“Roland!” Tsunade’s voice cracked across the courtyard, raw but clear. “Go back! Inform the Pope, now! I’ll hold them here as long as I can!”
Roland’s head snapped toward her. For a heartbeat, he looked ready to argue. Then he saw the blood on her chin, the three figures closing in, and the bodies of his comrades already littering the stones. He gave one sharp nod, turned, and fought his way toward the side gate with a grim determination.
Thinking it was his chance, Hyuna’s sword flicked out in a testing cut that Tsunade barely turned aside.
“Still as stubborn as ever, Tsunade. Even with your life in our hands, you’re thinking about duty.”
She spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at his face. Most of it missed, but enough landed to make him flinch.
“What do you know about duty, bastard? You killed your own teacher for a chance to ascend. Was it worth it, you fucking traitor?”
She drove a boot toward his groin. He skidded back just in time, the tip of her sole grazing the fabric of his wide, loose trousers. His expression darkened.
“What do you think, junior? Look at me. Barely two months in the Martial Realm and I’m already stronger than anything this godforsaken mortal plane can produce. Your little realm doesn’t even compare to what we train with up there, Tsunade. You want me to stay down here rotting just because I wasn’t talented enough to have the opportunity? Fuck that. I’ll get stronger even if I have to kill thousands and abduct millions. Mortals are ants. Ants to be crushed. Now…” He raised his sword. Mana gathered along the edge, thick and visible, turning the steel a deep, glowing red. The air around the blade hissed and shimmered with heat.
“....taste what a real gift of a Martial artist looks like, Tsunade. It might be the last one you ever see.”
He charged.
But contrary to the buildup the guy had, the glowing blade itself never reached her.
A lance of pure force slammed into Hyuna from the side and hurled him across the courtyard like a broken doll. He hit the solid stone ground hard, the red light around his sword snuffing out at once.
At the top of the wide Temple steps stood an old man in plain white robes, one hand still raised, eyes cold as winter stone.
The Pope had arrived.
The spearman’s voice cracked with sudden urgency. “I told you two idiots to hurry! Now what? The old man is here…move your asses!”
Hyuna shoved himself upright, face twisted with rage and humiliation. “Fuck it. I don’t need a gift to cut you down.” He snatched up his ordinary sword and lunged again, straight at Tsunade’s heart.
Before he even fully reached Tsunade, the carriage door behind her cracked open a hand’s width.
Something clear and liquid flew in a short, precise arc and struck Hyuna full in the eyes.
The effect was instant. He screamed with a raw, animal sound, and staggered on his knees, clawing at his face. The sword clattered from his fingers.
Tsunade did not waste the opening. She stepped in, both hands locked on the hilt, and drove her blade cleanly through the center of his chest. Hyuna’s eyes went wide. Blood burst from his mouth in a dark spray. He flailed once, twice, then sagged on the steel like a puppet with cut strings.
“And that's for killing our sensei, you traitor.” Saying that, Tsunade ripped the blade free and let him fall.
The spearman risked a glance over his shoulder, saw the dead man, and cursed viciously. He jabbed his spear forward one last time, catching the newly arrived Roland in the chest plate hard enough to stagger the big knight, then spun and put his back to his remaining partner.
Tsunade took a step toward them, blood still dripping from her chin, sword steady.
“You’re not walking away after attacking our Sage. You morons.”
The barehanded man already had a small yellow paper between his fingers. Without saying a word, he just tore it.
A dark, circular rift tore open in the air behind them with a sound like wet cloth ripping. Wind howled into it. Both Martial artists were yanked off their feet and sucked through the portal in the space of a heartbeat. Just as it opened, the rift snapped shut with a hollow pop, leaving only empty courtyard stones and the fading echo of the wind.
Silence crashed down hard on the scene.
Tsunade stood with her sword still raised, chest heaving, the front of her dress dark with her own blood. Behind her, the carriage door hung half open. Inside, Jiro sat on the floor with an empty glass vial still clutched in one hand, eyes wide, the side of his head already swelling where it had struck the frame.
The Pope descended the steps slowly, white robes whispering against the stone. Knights who could still stand began to form a loose, shaken perimeter. Somewhere in the distance, a festival drum kept beating, absurdly cheerful against the sudden quiet of the Temple gates.
Tsunade lowered her sword at last and turned just enough to look back at the carriage. Her voice, when it came, was rough but steady.
“Jiro-sama. Are you hurt?”
The only answer for a long moment was the sound of his uneven breathing and the distant, oblivious music of the festival that had been meant to celebrate his safe arrival.
Then he spoke, “Uhh…I think I should ask you that. You don’t seem…Oh-ahh-ahh…” Before he could even say it, Tsunade dropped to her knees, then dropped flat on her face on the stone ground.