Apostle of Arrogance -2- Darkness Descends
Darkness capable of extinguishing every light in the office gathered on Hanna's sword.
Rumble... The faint tremors vibrated through the room, snuffing out the candles one by one and calling to Rowen's hesitating blade.
"What have you done?"
Rowen demanded of Hanna. What on earth had she done? Black aura was the symbol of impurity. For a swordsman's aura—formed from their very breath—to take on such an ominous hue, there was only one explanation.
'Black magic.'
Rowen asked with trembling eyes, but Hanna's sword had long since slipped from her grasp.
"Histania Hanna!"
"..."
"I'm asking you...!"
Slash.
Rowen's fury-laden words cut off midway. Hanna's sword had touched his body.
The strike from afar landed heavily, leaving a small wound before vanishing.
"...What is this?"
Rowen stared at Hanna with trembling eyes, wondering what trickery this was. It wasn't a feint mixed with emptiness, nor a true slash infused with aura. Yet he'd been cut by a mere swing through empty air. He couldn't hide his bewilderment.
Slash.
"..."
With no answer forthcoming, another strike lashed out. Rowen gritted his teeth and endured.
He didn't want to show such an unsightly figure before his daughter's whims.
"We need to talk this out properly."
Infusing his words with worry and anger, Rowen addressed Hanna. She gazed down at her own sword with trembling eyes.
She was shocked by how naturally her blade whipped through the air, laden with 'intent' as if it were second nature.
'Is this my power?'
Her vision blurred. The overwhelming strength surging through her body and the ringing in her ears made her feel like she might lose consciousness at any moment. It was as if someone whispered 'murder' into her ear—her sword hand quivered, and a chest-bursting rage bloomed within her.
This wouldn't do.
"Histania Hanna."
She felt herself on the verge of being swept away by the sword. In a quavering voice, Hanna spoke to Rowen.
"Draw your sword."
"..."
"Please."
Hanna's blade began to dance.
*
Fresh blood dripped down.
From Rowen, who steadfastly refused to draw his sword, blood welled up, soaking the papers on the desk and falling in drops.
"Why..."
Hanna asked Rowen in a trembling voice. Was it still not enough? How much more effort did she need to make him draw that sword? Bursting with frustration, she screamed at him.
"Why... won't you draw your sword...? Why... why?!"
Rowen clamped his mouth shut, maintaining his silence.
"I cannot take up the sword."
"...Is it still not enough?"
"..."
"Am I still not good enough in Father's eyes?"
"No."
Rowen spoke to Hanna, his heart a tangle of emotions.
"I'm the one who's not ready yet."
"Ready. Ready... that damn readiness!!!"
"Histania Hanna."
"I don't want to hear it!"
Slash.
Hanna's blade danced again, charged with raw emotion, but Rowen watched her fragile sword in silence. It was fragile, after all. Just one thing. The heart-wrenching pain. That was Rowen's greatest agony. He believed all this stemmed from him. Guilt kept his head bowed. Watching Hanna's sword, Rowen spoke.
"You're still too fragile."
"...How long are you going to keep saying that?"
"Whether wielding a sword or hurting someone, you're far too fragile."
"Shut your mouth."
Hanna squeezed her eyes shut and slashed. Rowen closed his eyes. Now, at last, he seemed to see the path ahead. Why that person had told him to find the way himself. Why the young lady had scolded him. He finally grasped it and moved forward.
Yes. What I must do is...
"I'm sorry, my daught—"
The fairy tale begins.
A colossal wave of murderous intent crashed over Rowen. The killing pressure that made even a Sword Master's shoulders tremble forced him to step back, dodging Hanna's sword—but.
Slash.
Ignoring the distance, Hanna's blade closed in, carving a deep gash into Rowen's arm.
'What is this...?'
Having grasped her technique—or so he thought—Rowen furrowed his brow at the wound and stared at Hanna. He couldn't fathom her trick. It wasn't aura. No, it was more like...
Defying the constraints of space itself.
"You've learned something twisted from that one."
Rowen ground his teeth. Seeing him finally draw his sword, Hanna flashed a sinister smile and murmured softly.
"Haa... it's been a while, hasn't it? Father's office."
Hanna drew a deep breath, smiling. Her eyes flicked to Rowen's instinctively gripping hand, and she let out a mocking laugh.
"You've drawn your sword?"
"Hanna...?"
"Yes~! Your daughter, Histania Hanna."
"..."
Rowen narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the coldly resounding voice. The woman before him didn't seem like Hanna. It felt more like gazing upon something deeper—no, an Apostle.
Gazing at Rowen, who had drawn his sword unbidden, Hanna let out an exclamation.
"Wow..."
She glanced at him and shrugged her shoulders.
"You're finally sparring with me."
"..."
"I begged you just once for my birthday, and now you do it? What an honor."
"...This isn't called a spar. It's a battle."
"I didn't want to spar with Father like this either, but what can I do? My resentment's just too deep."
Hanna scoffed and addressed Rowen.
"How is it? My sword?"
"..."
"Wasn't it strong?"
"...Histania Hanna."
"You have to be at this level to catch Father's eye, right? No holding back on means or methods."
Like a different person, Hanna clicked her tongue at Rowen.
"Say something, Father. Don't just stand there like a mute who swallowed honey."
Rowen swallowed hard at Hanna's sword, now burning black.
"Draw."
Shing.
"Your sword."
Rumble...!
As Hanna's blade thrust forward, Rowen drew his. Not because of his daughter's plea. If he didn't draw now, he'd suffer grave harm. The slowly extending sword, laden with that killing intent, felt utterly different from any Hanna had swung before.
Grip.
Yes, as if mocking the empire's blade itself.
The blue edge emerging from its sheath heavily parried Hanna's sword. Amid the numbing vibration, Rowen squeezed his eyes shut and faced her.
"Get a hold of yourself, Histania Hanna."
Hanna shrugged lightly and slowly swept horizontally.
"One."
"...!"
Rowen's guard faltered again, leaving a bloody trail on his body. To Rowen, eyes wide open and trembling, Hanna asked,
"Does it hurt?"
"..."
"You can't say it hurts from this much."
"..."
"That person..."
"..."
"Suffered more than you."
"..."
Rowen gripped his sword anew at Hanna's hollow words. And Hanna swung again.
"Two."
Slash.
"Three."
Grk...!
Hanna's lips curled in a sinister smirk at Rowen's faint groan. She was surely the first to corner the empire's sword like this.
"Father still doesn't trust me, even after this?"
"..."
"I desperately learned the sword. To earn your recognition."
"Focus on the sword."
"Yes, I should. I have to... but."
Slash.
"This isn't a spar like you say, is it?"
Hanna asked, eyeing the bloodied Rowen.
"Why not use aura?"
"..."
"Father could crush me easily. You don't need to block my sword—you could take my head without effort, so why..."
"Because you're no criminal."
Hanna gave an awkward smile and nodded.
"Ah... right. I'm no criminal right now."
With a hollow laugh, Hanna slowly gathered aura, as if signaling the real fight's start.
"Now, raise your sword."
"..."
"Fight like when you came to kill me, Father."
"What did you...?"
"Why?"
Boom...!
"Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Rowen drew a deep breath as Hanna kicked off the ground and charged. And then.
Clang.
Their blades clashed for the first time, shaking the floor. The mansion's curtains danced to the screeching wail of steel. Papers scattered through the office. Rowen's glass shattered. Amid the wreckage, only Hanna's hollow laughter echoed.
"I've suffered so much."
"..."
"I've cried so much because of you."
Grraaah...!
"I've... cursed that person because of you... Why do you sacrifice nothing?"
Hanna's sword swept horizontally, leaving deeper darkness in the shadows. Rowen countered, golden aura blooming from his blade's tip—but Hanna smirked viciously and stomped it down.
"Too slow."
Light and darkness. Knight and criminal. As the opposing slashes collided.
Shatter!
The office windows exploded into shards raining like blades. Crunching over glass, Hanna thrust her sword-tip before Rowen and whispered.
"Histania Style One."
Rowen's eyes widened at the form known only to the family head who would lead the house.
"That sword..."
"Yes. Father's sword."
A small wind gathered on Hanna's blade. The Histania sword, preserved and refined from ancestors to present, lashed out without mercy.
"Formless."
Rowen twisted away swiftly to counter—but.
"This form. Nameless."
Rowen was swept helpless by Hanna's relentless barrage. As he blocked the onslaught, her voice rang in his ears.
"Why... didn't you come save me?"
"What...?"
"Why... did you leave me to die in that freezing cave?"
Rowen's pupils quivered violently with Hanna's trembling voice. How did she know that story? But Hanna.
"Pfft... hahaha!! Ah... what is that face."
Burst into mad laughter, drunk on ecstasy.
"Ah... this is driving me insane."
"..."
"Why so scared? What have I even done?"
In a quavering voice, Rowen demanded of Hanna.
"Who are you?"
Hanna tilted her head and asked back.
"Why? Planning to kill me?"
"Hanna!"
"Pfft... I'm your daughter..."
Hanna shook her head wistfully, gazing into empty air.
"Ah, I shouldn't say more. Even now, it's touch and go. Anyway."
She raised her sword to Rowen.
"Don't hate that person too much."
Hanna extended her darkness-laden blade toward Rowen. And as it touched his throat.
A clang echoed between Rowen's trembling eyes. Tears streaming, Hanna released her sword.
"Why... did you do that?"
Block Histania Rowen's 1st Form. (1/1)
Hanna's once-distant sword had finally reached Rowen.