of the city. The clanking sounds of shield and sword clashing provided the rhythm for their waltz. Beneath the star-studded night sky, with distant city lights flickering like candles, the pair's deadly dance took on the elegance of a ballroom waltz. In this brief, shining moment, they silently hoped their deadly, but romantic waltz would last forever.
"What was that clumsy blow? Are you holding back on me?" Leslie said to George in the middle of the fight, "Don't think I'd miss it."
"Not at all," George retorted, "Now, witness my full-powered flying slash!"
Leslie's eyes fluttered shut, a wry smile on her lips. "Idiot – don't announce a full-power strike unless you mean it." The flying slash cut through her armor, and sliced open her chest and torso area. Leslie collapsed, her body thudding against the ground.
Startled by Leslie's sudden suicidal action, George watched Leslie fall with his eyes wide open. Immediately, he rushed to her and held her up. The tears that he had tried to hold back finally gushed out. "Ahhh!" George wailed, overcome with heart-wrenching sobs, his body shaking with the intensity of his grief.
"You said you wanted to live. So, live on. Carry our memories forward, into the future," Leslie said, weakly, with blood trickling from her lips. George's sobs intensified, as if twenty years of accumulated sorrow and pressure were finally, utterly, unleashed.
Leslie's whisper-soft voice carried a hint of a smile, "Your crying face... it's still the same as when you were a child. So cute." A tender smile spread across her lips, her eyes filled with warmth and nostalgia. With her right hand, Leslie gently attempted to wipe away the tears on George's cheek, "Shh… it's ok. Everything is going to be fine."
"Now that my time is almost at an end, I really miss the orphanage. Please, George, scatter my ashes around its grounds, and if it's not too much to ask, watch over it for me. It was our sanctuary, our home – the place where our dreams were born."
George's voice cracked as he spoke, with a mix of sorrow and dark humor, "I know... I'm apparently retired with full pay, so I've got all the time I need..."
Then, George took a deep breath. After regaining as much composure as possible, poured out something he had repeated in his mind for two decades, "I'm sorry for being so useless, for being twenty years too late... and for not even having a ring," George said, his voice laced with regret and longing. "Leslie, will you... marry me?"
A radiant smile lit up Leslie's face, and she whispered, "Finally, yes... and, um, about that wedding cake..."
As George looked down, he saw that Leslie's journey had ended, a serene smile still on her lips, her spirit vanished into the unknown – a mystery only the Goddess might unravel.
George then sat with Leslie for an entire night, gently holding her and welcomed the arrival of dawn. Following a tender cleaning of her wound, George carefully lifted Leslie into a bridal carry, and with a heavy heart, he departed.
As the warm morning sun crept over Silver Castle's entrance, a bittersweet scene unfolded: a bride, whose silver armor reflected off the white walls of the castle, fashioned like a pure white wedding gown, was resting in the arms of her prince, who sat astride a majestic white stallion, his tailored black tuxedo striking a somber contrast with the castle's ethereal beauty.