Twin-Faced Tower Izermar: Bitter Struggle

The sun was setting, its dappled light filtering through gaps in the branches and falling upon that figure.

It was not human, but something inhuman—more precisely, a puppet. Long, curved blades extended from its arms, each nearly a meter long. Treated with a matte finish, they reflected not the slightest glimmer of light, like a pitch-black abyss.

It had been this very blade that had pierced Mao's chest earlier, killing him cleanly and efficiently.

Its other arm was an ordinary one, though slender blades slowly emerged from between its moving fingers.

It suddenly swung the curved blade on its arm. Elements gathered upon it, forming a massive Wind Blade that slashed toward where El-Melloi II and Mick were hiding.

"Looks like we've been spotted. What rotten luck."

Mick shouted as he sprang out from the bushes, forming a seal with his fingertips. It was a tantric Buddhist hand sign originating from Asia.

Boom—!

A brutal roar echoed through the woods as even more wind gathered, forming a tangible wall of wind before him. El-Melloi II took the opportunity to roll behind Mick.

This was not the time to worry about appearances. Rolling looked rather undignified, but it was undeniably effective.

"Ora ora ora—!"

Clang clang clang—

Mick had no time to think any further and could only fight back, swinging his arms to block the puppet's slashes. A pair of inconspicuous bracers covered his wrists, just enough to serve as small shields.

Mick muttered to himself, staring fixedly at the puppet before him without making any rash moves.

Mick's mind raced, but the puppet clearly had no intention of holding back just because he was thinking. Rising in an incredibly difficult posture, it displayed unimaginable flexibility before charging at Mick once more, blades flashing.

The occasional strike that slipped through