A Message for Qian V

Brando slowly sheathed his sword. Rather than looking like a swordsman who had just fought on a battlefield, he resembled a homesick swordsman carefully sealing away his beloved blade. He passed Rovac and walked onward at an unhurried pace. With every step, another phantom overlapped with him, and each phantom seemed to wield a different sword technique: Eluin's Military Swordsmanship, infused with the cold ruthlessness of Madara Swordsmanship; at times, the broad, sweeping style of the Fanzan people; the White Night Sword of a Graysius Knight; and sometimes the swordsmanship of the Cruzian people—their ancient, pure Knight Swordsmanship. Yet Rovac had not seen any of them clearly.

The blow that struck him was the simplest sword strike of all—the one he had believed he had dodged. It cleaved heavily beneath his breastplate, and blood poured out. His water Elements had not even had time to exert their power before shattering completely. In that final moment, he saw countless silver Law Lines sweep across his front with his opponent's slow sheathing motion, carrying fragments of armor with them like countless glittering specks of light that slowly returned to dust.

Rovac opened and closed his mouth, as if trying to shout the words from his chest: "Superior-tier Elements... the Sword of Space!" But in the end, no sound came out. He dropped to both knees, then collapsed heavily onto the ground.

Brando lightly flicked the blood from his sword, turning it into countless rose-red beads that scattered into a crescent moon. The dust above the rubble was fading. He seemed to be walking upon smoke and clouds, the hem of his earl's coat fluttering in the biting wind between the mountains. He raised his head. The distance between him and the Imperial Earth Dragon Knights was exactly the length of a city