Chapter 239: Pearl Duel III

Steam drifted between them, thick and silent. The courtyard smelled of salt and blood.The Tidewarden’s trident hung low, his arms trembling slightly from the shock of the impact. The faint line across his chest widened, a slow stream of crimson tracing down the curve of his armor. He stared at Trafalgar — disbelief flashing for the first time in his eyes.

Trafalgar hadn’t moved an inch. His blade was lowered, point resting against the marble, his breathing steady. The faint grin from before lingered on his lips, quiet and unreadable.

The guard exhaled hard, breaking the silence. Water gathered around his feet again, swirling tighter — instinct rather than control. He gripped his trident with both hands and lunged.

The weapon darted forward.

Trafalgar shifted. A single movement — left foot sliding half a step, upper body turning just enough to let the first thrust slip past his ribs. His eyes followed the shaft of the weapon, tracking every twitch, every ripple in the air.

The Tidewarden pulled back, swinging horizontally this time. Trafalgar ducked beneath the arc, the blade of Maledicta rising with the motion to meet the follow-through. The clash sent a burst of mist into the air.

Each strike came faster. The guard had lost his composure — the once-perfect rhythm replaced by raw aggression.

Trafalgar met every blow with calm precision. A small shift of his weight here, a turn of the wrist there — minimal movements that bled efficiency. The trident’s reach no longer pressed him; it was predictable.

He caught the haft of the weapon with his left hand, twisted, and drove his knee into the guard’s abdomen. The man staggered back, gasping.

Trafalgar didn’t chase. He simply straightened, rolling his shoulders once. His eyes gleamed under the wavering light.

The Tidewarden roared and charged again, trident raised high — but Trafalgar was already gone.

A faint ripple of air marked where he had been standing a heartbeat before. [Severance Step]. His body blurred, reappearing a few meters to the right in a flash of dark motion. The guard swung toward the sound — too late.

A black slash bit across his thigh.

Before the blood even hit the ground, Trafalgar vanished again. Another [Severance Step] — his silhouette flickered behind the Tidewarden this time. The trident whipped around in a desperate parry, but the clash was weaker, less certain.

Maledicta’s edge scraped down the weapon’s haft, cutting through droplets and steel alike. Sparks and water burst out in the same instant.

Trafalgar moved again — faster, closer, unrelenting. Third [Severance Step]. He appeared at the guard’s flank, swinging upward in a sharp diagonal. The man blocked, barely, the trident shaking from the impact. His footing cracked the marble beneath him.

The rhythm was gone now. Trafalgar was dictating the flow. Each movement was seamless — appearing, striking, fading, appearing again — like a shadow stitched to a storm.

The Tidewarden raised his weapon desperately to thrust forward, but Trafalgar’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and cold.

"Fall."

Maledicta came down in a brutal overhead arc — [Earthsplitter]. The ground fractured under the blow, marble shattering as a shockwave exploded outward. The trident bent from the pressure; the guard’s knees buckled. The world itself seemed to shake.

The moment the man staggered, Trafalgar was already in motion again. His aura darkened, mana pulsing violently.

The dark air vibrated as Maledicta rose again, its edge humming low with restrained violence — [Morgain’s Requiem].

Five cuts flashed through the mist in perfect rhythm.

The first sliced across the guard’s left shoulder, spinning him half a step. The second mirrored it, carving deep into the right. The third and fourth struck low, across both knees — precise enough to drop a giant. The fifth came straight down the center of his chest, splitting the air with a sound like tearing silk.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the delayed shock caught up — lines of black light flared across the Tidewarden’s armor before blood erupted outward, staining the broken marble.

He staggered, trident lowering, eyes wide in disbelief. Steam hissed around him; the water that once obeyed his will now lay still.

Trafalgar stood a few steps away, motionless, the faint afterglow of the skill still rippling through the air. His breathing was steady, his gaze cold.

The guard tried to lift his weapon again — but his body no longer answered.

The Tidewarden swayed where he stood, blood dripping from the five precise wounds that crisscrossed his body. His trident hung loosely at his side, the light in his eyes flickering between defiance and fear.

Trafalgar exhaled through his nose, lowering his stance. His boots splashed softly against the thin layer of water spreading over the marble. The battle had stripped the world to silence, just the sound of his heartbeat and the faint tremor of power humming through Maledicta.

The Tidewarden gritted his teeth and lifted his weapon one last time, dragging it up with trembling arms. "I... won’t fall... to a child."

Trafalgar didn’t answer. He took a single step forward, the water around him recoiling like it feared to touch him. Shadows rippled across the ground.

Then, his sword rose. The faint distortion of mana bent the air around the blade.

[Morgain’s Final Crescent]

A single slash — silent, clean, absolute. The world went black for half a breath, then white.

The trident split in two. A thin red line traced the Tidewarden’s neck before his head slid from his shoulders, the motion too smooth to seem real.

For an instant — a fraction of life that refused to fade — his mind still clung to the world. ’That’s... my body?’ The thought echoed, detached, numb. He saw his own armor collapsing in slow motion, the water reflecting his face one last time before everything went dark.

His body stood for a heartbeat longer before falling forward, sending a ripple through the shallow water.

Zafira didn’t move. Her eyes followed the arc of the strike, her breath trembling as the echo of it still lingered. Beside her, the small girl’s hands clutched her clothes tightly, clearly shaking.

Without a word, Zafira knelt, placing one gentle hand over the child’s eyes before she could see the head hit the ground.

"Don’t look," she whispered softly.

The hum of Maledicta faded into Trafalgar’s inventory, and with it, the heavy pulse of battle vanished. The black armor that cloaked him dissolved a moment later, fragments of shadow peeling away from his form before disappearing entirely.

He stood in silence, soaked, unarmored, and utterly calm. The only sound left was the faint echo of dripping water and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Nyssara stepped forward, her robes dragging softly against the wet marble. Even now, her expression remained composed — regal, unreadable. The scent of salt and ozone lingered around her.

"Well," she said, voice smooth but carrying an edge. "I hope nothing unpleasant happens to you tomorrow, Trafalgar du Morgain. And... my apologies for this incident. I suppose I should discipline my soldiers more carefully." Her eyes shifted slightly toward the fallen guard before returning to him. "I also hope your family won’t take offense — and yours as well, Zafira du Zar’khael."

It was strange to see a matriarch of one of the Eight Great Families speak so evenly — not proud, not humble, simply pragmatic. Between houses of that scale, open conflict was dangerous; this was far from the first time something like this had happened in another territory. Normally, Nyssara would have executed her man without a word. But tonight, Trafalgar had chosen to handle it himself.

Trafalgar gave a brief nod, his tone quiet. "Understood."

He didn’t apologize — he had no reason to. The man brought this on himself.

’Another dead body. He deserved it. Hopefully tomorrow stays quiet... I’ll ask Cynthia and Barth to take the girl to the orphanage. They won’t refuse.’

Lyren, who had remained silent until now, finally exhaled, his expression halfway between respect and disbelief. "You should wash up before heading back, Trafalgar. The students will still be in the hall."

Trafalgar glanced at him, then at the streaks of blood and dust across his clothes. "Good idea."

He accepted the offer with a simple nod.

Zafira took the girl’s hand gently; the child still clung to her, eyes downcast. They both bowed politely to Nyssara and Lyren before leaving.

Trafalgar followed behind, his steps quiet, the marble echoing under his boots. No words were spoken — there was nothing left to say.

They exited the hall, the door closing softly behind them, leaving the stillness of the battlefield behind.

It was the following day. The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted the room in soft gold, quiet and still — a calm that felt foreign after the night before.

Trafalgar sat alone, leaning back against the headboard. His ribs still ached faintly beneath the bandages. ’Barth and Xavier are with Cynthia and the girl... good. At least she’s safe now.’

He glanced toward the faint, hovering projection of his inventory, the sealed icon pulsing with a dim, restless light.

’A new day, a new thing. I guess it’s time to test the armor.’

His hand tightened slightly. The air around him began to stir.