Haruze's Battle

"Haruze, tighten your grip on your sword. Think of your sister. You should fight not merely as a warrior, but as a man."

The Little Prince stood there, utterly lost. The elven witch spirit finally came to her senses. Lowering her head, she looked down at the tiny prey before her. Her beastlike instincts made the corners of her mouth curl into a cold sneer. Like a cat toying with a mouse, she slowly approached him, bent down, and slipped a slender arm around the Little Prince's neck. Then she reached into his clothes and felt downward for the Magic Crystal.

Haruze was scared stiff. His beautiful eyes widened, silver mist welling within them, while the elf's delicate nose drew in short breaths. Reason told him to aim for the opponent's soft lower abdomen and drive his sword in with all his strength, but the longsword in his hand felt heavier than a thousand pounds. His arm seemed frozen in place, and the swordsmanship he had learned appeared to have slipped from his mind, leaving nothing but a blank. His palm felt as though it held only a handful of sweat.

Moreover, the spirit was staring into his eyes through those pitch-black sockets. Dark Magic was best at corroding the human heart, and the elven witch spirit could easily sense the Little Prince's fear. A black crescent split open across her beautiful, snow-white face. She looked at him with a contemptuous sneer. Half of the spirit's body was already pressed against Prince Haruze's. She deliberately pressed her soft hemispheres against his cheek, while her slender arms hung behind Haruze's neck like a spider's legs. Her sharp fingers were almost touching the Magic Crystal.

But her hunger for magic naturally went far beyond that tiny Magic Crystal. In her eyes, the