Infernal Blade – Part 08
The swirling wind around Cecily dissipated, and the vortex—now a miniature typhoon—exploded outward. From its center, a rapier shot forth. Cecily darted toward it, her footwork fluid as she slipped through the remnants of the gust. In one swift motion, she was beside Aria, her right hand catching the hilt mid-air. With the momentum of her stride, she swung the blade in a graceful arc. The rapier cut through the air, slicing through the wind itself. The crowd’s murmurs turned into gasps of awe.
Cecily raised the rapier high for all to see before bringing it down into a ready stance in front of her chest.
Rapiers are thrusting weapons, designed for pinpoint strikes, not sweeping cuts. Cecily recalled her training with the saber, a weapon capable of both slashing and thrusting.
She shifted her right side forward, holding the rapier steady in front of her chest. As she advanced her right foot, she thrust the sword straight ahead, keeping the blade parallel to the ground. Her right arm strained and creaked with the effort.
The rapier’s tip pierced the air, cutting through it like a spear. It seemed as if Cecily herself had transformed into an arrow, slicing through the wind, creating fresh currents in its wake.
The blade stopped just shy of the announcer’s nose, and a second later, his hair fluttered upward. That single, flawless strike was enough to captivate the audience. The quiet crowd erupted into wild cheers. The announcer, momentarily frozen, scrambled to resume his speech about Aria, the Infernal Blade.
“Not only can a human become a sword…”
On cue, a man from backstage appeared, lugging a thick iron plate. He held it from the edges and positioned it to his side.
Cecily took a deep breath and stared fixedly at the center of the iron plate, narrowing her focus on that single point. She pushed the audience, the stage, the host, the backstage crew, and even Luke outside her awareness. There were only Cecily, Aria, and the iron plate. Nothing more.
“I’m counting on you, Aria.”
“Leave it to me,” Aria seemed to reply as a breeze gently stirred Cecily’s hair. That was the signal. As before, she exhaled and thrust the rapier forward. This time, the blade shot toward the center of the iron plate, cloaked in a swirling, silvery wind that left a spiraling vortex in its trail.
The sharp tip collided with the iron, and the wind bore into the metal. Sparks flew from the friction. The impact was so intense that the man couldn’t hold onto the plate. It flung from his grasp, clattering onto the stage. The audience stirred.
When the announcer cautiously lifted it, he discovered a small, clean hole punched straight through.
Cecily swung her rapier sideways, the blade catching the light. Not a single scratch marred its surface.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd.
“As you can see, this Infernal Blade generates wind!” the announcer explained.
Cecily exhaled in quiet relief. It went well.
The moment she relaxed, sweat poured from her, and her legs nearly gave out beneath her. A cool breeze brushed against her cheek, showing appreciation for her efforts.
Cecily smiled softly, whispering, “Thank you, Aria.”
Now, all that was left was for the bidding to begin and the outcome to unfold as planned. Her part was done. She glanced up, spotting Luke in the distance, far back in the crowd. Next to him, Lisa was bouncing up and down, waving both arms wildly. Cecily gave a small wave in return.
And then, she saw him. A man.
He stood much closer to the stage than Luke and Lisa, right in the middle of the crowd, being jostled by the flow of people. Cecily recognized him.
“Why… Why am I the only one punished? Why is there no salvation for me?”
A former Demon Pact user and a homeless man hounded by the city.
His eyes, unnaturally wide, were locked in their direction.
At her? No. He was staring at Aria. His gaze was fixated on the Infernal Blade.
Muttering under his breath, he slowly raised his left hand high. His pinky, ring, and middle fingers were missing. Only his index finger and thumb remained.
Cecily’s mind raced, everything clicking into place. Instinctively, she screamed—a raw, guttural shout.
“Stooop!”
“Infernal Blade. Infernal Blade. Infernal Blade.”
The words echoed in his mind.
“I want it. I want it. I want it.”
An illusory desire, unnoticed by the man himself. His mind was consumed by a compulsive obsession, and he moved solely under its control.
“I want the Infernal Blade. I want the Infernal Blade.”
People bumped into him, muttering curses. He didn’t care. Others turned to stare, wrinkling their noses at the foul odor. He didn’t care. A concerned stranger asked if he was all right. He didn’t care. Nothing else mattered.
Only the Infernal Blade mattered. He wanted it. He needed it.
On the distant stage, a woman wielded a sword. A man in flashy clothes kept shouting about the Infernal Blade.
That was it. That was it.
“I found it.”
Found it… found it!
His hand rose higher as he whispered words of death. His desire burned in him—the Infernal Blade! The Infernal Blade!
“Stooop!”
Too late! Too late!
A pillar of fire roared into the sky, consuming everything around it.
The blaze, infernal and relentless, seemed as though it had risen from the depths of hell itself. It swallowed people whole, licking at their bodies, incinerating them to ash in seconds. Those caught on the edges had parts of them obliterated, their deaths instant.
A single, towering column of flame erupted in the heart of the square, spreading chaos with terrifying ease. Shouts and screams and cries filled the air as people scattered in all directions. They ran outward like a ripple on a pond, trampling anyone who stumbled in their path. No one stopped to help the fallen women or children. Their only thought was escape. None heeded the shouts of the Knight Guards calling for order.
Yet, within the flames, one man stood untouched. His clothes had been burned to nothing, leaving him bare. The vagrant. He was so emaciated as to seem only skin and bones. He lifted his left arm in the raging fire.
Four of his fingers were missing. The pinky, ring, middle—and even the index finger—were gone.
As the flames roared, the pillar of fire began to contract, but this didn’t mark the end of the inferno. Instead, the fire wrapped itself around the man’s body like armor, clinging to his skin. Sparks flew, igniting the grass on his feet, and the fiery soles of his feet melted the stone below. Flames erupted from his empty eye sockets.
The man had become a demon. The pact was sealed.
Flames licked the inside of his open mouth. As he spoke, embers spilled from his lips.
With a sweep of his left arm, the fire demon unleashed a blade of flame that slashed toward the fleeing crowd. Those who looked back, feeling the intense heat, scrunched their faces up in horror.
But just before the fiery blade could reach them, it collided with an invisible wall and dissipated.
The Knight Guards had encircled the demon. Clad in armor, they held pieces of jewel steels in both hands, striking them together like flint, chanting prayers. The demon unleashed another fiery attack with his right arm, only to be blocked by the invisible barrier.
The guards were using a Prayer Pact. Their jewel steel reacted with other jewel steels of the same type to create an invisible barrier that nullified the demon’s elemental attacks. It had been designed specifically for combating such threats.
“Hold the Prayer Pact! No one lets up!” shouted Hannibal Quasar, Captain of the Third District Knight Guard. “We can’t afford any more casualties, and don’t forget about the evacuation!” Behind him, guards assisted people while teams at the exits ushered the crowd to safety.
This wasn’t unexpected. Every scenario—from the whole fair to the auction itself—had been planned for, and countermeasures were ready. Though lives had already been lost to the Demon Pact, the swift containment was a result of careful preparation.
The fire demon unleashed waves of heat, and the knights countered with their Prayer Pact. Though the guards were managing to contain the damage, they were drenched in sweat from the intense heat, and cold sweat trickled down their backs. This was their first encounter with a Demon Pact, their first battle against an enemy cloaked in flames. The thought that a single misstep in timing could lead to instant incineration, coupled with the oppressive heat, quickly drained their energy.
Hannibal studied the knights, a ferocious smile spreading across his face. He pushed through his men and stepped inside the encirclement.
“Wh-What are you doing, Captain?!”
“Exactly what we discussed.” He brushed the guard aside. “We’ve surrounded it with the Prayer Pact, trapped it. Now, I’ll deal with it myself.”
He cracked his knuckles.
“It’s been a while since I’ve fought a demon. A possession type, no less. Reminds me of the war. I know you feel the same,” Hannibal said to the flame-clad demon. “You’re a relic of the Valbanill War, aren’t you? So am I. As fellow veterans, let’s play nice, yeah?”
The demon said nothing, only raised his mutilated left hand toward Hannibal. There was only the thumb left on it.
“…”
The demon’s whispers were indecipherable to the others, but Hannibal, who understood their meaning, stared wide-eyed.
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