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On the streets of the city plunged in darkness, in the pale moonlight a symphony of fencing duel began. Steel clashing against steel beat the rhythm of the clash, fireworks of sparks flashed with each successive blow. Any connoisseur of the art of wielding white weapons would be enchanted by this performance of two top class artists. There was not a single superfluous movement among the countless moves they made in their murderous dance.
The Sword Demon's cry rang out. The old man made two semicircular slashes, trying to reach his opponent.
The petite Sword Saint wielded only one blade, but a very long one - about as long as herself. Such impressive blades are generally difficult to handle, but she wielded the sword as if it were part of her body. She handled each of the old man's blows with ease, though they had the force of a hurricane and could be fatal.
The sight of the two had something melancholy about it. When the steel of their weapons met, it was like the affectionate touch of a lover.
Although the art of swordsmanship is primarily associated with death, it also has much to do with love. The sword takes on the feelings and emotions of the person who wields it. And when the blades cross, one can feel the heat of the opponent's passion. During such a duel one forgets about the whole world, there is only the other person left. That is all that matters.
This duel in the moonlight was certainly a lovers' game.
Both had reached the heights of swordsmanship, both desired the soul of the other. This mating took place in an extremely chaotic manner, but their affection was always like this. The Sword Demon and Sword Saint's love was forged in the fire of battle.
This meeting should not have happened," Wilhelm thought. - And now I have no choice. I must kill her.
Of course, the Sword God's chosen one immediately noticed that her opponent had dispersed.
Wilhelm's thoughts were interrupted by a blow to the head. At the last moment, he avoided having his skull split open. He felt the heat on his forehead. He couldn't afford even a split second of inattention. Every blow of his excellent opponent could be fatal.
Blood oozed into his eyes, obscuring his view. The Sword Saint, like the personification of death, attacked the old man once again with lightning speed.
His imagination gave Wilhelm a picture of what was about to happen. How it would hurt when the long hilt of her sword plunged into his chest, how smoothly it would reach his heart.
He felt the coming end of the road he had traveled, trusting in the sword, and at a time when he had not even managed to atone for his sins....
No. I don't agree with that end.
- Haaaaaa!
The blood boiled within him, a fire ignited in his veins that consumed the evil vision. Wilhelm was now focused like no time before. Time flowed slower for him, sounds and colors disappeared. There was nothing left but the two of them.
Her sword moved exactly as he expected it to. She indeed wanted to stab him right in the heart. At the last moment he avoided death by performing a side flip. As hard as he could he bounced off the ground and rolled over the blade.
He jumped back a little further to get a moment of respite. Now he could see what damage she had done. The blade had reached his side. The wound was quite deep and was bleeding profusely.
The blessing of the God of Death... The power that made Theresia van Astrea the most powerful Sword Saint.
This wound was never going to heal. It would continue to bleed until the victim was gone.
- I knew from the start that I wouldn't be able to fight for long... - he muttered, taking off his jacket. He tied it around his waist.
The Sword Saint watched him without attacking. Her blue eyes were as empty as a doll's. There was no trace of emotion in them.
And what did you expect, stupid old man? - He thought disappointed in himself. He punished himself with pain, hitting the bleeding wound.
- She didn't come back by accident. This is not a miracle sent by gracious gods. The happy reunion will still come, but later, in heaven. Then you will enjoy each other. Now you have to wake up. Face reality," he said to himself, staring at the impassive corpse that could only fight.
At her long, red, glossy hair, her white, almost transparent skin and her blue eyes, in which the sky seemed to close. This sight made all the happy memories come back. Right in front of him stood his former happiness. Her and not her at the same time.
- Theresia, you're so beautiful. That's why you mustn't be here.
He took his stance again. He ignited a will to fight and anger. He hated whoever was responsible for this despicable act, for disturbing his dead wife. Blood boiled within him with rage.
He pushed away unnecessary thoughts. Now he should focus on his opponent.
Once a friend, a comrade in arms, then a wife. She herself warned him not to soil the purity of his sword with the fever of anger. That he should not get carried away.
"Be as unshakable as the steel of a sword."
What am I like now? Have I been carried away by anger!
- No, I'm cold. Cold as steel.
And again, without warning, they moved into battle, each focused on requiring the existence of the other.
The rasps sounded like love sighs.
He wanted it to be over as soon as possible.
He dreamed it would last forever.
Like lovers exchanging tender whispers, William and Theresia fought in the moonlight.
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