The elf chief did not strike immediately.
Instead, he turned and pressed his palm against the throne behind him. Wood shifted. Ancient roots groaned. The floor split open in silence, revealing a narrow stairway descending into darkness.
“Follow,” the chief said calmly. “This place does not belong to witnesses.”
Akitsu Shouga did not hesitate. He stepped forward, Rosary resting lightly in his hand.
Seraphine Orion hovered close, her ears pinned back. “I don’t like this.”
The small white-haired girl said nothing—but frost crept faintly along the stair’s edge as she walked.
The passageway twisted deep beneath the temple, walls carved with old elven scripture, symbols worn smooth by centuries of hands that had long since turned to bone.
The chief spoke as they walked.
“You carry spirits,” he said. “Not tools. Not servants.”
Akitsu’s voice was steady. “I know.”
“That alone makes you dangerous.”
They emerged into open air.
A vast clearing lay beyond the passage—snow untouched, sky pale and endless. No trees. No structures. Only wind and silence.
The chief stepped forward and turned.
“This is where disputes are ended,” he said. “Draw your blade.”
Akitsu raised Rosary.
The moment steel left its sheath, the world changed.
The air pressed down.
Akitsu’s breath hitched—not from fear, but from weight. Something unseen bore down on him, as if the land itself demanded acknowledgment.
Seraphine gasped. “W–what is this…?”
The chief took a step.
The ground cracked beneath his foot.
“You stand in a place that remembers my blood,” he said quietly. “Kneel.”
Akitsu’s knees bent—unwillingly—but he snarled and forced himself upright.
“I don’t kneel,” he said. “Not today.”
The chief’s eyes sharpened.
“So be it.”
He moved.
The first clash rang like thunder.
Rosary screamed as it met the chief’s blade, sparks tearing through the pale air. Akitsu was thrown backward, boots carving trenches through the snow.
“Fast,” Akitsu muttered.
The chief was already there.
Steel descended.
Akitsu barely raised his sword in time—his arms screamed as the impact sent him skidding again.
Seraphine thrust her hands forward. Vines erupted from beneath the snow, coiling toward the chief’s legs.
The white-haired girl lifted her hand—
Frost exploded outward.
The ground crystallized. Vines froze solid and shattered into glittering shards.
The chief stepped through it all unharmed.
“Nature bends,” he said. “Cold breaks. Blood remains.”
He slammed his sword into the ground.
Akitsu felt it.
Something claimed the space.
His chest tightened. His vision blurred. His heartbeat stuttered—as if something unseen had wrapped around it and squeezed.
Seraphine cried out, clutching her chest. “Akitsu—!”
The small girl staggered, frost crawling uncontrollably from her feet.
Akitsu gritted his teeth and charged.
Steel met steel again.
This time he didn’t fly back—but he still lost ground, boots sliding, arms shaking.
The chief smiled faintly.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“You endure,” he said. “Most do not.”
Akitsu ducked a horizontal slash, rolled beneath it, and slashed upward. The chief parried effortlessly and struck Akitsu across the ribs with the flat of his blade.
Akitsu crashed into the snow, breath leaving him in a sharp gasp.
“Stay down,” the chief said. “This is mercy.”
Akitsu coughed—and laughed.
“Not interested.”
He rolled aside as the blade struck where his head had been, snow exploding upward.
Seraphine screamed, thrusting both hands down.
Roots burst from beneath the earth—thick, ancient, twisting around the chief’s arm.
The white-haired girl raised both hands—
Everything froze.
The chief halted.
For half a second.
Then the roots withered. The frost cracked apart like glass.
The chief tore free, breath steady.
Seraphine recoiled, panting. “Why… won’t it work…?”
The chief turned his gaze upon her.
“Because you are guests in a land that answers to me.”
Akitsu staggered upright, blood dripping from his lip.
“…Then answer this.”
He charged again.
The duel dragged on.
Steel rang again and again. Akitsu dodged, parried, rolled, leapt—never winning ground, never landing a decisive blow. His arms burned. His lungs screamed.
The chief never slowed.
“You fight like someone who refuses to stay dead,” the chief remarked.
Akitsu snarled. “Funny. I was thinking the same.”
The chief struck.
Akitsu barely avoided it—and then—
A hand touched his shoulder.
He felt nothing.
No weight. No temperature.
But everything shifted.
A presence rose behind him.
Seraphine froze in terror.
The white-haired girl whimpered, clutching her chest.
Behind Akitsu stood a tall, dark silhouette—shaped like a woman. Featureless. Silent.
And clinging to his leg—
Another shadow.
Smaller.
Tighter.
Holding him.
The chief’s eyes widened.
“…So that is what walks with you.”
Akitsu did not turn.
He stepped forward.
The pressure vanished.
The weight lifted.
His body felt—light.
Stronger.
His blade moved faster.
Their swords clashed again—and this time, the chief was the one pushed back.
Once.
Twice.
The ground cracked beneath the chief’s heels.
The chief grunted, surprise flashing across his face.
Akitsu pressed forward relentlessly, strikes flowing, precise, overwhelming.
Steel rang like a bell about to shatter.
The chief blocked—barely.
Akitsu twisted, reversed grip, slammed the hilt into the chief’s jaw, and drove his blade to the chief’s throat.
Silence fell.
Snow drifted.
The shadows behind Akitsu faded.
The chief exhaled slowly.
“…You win.”
Akitsu stepped back, sword lowering.
Seraphine collapsed to her knees. “Akitsu…”
The white-haired girl clung to his sleeve.
The chief sheathed his blade and bowed his head.
“You may stay,” he said quietly. “The village will shelter you.”
Akitsu nodded once.
“Thank you.”
Above them, the tundra wind howled—carrying the echo of something ancient laughing softly, far beyond sight.
