Strax’s grip on her blade didn’t immediately loosen, but the world around them began to move again. The wind returned, the air pressure rearranged itself, and the frozen instant between them began to dissolve into action once more. Still, before any further blows could be exchanged, something caught his attention—not on the physical plane, but within the very connection he maintained with the sword in his hand.

Zani spoke.

Not as an external voice, nor as an audible sound in the air, but as a thought that wasn’t his own, crossing his mind with enough clarity not to be ignored.

[Careful.]

The message came directly, without beating around the bush, carrying a weight that didn’t match desperate urgency, but experience.

Strax didn’t take his eyes off the woman before him, still holding her blade with one hand, but responded in kind, internally, without needing to move his lips.

[She’s already being overly cautious.]

Zani didn’t let himself be swayed by the response.

[That’s not it. She has another one.]

A slight shift in perception occurred, not visual, but sensory. As if the sword itself were pointing to something his eyes hadn’t yet confirmed.

[Another dragon slayer], Zani continued. [Smaller. Hidden. By the signature... a dagger.]

Strax’s gaze didn’t change.

But his attention did.

He didn’t search with his eyes. He didn’t give a visible reaction. He only registered.

[Probably held close to his body. Ready for a close-range strike.]

The woman was still there, the blade held in his hand, her eyes now much more attentive than before, her body subtly tense, waiting for the exact moment to react.

Strax released her sword.

Not hesitantly.

But intentionally.

He took a half step back in the air, repositioning his body while slightly rotating the blade in his hand, as if merely adjusting the rhythm of the fight.

[That doesn’t change anything], he answered mentally.

There was a brief silence.

And then—

Zani insisted.

[It does matter.]

The presence of the sword vibrated slightly, not physically, but in the connection between them.

[A dragon slayer doesn’t get that name for aesthetics or tradition. When the blade hits you... it won’t just be a cut.]

Strax already knew that.

But he let her continue.

[It will pierce more than flesh. It will burn. It will tear energy. It will strike your essence. The pain will not be... conventional.] A short pause, almost as if Zani were choosing her words. [It will be excruciating.]

Strax tilted his head slightly, deflecting a quick blow from the woman who had already resumed her movement, her sword cutting through the space where he had been a second before. He turned his body fluidly, avoiding the attack with the minimum necessary displacement.

[Then it will hurt], he replied, in an almost disinterested tone.

Zani didn’t respond immediately. [It will be worse than pain.]

Another blow came, this time faster, more direct, aimed at the torso. Strax intercepted with his own blade, the impact generating a wave of pressure that spread around them. The proximity between the two closed again, but now there was more caution in her movements.

More calculation.

Strax pushed her sword aside and retreated a few meters into the air, creating space.

Still, he continued mentally, with a slight note of disdain that wasn’t fully reflected in his expression. It doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Zani almost seemed to... sigh.

[You’re impossible.]

The woman advanced again.

This time without testing.

Without measuring.

She came straight in, the blade describing a quick horizontal arc, followed by a reversal of movement that sought to catch any attempt at blocking off-beat. It was a refined technique, built to pressure, to force error.

Strax didn’t respond with a sword.

He responded with fire.

Without a sweeping gesture, without elaborate conjuration, the magic simply surged forth. An explosion of white flames formed around him and surged forward in a concentrated, not dispersed, wave, directed straight at her with speed comparable to her own advance.

The impact wasn’t one of collision.

It was one of containment.

She passed through.

Her blade cut through the fire ahead, clearing a path as her body adjusted to the absurd heat without losing rhythm. The energy enveloping her sword not only resisted the flames—it split them, as if it had been made precisely for that.

Strax watched. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Intrigued.

He raised his free hand, and the fire responded immediately, condensing into multiple points around her. Small incandescent spheres appeared in sequence, orbiting the space around the woman before firing simultaneously, each with a slightly different trajectory, creating a pressure field that was difficult to completely avoid.

She spun.

Not like someone panicking.

But like someone accustomed to it.

Her sword moved in precise patterns, deflecting some, cutting others, and allowing a few to pass just enough not to compromise her position. The heat hit, the impact was there, but it didn’t stop her.

She emerged from the fiery explosion with her body still aligned, still moving forward.

"This is better," she said, her voice now carrying more focus than amusement. "I thought you were just brute force."

Strax didn’t answer.

But the fire around him intensified.

Not in volume.

But in density.

The air began to distort around his body, as if the temperature itself were being compressed to absurd levels. The flame didn’t spread—it accumulated, slowly swirling around him like a controlled system, awaiting command.

She’s comfortable with this, Zani commented, observing through his perception.

I noticed, Strax replied.

The woman didn’t stop.

She changed her pace.

This time, the advance wasn’t direct.

She disappeared from his sight and reappeared sideways, seeking a blind spot, her sword already descending in a diagonal cut aimed not only at striking, but piercing through.

Strax didn’t turn his entire body.

Just enough.

His blade rose to intercept, but at the same time, the fire around him reacted independently, creating a concentrated explosion at the point of impact, amplifying the clash between the two weapons.

The sky trembled again.

The released force pushed them both back a few meters.

Now—

They were balanced.

Not in equal strength.

But in understanding.

She took a deep breath, adjusting her posture, her eyes now fixed on him with a completely different intensity than before.

Strax remained motionless for a second.

The fire swirling around him like an extension of his own will.

And within that—

Zani was still watching.

Attentive.

[She hasn’t used the second blade yet], she warned.

Strax gripped the sword’s hilt slightly.

And smiled slightly.

[So she’s still not taking this seriously.]

The woman tilted her head slightly.

And advanced again.

This time—

Without restraint.

And the sky above the capital began, in fact, to become too small for the two of them.

Her advance came like a rupture in the very air, not just fast, but precise to a degree that transformed speed into inevitability. There was no wasted movement, no misdirected intent—every step, every displacement in the air, every angle of attack was calculated to minimize any margin for reaction. The blade described a descending arc that sought not only to strike Strax, but to anticipate his defense, as if she were already fighting the response before it even existed.

Strax did not retreat.

The fire surrounding his body responded before he even consciously thought, the white flames compressing around his blade, transforming the block into something more than physical resistance. When the two swords collided, the impact wasn’t a sound—it was a distortion, a pressure shift that pushed air in all directions like a silent explosion. The heat expanded in a short, dense wave, tearing the nearby clouds as if they were fragile fabric.

She didn’t stop.

In the same movement, she spun her body, using the force of the impact as momentum to reposition herself beside him, trying to exploit the slightest opening that might have appeared. The blade returned, this time in a low horizontal slash, aiming for the point between rib and hip—a blow that, against an ordinary person, would end the fight right there.

Strax was simply no longer there.

His movement wasn’t announced, there was no visible preparation. An instant before he was blocking; the next, he had already appeared several meters above, his body leaning slightly forward, observing. The speed didn’t seem like continuous movement—it seemed like a leap between two points in space.

She froze for a fraction of a second.

Not out of fear.

But out of recalibration.

"...This is already annoying," she murmured, adjusting her posture as she twirled the sword in her hand, her eyes rising to meet his again.

Inside his mind, Zani spoke again, more firmly this time.

[She’s trying to force you to forget about the second blade.]

Strax didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were fixed on her, analyzing not only her movements but her micro-gestures—the positioning of her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing, the tension in her fingers. Nothing screamed "dagger."

And that was exactly what bothered him.

[She won’t use it until she’s sure], Zani continued. [She wants closeness. She wants a clean moment.]

Strax exhaled slowly, and hot smoke escaped his lips, dissipating in the cold air of the altitude.

[So she wants to get too close], he replied.

And this time—

He was the one who advanced.

The movement was no less absurd.

The space between them collapsed in an instant, and Strax’s blade came from above, charged not only with force, but with weight—not physical, but energetic, as if the very air were being dragged along with the blow. She raised her sword to defend, but the impact hit her like a mountain fall.

Her body was thrown downwards.

Not in an uncontrolled fall, but with enough force to send her through a layer of clouds before regaining her balance in the air, her feet finding invisible stability as she glided a few meters until she stopped.

She coughed.

Blood.

A little.

But enough.

"...Right," she said, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes now completely different—no trace of playfulness. "This is... quite different from what I expected."

Strax didn’t answer.

He was coming again.

The second blow was even faster, even heavier, and this time she didn’t try to block directly. She twisted her body sideways, dodging by centimeters as the blade passed, the displacement of air cutting a strand of her purple hair that dissipated in the wind.

She counterattacked instantly.

The sword rose toward his neck, a clean, direct cut, without hesitation.

Strax raised his hand.

And caught the blade.

Not with the sword.

With his hand.

The metal stopped against his skin, pressing, energy vibrating at the point of contact, but not passing through. The impact still generated a short shockwave, but his body remained motionless, as if it had anchored the very space around it. The silence between them, in that moment, was heavy.

Much more so than before.

She took a breath.

And then—

She looked into his eyes.

What she found there wasn’t just anger.

It was something deeper.

Strax’s draconic eyes were ablaze, his pupils thin, his irises carrying an almost incandescent glow. Smoke slowly escaped from his mouth with each breath, and the aura around him... it wasn’t just heat.

It was pressure.

It was presence.

It was something that said, without words, that this wasn’t a balanced fight—it was a decision that hadn’t yet been made.

Her body reacted before her mind.

An ancient instinct, buried beneath layers of confidence and experience, manifested itself clearly and brutally.

Danger.

Real.

Immediate.

"...What the hell have I done...", she thought, and this time there was no irony.

Zani spoke again, now more intensely.

[Now.]

Strax felt it.

Not with his eyes.

But with everything else.

A slight shift.

An adjustment in her posture.

A muscle that tensed differently.

Her free hand moved.

Too fast for a human.

But not for him.

The dagger appeared as a fragment of darkness, short, compact, carrying a signature far denser than the larger sword. There was no exaggerated shine, no grandiose visual effect—just a presence that distorted perception around it, as if the very concept of the blade were heavier than its form.

It aimed at his chest.

Short distance.

Perfect angle.

Exactly as Zani had said.

But Strax—

He was already expecting it.

His body didn’t recoil.

He didn’t flinch.

He advanced.

The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but enough to break her timing. The dagger grazed, cutting through the fabric of her clothes, getting close enough to release a burst of energy that made his body react—a sharp, instant pain, burning from within, not in the flesh, but deeper down.

Zani hadn’t exaggerated.

That wasn’t normal.

But also—

It wasn’t enough.

Strax gripped her wrist before she could recoil.

Hardly.

Really.

Her expression changed.

This time, uncontrolled.

Unmasked.

He pulled.

And at the same time—

The fire responded.

Not like an uncontrolled explosion.

But like execution.

The white flames concentrated on his hand, rising up her arm like a living serpent, not burning the outside, but invading, pressing, forcing.

She tried to break free.

Tried to twist.

Tried to use her own strength against him.

But the difference there—

Became clear.

Strax stared at her closely now, the distance between them reduced to almost nothing, the heat between them completely distorting the air.

"It’s over now," he said, his voice low, but heavy with something that left no room for discussion.

She felt it.

For the first time—

Without a doubt.

That if he wanted—

It would end there.