From deep in the woods beyond the clearing, Ren’s gaze flicks to the fort as the roar of men and clash of steel carries through the trees.

  “The battle reaches its peak.”

  Ren turns toward the voice. There stands Two, his claymore resting lazily on one shoulder as he watches the distant chaos.

  No sweat, not even short of breath...

  Ren rises from the snow, shaking some from his cloak as he picks up his sword.

  Good.

  The Wolf will be pleased with this hunt.

  He lifts his scimitar, its golden blade glinting against the stark white of the field, Two glances over his shoulder.

  "Caught your breath? Can't have this ending too quickly."

  Arrogant. But perhaps not without cause.

  I must see the secrets he keeps.

  Ren lunges forward, scimitar flashing as he unleashes a flurry of precise, rapid thrusts, each one aimed with lethal intent, his movements a blur of motion.

  Two doesn’t parry. He doesn’t counter. He simply leans, pivots, shifts... just enough. Each of Ren’s precise strikes misses by the narrowest thread, brushed aside by subtle turns of the neck or shoulder. His size and armor apparently offer no hindrance at all to his speed or agility.

  "Hmph."

  The next strike comes faster, a blistering horizontal slash, too wide to dodge cleanly. Yet still, Two doesn't bother with his sword. His gauntleted hand snaps up, parrying the blow with ease. Another strike follows, even faster. Then another. Each one deflected patiently, the scimitar swatted aside every time it edges too close.

  Ren accelerates faster... faster... and yet faster still, until his movements are a blur, flashes of golden lightning but with twice the speed.... and growing faster still. The air hisses with each movement. The snow beneath his feet steams and melts; nearby, the trees around him ignite in flame.

  Then, one last flash, and finally blood flies. Ren lands, skidding away into the snow, scimitar raised, breath sharp and shallow.

  And a crimson line opens across Two's throat. Slit, blood leaking from the wound.

  The fight is over.

  "...What?"

  Or at least, it should be. Two calmly touches the bleeding line on his throat, inspecting the smear of blood on his fingers with a raised brow. Then, with a slow swipe, he wipes it away, revealing only the faintest scratch.

  Ren's eyes flare.

  That shallow?

  What is his body made of?

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  He strikes again, scimitar arcing straight for the neck, aiming to take his head clean off. But as blade meets skin, sparks burst out, dazzling white. A thunderous clang erupts, metal crashing against something impossibly hard. Pain lances up Ren’s arm from the jarring impact.

  Ren stares, stunned. His blade, stopped cold by flesh alone. No mark, no blood, no wound. Not even a scratch this time. It’s like trying to cleave into the walls of a castle… only worse.

  “Stoneskin?” he mutters.

  Two’s red eyes flick to the blade still pressed to his neck. “Something like it,” he says. “But I doubt it's of the sort you've encountered.”

  With calm, deliberate motion, Two lifts his claymore from his shoulder.

  Ren vanishes in an instant, blinking out of sight just as the sword soars across with a deafening roar, obliterating the air where he stood.

  The blade arcs in a horizontal blur. Three great oaks shatter in its wake, trunks splintering as they explode outward in a cascade of bark and snow. The trees crash down like thunder, shaking the forest.

  Ren reappears behind Two in a flash, scimitar slicing for his neck, but the giant is already gone.

  “Gnngh-“

  Then the world twists. A colossal force hammers Ren’s side, lifting him clean off his feet. His breastplate folds inward with a grotesque metallic crunch. He rockets through the trees like a ragdoll, smashes through a thick trunk, splintering it in half, and crashes down in a heap, snow spraying as he hits the ground hard.

  Blood splatters the snow, spewing from Ren's mouth as he staggers upright, a grimace carved deep into his face. Pain flares through his chest. Ribs are cracked, likely broken, but his legs hold. His eyes scan the field in frantic sweeps until they lock on Two, standing exactly where he had been, staring off toward the fort as if nothing had happened.

  Impossible.

  I didn’t even see him move. I, of all people...

  He cannot be human.

  Ren approaches, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes shadowed and cold, his scimitar dragging low in one hand. Two turns, gaze dropping to the simpler straightsword sheathed at Ren’s hip.

  “That's a fine weapon,” he says evenly. “Time to draw it. Unless you’re set on dying in this next exchange.”

  Ren glances down at the hilt, then back up with a faint, bloody smirk. “It’s reserved for the worthy.”

  Two turns to face him fully, the giant leaning in, head inches from Ren’s bruised face. “And you think this is wise?” he rumbles, voice deep and calm, but with something dangerous behind it.

  Ren says nothing, ignoring the question.

  Two gives a slight nod and turns away, his gaze settling again on the distant fort. “My brother has similar reservations about me drawing my true sword,” he says, voice low. “I don’t often carry it these days. To avoid temptation, you understand.”

  A cold shiver crawls up Ren’s spine.

  He has a Mystic Arm?

  But another question pushes forward. Ren speaks it aloud. “Brother? You mean Seven?”

  Two laughs, a deep bellow. “No.”

  Two turns back to Ren, blade rising once more, and Ren tightens his stance. His fingers twitch near the straightsword’s hilt.

  Should I draw it now?

  Xue Ren is ideal for fighting stoneskin...

  But here, so close to the battlefield…

  The ground quakes beneath Two’s step as he advances, the very air thickening, pressure mounting around him far greater than before.

  Ren exhales sharply, sheathes the scimitar, and clasps the straightsword’s hilt. The trees around them crack and freeze to ice as he inches the blade from its scabbard....

  But before either can act, a wave of dread crashes through the forest.

  Both freeze.

  From Fort Gaellin, a black miasma pulses outward, a dense, suffocating cloud. It spreads like a rolling storm, flowing out from all sides, thick with malice and evil. An oppressive force visible only to the attuned.

  They feel it together, unspoken.

  Dark mana. A huge quantity. It's unmistakable.

  Two glances toward the fort, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Maldor has fallen. A stroke of luck…” he murmurs. Then, glancing at Ren, adds, "For you."

  He turns his back, boots crunching through the snow. “Until we meet again,” he calls over his shoulder. “I will enjoy... forcing you to draw that sword.”

  The snow erupts as Two vanishes, gone in a blink, leaving behind only a smoking crater.

  "Hrnngh-"

  Ren drops his scimitar, collapsing to his knees, chest heaving. Blood pours from his mouth, splashing the snow. He falls onto his side, cheek pressing into the cold. Yet a crooked smile spreads across his battered face.

  “The Wolf will feast well,” he rasps, “when that man falls to my blade.”