This was a promised reunion.
Elena was confident she and Miles would meet again. Their constant meetings had to be the work of fate. Of that, she was sure.
And yet, the scene she was currently partaking in conveyed a whole different emotion than that she’d once imagined. She was standing before his gaze, completely paralyzed. Her body was shaking, and the words she tried to say sounded blurred.
This was not a sweet, happy reunion, no. The two had met in a sea of bloodied, odorous corpses, in a place that put hell itself to shame.
Elena leaped into his embrace, her body a mind of its own. Feeling the weight of her head on his chest and the wetness of her tears on his shirt, Miles began caressing her hair.
“It’s Okay. I’m here.”
His words were tender, yet they rang hollow to Elena. Not because she doubted their sincerity. Rather, it was she who could not feel soothed by their sound. Such was the weight her soul carried, the damage she’d endured.
“I was so naive. So, so naive,” Elena repeated like a mantra as she pounded his chest. She then took a step back, stared Miles directly in the eyes, and proclaimed, “Please, Miles, take me away from here.”
The true nature of the horrors she’d witnessed proved enough to melt her conviction. Right now, more than anything, she wanted to escape this slaughterhouse, to be whisked away to the light of the sun,, where she would be safe from such depravity.
“I will,” Miles said, raising his fist. “Once we defeat the remaining guards, we will make it back to our carriage and—”
“I just want to leave!” Elena screamed.
The two exchanged gazes in silence, a silence cut only by her occasional sob.
The one to break the silence for good would be Elena, who solemnly said, “I was so foolish to think I could make a difference. All fighting did was get me in danger.”
That was the conclusion she’d arrived at based on her action’s results. All along she’d been deluding herself, trying to live up to her ideals. But all she’d accomplished was not only getting killed repeatedly, but nearly getting raped.
“I’ve seen the eyes of those sentenced to this hellhole. They have no fire, no desire. They’d be better off dead.”
Images flashed through her mind. She had tried to ignore them, to not be swept by the desperation they invoked. But she could only ignore them for so long.
All the faces of those she’d met here… they belonged to soulless husks, bags of meat that lacked real will. The cruel fates befallen them had ripped them of all desire, and they turned into animals, carrying out orders like sheep while waiting for the moment of slaughter.
She didn’t blame any of them, She could never fault those who had resigned to their misfortune. But she no longer wanted to fight for them. Not because they didn’t deserve a hero.
Simply, she was no longer delusional enough to consider herself capable of being that hero.
“Who knows what’ll happen if you fight further. Perhaps we’ll all get killed. So please, let’s just high-tail it out of here while the two of us alive. If you’re there with me, at least I can still have my high-seas adventure. And at least, I can be ha—.”
“You don’t believe what you’re saying.”
Her words trailed off. Miles spoke curtly, his gaze growing stern. Elena felt her heart drop as she bathed in the radiance of his golden eyes, which for once felt not pleasing, but rather cold, like a bucket of freezing water.
“The Elena I know would not be content with knowing others suffered, all while carrying out a joyful life.”
At his declaration, Elena let out a tsk with her mouth, then said, “You barely know me. How can you speak so confidently of a rotten woman like me?”
“You’re right. Maybe I don’t know you much,” Miles admitted, scratching his back. “But I want to believe my impression of you is correct. That you’re the kind of woman whose ideals center those in need.”
Elena was flabbergasted. Those same beliefs she had not long before called childish and naive, were the reason Miles said he believed in her.
“You are correct. That is me,” Elena said, with sorrow in her tone. “But what does any of that matter when I can accomplish nothing? All I can do is hide and cry.”
“In that case” —Miles bent one knee, then reached for her right hand—“I shall be your sword. If you ever feel powerless, I shall fight in your stead, helping you out in seeing those ideals come to fruition.”
Her face contorted, as if about to swell up with tears. The man who up to now had been shy of emotions was speaking with such passion, Elena could not help but be moved, especially knowing she was the target of his fire. But before she could open the waterflows, Elena had one question in need of answer.
“Why? Why do have such faith in me?”
“Because I love you.”
His declaration reverberated across the entire underground. Her eyes sparkled at the might of those words, words she’d always wished to hear.
“Ehem.” Miles got up, and pretended to cough. “I… might have gotten a bit carried away there. Maybe love was too strong a word—“
“Say it again!” Elena ordered.
“Uhmm… I love you?”
“Again. With pride!”
“I LOVE YOU!”
His scream, loud enough to awaken the nearby dead, was followed by a curt second of silence. Immediately after, Elena began to laugh maniacally.
“W—What’s so funny? I meant everything I said. So much so, I even spent an hour planning my speech in case we met again. That’s how much your absence affected me, you know?”
Elena’s laughter began to reside, sweeping off the faint tears that plagued her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said, “The only clown here is me.”
How had she been so selfish? The ideals her mother had instilled upon her were the foundations that shaped her very person. To abandon them would mean to become someone else, someone she deemed far more despicable than her actual self.
There was a cause to that selfishness, and that was fear. Fear that those ideals may prove too unrealistic, too unfeasible for the harshness of reality.
But what she’d neglected to realize was that, even if that were true, there was still value to be found in those convictions. Others might share them, and find in her a light to follow.
Such was the case of the man before her, who, captivated by her fire and will, had uttered those words she thought she would never hear.
I love you.
His words played on her mind.
I love you.
Like wood thrown at a fire, she could feel her soul ignite each time she remembered those words.
I love you.
Elena thumped her chest. She was ready to continue her fight for what she believed. To honor the promise she’d made to that dying girl. To build a world without misery. And most importantly, to give Cordelia a life worth living.
…but before all that, there was time to tease Miles a bit.
“Well, I was also laughing at how cute you looked.”
“C—cute?” Miles’ cheeks turned red like tomatoes.
“The oh-so-serious rogue, finally opening up about his feelings,” Elena teased with a devilish grin, imitating the voice of the narrator of an epic poem. “Truly something worthy of a romance novel.”
“Shut up. I—“
“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but we need to act fast.”
Meeting the two of them was the rest of Miles’s crew. Leila twirled the gun in her hand, Bronson held his axe with both of his, and Galen… well, he looked healthy. Despite being outfitted for battle, it was relieving to see their faces again.
“Nice to see you again, Missus’!” Bronson exclaimed.
“Yes, I’m happy to confirm your safety,” added Galen.
“You guys…” Elena said, smiling widely.
Miles’ cheeks regained their brown hue as he switched back from love-struck boy to battle-hardened leader. “I am not sure if any soldiers know we’re here, but seeing how we haven’t been attacked yet, I think we might still have the element of surprise.”
“So what you’re saying is, we just strike as fast and hard as we can?” Bronson said.
“Pretty much.”
“Wow. That doesn’t seem like a very laid-out plan,” Elena said.
“It is when we have the intel we have,” Leila said. “This is where our little friend comes in.”
In her joy at seeing them all again, Elena’s eyes had glazed over a face that did not belong. “Charles? What are YOU doing here?”
“I came to see my Kingdom’s actions with my own eyes,” replied Charles. “I have read books that spoke of Underground Bunkers such as these, but I always assumed them to be mere fabrications. To know my father was carrying out such cruelty beneath the Earth… what an insult to the goddess.”
“Thankfully, those books of his were quite descriptive. We got him to spill out all he knew, giving us a pretty decent idea of how this place is set up,” Leila said.
“Ok, so this is how we will do things…”
With everyone’s eyes on him, Miles laid out the battle plan. Bronson would strike at the heart of the facility, where all the prisoners were gathered and the biggest concentration of average guards would be. Charles would go with him, in part because it was Bronson who was tasked with keeping an eye on him, but also because his swordplay would certainly come in handy. Leila and Galen were tasted with freeing the Working Quarters, as well as preventing any further Cremation Gathering from being carried out. As for Miles, he would run to the west wing; there, new recruits in the Weapon Arts were trained, and they would prove most challenging for anyone else to challenge.
He had given instructions to everyone. Except for one.
“Finally, Elena…” He paused, and looked her square in the eyes. “Please, look for my sister. Bring her home.”
Elena brought her hand to her chest at the difficulty stemming from his request. With his fiery eyes, Miles communicated something they could both agree on: That it fell on her, and on no one else, to drag Cordelia away from that dreadful life of hers. But just because she knew it was her duty didn’t mean that Elena was sure she could do it. Before, when she last met Cordelia, the beautiful girl was a stone, unwilling to move even to seek a better life. If words existed that could change her mind, then Elena was not sure if she could find them.
With that doubt swirling in her mind, Elena nodded. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
She could not shush the dread that reverberated within her. She was not a superhuman who could do such a thing. From now until the moment their gazes crossed, Elena would breathe with dread, dread at being unable to provide Cordelia an escape from the darkness she called life.
And yet, Elena made Miles that promise, with conviction. That she would do her dangest for the sake of that girl, who knew nothing but pain and lashes.
To do otherwise, to surrender to her fear… it would mean to betray not only the love she had for Cordelia… but also the love Miles had for her.
“Okay, if everyone is ready, let’s move out. Dead Sea Pirates… and Prince Charles, Time to Strike!” Miles raised his fist up high.
To that last order from him, everyone cheered. Except for Elena, who simply giggled with narrowed eyes aimed at Miles.
----------------------------------------
Deep underground, a battlefield had sprouted.
This murderous camp, which resembled hell in its ability to inflict misery, now also resembled hell in appearance. The main area of the bunker, where guards watched over the resting prisoners, had become engulfed in flames.
The guards, taken aback by the sudden heat, readied their weapons. Most were not Sword Dancers, so there was little they could do to prevent the fire from spreading.
And there was even less they could do against the earth-shattering blade of an axe, which in the chaos took the chance to cut through their heads one by one.
“Who is this bastard? Where did this fire come—“?”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“Ask and you’ll get your answer,” said Bronson in a boisterous tone, cutting that guard’s torso like it was a tree trunk. With a grin unbothered by the bursting guts and blood, he then raised his axe upward, and with a roar struck at the earth with force.
What ensued was an earthquake of flame, spreading in all directions from the point the blade collided with the ground.
Contrary to what Elena believed, Bronson was also a Sword Dancer— well, Axe Bruiser would be the more accurate title. The Axe was a brute, chaotic weapon. In contrast to the Sword Dances employed by Miles and Thales, which let the user become one with the element they were borrowing from the Gods, Axe wielders lacked such refined control. The fire that sprouted then from Bronson’s strike was chaotic, independent.
“Missus, Princely Boy! Get everyone away from here!”
The plan was to cause enough chaos that the guards could not interfere as Charles got the prisoners to escape from their Living Quarters. Elena, who was meant to go after Cordelia, decided to take a detour and tag along, not trusting Charles at that job.
Carefully trekking through the fire and flames, Elena and Charles entered the Living Quarters. They were met with a crew of people, all Marked, who were observing the outside commotion.
“I am here to ask for your collaboration in defeating the Camp’s guards,” said Charles, using his typical princely mannerisms.
His plea, however, only served to sprout confusion among the people.
“What is going on? Are they going to cremate us all?”
“That’s the girl who went into the Cremation Chamber a couple hours ago! How is she alive? She must be a spy for the guards.”
“And isn’t that Prince Charles? The bastard is probably here to kill us all.”
All those questions and more composed the endless murmuring that took place. Elena felt overwhelmed by so many stares being directed her way. Charles, meanwhile, terrified his own eyes by inspecting the surroundings. The walls all were in dreadful conditions, with spots lacking in paint and signs of humidity running all over them. The beds looked as soft as stone, and the heat was so aggravating he began to fiddle with his shirt to generate a bit of wind.
Charles looked at Elena, their gazes meeting. His look was one of distraught, that of a soul who realized the extent of his wrongdoing. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, as he let the barrage of insults coming from the prisoners penetrate his heart.
I knew I had to come along Elena snarked within her thoughts.
When faced with those among his people whom he’d failed, Charles was powerless to say a word.
Thus, when it came to rousing everyone to action, the task befell to her.
“Listen up, everybody!”
Elena had readied words to say. They might not be the most impactful or most practiced, but desperate for time, they would be the best words she could muster.
“I am one of you. I know how disheartening it can be to feel like death and suffering are all that remain of life.”
A knot formed on Elena’s throat. The long pause resulted in many stares of doubt to come her way.
And yet, Elena carried on. “Death… can be scary. When all one knows is life, it can be horrifying to think of the opposite.”
“What is this lecture you are giving us?”
“Yeah, save your philosophy bullshit and tell us what’s going on!”
“But!” Elena cried out with the full strength of her voice. “Just because death is scary doesn’t mean one must accept life without question. All of you… the fire in your eyes has been drained by the Kingdom’s cruelty, am I right?”
Buzz was heard from the crowd. Elena couldn’t make much of it out, but whatever they were saying, it had no effect on her conviction.
“So let’s regain that fire! Right now, the famed Dead Sea Pirates are raiding this compound. Let’s all help them out and obtain our FREEDOM!”
She raised her arm to the sky, to the sound of dead silence. Before her mind could process that silence, a brittle voice spoke up.
“Freedom!” cried out a little girl.
“Freedom!” her mother joined in.
One after another, more and more voices joined in, echoing the utmost desire deep within their hearts. A single, unified cry for freedom roared with the might to extinguish sound itself.
“Kill them all!”
Like a demon, a guard had appeared from the flames behind Elena, carrying the cannon-gun typical of this world. A fireball began to form on its canon, directed straight at her back.
“Tierra. Dividir.”
The same little girl from before shouted, now with profound strength. The Spanish-sounding cry caused a faint quake to hit the Earth.
The land where the man was standing split in two, a small crevice forming beneath his feet. The man’s weapon escaped his grip, and the fireball was launched toward a nearby wall, causing a small explosion but hurting nobody.
“Right, Magic. All the magic you know, use it in the name of your freedom. Combined with Miles’ strength, there is no way we can lose!”
“YEAH!”
Like an avalanche, the Marked prisoners, once devoid of soul, roared and rushed into battle. Any fear was eradicated from their faces, as this was a battle against death, a battle to regain the light of their lives.
“You gave quite the inspiring speech there,” said Charles, he and Elena the only two who remained standing there. “I’m impressed. Despite being a Royal, I could never aspire to be so eloquent with words.”
“I’m sure you could recite a fine speech yourself. But so long as all you know is the pampered life of a Prince, anything to come out of your mouth will ring hollow.”
At her harsh words, Charles scratched his chin, as if what he was told was beyond mere comprehension.
“Now, help out in the battle, if you please. I have a girl to save.”
Her detour was over— only Cordelia was her objective.
Making sure not to trip on any corpse and to not be charred by the fire, Elena sprinted madly toward the east wing of the bunker. There, the blunt of the production of Mana Crystals took place. This was also where Leila and Galen were fighting—well where Leila was fighting. She wasn’t sure what Galen’s purpose was beyond moral support.
“Ah, my lady, I see you have joined us here in our little skirmish,” said Galen. He and Leila were taking cover behind a wall. Leila took the occasional peek, and fired at guards that were stationed on the other side.
“Cordelia is over there, where the glass is.” Elena pointed at the area overlooking the factory.
“Let me finish sniping these guys, and I’ll make it safe for you to run for it.”
“Thank you, Leila.”
“No pro—shit!” Leila could not finish her sentence, as she was almost set on fire by a fireball that braced her head. “This is gonna take a while,” she said, frustrated. “We’ll try to clear the way for you.
“It’s fine…” Elena closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall. “Cordelia… just wait for me.”
And wait… Elena would also have to wait.
Leila was in a drawn-out sniper duel of sorts. Combat consisted of her peeking her head and trying to shoot at guards far away, who responded in kind. Galen sometimes tried to be a distraction for the enemies, but in general, it wasn’t a very exciting fight.
So instead, let’s look for a more… exciting battlefield.
----------------------------------------
On the opposite side of the facility, a brute slammed the ground with a spear
“Eat dis, Sea Dog!”
From where his stab was placed, the ground began to fluctuate. Tall obelisks made of Earth formed, taller than the man responsible for them. Then as if the wind was shoving them, they all slid forward. They came from all directions, and were all about to crash with each other in the same spot.
In the middle of where the pillars were to meet, there stood a man. A man Elena esteemed. A man whose thoughts, foreign to the mind I’ve been reading to you since Chapter 1, I should not be able to see. But when Elena hit her lowest point and gave in to the deepest of despairs, a new power unlocked within me.
And so…
Crap, he’s trying to crush me Miles thought.
Miles looked at his surroundings and understood standing still meant a crushing demise. Quick on the draw, he devised an escape scheme, one born from past experience. Lance Executioners were a group very much alike Sword Dancers. Using the power of the crystal featured on the weapon’s hilt, they could manipulate the corresponding element, using the terrain for war. The Lance Executioner variety of the Weapon Arts was probably the most common, as the spear was a simple weapon for the average folk to pick up.
It carried one big disadvantage, however. Compared to the abilities bestowed by the sword, a Lance Executioner was limited, lacking in flexibility. In the case of using Earth Crystals, the user could shape the environment by raising parts of the soil, but there was little more creativity to be found. These limitations helped making the technique easier to learn, but there was a reason more prestigious knights favored the endless potential bestowed by the sword.
Sword Dancers, wielders of the preferred weapon of the God of Warfare, were only limited by their ingenuity and by the element they were channeling. And in the case of Miles, only the latter was a limit.
“Let me become one with you, Wind that gives us motion!” He chanted.
With his blade as the link between his flesh and the Gods, Miles became one with the wind. He performed a wide leap, the sole of his feet impacting the incoming pillar. A tornado had formed in the gap between the pillars, as Miles ran on the impromptu walls like he was doing parkour. Each lap, he was ascending higher and higher, until eventually —
The pillars all crashed into one another, extinguishing the wind that had formed in the middle.
And standing atop them all, his head bracing the ceiling, was Miles, who wasted no time leaping down to face his opponent.
“Impossible, not even Master Thales could escape that trick,” exclaimed the man, perplexed. He had a bulky build and his skin was soft, devoid of bruises.
“If he is as good as he claims he is, then he definitely could,” Miles refuted. “Never trust the praise of the man training you.”
“Bastard! Are you making fun of my abilities?”
“No, I have no intention to fool around with scum like you. I am here to kill you.”
Baited by his boastful declaration, the man charged blindly with his spear. Despite being a Lance Executioner, it appeared his skill with the actual weapon left a lot to be desired, as his motions were blatantly telegraphed.
Against an opponent like Miles, such a blunder was akin to suicide.
“AUGHHHH.”
In the blink of an eye, not only had Miles dodged, but he stood behind him and chopped off his head with a single swing of his blade.
As the head fell to the ground with the rest of his body following, Miles took a moment to breathe. The poisoned air of the underground was faint relief from the battle, but in that moment it only served to reinforce the melancholy Miles was facing.
Despite being large of shoulders and with a large nose, the man wasn’t lacking in handsome features. His raven hair gave him a mysterious aura, and the girth of his arms probably could have been useful for household chores.
Why, then, would a man like that waste his life in such a hellhouse? Was money the reason? If so, there had to be more lucrative paths.
Miles had a theory. Men like him yearned for control. To be able to order those beneath them. Learning the Weapon Arts, then, was simply a way to amass further power, and with that power came more control. Control he could then use against the powerless Marked sent here against their will.
“Then again, what do I know,” he thought out loud. “I don’t know why I fight myself, let alone why others do.”
With his job done, Miles began to withdraw his blade. But before it could find rest in its scabbard, a wind blew, and his weapon swung yet again. The clank of steel meeting steel reverberated across the entire facility, its sound scattered by the mighty gale.
“You intercepted my sneak attack. Impressive.” The speaker was a slim woman of white hair. Her head barely reached Miles’ shoulders, yet venom seemed to run across her bat-like eyes and scarlet lips.
“It wasn’t much of a sneak attack. The wind was too prepared for one who merely intends to eliminate their prey.”
“A fair assessment. I suppose I should expect no less from the famed Miles of the Dead Sea Pirates. Oh, how I have yearned for this moment.” She smiled with a show of teeth, the tip of her tongue visibly dancing in the gaps between them. “Taking your life will be a major hurdle overcomed in the way toward mastery.”
“Umm… do I know you?” asked Miles, perturbed by her so blatantly salivating for battle.
“My name is Thalia. Thalia Esterwell. Now that you know my name, we can carry out this battle as equals.”
“I don’t know about equals. I’m not one to froth from my mouth at the prospect of taking a life. You might wanna check a therapist on that, or something.”
“Nonsense. Your evaluation of me is incorrect. My aim is to walk the path of the Wind Sword. Killing is simply an obstruction in my way, but not my goal.
Miles tilted his head. “What use is there in a blade, besides killing?”
“What a brute the finest Sword Dancer in the continent turned out to be. The Sword Dance is an art passed down across generations. Only a fool would be ignorant to its beauty.”
Her platitude only served to perplex Miles further. When he thought of art, his mind flashed back to the many sculptures he’d witnessed across his travels, the glorious architecture of the Eternasian Castle, heck, even Elena’s freestyling at the club had a quality of its own.
While his technique might be called a “dance” and be an “art”, Miles struggled to frame it in the same vein as all those. Whenever he “danced”, people died. There was no beauty, no grace, it was a dance in name only, a technique developed exclusively for the battlefield.
“Allow me to demonstrate the ways of one who has chosen the path of the sword,” Thalia said.
“You chose this?” Miles asked. As he finished his question, he tightened the grip on his blade. “Why? Who would be so blind as to willingly choose such a cursed path?”
There was exasperation to his choking voice. To him, the sword was not something one chose. It was his way of life, imposed on him by his father, the fiendest among fiends in the Three Seas. When he thought back to all the blood he’d spilled, he could not imagine why someone would willingly take such a route.
“My reasons are beyond your interest. All you need to know is that I shall be my opponent.”
Miles grimaced. His head ran full with questions, but he’d have to put them away until his sword quenched its thirst.
She pointed her blade at Miles. “Thalia Esterwell. Apprentice to Thales Lockgood, and follower of the way of the Wind Sword.”
“Miles.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
The might of two hurricanes roared at once. Their collision was so fierce, even the steel that formed the walls trembled at the harsh winds.
Thalia lived up to her words. Her movements were elegant, immaculate, complementary to her own pristine beauty. She’d sweep by Miles, attempting to strike a blow. Miles would block, and instead of getting locked in the struggle, she’d run past him, her lavish hair trailing behind her.
This pattern repeated several times, causing her to taunt, “What’s going on? Are you so mesmerized by my fine craft that you’re unable to move?”
Her villainous words did hold some truth. Contrary to his usual fighting style, Miles was going on the defensive, content with blocking the incoming attacks without delivering one of his own.
There was a reason for that, a bug in Miles’ neck that kept pestering him, preventing him from going on the offensive.
For a long time, he’d been fortunate. Ever since that day he avoided remembering, all his targets had been men. Statistics played a role no doubt, as most who went the route of banditry were men, but he liked to believe fate had made most of his opponents male for his sake, as drawing his blade on women was the one thing he detested.
“Now, DIE!”
Thalia ran, unobstructed, to Miles back, and with a fine sweeping motion that was worthy of sculpture, she aimed at the man’s neck, intending to send it flying in a single slice.
—Instead, Miles ducked, and before she could react, the tip of his blade pierced her stomach.
She groaned. She vomited blood. In case it wasn’t enough, Miles dismembered her arms and legs.
The once beautiful woman of petite build now lay in a pool of blood, her blood mixing with that of the man who was Miles’ previous victim. The image of Thalia’s silk-like skin was tarnished, as all that remained of her was a picture of spilled guts and a face of agony, sufferer of a gory end.
Miles was about to lay rest to his weapon. Instead, he took a second to inspect it, to breathe in the red coloring its tip.
Despite his misgivings earlier, when push came to shove, he brandished his weapon against a woman all the same.
It was mere delusion, then, to believe even against women he could overcome his programming. He was a machine raised for battle, and his blade did not discriminate between man or woman, Marked or non-Marked, friend or foe.
Recollections sparked through his mind.
I shall be your sword.
I love you.
Those were words he’d offered Elena, words that formed a promise.
A delusional promise.
When he stared at the tarnished corpse of the woman he’d just killed, there was another body that seemed to take its place in Miles’ eyes. The frame of a girl he once loved, and who met her end by his hands.
So, why was he so deluded? What made him believe he and Elena would be any different? As a machine of war, the only end awaiting any woman who was target of his love, was—
“There he is! Get him!”
Once again, his blade would be deprived of rest. A swarm of guards rushed toward him.
With a shrug, Miles removed the Wind Crystal from the slot in his sword’s hilt, and replaced it with a Fire Crystal he kept on his pocket.
Usually, he avoided using fire whenever he could. It was the element his father employed and taught him, and it was too chaotic for his own taste. Wind, the element of freedom, was his preference. However, it required a certain mindset, and after the previous battles, he was simply too distraught to make proper use of Wind.
“God of Fire, brandish my blade with your flames of ire!”
Of course, it also helped that he disdained every single person here.
No matter the reason, no matter the excuse, nothing justified the slaughter of fellow human beings like they were cattle. That alone served to stir anger from Miles, which fueled the fire emanating from his blade.
“Perish under my flame, your punishment for your misdeeds!”
—Miles swung his blade in an arc, engulfing his enemies and his surroundings in a ceaseless inferno.