Mulan had no time to wonder in shock why this sword had appeared in his hand. He dared not let his attention stray for even a moment. The attacker before him was more than capable of killing him.
The silver cane sword struck the attacker's blade, throwing visible sparks into the night. Tremendous force pressed down through the other blade, making Mulan lean backward, but he immediately twisted sideways to deflect the pressure and kicked at his attacker.
Unsurprisingly, his kick missed, but it also weakened the pressure on the blade, giving Mulan a moment to breathe.
Ever since the attacker had appeared, his blade had slashed and thrust almost against Mulan's body. Only now did it draw slightly away from him for the first time.
Mulan did his best to steady his somewhat hurried breathing and relax his overly tense muscles. He held the silver sword diagonally before him, his eyes fixed on the attacker.
On this cold, windswept night, the man wore only an ordinary short vest, a shirt, and trousers held up by suspenders, with neither a hat nor a coat. He was thin, with somewhat long hair, and Mulan could not make out his full face. Holding a pointed boning knife, he watched Mulan calmly, looking utterly relaxed by comparison.
"You hid that sword well. Even I didn't notice it."
Mulan had thought the man would waste no words, yet he had spoken first. Rather than answer, Mulan asked a question of his own.
"Are you the suspect in that missing-person case? The one who dismembered the child?"
The upper half of the attacker's face lay in shadow. On the lower half, illuminated by a streetlamp some distance away, a slightly exaggerated smile appeared. He likewise left Mulan's question unanswered.
"Your coat is too heavy. It slows you down. Take it off, and you might not die quite so quickly!"
Mulan said nothing, watching the attacker with his full attention.
"You're related to that detective, aren't you? You two look quite alike. Let me guess. You're the younger brother, and he's the older one? He gave me a bullet, so I'll give him his little brother's corpse in return. That wouldn't be rude, would it?"
The attacker tilted his neck, revealing a bloody graze that seemed to have been left by a passing bullet. As his last words fell, he burst into motion, charging at Mulan with his knife.
Their brief exchange had held a few surprises, but those would not change the outcome. The young man was skilled, but his physical capabilities meant he could never beat him!
A cruel smile appeared on the attacker's face. Killing the man before him would be far more satisfying than killing anyone else.
As the attacker charged, Mulan's slightly dilated pupils instantly contracted. He reacted, retreating rapidly while drawing the Ring of Light with his left hand and aiming it at the attacker.
"Let's see whether your knife is faster than my gun!"
The instant Mulan raised the muzzle, the attacker's pupils dilated, and almost simultaneously, he twisted his body.
In the next instant, flame burst from the muzzle of Mulan's gun.
Bang!
On Valentine's silent streets, the revolver's flash lit a corner of the storm-swept night. Its light was far more dazzling than ordinary gunfire, even making the attacker's eyes sting.
Clang!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
After the first shot, Mulan immediately fired three more, but all he could see was a ghostlike shadow slipping into the darkness.
"Huff, huff, huff..."
Mulan panted, holding the revolver up in his left hand and the silver sword across his chest in his right. Their brief clash had lasted less than two minutes, yet it had drained much of his strength. Despite the bitter cold, his inner clothing was already damp.
He remained where he was, alert. Only after recovering some strength did he glance toward a glimmer nearby. It was a slightly warped boning knife.
The first bullet had struck the side of the blade first, but it had packed enough force to hit the attacker anyway.
What a shame. He was simply too agile, and shooting left-handed hurt my accuracy a little. Otherwise... I need to practice shooting with my left hand!
After silently making up his mind, Mulan looked at the silver sword in his hand. The cane's shaft lay quietly on the ground nearby. If this cane had not suddenly appeared within reach, he would probably have been a corpse by now.
The rather slender blade reflected a faint light. The fierce clash had left a tiny nick in it.
After another sweep of his surroundings, Mulan slowly took a few steps forward and picked up the warped boning knife. There was a large notch in it as well, probably left by the clash between knife and sword.
Mulan then straightened and left. Instead of continuing home, he planned to return to the hospital first and warn everyone there to stay alert.
Some time after Mulan had left, a dark figure clutching his right arm let out a deep breath of relief in a shadowy corner of an alley near the street corner where they had fought.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
The attacker had suppressed his breathing, even holding his breath, for so long that he now gasped for air. Blood trickled down his arm to his slightly trembling fingers, then dripped onto the ground.
So close. He had been so close to dying!
So close. He had been so close to killing him!
He had narrowly escaped death and suffered a serious injury. His gunshot wound kept producing a tearing pain and an indescribable burning sensation, causing far more agony than an ordinary bullet wound.
"Hehehehehe... heeheeheehee... hahahahaha..."
Yet even as fear gripped him, a somewhat crazed smile appeared on the attacker's face.
"Who is he? Who exactly is that detective's little brother? No, it doesn't matter who he is. I'll kill him. I'll kill him!"
With slightly stumbling steps, the attacker left the alley, emerging from its other end onto a street ravaged by the wind. Mulan was still worried that the man might double back for another attack, but clearly he no longer had the strength for that tonight.
After both combatants had left, this stretch of Valentine's streets remained utterly quiet. Only the raging wind could be heard.
Even in the storm, the gunshots had been unmistakable. Though they might not have carried far, quite a few nearby residents had heard them and been startled awake. None had made a sound. Perhaps someone would sell the story to a newspaper.
Though Mulan was uninjured, when he stepped into the brightly gaslit hospital, he felt a slight easing of tension, but a powerful lingering fear remained in his heart.
This world might hold a wealth of fascinating mysteries. It might fulfill someone's dream of a life beyond the ordinary. But it was also an extremely dangerous world, where human life could sometimes be terribly fragile. His own was no exception.
And that attacker, that child abductor, that madman who might be carrying out some kind of cult ritual, was far too dangerous. He had to die!