The battlefield erupted as Navasha and her allies clashed with the royal special forces. Six soldiers stood on the enemy side. It had been five at first, then one defected. With Rumalus’s departure, their numbers had dropped to four, but when the chancellor set out from the palace, two more had been pulled into the operation to reinforce them. So it was six against five.
On Navasha’s side were the primary fighters: herself, Medello, Liza, Gregald, and Rumalus. The rest of the Gagagamoor group—Rugen and the others—were present, but none had the strength or training to shift the tide in open combat.
Rumalus stepped forward, facing down the unit he had once called comrades.
“Are you out of your mind, Rumalus?” one of them barked. “What about your family? You’re just going to let the kingdom fall into chaos?”
“If we don’t act now,” Rumalus said, voice steady and firm, “then that chaos will find them eventually. You’re the ones who need to wake up. Stop following the chancellor before it’s too late.”
“Tch… Sounds like you’ve already been brainwashed,” Linden growled, clicking his tongue in frustration.
Navasha took a step forward, sword flashing in her hand with easy grace. Her stance was relaxed, fluid, but her eyes were sharp, focused, and utterly unshaken. She gave a dry grin. “So, he’s the big bad, huh? Well, I’d say we'd better knock you guys down fast and go help Belamus. Not that he needs it, probably.”
Her opponent was none other than Linden himself, captain of the special forces. In his left hand, he held a short sword; in his right, a sleek, high-performance firearm, much more advanced than the crude prototypes they’d seen in Rugen’s lab. He raised the gun in a flash and fired a single, pinpoint-precise bullet aimed dead at Navasha’s forehead.
The shot tore through the air at blinding speed, but Navasha was faster.
She twisted aside with barely a flick of her body, letting the bullet pass harmlessly by. Her movements were casual, but calculated. She had studied firearms before, so she knew what they could do, and more importantly, what they couldn’t. Long-range, high-speed… They were dangerous, but limited. She needed to close the distance.
She lunged. But just as she moved, a second soldier cut in from the right, blade swinging in a sharp arc. Before he could land the strike, Liza intercepted, stepping in smoothly with her own sword to parry the blow.
“Fireball!” Medello shouted, her voice cracking with urgency as she hurled the blazing spell forward, the heat reflecting the burst of courage surging through her.
The moment the enemy’s stance broke, Medello acted. A sphere of flame exploded from her hand and crashed into a soldier’s chest, sending him flying. When he hit the ground, he didn’t get back up.
One down. Five to go.
One of their own had already fallen, but Linden didn’t flinch. Without a word, he chambered his next round and fired again, the barrel snapping toward Navasha with deadly precision.
She dodged with ease, her body flowing like water around the bullet’s path. In the same movement, she closed the distance, blade flashing out in a sudden inward arc that forced Linden into a brutal melee. Steel clashed against steel, the sound sharp and heavy in the thickening air.
The other special forces soldiers moved to assist their commander, but Liza, Medello, and Gregald intercepted them immediately, blocking their path and locking them into separate duels. In the chaos, a one-on-one battle emerged between Navasha and Linden—uninterrupted and unavoidable.
Realizing he couldn’t maintain distance, Linden made a split-second decision. He tossed the gun aside, drawing a short dagger with his now-free hand. Twin blades glinted in the dim light. He dropped into a low, fluid stance, his entire body coiling into a weapon.
Their clash resumed with renewed violence.
With two blades now in play, Linden’s assault doubled in speed. His strikes came from every angle: feints, counters, tight arcs designed to overwhelm by volume. Navasha was fast, but even she began to lose ground. She gritted her teeth as she shifted into defense, her arms straining to parry the relentless onslaught.
This guy’s no joke, she thought, pushing back hard.
Linden was every bit the elite operative he was rumored to be. His dual-wielding technique was refined, surgical, and relentless. Navasha had faced countless opponents before, but this was one of the few who forced her onto the defensive. She couldn’t rely on brute force, momentum, or flashy counters; this was a fight of inches.
A sharp sting across her cheek snapped her into focus. One of Linden’s blades had grazed her face, drawing a thin line of blood. It wasn’t deep, but it reminded her just how narrow the margin for error had become.
She couldn’t stay on the defensive. So she shifted tactics.
With a sudden snap of movement, she kicked at her opponent’s legs, trying to throw him off balance. It was an unconventional strike, and it caught him by surprise, but not enough. Linden slipped back smoothly, avoiding the trip and resetting his stance with disciplined calm.
For a moment, the blades fell still. Both fighters stared each other down, breathing hard, reading every twitch and shift of weight.
He’s strong, no doubt about it… Navasha narrowed her eyes. But he’s not Belamus.
She had fought Belamus countless times, sparring matches that left her breathless, bruised, and always a little stronger. Compared to him, Linden’s form, while deadly, lacked something deeper. That ineffable pressure. That bottomless well of technique.
This fight was winnable.
Navasha exhaled, raising her sword not in her usual defensive posture, but high above her head, blade poised for a decisive strike. Her body stilled, every muscle tightening, focus narrowing to a single point.
Linden moved.
She watched him approach. Every step, every twitch of his shoulders, the way his blades shifted… She saw it all.
Then she struck. With all her strength, all her training, and all her belief, she brought the sword down in a single, perfect arc.
Linden couldn’t dodge in time.
Navasha’s blade came down like judgment, slicing into his shoulder with brutal precision. The force of the blow drove him to the ground, blood blooming rapidly beneath him. He gasped but didn’t cry out, his expression twisted in pain as he clutched at the wound. He wasn’t dead, not yet, but he would be soon enough if left unattended. The blood loss was already severe.
Navasha held her stance a moment longer, breaths shallow, watching for any hint of movement. When it became clear her opponent wouldn’t be rising, she stepped back, eyes scanning for the next threat.
If she’d hoped Linden’s defeat would rattle the others, she was quickly disappointed.
The remaining special forces soldiers didn’t falter. No hesitation. No panicked glances. They simply shifted their formations and prepared to continue the fight. They were professionals, well-trained and deeply disciplined. Losing their captain only made them more focused.
Navasha gave a sharp, feral grin. “Tch… Still got guts, huh? Fine by me. Let’s see if you can handle this, ’cause I’m taking all of you down.”
“Leave the support to me!” Medello called out, stepping up behind her with fire already gathering in her hands.
“Y-You’ve got me too! But man, battle’s still terrifying…” Gregald muttered as he took his position, voice trembling but feet steady.
Together, they surged forward into the next phase of the fight, blades flashing, magic flaring, the momentum now fully in their favor. The fall of Linden had shifted the rhythm of the battlefield, and Navasha, blade stained and stance solid, was already moving to break through the next line.