CHAPTER 41: MISS SWORD EMPRESS IS A PERVERT AS WELL

Sword Empress’s POV

Using my lightness arts, I surged onto the deck in a blur, only to find utter pandemonium—a scene straight out of a nightmare battlefield.

"Raaaargh!!!!"

Crunch! "Arghhh!!"

"S-Save me!!"

A man with blood-red eyes, utterly devoid of reason, lunged at the passengers like a feral beast, sinking his teeth into their necks with savage hunger. No—upon closer inspection, they weren’t mere bites; jagged fangs pierced flesh, drawing forth crimson streams.

"H-He’s crazy! He’s biting people’s necks and sucking their blood!"

A quivering passenger, spotting the glint of my drawn sword, stammered out the horror in frantic detail.

"...Blood?"

"Y-Yes! It’s like those rumored vampires!"

"...A blood-sucking ghost."

Hiss...

A chill slithered up my spine, dredging up foul memories from the shadows of the past.

Flash!

Thud! Thud!

With a whisper of sword light, the fiend’s hands severed clean from his wrists, tumbling to the blood-slicked planks.

"Raaaargh!!! "

I snatched the passenger he’d clutched like prey, yanking them to safety behind me. Undeterred by his mutilation, the creature elongated his stumps toward me, fangs bared in mindless fury.

Slash!

"Where do you think you’re aiming those filthy teeth?"

His fangs shattered under my blade’s edge.

Slash!

Then his legs buckled, sheared at the knees.

Slash!

Arms followed, lopped away in a spray of ichor.

"Grrkk!! Grrraaagh!!!!"

Such a wretched foe merited no flourish of technique or mercy. I swung with mechanical precision, emotion drained from every stroke.

"A relic of a bygone era, ruined by picking the wrong foe—why have you resurfaced?"

"Raaaargh!!"

"Not that a mere lowlife cultist like you would know anything."

Slash!

The fiend’s head lolled free, rolling to a grotesque stop. Blood Cult remnants earned no quarter, no revival. Twenty years ago, their taint had scarred the land; I would not invite its rot anew.

"You alright?"

My temples throbbed at this echo of the Blood Cult stirring after two decades, but the living demanded precedence. I extended a hand to a bitten man slumped against the rail, his form pale and slack.

He lifted his head sluggishly—

"Ugh...?"

Whoosh! In a heartbeat, those eyes ignited crimson, mirroring the fiend’s madness. I leaped back, blade humming at the ready.

’What in the world?!’

The Blood Cult’s arts, for all their depravity, never wielded such instantaneous corruption—a single bite birthing thralls. Had they possessed this twenty years past, the war would have crumbled into apocalypse; the Central Plains would have drowned in red.

’No, it’s different. This isn’t the same Blood Cult from before.’

The aura resonated with echoes of their foul legacy, yet twisted, alien in its execution.

’...This isn’t a technique from the Central Plains.’

Even the Blood Cult’s most profane sorceries paled against this abomination—raw, invasive, beyond mortal ken.

’Some kind of sorcery from beyond the borders?’

Speculation could wait; these were innocents mere moments ago, ensnared by whatever curse now animated their veins. Subdual demanded restraint, minimizing the harm to fragile flesh.

"Get away from anyone bitten by the fiend!!"

"Raaaargh!!!"

Screams ripped through the throng as realization dawned, the deck dissolving into frantic flight.

+

Black-Haired Man’s POV

"Damn it... What’s with that monster of a woman? She’s at least Swordmaster level."

The man—black hair tousled, eyes gleaming crimson with slit pupils like a serpent’s—melted into the shadows at the ship’s stern, exploiting the pandemonium for cover.

"I just wanted to test if the enhanced thralls were properly made... What a waste of good materials. At this rate, I won’t have the face to meet the master..."

With a weary sigh, he flung his ebony cloak wide. In a ripple of unnatural distortion, his silhouette warped and shrank, morphing into a sleek bat that beat leathery wings and spiraled skyward.

’What kind of world is this? Why’s a Swordmaster wandering around alone without any lackeys...?’

And then—

Whoosh!

"Gah?!"

A sword streaked through the air like a comet, zeroing in on his wing. He twisted mid-flight, the keen edge whispering a mere graze along membrane.

As the bat, he wheeled about to glare downward. There she stood—the sword’s mistress—her expression a mask of bemused scrutiny.

’Flying Sword?! Is she insane?!’

Fortune favored him; the blade did not pursue. Having quelled the infected horde, she’d pivoted to restoring order on deck, and the weapon retracted smoothly to its scabbard at her hip.

’Damn damn damn damn. Gotta get back to the lab fast.’

Teeth grinding in his avian form, he pumped his wings with desperate vigor, streaking toward the horizon.

’How could I let this second chance slip away? I can’t lose again!’

The sting of yesterday’s humiliating rout flooded back, a bitter tide fueling his retreat.

+

Sword Empress’s POV

"It’s finally under control."

I’d neutralized every soul tainted by the fiend’s bite, their symptoms eerily uniform. Mere civilians until the curse took hold, mercy guided my strikes—blunting limbs without fracture, sealing meridians to quell the frenzy. It prolonged the ordeal, but none bore lasting scars beyond the bindings.

"Ma’am...? What do we do with them now?"

"Once the boat reaches land, contact the Martial Alliance. Until then, keep them tied up. There might still be something wrong with their bodies."

Ropes secured them in neat rows along the deck, but vigilance demanded my post. No other aboard grasped even rudimentary arts, leaving the burden squarely on me.

"Uh, excuse me... Ma’am..."

"Hey! What did that kid just—?"

"Hm?"

I pivoted toward the hesitant voice, finding a woman cradling a wide-eyed child, her face etched with fretful lines.

"Is my dad... gonna be okay?"

The girl, scarcely past her eighth spring, gazed up with unspoiled trust—blissfully spared the earlier carnage.

"Yes. He’ll be fine."

"R-Really?"

"Would I lie? I’ll make sure he gets back to you and your mom, so just be good until then."

"T-Thank you!"

She burrowed into her mother’s embrace, a small victory amid the wreckage.

’Hoo...’

How long since I’d uttered such a vow, laced with peril and presumption? Battlefields of yore brimmed with them—hollow oaths hurled against the void: "I’ll definitely come back," "I won’t die and leave my comrades behind," "Let’s have a drink when the fighting’s over." Fulfilled? A scant few, ghosts in the wind.

’...Blood Cult...’

To slither forth anew after two decades’ purge? Audacity incarnate.

Grit.

I’d believed the Heavenly Demon’s wrath had scoured them clean that fateful day, yet embers endured, fanned by her shadow. Helpless yesterday, I stood resolute now. No more concessions to fate; the treasures I guarded would remain untouched.

’...Wait, I feel like I forgot something.’

The frenzy had scattered my thoughts like leaves in a gale. Amid the blur, one thread nagged—vital, overlooked...

’...!’

The storage hold. I’d abandoned him there, sequestered in haste.

My gaze swept the deck for any sign of his hooded form amid the milling survivors. Nothing.

"Hey! I’ll leave my sword here—if anything happens, shout loud! I’ll be right back!"

"Y-Yes?!"

I plummeted belowdecks to the hold, urgency clawing at my ribs. The threats were quelled, peril banished—yet instinct screamed to confirm his safety, a pull I couldn’t shake.

Bang!

"Are you alright?!"

The door flew wide, revealing him huddled in the corner’s gloom, a quivering bundle of cloak and fear.

Tremble tremble tremble.

"...Miss?"

"...What are you even—"

Hug!

He bolted upright, crashing into me with desperate force, arms locking around my waist like a vice.

"It’s you, right? Miss, it’s you? Not someone else?"

"W-Wait, if you cling like that—"

"You said you’d be right back, but I waited forever and you didn’t come... Do you know how scared I was alone...?"

Through the barrier of fabric, an unfamiliar warmth pressed insistent, stirring unwelcome awareness.

"G-Get off already!"

"If I let go, you’ll leave me alone again!"

"No! It’s over! It’s safe now!"

’So just get off!’

With effort, I pried him loose, his fingers fumbling to twine with mine in lingering plea. Prolonged contact risked a mire of embarrassment for us both.

"...It’s really safe now?"

"Y-Yes. The rampaging fiend’s subdued, so we’re heading back to land."

Perhaps the earlier drenching amplified it, but his scent enveloped me anew—heady, intimate.

That fleeting press replayed unbidden.

’Get a grip! You’re a Taoist! A Taoist shouldn’t harbor such shameless thoughts...’

"Well, my clothes are mostly dry now, so I’ll change and head up."

"Huh? Oh, got it. I’ll step out for a bit."

I sealed the door once more, inwardly lashing the errant fancies that surged like adolescent folly. My senses I reined tight, lest they betray me with echoes of his movements.

Thump thump thump thump.

’What is this, getting flustered over a man whose face and name I don’t even know!’

Seclusion had evidently eroded my composure; this flutter defied decades of discipline.

’Focus. This isn’t the time to get caught up in something like this.’

The Demon Cult loomed, this Blood Cult revival demanded probe, and my original quest for that lost boy pressed urgent—debts piled like storm clouds.

’So I need to set proper boundaries now...’

Creak.

"They’re still a bit damp, but wearable. Let’s go—people might get anxious if we’re the only ones missing up there."

He stepped forth, restored to his familiar garb.

"...Let’s go."

Trailing him topside, I rehearsed the words to redraw lines, fortify the chasm.

"And, Miss."

My resolve teetered as he turned, voice soft with earnest plea.

"I know it couldn’t be helped this time, but please don’t leave me alone if you can help it. It’s scary."

Snap.

A fragile thread in my mind frayed near to breaking.

"Hoo..."

That was perilously close. One slip, and I’d ford a torrent with no ford back.

It coursed hot already; laxity might propel me into irrevocable folly...

"But I’m always grateful to you, Miss."

"..."

...Looks like ascending to immortality is off the table.