Chapter 35 – Fire and Ice

The city of Gekkō had few soldiers compared to other prefectures. It was the spiritual heart of the nation.

Luisina stopped her wagon in the middle of the plaza, right in front of the holy seat.

“Citizens of Gekkō!” she shouted with dramatic flourish. “Tonight, you are invited to a grand spectacle of magic!”

With a sweep of her hat, she released a shower of sparkling illusions that shimmered like stardust, drawing curious onlookers from every corner.

“Come closer, gather round! Let me tell you a story!” she announced, arms spread wide.

Above the square, a snowy canvas materialized in the air.

“Long ago… Yukihana was a free empire, open to the world.”

The illusion showed a radiant island, dazzling in white.

“But ambition, always lurking in the shadows, despised the happiness of the free Yuki. So it disguised itself as the sun… and used a puppet for its wicked schemes.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd as the vision shifted to a black-clad samurai and a white-clad empress.

“The puppet was her most trusted disciple. And trusting that false sun, he betrayed his own mistress—stabbing her in the back and casting aside the honor of the Yuki.”

A cry of outrage swept through the people.

“Silence, heretic!” roared the high pontiff, flanked by soldiers pushing through the throng.

Luisina smirked playfully and, without pausing, twisted the illusion. Darkness spread over the island, chains wrapping around it.

“That day… the puppet proclaimed himself Shogun. And so he buried pure snow beneath eternal darkness.”

The crowd held its breath. Though priests screamed “Blasphemy!” not a single citizen moved—they wanted to hear more.

Luisina spun her staff, conjuring two small figures: a golden prince and a snow-white princess.

“But one day, a little sun found a snow princess cast out from her homeland… Together, they chose to fight for a new dawn.”

The figures dashed forward, scattering the shadows, filling the canvas with sparks of gold and azure.

“To defeat the puppet, the sun and snow fought side by side. Because true light… always shines brightest in the dark.”

The tale’s climax ignited the square. Cheers erupted from the people, guards struggled to contain them, and the pontiff screamed in fury.

“Seize her! Arrest that impostor!”

Luisina spread her arms wide as though bowing to an unseen audience.

“And now, the grand finale! Luz, if you would!”

“Yes, sister!” Latina leapt out of the carriage window, wand raised high. “Light Flash!”

A surge of radiance flooded the plaza. Soldiers and priests cried out, covering their eyes against the blinding glow.

Luisina bowed with exaggerated grace.

“Showtime!”

Taking advantage of the sudden blindness, Ren stepped out of the carriage with sword in hand. Not Yukihana this time, but Versalles—the divine weapon he had once received as a hero. Its blade blazed like living fire, casting light across the plaza.

At his side, Yura drew the katana Yukihana. The steel radiated a freezing chill, frost spreading across every stone it touched.

Fire and ice intertwined. Each movement was a perfectly timed dance—Ren’s blazing edge and Yura’s frozen steel crossing paths, felling soldier after soldier as they charged in waves.

“Wh-Who are these people?!” the horrified pontiff cried, watching his guards collapse without even landing a blow.

The two warriors smiled in unison.

“We are the coming storm.”

From the wagon, Luisina and Latina lent their support: illusions scattering the soldiers, bursts of light disorienting the archers. Whenever an enemy thought they had the advantage, they vanished into shimmering mirages.

Suddenly, the ground trembled. The cathedral doors swung open, and from them emerged four hulking Snow Ogres, each wielding a club of pure ice.

“…What are those?” Yura muttered, wide-eyed.

“Snow Ogres,” Ren answered calmly, tightening his grip on the blade. “Guardians of the sacred waters.”

The high pontiff blanched. In a fit of cowardice, he turned and bolted down the temple corridors.

“Luisina, Latina!” Ren barked, never taking his eyes off the monsters. “Don’t let him escape!”

Both nodded and darted after the fleeing priest.

Ren stepped forward to intercept the ogres—when suddenly a shadow slipped in behind him. A blade sliced through the air and struck beneath his collarbone.

“Ghh…!” Ren spat blood, staggering back.

“Ren!” Yura cried, spinning toward him.

“Don’t worry, Yura.” His voice remained firm as he pressed a hand against the wound. “The ogres are yours.”

With a swift motion, he conjured flame into his palm, searing the gash shut. The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t show it. A faint blue flame flickered out in his hand.

“Tsk… that lapse cost me dearly.”

His eyes rose to the attacker: a crazed Yuki with a maniacal grin, licking Ren’s blood from his knife.

“Heh… You’re just a brat. Hard to believe you’re the ones giving the Shogun so much trouble.”

Ren grit his teeth.

If I had Yukihana in my hands… I’d have cut him in two already. Still not used to Versalles…

“I’m the Hero of Solmara,” he spat with biting irony, raising Versalles before him. “ ‘Trouble’ is my middle name.”

“Idiot.” The assassin vanished from sight, melting away like a phantom.

Ren closed his eyes, sharpening every sense. He remembered Yukino’s words from training:

“Don’t rely only on your eyes… Listen. Feel. Let the ice speak to you.”

The world slowed. The crunch of snow under invisible steps. The faint whistle of air cleaved by a dagger.

Ren’s blade moved blind. Steel met steel once. Then again. And again.

The metallic clash rang out in perfect rhythm—a duel of precision. A waltz of blades.

“…Got you,” Ren murmured without opening his eyes.

The assassin chuckled mockingly.

“What are you talking about? You’re cornered. All you can do is defend.”

Ren’s lips curled into a sneer.

“For a Yuki assassin… you’re pathetic.”

His free hand tightened. Nearly invisible threads—thin as frost—drew taut in the air. The assassin’s eyes widened in horror as shallow cuts opened across his skin, realizing that the slightest move would slice him apart.

“Incredible…” he gasped, trembling. “The Death Threads… That technique belonged to the Aseina…”

Ren opened his eyes at last, their gleam sharp as a blade.

“That’s right. Let’s just say… technically, I’m an Aseina. Any last words?”

The assassin grinned through bloody lips.

“I’d applaud… if I could. Just remember this—the Shogun isn’t someone you can defeat easily.”

Ren snapped the threads with a flick of his fingers.

“Don’t worry. You won’t live to see him fall.”

The assassin’s body collapsed soundlessly, sliced apart without a cry.

At the same time, Yura stood firm before the four charging Snow Ogres. She did not falter. Instead, she closed her eyes with solemn grace.

“Forgive me, ancestors…” she whispered, drawing her katana.

A blinding flash of frost lit the battlefield. No one could follow her movement.

When Yura reappeared behind the towering colossi, her steps were calm, her katana sliding smoothly back into its sheath.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then—click.

The soft metallic snap of the blade’s guard locking into place.

“Aseina Style… Silent Winter.”

The four ogres froze mid-strike, suspended as though time itself had stopped. A second later, their massive bodies shattered into fragments, split cleanly as if carved from ice.

Yura exhaled softly. Not a single drop of blood stained her blade.

The square fell into stunned silence. None could believe what they had just witnessed. The heir of the Aseina had returned.

Moments later, Luisina and Latina burst back into the plaza, dragging the high pontiff in chains of light that glowed like heavenly fire.

“Unhand me, heretics!” he shrieked, thrashing without a shred of dignity.

Yura advanced with steady steps, her snow-white silhouette gleaming beneath the glow of the lanterns.

“Gekkō no longer belongs to the Shogun,” she declared, her voice ringing clear. “The true heretic is he—the one who betrayed the Yuki.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered citizens. At first soft, uncertain. Then louder. Stronger. Until at last it rose into a roar that shook the plaza.

For the first time in ten years, the people of Yukihana raised their voices against their tyrant.