380 - Phantom Winds of Fate Pt. 3 [Sturmblitz]

Leopold snorted derisively, “Cloak and dagger? You flatter yourself. My knowledge of our arts is unrivaled, and I have thoroughly reviewed not only your sect’s “Sturmblitz Kunst 0,” but also detailed reports of your personal battle arts. I am well aware of your devilish necromancy.”

Zefaris allowed her confusion to show through a raised eyebrow, and she was certain that Leopold took it the wrong way. The fact someone had surface knowledge of the Sword Phantom Scripture made no difference since she didn’t treat the whole thing as an ace-in-the-hole, and she couldn’t see how having read through the Sturmblitz Kunst 0 pamphlet would turn the tide of battle against a cultivator who abided by its tenets, unless that person had completely missed the point and just imitated the examples given in the pamphlet.

“You will be severely disappointed if you expect me to throw overhand punches and side kicks,” Zefaris said. Not eager to continue a pointless trash-talking match, she nodded sharply in the direction of the sect compound, drawing an invisible line just to Leopold’s left. “Now go, clear the courtyard. If you want to speak, we can speak, but if you want to fight, we fight now. Pick one.”

Leopold’s eye twitched, but he acquiesced with a “So be it.” He then spun around on his heel and stomped off, yelling orders at the disciples, who scattered like flies to prepare the courtyard. With a glance, Zefaris carved a protective formation in the ground around the Blitzgandr and followed after the sect elder. The Nameless Phantom followed in lockstep behind her, becoming visible when he passed through the sect’s bubble barrier. He quickly began fading out again, but she decided to capitalize on the barrier’s revealing element. Releasing her aura, she willed all of her Phantoms to fade into view one after another, producing the illusion that they were all being revealed by the barrier as they passed through the sect gate. Being barely summoned in this manner, her phantoms’ forms lacked definition, wavering and flickering in a properly ghostly manner, which only lended to the image that she was intentionally trying to project — that of a small army of ghosts, constantly following her around.

Across the courtyard, some fifty meters out, Leopold waited for her, inside a hexagon of black stone around fifty meters across. It was composed of smaller hexagons each around a meter across, and while the material was clearly designed to look like blackstone, Zefaris could see that it was in fact some sort of arcanely processed basalt. The sect’s disciples were scattered around the courtyard’s edge, with several individuals in differently-coloured robes kneeling around the hexagon’s points.

“Stillwind Black Horse Sect Elder Leopold Ritter Branstein the Third welcomes Newman Sect Second Founding Elder Zefaris Newman and requests a match!” Leopold called out. 

Zefaris made her way to the arena at a brisk pace, flicker-stepping as she went — to all outside observers, it seemed as if each step crossed the span of three, leaving hoarfrost in her wake. The experience of doing this would have been somewhat disorienting a year ago, but now, she was used to it. 

That she so casually did such a thing visibly shook the Black Horse disciples, and even Leopold.

Leopold drew his sword, holding it upward as he recited the ruleset, followed by his demand. Zefaris followed suit, and as she raised Pentacle, so too did her phantoms raise their blades and guns. Even the Tankman Phantom raised one arm and tilted its shoulder-mounted cannons upward.

The six disciples surrounding the arena responded with hand signs, causing a pillar to rise at each of the hexagon’s points, a barrier flickering to life between them. Imitation dungeontech, just like at the Willowdale compound, with the difference that the Willowdale compound used actual physicalised blackstone. The number 10 appeared on the raised pillars’ inward-facing sides, beginning a countdown.

9.

8.

Leopold immediately began fog-breathing, exhaling black Fog that formed a long, continuous thread, cutting through the air as it rose and dissipated. Gradually, his sword became shrouded in the same blackness, falling out of sight.

7.

Seeing no need to restrain herself in a manner that her host didn’t, Zefaris took her mask from her belt and fixed it to her face, then pulled out a handful of dragonsteel coins.

“Praise gun, our savior!” she called out. She sent no direct command, these were truly just the words of a commander calling on her soldiers.

6.

“Hail Death, the Master!” her phantoms bellowed in response, their voices those of hundreds, echoing with unearthly remoteness. A few instances of the phrase spoken in Pateirian or Grekurian were mixed in. Even her three Inquisitor Phantoms — two Inquisitors bearing Aquila Caliburs and Pepperboxes alongside Phantom Manus in ghostly full-plate — furiously signed the same words. Then, they vanished, as she dismissed them, holding out her left hand and rolling Pentacle’s cylinder across it.

5.

A coin flicked upwards, turning, turning, turning. Her unleashed aura rolled across the ground as a thick coat of mist. Ice began climbing the pillars and even the barrier.

4.

Something caught the coin, a figure that stepped out from behind Zefaris. In the absence of Tempesta, there could be no Death’s Lieutenant. Pentacle’s weapon-spirit took the form of a grinning skull, wearing a footsoldier’s uniform with numerous civilian additions. A deserter through and through, a bandit, a desperado. Somehow, the metallic bones of its face exuded a sense of contemptuous amusement.

3.

Zefaris opened her left eye and began tossing coins in the air, using her eye to empower each in turn with an instantaneous beam of light.

2.

1.

A gong rung out, and an avalanche of black swordlight fell upon her. Leopold began cycling through a complex, non-repeating pattern of fencing guards, often fitting multiple sword swings into each transition. Zefaris… Recognized them. These were the same guards Lydia made use of, which, looking back, made perfect sense — Lydia was, after all, a former Black Horse Sect disciple.

Zefaris knew, in an instant, that just a grazing hit from Leopold’s swordlight would easily take off a limb, and she read the name of the technique from the lips of a disciple across the courtyard.

BLACKRAZOR