A little while earlier.
The night was slightly cold.
Tree shadows pressed against the gray brick walls of the Hermann Family’s house, like the lurking shadows of beasts.
However, another “shadow” was lurking beyond these shadows.
Zieg had stealthily approached.
The moment the Solomon trio neared the wall and began whispering, he slipped into the darkness from the end of the alley.
The power of “Clear” gently spread, from his ankles to his spine, adjusting his entire body weight to be extremely light.
His body hugged the ground, each step barely disturbing a grain of sand.
He moved like the shadow of a flagstone pushed by the wind, slowly cutting in along the corner of the wall.
The wind blew through the withered vines, and he drew closer.
He heard the voice of the weapon dealer Klaus clearly.
That phrase, “The old and the young, dispose of them as you please.”
It made his eyes turn cold by an inch.
His fingers slowly rested on the sword hilt; the contact of metal with bone caused his heart to involuntarily quicken a few beats.
He remained unperturbed.
Squatting down, he adjusted his posture.
“Clear” maintained the balance within his body; “Turbid” gently hooked beneath his knees, stabilizing his poised stance.
His stance was ready.
He half-turned his body, extended his front foot, lightly touched his toes, and gathered strength in his back foot.
The sword hilt was lowered, the sword tip pressed against the outside of his leg, his entire being like a blunt spear about to strike but not yet striking, its edge hidden.
Just then.
Click.
The crisp sound of a window lock broke through the night.
Klaus looked back.
In that instant, Zieg moved.
【Material Body: Stance Slot · Activate!】
— “Stance · Assault Skill: Snake Kiss”!
His figure flickered, the ground silent.
A clear current surged beneath his feet, like a ribbon cutting gravity, lifting him, propelling him, helping him glide out of the shadows.
The movement wasn't like a sprint; it was more like a magnet instantly pulled away from its attraction.
There was no sound of footsteps, no sound of breaking wind.
Only the faint impression of air slightly contracting.
The weapon dealer Klaus had just felt the wind stir and instinctively wanted to turn around.
But, he hadn’t fully turned yet;
The deathly snake, like the wind, had already kissed his neck.
The silver-haired youth was already close.
He launched a strike—it wasn't an explosion, but a flow.
Zieg twisted his body, his left shoulder sinking, his footwork circling and rising like a winding snake.
The sword, pressed against his leg, ascended, cutting diagonally upwards from a low, abdominal angle, its trajectory lowered, then raised, its path like a parabolic snake's fang.
The blade cut in.
It pierced in below Klaus’s collarbone, penetrated his vocal cords, severed his windpipe, sliced open his palate—and exited diagonally behind his ear.
Crack.
The weapon dealer’s eyes widened abruptly.
Then his entire head, tilted half an inch from his neck—
Rolled down.
Blood spurted from the diagonal cut, spraying onto the wall and staining the windowsill.
His body remained standing, but he could no longer comprehend what had just happened.
Zieg’s blade shivered in the air, flicking off blood like a fish tail shaking off water.
His body stopped with it, his toes pulled back, his movements so clean it was as if he hadn't moved at all.
He looked down at the body that had not yet fallen.
He exhaled softly.
“First one.”
Zieg’s steps did not stop, his right arm slightly rotated, the sword turned to an inward grip, and he continued to charge forward.
It wasn’t a new stance, but a continuation of momentum.
He didn’t look back at the fallen Klaus.
Because the air had already drastically changed.
—!!
Old Bloom’s eye twitched, his knuckles gripping the seal at the top of his ebony staff tightly.
In his terror, he directly summoned the two undead creatures from the two slots in his “Spiritual Body.”
The ebony staff struck the ground sharply, the iron ring groove rattling with a “Ka” sound.
Two card light projections surged from his Spiritual Body.
—【Undead Creature · Necromantic Class · Weeping Soul!】
A gloomy light abruptly twisted in mid-air, and two specters in tattered robes slowly emerged beside Bloom.
Their faces were hidden beneath deep purple hoods, their faces like oil paper soaked in dirty water, their eye sockets as black as burnt paper scraps.
Their robes were like curtains torn by the wind, drifting in mid-air, their mouths wide open, as if leaving behind a desperate scream from being frozen to death.
On the other side, as Zieg cut off the head of the first enemy, his mind also began to rapidly analyze the battlefield situation.
Souls? Undead type.
Unstable spiritual energy flow, steel sword attack ineffective, need to use silver sword. The opponent’s specters are not yet fully activated, unable to attack, but also impossible to approach.
Currently, he is three and a half steps from the gunman, with 0.8 seconds of activation gap.
The gunman is in a drawing-but-not-raised gun posture; Turbid energy can be applied to the outer side of his left knee joint.
These were Zieg’s thoughts in a flash of lightning, as the combat time had entered the “Dual Enemy Activation Phase.”
He decided—first, cut down the gunman.
At this moment, the blood had not yet completely splattered, and Zieg was still in a state of continuous motion.
He leaned slightly, his fingertips gripping, and the “Turbid Point” was instantly marked in his mind.
His right foot pivoted half an inch in place, strength hidden in his arch.
The next instant…
—Turbid Qi Explodes!!!
Like a lead point piercing the air, heavy and silent, yet intensely penetrating.
That “gravity point” landed on the outer side of the gunman Roman’s left knee, precise as a craftsman’s hammer strike.
The joint suddenly sank.
His balance was lost.
The half-drawn gun Roman had pulled out had not yet been leveled, and his entire body uncontrollably lurched forward.
His body was like a door kicked from above diagonally, collapsing forward with a thud.
The direction—precisely towards Zieg.
Zieg’s steps did not move, his eyes slightly narrowed.
He raised his sword forward, his left shoulder naturally lifting.
The sword shifted from a hanging posture to an inverted lift, his elbow driving his shoulder strap, which in turn pulled his waist and hips, his entire upper body twisting like a re-tensioned bowstring.
He drew his sword—extremely fast.
The blade sliced through the air, as if trailing a line of extremely thin silver moonlight.
Starting from a hanging posture, lower right, it cut upwards to the right, its trajectory like a diagonal V returning.
The sword tip, drawn out close to his leg, moved into the middle section.
The trajectory lifted, cutting in along the junction of the enemy’s wrist and forearm.
Metal hummed, blood splattered.
Roman only felt his hand empty, and before he could register pain, he had lost the sensation of gripping his gun.
He hadn’t even had time to look down, and his hand had already flown off.
Blood spurted from the severed limb.
He instinctively retreated.
But Zieg did not pause.
From the moment he drew his sword, he had never considered the option of “retreat.”
His toes lightly touched the paving stones, his left knee slightly bent.
His hip belt tightened, his shoulders and arms rotated inward, driving his entire body—advancing a small step with a diagonal stance.
His upper body leaned forward, his movements compact, his sword stance drawing in, rotating like a rapidly spinning waterwheel.
His left shoulder pressed down.
The blade slashed upwards from below.
The second sword, beheading!
At this moment, the sword cut in from below his right shoulder, diagonally penetrating the enemy’s neck, at an angle close to the ear.
The blade swept like a diagonal lightning bolt, instantly severing through bone.
Before the enemy could let out a scream, the sound was cut off by the severed neck.
Blood shot into the sky, and the head rolled half a circle with the sword’s momentum, still dripping blood when it landed.
This series of continuous movements took less than two and a half seconds.
Applying Turbid energy → opponent loses balance → sword close to diagonal stance → enemy’s arm severed → body rotation and upward cut → beheading!
The entire combat process was like a complete set of gears instantly meshing together.
The mainspring was tightened, allowing no single frame to be misaligned.
Zieg was the one precisely controlling every inch of force.
Not wasting a single bit of strength, perfectly completing the assassination mission.
In his dream, the first time he held a sword, his sword instructor had spoken a sword art maxim that influenced his entire life:
“All who wish to learn the sword in the righteous path must first heed this teaching;
Chop and strike, advance step by step; where the target is, momentum must not be slowed!
The three 絕 of swordsmanship: whether to cut, to thrust, or to slice, all are extraordinary stances!
He who can control its edge with his heart is the chosen of swordsmen, to whom honor belongs.”
Swordsmanship, and indeed combat, its most important aspect is not merely instantaneous burst, it also requires—operation.
Only those who can clearly utilize swordsmanship techniques are swordsmen worthy of praise.
On the battlefield, the blood was not yet cold.
Zieg stood between the corpse and the severed hand, raising his eyes to look at the distant souls.
He sheathed his steel sword and drew his silver sword.
Then, he faced the specters in front of him in a plowing stance.
“Next, it’s you.”
Under the night sky, the silver-haired youth spoke thus to his terrified enemies.