OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Emir was already thinking about his next opponent.

He had detected someone's presence in the other room.

Glancing at the homeless man's body, he thought of using it again but changed his mind.

It was nothing but mush now; the poison had done its worst on him.

He could've used Blanc's body, as it still hadn't melted completely, but even he, who went to unprecedented lows to kill his opponents, wasn't about to desecrate a man he held some respect for.

It was a form of twisted gratitude for the fun fight they had.

After fixing up his augmented suit and running its self-cleaning functions, he walked forward and stood before the door.

Emir then placed his right leg on the door, just above the handle.

Bang!

The door, as strong as the last, roughly swung open, banging into the wall and revealing a similar room.

But this time, there wasn't anyone inside, or so it appeared at first glance.

Once he focused his eyes, he noticed a flowing haze, realizing that there was an illusion in the middle of the room, hiding what was inside its presumably five-meter radius.

'Hm.'

Emir quickly came to a few conclusions.

First, whoever this was had abilities that best worked unseen, or at least they required surprise to be most lethal.

Second, this wasn't a mechanical trap, but a Celestial.

It seemed that they had prepared these two priests to meet him when he descended, lowering his fighting power as much as they could.

No trap could do that without taking their entire church down with him.

Third, they knew that he was planning to come here for a long time.

While he realized that when fighting Blanc, this further cemented it.

In any case, he knew his opponent was dangerous—someone who could strike once and kill him.

Out of all the Specializations, only three came to mind.

Ranger was the first, but that wouldn't make sense in such close quarters.

Next one was Blade Dancer, but that would be quite difficult and unlikely.

The last was Knight, the most probable specialization.

Honorable Duel could certainly end him in one clean strike.

Either way, theorizing here wouldn't progress anything, so he stepped forward, crossing the door.

His feet remained in a stance, prepared for an attack.

...Nothing happened.

This confirmed his hypothesis: whoever this was wanted him to attack first and enter that radius, promising him death.

It was a challenge that he would love to accept, and so he did.

Emir could've used his Aether Blast to break the illusion but that would open him up for an attack.

His opponent could most likely see him, which meant that he could easily dodge whatever came at him.

Again, they knew his abilities extensively, forming a scenario where he was forced to bend to their rules.

Others might've complained but he certainly wasn't about to.

His plan was simple—close the distance before the Celestial had the chance to react and kill him.

With a smile on his face, he chanted inwardly:

'Aetheric Shield. Aetheric Blade.'

A cocoon of Aether formed around him and his dark blades darkened further, leaving a glow of black as he leaned forward.

Taking a deep breath, he activated Temporal Perception to the highest degree he possibly could.

'Flash Step.'

Emir's body blurred and then disappeared, reaching his opponent in a blink.

Once inside the illusion, he finally saw what he was up against.

It was another white-haired man, wearing a white cloak with Templar's insignia on it.

He too held a sword; however, unlike Blanc, the sword remained in its sheath, not his hands, and it appeared to be a curved blade.

Emir realized what he was up against.

He was wrong; it wasn't a Knight but a Blade Dancer.

A Celestial who had dedicated himself entirely to mastering his blade.

The priest stood before him, his eyes narrowed on Emir as if he could accurately track him.

This wasn't what was on Emir's mind at that time, however.

He was surprised.

The way the man looked at him was unusual like he was staring at the person responsible for everything wrong in his life.

There was a deep, burning hatred in his eyes that seemed endless, as if nothing else in the world mattered except the desire to kill.

His jaw was clenched tight, his body shaking with anger, barely able to hold himself back.

It was the kind of hate that only came from losing something important—like family, a loved one, or someone that brought hope to a world so twisted.

Did the prince take away that something from the priest?

'Wait... I did.'

Emir had in fact killed this man's daughter.

'No wonder...'

He smiled and scanned his opponent from top to bottom.

Nothing was too unique about him except the way he was preparing to attack.

Both of the priest's hands rested lightly on the hilt of his blade.

That stance was a bit unusual.

There was no first rank ability that required such a stance, at least none that Emir knew of, so he was unsure of what to expect.

But when he saw the priest begin to move, only then did he understand.

Emir had faced many powerful opponents before, but he knew this fight—no, this clash—would be unlike anything he experienced.

This Blade Dancer had rushed not to a second but to a third-ranked ability while neglecting all else.

Otherwise, his movement speed wouldn't make any sense.

It was almost at Amon's level.

And judging by how his muscles contracted and where his elbow was directed, the blade was aimed at the middle of Emir's head.

He was planning to cut him in half.

Emir, meanwhile, acted like a spear, his two swords before him.

He was performing the fastest attack in his arsenal, combining momentum and pierce.

But he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

Not against this priest.

His thoughts churned as he got closer, trying to think of a way out of this predicament.

If things continued, there was no questioning the outcome.

Emir would die.

What happened next only proved that.

The Blade Dancer had already unsheathed his blade, revealing the first half of it.

A terrifying speed.

Emir's body moved fast, incredibly fast, but as fast as he was, the priest was faster.

His movements flowed as if he had practiced this one move more than a billion times.

And when Emir was only a meter away from reaching him, he had fully unleashed the blade.

It began to move, slicing the air from the top and aiming at the ground.

In a single motion, this flash of steel was upon Emir's head, and Emir's twin swords were an inch away from the priest's neck.

That moment stretched and time seemed to pause.

Emir looked at death directly in the eyes, finally experiencing what his Death's Shadow felt like to the others.

'Nice.'

His smile widened.

Time resumed.

Just as the blade touched his hair, he turned right, his head avoiding the blade.

But just his head.

The rest of his body wasn't fast enough.

His arms were still in front of him and he was bound to lose them.

Emir wasn't one to remain still before death, however.

At the last fraction, he managed to move his right sword to an angle, deflecting the priest's blade.

Sparks flew, and the blade kept on its path, only deviating slightly, cleaving his left arm off completely and digging a long gash across the ground.

Not flinching from the pain that his brain had yet to register, Emir tightened his grip on the remaining sword.

His body had turned completely, his thrust now a swing aimed at the priest's head.

Then, in a timeframe neither of them could perceive, his sword broke the Blade Dancer's force shield, reaching his neck and finding its mark.

It easily cut through the skin, but it stopped halfway in his neck.

The speed at which Emir was going had almost paused from the sheer strength behind the priest's ability, stopping his own attack from entirely going through.

At that moment when they both slowed, pain exploded through Emir's body as he finally felt his arm severed at the shoulder, the force of the strike breaking through the rest of his body.

Only then did blood spatter across the ground behind Emir as his severed arm fell.

The priest looked at Emir with wide eyes, his earlier anger replaced by fear as he foresaw what would happen next.

It was an obvious result.

All the muscles inside his body began to crumble.

The sight certainly wasn't a pretty one.

Though abilities dealt with all types of backlash, his body wasn't able to accommodate the ability path completely.

He wasn't an Archon.

This meant that a few of them had slipped through the cracks, displaying the strength difference between the two major ranks.

And just as those few ruined the priest, nearly ending his life, Emir continued to attack.

Though in a world of hurt, he didn't stop for more than that one moment.

He had come to kill, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

His eyes locked onto the Blade Dancer's neck, where his sword remained, and his remaining hand shot out, grabbing the man's head with iron-like strength.

Emir squeezed, his grip tightening, crushing the priest's face, and then pushed him down, smashing him into the ground.

The curved blade finally dropped from his hands and clattered alongside him, no longer able to hold on to it.

Emir stepped on his head, pushing his neck against the sword and driving it completely through.

In his last moments, the priest tried to grab onto Emir's legs, but he couldn't do anything.

No strength was left in him.

The sword went through smoothly and his body went limp as his head slowly rolled across the uneven ground.

Emir stood over him for a long while, his breathing heavy, his mind still processing this sudden encounter.

Blood poured from his shoulder, the stump where his arm had once been throbbing with pain, but he paid it little mind, the augmented suit could take care of it.

The priest was terrifyingly fast, but that wasn't enough, at least not against Emir.

His reliance on a single, perfected skill had been his downfall as well as his greatest strength.

He took the 'I fear not the man who unlocked a thousand abilities, but I fear the man who practiced one ability a million times' quote too seriously.

Emir wouldn't deny that if they had the same strength, he would've been far more injured than he currently was.

It was a fact that his hidden cultivation art played a massive role in his victory.

If they knew of it, the result certainly would've differed, but the world didn't work on 'ifs.'

This they didn't know, and he used that to his advantage, simple as that.

And as the adrenaline began to fade, Emir took a deep breath, allowing the pain to fully register.

His arm was gone—a severe loss.

But he felt no anger, no frustration—only a cold, detached satisfaction that the job was done.

Wasting no more time, he swallowed a few old-world medicines that he took out of his breast pocket, then glanced down at his severed arm, his other sword, and then at the curved blade.

It had to be a holy relic to survive such an ability unscathed.

Emir unsheathed his sword, picked up the other one, and unsheathed it as well.

Then he carried his severed arm, curved blade, as well as the man's head, his fingers clutching his hair.

It all barely fit in his remaining hand, as large as it was.

"Guess I should've brought my rucksack today..."

Complaining to nobody in particular, he slowly headed back to the exit, leaving the Gothic underground.

"Man, I hate how this's becoming a trend."