Unmelting Ice (2)
"Wha... fi...re... wha' in tarnation are y'all?"
The elf's first words plunged everyone around her into shock and horror. With her elegant features, she spat out the thickest, most boomer drawl imaginable—like some grizzled old uncle pushing seventy.
"Wh-what'd you just say?"
Swain asked in a stunned daze, only for the elf to suddenly snatch something off the ground. It was a kukri knife, its blade curving heavily at the tip—a tool mainly used for hacking through jungle vines. Not the sort of thing you'd expect to find inside a sea-eroded cave.
The elf gripped the kukri backward and struck Swain's head with the handle in a flash, the crack echoing sharply.
"Argh!"
As Swain clutched his throbbing skull, the elf laid into him with a bellow.
"Ya! When... an elder... speaks... ya lil' punk... where d'ya... get off... talkin' casual... like tha'? ...Huh? Ya thick-skulled... whelps... ain't even... shed blood... on yer noggins yet~~"
Roin, standing beside Swain, clapped both hands over her mouth.
"Eugh! This sister's breath reeks!"
The elf promptly cracked Roin on the head too, without mercy.
"Pointin'... out a lady's... bad breath~~ya filthy... mangy... cur ya are~~"
The elf bellowed on, but the comment clearly stung. She scooped up some seawater and gargled vigorously.
Grrrrowl...Ptoo!
She spat the seawater out roughly, then cupped her palm, huffed into it, and sniffed. Satisfied, she nodded and turned back to the group, her face twisted in annoyance and impatience.
"Wha' year... is it... now?"
"......"
No one dared answer, just exchanging nervous glances.
"If ya... get it... raise yer hand~~!"
Another booming shout from the elf. Swain rubbed his sore head and replied.
"Midland Calendar year 321..."
Dates were always reckoned from the birth of the strongest nation, in 365-day years. Meaning 321 years since Midland—the superpower that unified the central continent—had risen.
But the elf tilted her head.
"I got... trapped... in ice... in Rodigia... year 204?"
Everyone gasped at that. Rodigia—a legendary kingdom that fell centuries ago! So ancient now, its very existence was half myth.
Reading their reactions, the elf nodded, realizing how much time had passed.
"Mm... felt like... 'bout... a hundred... million years... to me... so no wonder... yer shocked. A hundred... million years... ago... those were... the days~~"
"N-no, not quite a hundred million..."
Swain tried to correct her—and got another sharp crack on the forehead, right on the same spot.
"Ya! Why... d'ya keep... backtalkin'... an elder... when she... speaks! When I... say somethin'... ya don't... even breathe... the same air... as me... got it~~"
"But then you'd die."
Swain's retort earned him one more solid whack before he finally shut up.
This boomer elf lectured Swain's crew at length. Then she sensed someone staring intently from the side.
"......?"
She whipped her head around with an irritated scowl. There stood a boy with pink hair and pink eyes gazing up at her.
Cliche.
"Wha''re you? Why... ya starin'... like tha'? ...Got a problem?!"
"My name's Cliche. What's yours?"
She looked incredulous at the cheek of this kid—mere billions of years her junior, by her reckoning!—daring to speak casually.
The golden-haired elf finally deigned to reveal her name, like it was a grand favor.
"This... here body's... name is... Hotse! Kubelin Hotse! Last... warrior... of the proud... Ku Clan!"
Kubelin Hotse. That was this boomer elf's name.
As Cliche started to nod—
"......!"
Hotse's ears twitched.
Whoosh! The air split viciously in half.
A brutal slash hurtled from somewhere, clamping onto her throat like jaws. Hotse whipped up her kukri in an instant.
Claaaang!
Metal met metal with a deafening ring. The ferocious clash sent the sea surface roiling wildly.
Hotse's eyes narrowed.
"Well now, ya mangy... dog~~ya the one... who woke... me up?"
Her dialect—a mishmash of ancient regional twangs—sounded awkward, but the needle-sharp hostility cut through clear as day.
"......Hmph. So the legend was true."
The one-eyed old man slicked back his seawater-matted white hair and muttered. Dexter Crowman. He'd closed in right to Hotse's nose in the blink of an eye.
Clink. The two blade-masters stood nose-to-nose, locked in deadlock. Their weapons ground together with an eerie whine.
"Heh heh heh, heard tell... of a legendary swordswoman... buried in the unmelting glacier... southwest. Never dreamed... it'd be real."
"...This fresh-faced... whelp... dare swing... at an elder... ya filthy mutt~~"
"I've eaten my fill in my time."
Crowman grinned wolfishly. He kicked off the nearby rock wall, spinning away from Hotse while whirling his body into a full rotation.
Splaaash! A silver slash skimmed the sea surface like a razor-thin scythe!
"Hmph!"
Hotse snorted and swung her kukri like a hammer.
Clang!
Crowman's slash buried into the water like a driven nail.
Whoosh—Boom!
A towering water column, meters high, erupted between them. In that instant—
Craaaack-craaaack-clang!!
The column shattered into dozens of chunks. Hotse's kukri and Crowman's staff-sword clashed dozens of times in a blur.
Sparks flew where blade met blade, aura-heated to glowing red even amid the water.
Kaboom!
As the water pillar collapsed in sprays across the surface, a massive explosion rocked the cave. Hotse and Crowman had begun wielding their aura in earnest.
"W-we gotta run!"
Swain scooped up Roin and yelled. That golden aura blinding as the sun marked the elf as a Sword Master too. No way this remote cave survived two Sword Masters clashing—the whole landscape would be reshaped. At minimum, a mountain would vanish.
But escape was impossible.
Craaaack! Crowman's slash shattered against Hotse's blade. The fragments exploded outward like glass shards.
Boom-boom-boom-boom!
The shards ricocheted off cave walls, raining countless slashes over the sea. Hundreds, thousands of finger-deep holes punched into the reefs.
"Eek!?"
Everyone here was an ordinary civilian. They could only huddle in terror, shaking helplessly.
One wrong move, and a blind fragment would send them straight to the afterlife. Even a nail-sized shard would shred them like dried squid.
No choice—they hid behind protruding rocks, praying the debris missed them.
"Ugh......"
Roin pressed against a rock, eyes squeezed shut. The torches had long snuffed out; pitch darkness reigned. Trapped in chest-deep icy water inside the sea cave, she shivered uncontrollably.
Thud—splash—clang!Rumble—
Blind in the void, only the clash of blades, crumbling rock, and sloshing water filled her ears. Her mind reeled.
Then—
Ting! A blind fragment skipped across the surface like a stone and hurtled straight at her—silver-glowing, one of Crowman's shattered slashes.
Bounce—bounce—bounce—bounce!
It skipped the surface four times before spearing toward Roin's heart.
"Aaah!"
Roin screamed at the incoming shard. No dodging it. No blocking it.
In that instant—
Snap!
The fragment was caught.
"......?"
Roin's eyes flew wide as she looked up. Her night vision had adjusted; shapes sharpened in the gloom.
Cliche stood before her, fist clenched, face stern.
"Wha—no way......"
Roin gaped in horror. Did I really just see that?
Moments ago, Cliche had splashed across the water. He'd snatched the flying shard barehanded—like grabbing a pebble.
"Y-your hand! Look!"
Roin grabbed Cliche's hand in a panic and pried it open. If he'd really caught an aura fragment, his palm—hell, his whole wrist—should be minced.
"......?"
But Cliche's palm was pristine. Pure white with a faint pink tint. Not a scratch.
???
Roin stared at him, baffled. Did the dark trick my eyes?
Then Cliche asked, innocent as a child.
"Wanna get out of this cave?"
"......?"
Roin blinked in bewilderment.
"Of course!"
"Then why not go? I need to get to your hometown quick."
Roin was speechless for a beat. Cliche had these cryptic moments sometimes. She shot back, what kinda stupid question is that?
"Sword Masters are duking it out behind those rocks—'course we can't leave!"
Just then, aura sparks lit the cave interior like fireworks.
Kaboom-boom-boom!
No sooner had Roin spoken than a deep gash scarred the cave wall. An eight-meter-long, two-inch-deep slash mark had passed right over her head. The ceiling and walls were already etched with such marks.
This was a Sword Masters' fight!
Then Cliche pulled away from Roin.
"H-hey, where you going?!"
Roin cried desperately, but Cliche didn't return. He left just one parting line.
"I'll clear the way out."
Roin saw Cliche's sunny smile and wailed in despair. I'll never see that grin again. She cursed her own weakness for not following.
But...
......wait...
The scene unfolding next made her realize she'd been dead wrong.