thief of fate-Chapter 70: First stage 3

Amidst the roar of the crowd and their panting breaths, the battles grew fiercer.

Valerian, his breath cold despite the rising tension. In front of him, that strange girl stood lightly.

He said nothing, only drew his dagger from its sheath.

His first step wasn’t surprising, but faint, as if walking on the edge of dreams. But the second... didn’t exist.

A phantom stab.

The girl didn’t see a thing. There was no trace of movement, just a flicker, and a sudden gust of air brushing her neck. But she pulled back at the last moment, her body bending like a dancer on stage, not a duelist in an arena.

"Fast..." she whispered to herself, her lips barely moving.

"She’s light... very light."

Valerian thought, launching again. Each strike, each move, came more from instinct than strategy. He let his subconscious lead, let instinct decide.

From the high stands, eyes were watching.

King Yaram, his hands clasped over his knees, back straight, and his eyes never leaving the field.

"That’s Valerian’s style..." he said calmly, "He’s using it seriously."

Queen Illyria, seated beside him, her chin raised.

"More than seriously, Yaram... this looks like a fight for survival."

As for King Tarel, he was smiling.

"The boy’s not bad. But that girl... where did they bring her from?"

The remaining time appeared on the big screen above the field: [7:42]

Every passing second.

Inside Valerian, the conflict was deeper than just win or lose.

"This card... if I don’t get it now, then what? If I lose... I won’t be able to escape his control."

But he wasn’t afraid. No, he was... confused.

Because she fought differently. No anger, no hatred, no pride. Just... movement, and calm.

"Not planning to talk?" he finally said, smoothly dodging her attack, letting the dagger pass beside her waist.

She replied with a barely visible smile.

"Talking slows me down."

He laughed. It wasn’t mocking, but light, born from a moment of clarity amid the storm.

Then she vanished.

Or rather, moved so fast that her form distorted for a moment, her edges melting into the air, then reappearing above him, her leg descending like a sharp crescent moon.

He blocked the blow, but it forced him back.

"She’s watching me... forcing me to move."

He realized it, feeling the heat in his shoulder rise from the impact.

"She’s trying to exhaust me, not injure me."

Above, the audience’s expressions shifted.

In one of the participant-designated stands, Claire stood silently, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her brother.

"He fights like someone trying to survive, and stabs like someone who doesn’t want to kill..." she whispered.

Raine, sitting behind her, shook his head.

"Idiot if he lets her drag the fight into her rhythm. He needs to end it."

Evelyn, watching from her seat, clenched her hands tightly, her heart pounding as if she were the one fighting.

Valerian attacked again.

Another phantom stab.

But this time, he changed the angle right before the strike. A move not trained, but born from the moment, from pressure.

And it nearly hit.

The girl dodged, but the dagger’s tip tore her cloak, a small scratch tracing her shoulder.

She pulled back.

"Interesting," she said, her voice sounding serious for the first time.

"You’re not fighting to win. You’re fighting... to reach something."

He replied quietly, more to himself than to her:

"I don’t need anyone’s admiration. I just need... not to disappear."

He paused, then added, looking at her:

"And you? Why are you fighting? You don’t seem like someone who wants to win."

She looked at him, then said simply:

"Why not? Everyone here is chasing something. I just... want to run with them."

[6:03]

Time is ticking, and hearts are racing.

Above, Tarel said:

"If he doesn’t finish it in the next few minutes, he’ll lose the advantage. His body’s tiring... and his mind’s slowing."

Illyria commented:

"But she’s also attacking more. She’s no longer just defending."

Yaram stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Valerian’s hand... and the dagger, which began to emit a faint glow.

Inside Valerian’s heart, memories stirred.

His siblings’ faces, the fall of the academy, screams in the night, Evelyn crying, Selena accused, Zenith fighting alone...

All that drove him to strike again.

But not just one strike.

A sequence. A wave of stabs, each trailing the shadow of the last, all executed with a speed invisible to the naked eye.

The girl retreated, spinning, leaping, her fingers brushing the ground as she dodged the strikes. But she was hit again... another scratch, this time on her leg.

She stopped suddenly, then smiled.

"You’re starting to get it, aren’t you?"

"I’ve never tried it like this before..." he said, panting, but he didn’t stop.

"But that’s okay... I’ll keep going until I reach it."

[4:44]

"Will I reach it?"

He thought, noticing the growing fatigue in his limbs, and his eyes beginning to see double.

"No... I need to be clear. To be... unpredictable."

Above, Raine whispered angrily:

"He’ll tire before he ends it. That’s always his problem."

Claire said coldly:

"But he’s the only one of us... who understands what it means to be trapped inside yourself."

Above, Illyria leaned forward slightly, for the first time since the tournament began.

"She’s moving... like she knows every weak point he has. But even that... won’t be enough."

Yaram didn’t comment, but his eyes began to glow with rare interest.

[3:59]

And the fight hadn’t calmed.

Rather, it began to take a new tone...

The girl stood still, her shoulder trembling slightly from the scratches, but her lips finally curled into a faint smile. It wasn’t mocking, nor arrogant, but the smile of someone who knows it’s time to reveal what’s hidden.

She whispered, barely audible:

"I think that’s enough play."

Then she extended her right hand forward, fingers closing as if grabbing light itself. Suddenly, a pale gray aura glimmered around her, spinning like forming smoke, shaping into a luminous phantom surrounding her body.

But before the aura could fully form...

A faint beam shot from Valerian’s dagger.

His hand trembled for a moment, and his eyes widened as if he saw a bridge between two worlds. He stared at her, then whispered:

"Theft."

And in the moment she was about to activate the skill, her body suddenly shuddered... and the aura vanished.

[Skill Stolen: "Phantom Step"]

[Skill Type: Advanced Movement Skill

Effect: Doubles the user’s speed and leaves illusionary trails that mimic real movements]

[Duration: 20 minutes]

[Penalty: 30% decrease in physical energy]

Immediately, Valerian’s body shivered, as if unbearable cold pierced his bones. His knees buckled, breath shortened, and he felt an illusory stab through his heart not from combat, but from the penalty.

"Damn... this is worse than I expected."

He said internally, resisting, clinging to the dagger as if it were a lifeline.

The girl stared at him, shocked. Her skill wasn’t just nullified... it vanished from her hands as if it never existed.

She tried to activate it again. Nothing.

She reached out, tried summoning energy.

No response.

"This is impossible..." she groaned, then stared at him again, with an entirely different look.

"Can... can you cancel skills?!"

For the first time since the battle began, her eyes showed traces of concern. She looked around, as if measuring every possibility.

Then she braced herself, lowering into a new stance more cautious, more serious as if facing a beast, not a person.

"Alright, let’s see how you’ll dance now."

Above, King Tarel wore a half-smile, half-amazed look.

"Skill cancellation?!"

Queen Illyria bit her lip and said in a low but sharp voice:

"How did he get that?"

As for King Yaram... he leaned back slightly, looking at the sky where the screen still flashed. His eyes were ablaze not with worry, but with something else.

"Valerian... what the hell are you hiding?"

[3:11]

And the battle didn’t stop.

It only just began to truly awaken.

Valerian’s breaths grew heavy, heavy to the point of pain.

Every muscle in his body screamed from exhaustion, from the weight of the punishment that had weakened his form, and from the constant pressure of that girl’s movements that gave him no moment to rest.

Despite the skill he had stolen from her, despite the swift attacks, she surpassed his expectations every single time.

Her agility was inhuman.

Her movements were like a dance of torment.

Every step struck a painful spot. Every blow cut his breath shorter.

And with each passing second...

He began to feel dizzy.

"I need one decisive strike..."

He thought as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his dagger trembled in his hand.

But he had no chance.

Suddenly, the girl bent her light body, circled around him like a breeze, then came behind him completely.

Before he could turn, his neck felt the cold edge.

The tip of her sword was at his throat.

"It’s over."

She said it with a calmness that carried no mockery, just a sense of inevitability.

[2:09]

But...

The girl didn’t move.

She looked at him.

"You weren’t bad." she said, then slowly pulled her sword away.

He looked at her in shock, expecting her to take his card without a word.

"Why...?"

He asked in a tired voice.

She smiled slightly, that faint smile he saw as the beginning of the end.

"Because you’re interesting. And you don’t deserve to be eliminated in the first round."

Then she took a card from her belt and tossed it to him.

He caught it with effort, his eyes still doubting the reality.

Then she turned away, without looking back.

Her step was calm, but her purpose clear.

She approached one of the other contestants, a young man watching her with trembling eyes.

She whispered something to him, unheard, but he stepped back half a pace, then took a fighting stance.

Valerian, still on the ground, pressed on a wound at his side and sighed.

"Who is she...?"

As if she read his thoughts, she paused for a moment, then looked over her shoulder and said:

"My name... is Shizo."

"And make sure you stay alive, Valerian Lockard."

Then she walked away toward the next cards.

[1:53]

King Yaram looked at the screen and muttered:

"Shizo, then..."

Illyria leaned forward, a fleeting smile crossing her face.

"She’s like a sharp breeze."

As for Taril, he let out a short laugh and said:

"Even losers win sometimes... if they’re crazy enough."