The Emperor’s Angel of Death

“Let me see how you've improved over the years.→”

In the training room of the Monastery Fortress, reserved for Sorshyan's personal use, Sevatar, clad in a suit of dark blue armor, slowly walked to the weapon rack, picking up a training glaive that simulated the weight and length of a chain glaive.

But Sorshyan didn't immediately agree, instead looking at Sevatar, then at Khayon sitting on a chair not far away, and Saul leaning against the wall.

After a light sigh, he said:

“Is that all you have to say to me?”

Sevatar hefted the training glaive in his hand, then rotated his wrist, a characteristic mocking smile reappearing on his face.

“If I had to say something more, I'd ask if you've been playing with women so much that your legs have gone weak.”

Sorshyan pursed his lips, turned, and walked towards the weapons, taking a training glaive of the same weight and length.

Without further words, they exchanged glances for a moment, then charged at each other simultaneously.

The whistling sound of weapons being swung filled the air, like the sound of a cheetah sprinting. Both were experienced warriors, their attacks swift and fierce, the whirlwind-like offensives dazzling to the eye.

In the blink of an eye, a crisp sound rang out as the two weapons collided violently, sparks flying. What followed was both men retreating almost simultaneously, carefully observing each other's every move, preparing to strike again.

Sevatar was wearing armor, but Sorshyan was not. Even this single clash of strength made Sevatar raise an eyebrow.→

Suddenly, he rushed towards Sorshyan, then, leaning his body to the right, he raised his weapon and swept it to the left, aiming straight for Sorshyan's lower body. But Sorshyan dodged with astonishing speed, and even faster, he dashed towards his opponent, his weapon sweeping towards Sevatar's chest, only to be parried away in time.

The two men locked in battle seemed to have turned into a blazing furnace, the entire space filled with ear-piercing metallic sounds, with sparks flying from time to time.

Sorshyan's body was like a sturdy warhorse, steadily and powerfully assaulting his opponent. Sevatar remained as agile and swift as a cat, the weapon in his hand as treacherous and deadly as a viper in the shadows.

If there was an advantage to be named, Sorshyan was likely superior in strength and speed, but Sevatar was his half-teacher, having taught him long-weapon combat skills. Therefore, Sevatar knew Sorshyan's moves very well, so he seemed prescient in every dangerous moment and could defuse them in time.

However, in the contest of skill and strength, Sevatar knew very well who would have the last laugh. So, after a feint that missed Sorshyan's head on the right, he suddenly launched an even more cunning attack, bending over and crouching slightly, then pointing his weapon straight at Sorshyan's chest and abdomen.

Under normal circumstances, even the strongest champion of the Chapter, Robin, would never be able to avoid this.

But Sorshyan flashed, twisting his waist to avoid it. As his opponent attempted a sweep, the two weapons crossed in the air, emitting a crisp collision sound.

As Sevatar retreated again after failing to strike.

Sorshyan suddenly shouted:

“Here it comes!”

His blade flashed like lightning towards his opponent's left shoulder. Sevatar also slightly tilted his body, dodging this fatal attack.

At his speed, he exited Sorshyan's attack range in two breaths, but suddenly—

With a bang, Sorshyan's weapon smashed into his chest, the enormous force nearly knocking Sevatar over. He staggered back a dozen steps before stopping, while a current of electricity ran through Sevatar's armor. Although he didn't feel anything, it stunned him in place.

The Raven Prince looked down at the spot on his chest where he had just been hit by his opponent's "javelin," where there was a small scorch mark and a shallow pit. He then looked at the training weapon that had fallen to the ground, still flashing with electric arcs and broken in two, and said somewhat awkwardly:

“I don't seem to have taught you that.”

Sorshyan spread his hands.

“Doesn't this prove you taught well?”

Hearing this, Sevatar shook his head and smiled helplessly. Khayon and Saul not far away also laughed. Sorshyan chuckled, opened his arms, and walked over.

Sevatar threw away his weapon and greeted his opponent, giving Sorshyan, who was now much taller than him, a symbolic hug.

“Welcome back, Sev.”

When the two separated, Khayon and Saul also came over, and Sorshyan hugged them in turn.

“Khayon, you too.”

“Instructor Saul, the warriors have asked me many times where you've gone.”

When separating from Sorshyan, Saul blurted out.

“Is that all you wanted to say to us?”

Sorshyan was silent for a moment, then slowly said:

“No matter what, I will always be grateful for how much you have helped me and the Chapter in the past. I won't ask you anything, because I know it will embarrass you. I just hope that if possible, you might be able to tell me something.”

As he spoke, he raised his right hand, but then put it down again.

“I trust my own judgment. Khayon, Instructor Saul, Sevatar, you are well, saying you are good people might be a bit cliché, but I believe you are still the person I knew, someone with emotion and sentiment.”

Sevatar sighed softly, rubbed his chin, and looked left and right at the two people beside him, before saying:

“I am indeed surprised.”

As he spoke, he looked at Sorshyan.

“I originally thought you would scold us as liars and impatiently try to get something out of our mouths as if interrogating a prisoner, but now it seems you don't care so much about these things.”

“Frankly, I have been angry, suspicious, and confused. After all, if a person's life is just a play on someone else's screen, it would be too ridiculous, being treated as a commodity on display, living in a world arranged by others, and being exposed naked in front of others.”

“Sorshyan, perhaps this is a kind of protection you don't understand.”

“Ah, Sev, I understand. Life is like that, or rather, everyone is like that. We step onto a stage we didn't choose, and perform a script we didn't choose. But Sev, if one day you find yourself in a beautiful dream woven by others, would you pierce that blue sky? Or, to put it another way, if you found out that everything Konrad Curze experienced in the past was arranged by others, that he was just walking mindlessly on a stage he didn't even realize he was on, would you try to wake him up? Yes, you definitely would, because humans have never been a species that can convince themselves to just muddle along.”

Sevatar pursed his lips, his expression somewhat helpless and somewhat gratified, and finally just said:

“Sorshyan, you have really grown up a lot, not just physically.”

“After all, so many years have passed.”

“Do you really have nothing you want to ask me?”

Sorshyan shook his head, but then thought for a while and changed his mind:

“If possible, I hope you can pass on a message to the person behind the scenes. I have stepped off the stage, but that doesn't mean I want to end this play. I will take the stage at a time I deem appropriate, but before that, I will carefully read the script, because only actors who have read the script can play their roles well. In the process, I hope the directors and writers don't interfere with me too much. I will respect the script, but that doesn't mean I won't offer suggestions. Also, don't go looking for trouble with Veronika or Villettes. Let the matter with Russ be over, and don't let there be a second time. This is my bottom line. Although I'm just a small actor and may not be able to play a play well, I have the ability to mess it up.”

Sevatar, with his arms crossed, said nothing, just snorted softly, and turned to walk towards the exit.

“I have something to talk to Talos about. You guys go ahead and do what you need to do.”