Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

Adeia continued regarding Kieran with her mix of emotions. 

She recognized the gleam in his eyes for what it was — the desire to clash swords. However, the Followers of War didn't clash weapons for the sake of amusement. To touch blades with an enemy meant intentionally putting one's life on the line.

Was his life something Kieran was willing to proffer? No, absolutely not. 

Yet, he still wished to cross blades with Adeia. Her style hid enticing secrets and simplistic forms he wanted to learn and implant into his mind.

Though his old memories remained in a slowly dissipating fog, it had no bearing on his ability to foster new memories. On the contrary, the haze placed importance on Kieran's ability to create and acquire insightful knowledge, in large part bolstering the Mystic Gate's impact.

Rhaenys swept a gaze of interrogation over the contemplative Adeia.

"You're too keen on rules and precepts. Though they maintain order, they limit your flexibility if you never bend them. Fight the boy… man, whatever he is. I can see deep in your gaze that you want to."

Adeia pursed her lips, giving Rhaenys a look of ridicule. She slighted the older woman in her mind but didn't deign to voice those words.

"And you would desecrate the rules like that, Maven of the Red Death? The same rules you were born into?"

Rhaenys chuckled, more melodious than her severe visage suggested.

"Ah, girl. You know precious little. Bending the rules is not a desecration. It is a sign of wisdom. To act according to choice while remaining in the purview of the rules is a show of refinement. You would do well to remember that it is not the weakest that breaks first but the rigid. Against a force too strong, you shatter."

Rhaenys was usually a woman of few words, but she took the time to impart life lessons to her lesser. 

From the emotions banked by her steely gaze, her appreciation of Adeia was evident. Perhaps she saw much of her younger self in this incipient war goddess and spoke from poignant experience.

Adeia's expression shifted between a variety so large a war was likely being fought in her mind. Did she remain rigid in her beliefs, or did she learn the value of flexibility, giving her actions a svelte taste?

The conflict in her eyes proved she could not muster an answer.

Eventually, she shook her head, retreating a step and retracting her hand from Kieran's blade.

"I can't do it. I can't tarnish my beliefs for the sake of fighting a good fight. Many perilous wars will be waged, and my blade will have its fill then. Sleep, Deidamia."

She patted the majestic odachi forged of pristine black metal and spun. The restless aura of death coming from the weapon petered out as quickly as it was roused.

'…What? No way. Come on…'

Kieran's previously delighted gaze filled with grief.

A melancholic tide swept through his mind until the maddening voices returned in full effect, feeding off the poignancy of his current state.

"Why must you care for her wishes? You are supreme. You are superior. Have what you want if not by willingness… by force!"

"Attack! Rend her lowly blade apart and emerge anew. Drink her blood and swallow her soul."

As Kieran basked in the compelling wisdom of the frenzied voices, he gradually lowered his blade and shifted it to a position ripe for attack. Then, he lurched, took a dynamic step to brace himself, and afterward exploded with a physical might that sent his robust body reeling forward.

His world blurred alongside his frightening speed, but his mind kept up, retaining a crisp understanding of his surroundings. At the height of his movement, when his body aligned with Adeia's shoulder, he careened away from her and swept his crimson blade up in a clean arc, aimed directly at the retreating Adeia's nape.

If she did not react, her head would be rent from her body. But Kieran saw her reaction and took it in with cold, enlightening dread. Should he continue with this attack, it would be his life that would be in danger.

Deidamia, fastened snugly to her waist, would gladly drink its fill of his blood. But, if that was the only way to get her to draw her blade…

'So be it. Flame, you've got me, right?'

The Flame answered back in mischievous delight.

"Of course, my child. I didn't take you to be so naughty, but we love ourselves a good plate of mayhem. Serve it piping hot… and gruesome, please."

With the Flame's assurance, Kieran let his blade sweep true, coming within centimeters of the ravishing war goddess's nape. But something began to feel terribly wrong. 

Sure his perception was incredibly high, giving him acute awareness of the happenings of the world around him, but this sensation he felt was too slow — deceptively slow.

Like an illusion.

That's when Kieran realized he was moving as slow as he perceived it, its speed hampered by a gelatinous atmosphere — an atmosphere of crimson dread. 

All his sword had succeeded in doing was brushing against a few strands of Adeia's raven hair before being stopped completely. Then, a seemingly dainty hand fell on his left shoulder.

"You have heart, young man. Even if it's an extremely foolish and wild heart. Thank me for averting tragedy."

Kieran's lips curled into a displeased frown as Rhaenys' words flowed into his ear.

The gelatinous atmosphere dissipated, folding away and receding like a theater curtain being drawn. Then, everything returned to its normal pace, allowing Kieran to glimpse Adeia's fleeting, reproachful look. She looked disappointed and wistful, almost like she wanted his blade to land true and damage her to justify reprisal.

That would be grounds for crossing blades without compromising her beliefs. That also meant she wouldn't stop until her opponent had met their demise.

Which begged a question — what would give first? Adeia's talent for causing death, or the Flame's nonsensical ability to defy death?

"You see that look, young man? That is that gaze of a disciplined predator. Provoke it… and I'm inclined to completely disregard the pretense of your safety. After all, the young Daughter wasn't wrong when she said all hands would be needed in this upcoming fight."

Kieran wanted to grunt in reply, but what came out could barely be called a wet, sputtering choke. 

"Ah, you're dissatisfied? How about a change in opponent them? I happen to specialize in weapons forms of my own. You could… consider me a teacher of that young lady, though I guess I've lost all deference in her eyes."

Kieran's eyes glistened with renewed interest. He backed away to create space and ready himself, but when he looked for Rhaenys, he found she had vanished entirely from his perception.

'…What the?'

Within seconds of having that mental remark of disbelief, Rhaenys' voice wafted into his ear with the gentleness of a light spring breeze.

"Where are you looking, boy? Your senses are too sluggish. Barely at the threshold of a Master. But… your vitality betrays your youth."

Kieran spun promptly, instinctively reacting to her voice. 

A horizontal slash came, and he mustered a defense against it, catching the shocking strike. Its pressure cracked the inlaid stone beneath his feet and hurt his bone, but Kieran endured with gritted teeth.

To his dismay, however, a second slash trailed in the shadow of the first, borrowing from Rhaenys' twirling momentum.