Chapter 441: The Phoenix Of Solara (1)
Standing her ground, Serah steadied her breathing and let her eyes narrow ever so slightly. With a subtle pull on her myst, she expanded her perception and activated Mystsense. In a single sweep, the auras of Drosmir and his guards bared themselves before her mind’s eye, raw and unmasked.
At once, the picture became clear. Three of the guards pulsed with green cores, their strength radiating steady but fierce. Mid-tier Five-Star mages. The last one, however—the shortest of the four—burned brighter, his indigo core swirling violently with a darker undertone. A low-tier Seven-Star mage. And all of them were steeped in the same sickening taint of shadow. Every last one a dark mage.
Her eyes flicked to Drosmir himself, and she nearly scoffed. His presence was far weaker than his guards, a dim red core flickering within him—mid-tier Two-Star at best, though the darkness he wielded made his aura flare larger than it should.
’So that’s it,’ she thought, shifting her blade into a defensive stance, feet planting firmly on the stone. ’The bastard himself isn’t much of a problem. His dogs, however... that’s where the real fight lies. Especially that short one. He’ll be a bit of a pain to deal with.’
Her gaze swept over the four of them again, sharp and calculating, flames flickering in her eyes as she tilted her chin. ’I may be a high-tier Eight-Star, but with dark mages it’s never so simple. Their cores grant them power well beyond their levels. Those three? I’ll have to treat them like Six-Stars. And that one—’ her eyes hardened on the indigo glow pulsing from the shorter man— ’he’s closer to a low Eight-Star. I can’t underestimate him for a moment.’
Serah shifted her weight slowly to the side, circling, forcing the guards to adjust as their eyes tracked her every step. The chamber was tight, the vault walls closing the space around them. Her shoulders tensed, grip tightening around her hilt, sweat barely forming on her palms.
’I can handle them, but not together. I’ll have to force them to break formation, draw them out one by one. If they come at me in a pack, it’ll be a slaughter—and not in my favor.’
Her gaze flicked across the stone floor, the positions of the guards, and then back to their hands resting on steel slick with shadow. Her mind sharpened like her blade.
’This will be close. The space is tight, the air is heavy, and every wrong step could be my last. But still... I can handle them.’
Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened further around her sword hilt, her body bracing like a flame waiting for the wind.
The air in the vault chamber grew heavy, thick with the press of tension as the guards exchanged a silent glance. Then, as though the thought was shared between them, all four surged forward at once. Their boots struck stone in unison, their blades flashing with threads of shadow, moving in a formation designed to overwhelm from every angle.
One came straight on, blade arcing downward in a cleaving strike meant to split her head. Another swept in from the right, his edge low, hungry for her legs. The third lunged from the left, a spear of shadow reinforcing his thrust aimed at her ribs. The shortest—yet strongest—slid behind the others, his palm already sparking with condensed dark myst, ready to unleash a blast the moment her movements became predictable.
But Serah’s eyes, glowing faintly with her flames, read them like an open book. In the instant their formation snapped into motion, she was already moving. Her sword snapped upward, catching the overhead strike with a ringing clash that spat sparks into the tight space. At the same time, she twisted her body sideways, her flame-wreathed boot snapping up to slam into the incoming low strike, scattering the man’s blade off its intended path with a harsh clang against the stone floor.
Her shoulders rolled, her blade sliding with a hiss down the first attacker’s edge, redirecting the force as she pivoted, letting the spear thrust from her left pass so close it nicked a few strands of her hair. Her free hand shot out, gripping the haft for an instant, using his own momentum to wrench him forward into the path of the shadow blast.
The shortest guard’s eyes widened as his attack struck his comrade squarely in the back, sending the man crashing forward with a howl of pain. The chamber lit with the hiss of burning flesh and blackened armor.
"Predictable," Serah muttered, voice low, her tone carrying both contempt and control.
The three who remained snarled, regrouping quickly and tightening their stance, circling her like wolves. Serah took a measured step back, forcing them to adjust, her blade angled down but her aura sharp as a razor. She let them think they had regained their rhythm, her stance seemingly relaxed, even vulnerable. The illusion worked—anger flared in their darkened eyes, and once more, they lunged together.
This time, she baited them. She shifted her footwork deliberately, opening a narrow gap to her left as if her guard was weak. The tall one with the spear took the bait instantly, lunging hard, his weapon driving like a serpent for her midsection. At the same time, the other two angled in, intending to crush her with sheer numbers.
But Serah’s plan snapped shut like a trap. She twisted into the strike, her blade snapping across the spear’s shaft in a downward diagonal cut that both diverted its angle and pulled the man off balance. Before his comrades could realize, she stepped into his space, her sword tracing an elegant, lethal arc.
The cut was merciless. Her blade pierced beneath his arm and tore through his chestplate, flames erupting as steel bit through flesh and bone. His gasp choked into silence, blood spraying in a crimson arc across the stone floor as Serah yanked her blade free. In a fluid spin, she shoved his collapsing body directly into the path of the others, the corpse crashing into their knees with dead weight.
The two staggered, their timing broken. Serah didn’t waste the heartbeat she had stolen. Her form flowed like water—lightning-fast footwork carrying her to the side, her blade slashing up in a flame-scorched crescent that forced them to recoil or lose their heads.
The spear-man collapsed with a hollow thud, lifeless eyes wide in shock, and Serah’s stance reset immediately, sword tip angled toward the remaining three. Her hair, blazing red under the dim vault light, whipped as she exhaled, eyes glinting with predatory calm.
"One down," she said softly, her voice carrying across the vault like the toll of a bell.
The surviving guards growled, their shadows stirring angrily around them. But Serah’s aura only flared brighter—sharp, dangerous, and unyielding.
She had forced them into her rhythm now, and the fight had only just begun.