Chapter 442: The Phoenix Of Solara (2)
The three remaining guards froze for the briefest heartbeat, their eyes darting to the corpse of their fallen comrade sprawled at their feet. No words passed their lips, but their breaths came harsher, their posture taut with a sharp realization—they were not crossing blades with a common intruder, nor even an average warrior. This woman before them, wreathed in firelight and carrying herself with an almost terrifying calm, was a predator, and they were prey that had yet to understand how the hunt would end.
Their formation shifted. Gone was the reckless overconfidence, the brutish attempt to overwhelm her with sheer numbers. Now, their stance tightened, steps measuring, blades lowering like fangs prepared to strike in calculated rhythm. They would not rush her again. They would test, probe, and strike in unison with precision meant to box her in and exploit her every movement.
But Serah’s lips curved into the faintest of smirks. This was exactly what she had waited for. She had orchestrated the tempo of the fight, peeled away their confidence, driven them into the inevitable shift. Her perception burned through every subtle twitch of muscle, every flicker of their shadows. She knew before they did how they would adapt, and her strategy had already been written.
The first moved in with deceptive patience, his blade cutting at an oblique angle, neither too fast nor too slow—an attempt to bait her defense. The second circled in the opposite direction, his weapon held high, ready to punish the moment she committed to a block. The third, the shortest yet most dangerous, hung back, his myst already whispering with black sparks, biding his time for the perfect strike to catch her mid-motion.
Serah didn’t meet them head-on. She let them think she was straining under the pressure, her footwork narrowing, her blade angled down defensively. Her breathing slowed, her eyes narrowed, every ounce of her aura thrumming with focus. And then—when their blades finally came forward—she exploded.
Her sword whipped up in a brutal, decisive arc, catching the baited strike not with hesitation but with raw force, steel sparking as she pushed his blade wide. Her movement rolled seamlessly into a pivot, her heel carving fire across the stone as she spun low. Her boot swept the second man’s leg clean out from under him with a resounding crack, his balance ripped away as his weapon flailed above him.
Before the first could recover from her redirection, Serah’s sword shot like lightning. The edge tore across his midsection with a diagonal slash that ripped steel and flesh alike, flame bursting from the wound in a spray of burning embers. He screamed, staggering backward with blood painting the chamber walls, but Serah was already gone—already flowing into her next strike.
The downed man tried to rise, fury flashing in his eyes as he swung wildly from his knee. Serah’s blade answered with merciless elegance, plunging downward through his collarbone and into his chest. A spray of blood erupted as she ripped it free, and with a twist of her wrist, she slashed his throat in a single, fluid motion. His gurgled cry died instantly, his body slumping lifeless against the stone floor.
The chamber rang with the brutality of her art, the firelight dancing across the slick crimson now staining the ground. Yet even as she dispatched the second, the shortest of the guards made his move. His timing had been perfect—he had waited for her to be occupied, to be buried in the motion of her kill. Shadows surged around his hand, coalescing into a condensed spear of dark myst that screamed with lethal intent as he thrust it toward her unguarded side.
Serah felt it. The hairs on her neck prickled, her senses flashing like lightning through her mind. She twisted violently, ripping her sword from the dying man’s chest and hurling his body sideways. The corpse struck the incoming blast head-on, absorbing the brunt as the dark magic detonated. Flesh and armor were obliterated in a grotesque spray, the shockwave rattling the chamber walls, but Serah was already moving through the smoke.
She appeared before the shortest man, who had been staggered by his own explosion. Her blade came down in a merciless arc meant to cleaverl the from his hip to shoulder. However, with his quick reflexes, the guard was able to dodge the attack by flipping a few paces back and landed in a crouch.
There was a brief silence between the fighers which them realized their surroundings once more.
Two more guards had fallen, butchered with an elegance that bordered on artistry. The chamber reeked of blood and burnt flesh, the stone slick beneath Serah’s boots. She exhaled sharply, strands of her fiery hair clinging to her cheek as her eyes lifted to the last guard.
The shortest guard, the seven-star mage, stood trembling—not in fear, but in fury. His comrades lay in pieces all across the ground, and the knowledge that he had failed to prevent their deaths ignited something savage in him. His aura surged outward, shadows writhing like serpents as his dark myst swelled, no longer restrained. The chamber vibrated with the force of it, stone dust raining down from the ceiling as black lightning crackled across his form. His myst license scale shattered its limit, and his power roared into full release.
Serah’s stance shifted, her blade lowering slightly, her shoulders squaring. Her breathing steadied, and her heartbeat slowed. And then—her flames erupted. They flared not in scattered bursts, but in a torrent that enveloped her entirely. Fire coiled up her limbs, spread across her back, and unfurled outward in the shape of vast wings. The chamber lit like dawn as she stood bathed in incandescent heat, her figure transformed into the living visage of a phoenix reborn.
Her eyes locked with his, burning with an unshakable calm, her aura a razor’s edge of flame and resolve.
The seven-star mage’s roar cracked through the chamber like thunder, and the very air seemed to shudder beneath the surge of his power. His short frame no longer appeared small; his dark myst writhed outward in serpentine coils, lashing the floor and walls in streaks of black lightning. His shadow doubled, then tripled, writhing around him like a swarm of demons eager for slaughter. His eyes glowed an abyssal red, locking onto Serah with a predator’s hunger.
Serah remained calm, fire blooming around her like a living mantle. Her hair whipped violently from the force of his aura, the phoenix wings of flame arching wide behind her, each feather shimmering with incandescent heat. Her blade pulsed with fire, its edge radiating so fiercely it seemed the air warped in waves around it.
The man struck first. He lunged with blistering speed, his palm coated in black lightning, thrusting forward like a spear. The ground cracked beneath his footstep, stone splintering as his condensed myst shot forth in a jagged beam. Serah moved just as quickly, pivoting on her heel, wings of flame flaring as she sidestepped. The beam scorched past, ripping through the vault wall and leaving a smoldering crater in the stone.
Before she could counter, he was already upon her. His blade, woven of shadows and serrated with crackling dark energy, came cleaving down in a savage arc. Serah raised her sword, steel meeting shadow with a violent shockwave that rattled the chamber. Sparks and embers burst outward, her flame hissing against his darkness. He pressed hard, his strength undeniable, pushing her back with every ounce of force in his short but compact frame.
Serah yielded a step, then another, letting him believe he had her on the defensive. He snarled, shadows coiling tighter, and swept low, his blade cutting for her knees. She sprang over it in a graceful arc, twisting midair as her sword descended, flame screaming in a downward crescent. But the mage met her blow with shocking agility, his off-hand flaring with myst to conjure a barrier of writhing shadows that absorbed the strike. He countered instantly, his elbow snapping upward, black lightning bursting from his strike like a cannon.
It caught her mid-spin, the blast slamming into her guard and throwing her against the far wall. Stone cracked beneath her boots as she landed, flame scattering around her like shards of molten glass. For a moment, he smirked, chest heaving with the thrill of battle.
But Serah’s eyes never wavered. She exhaled slowly, a small smile touching her lips. She allowed him to press her, allowed him to believe the fight had tilted. Every strike, every step, every surge of myst—she was studying him. Mapping his rhythm. Breaking him down.
The mage lunged again, his speed dizzying, blade a flurry of black arcs that hissed through the air like snakes. Serah met him stroke for stroke, fire clashing against shadow in bursts of violent light. His attacks came from above, below, and the sides, forcing her guard tighter, her footwork sharper. He pressed, pressed, pressed—until he forced her once more to the wall, blade poised to cut her down.
And then Serah’s flames flared brighter, her smile sharpening into something cold.
She moved differently now. No longer reactive, no longer yielding. She cut through his rhythm with surgical precision. His overhead slash came, and she shifted just enough to let the blade graze her hair—then drove her boot into his chest with such force he staggered back, the air leaving his lungs in a guttural grunt.
Before he could recover, she surged forward. Her sword traced a vertical line of flame that forced him to block, his shadows straining against the sheer heat. She didn’t give him a heartbeat’s breath. Her blade snapped sideways, hammering against his guard again and again, each strike ringing like a war bell. Sparks and fire tore across the vault as she drove him back, her phoenix wings flaring wide with each motion.
He swung low, desperate to regain ground, but Serah anticipated it—the same cut he had thrown before. Her blade met it, locking his weapon down, and with her free hand she unleashed a burst of flame into his chest. He flew back, rolling across the stone with smoke rising from his armor.
He snarled, furious, forcing himself to his feet, black lightning screaming around him. He charged recklessly now, myst roaring, blade raised high in a brutal downward strike meant to split her in two. Serah’s eyes glinted. She stepped into the arc, too close for his strike to land, her body twisting past him. Her sword carved across his ribs, the blade sliding beneath his guard and erupting flame through his side.
He roared, stumbling, but Serah didn’t stop. Her momentum flowed like water—she spun low, slashing through his thigh, then rose with a vicious upward cut that tore across his torso. His body burned where her blade touched, flames eating into him like a predator devouring prey.
He swung wildly, one last desperate attempt, but Serah’s movements had already eclipsed his. She sidestepped, her sword blazing as it drove straight through his chest. The point burst from his back in a pillar of flame, and his scream was swallowed in fire. She twisted the blade, pulling it free in a shower of embers as his body collapsed onto the stone floor.
For a moment, the chamber was silent save for his ragged breaths. He lay dying, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes wide with disbelief. And then realization dawned. His lips trembled, his gaze tracing the woman standing over him, firelight haloing her form, phoenix wings arching in radiant majesty.
"The... Princess..." he rasped, voice broken, "Serah... Magna... the Phoenix... of Solara..."
His final breath left him in a rattling sigh, and his body stilled, the flames consuming his corpse until only ash and charred armor remained.
Serah stood tall in the silence, her blade dripping with fire and blood, her aura fierce and unbroken. She turned slowly, her eyes cutting toward the vault’s interior.
There, trembling behind a mountain of coin bags and gilded chests, peeking with wide, horrified eyes, was the man she and her team had hunted for nearly two months. His hands shook as he clutched the riches that could no longer protect him, his face pale with terror.
Vaelen Drosmir. The master of this underground fortress. The host of the auction hall.
The man Serah had come for.