The wind on the rear deck of the Grand Fortuna turned into an invisible weapon. Its pressure struck like a formless giant hammer, pummeling Arthur's body without mercy. Three times he tried to attack, and three times he was flung back, his body smashing into masts and wooden boards that began to crack under the force of the air pressure.
Durak, a tall man with ash-colored hair and a body draped in loose robes, stood at the center of the deck. His hands swung forward, to the side, upward—but it wasn't his body that served as the weapon. It was the air around him. Invisible fists of wind destroyed everything that came close.
Arthur cursed silently. "This isn't the type of opponent I usually deal with. He barely even moves."
"Arthur, hold on a little longer!" Nara's voice rang out from behind a sail mast, her hair whipping in the artificial wind stirred by Durak's attacks.
Arthur took a breath, blood dripping from his chin. He forced himself upright and gripped his sword again. "Hold on? I'm nearly crushed! That girl better act soon!"
But Nara wasn't idle. She now stood tall, both hands reaching for the sword on her back. A slender katana—long and slightly curved—the blade was plain and unadorned. It wasn't just a symbol; it was an instrument of destruction, and Nara knew how to wield it.
Her eyes locked onto Durak. She didn't need further observation—she had already mapped the trajectory of his wind attacks from the minute movements of his shoulders and wrists. Every shift of his body altered the air pressure, and that was all Nara needed.
"His moves are linear... but the power's insane," she muttered. She bent her knees, lowering her stance. "If I approach from a blind spot, I can slash before he changes the wind's direction."
"Bold of you," Durak suddenly said. His voice was calm yet heavy with pressure. "Your sword... it'll cut more than just flesh, won't it?"
Nara didn't answer. She lunged.
Her movement was like lightning—years of training had made her body light, yet precise. With a single step, she launched forward, slashing upward from below.
Durak swung his hand, and as before, wind exploded between them. But this time, Nara twisted mid-air, adjusting her slash. The wind tore into her outer shoulder, but it didn't stop her.
Clang!
The tip of her sword struck Durak's arm, but didn't break through. The man leapt backward, then swung his fist again.
Two waves of wind surged toward Nara, ripping through the air with a deafening roar. But Nara moved her blade in a diagonal cut—not to counter the wind, but to slice through the vortex—creating a narrow opening in the center just wide enough for her to slip through.
She slipped to Durak's left. With a movement like a war dance, she bent her knees and slid low, slashing upward, aiming for his waist.
Durak jumped, dodging, but the tip of the blade still grazed his thigh. Blood splattered.
"Good... but not fast enough," said Durak, then swung both arms at once.
A horizontal wave of wind barreled forward, far larger than before. Nara threw herself to the deck, rolling, but the wound on her back reopened, making her groan in pain.
Arthur, now back on his feet, saw an opening. "You're not the only one here, you know!"
He jumped from behind Durak and swung his sword at their opponent's head. But Durak turned and raised his hand—wind coiled outward like a shield, slamming into Arthur and throwing him back again.
"Arthur!" Nara shouted. But she had no time to help.
Durak was already preparing his final strike, his left fist clenched and vibrating with condensed wind pressure. But before he could attack, Nara spun and stabbed her sword into the deck.
A pulsing sound echoed. Not from an attack, but from inside her blade—a small mechanism she'd previously installed in the hilt. In an instant, thin smoke sprayed from beneath the sword's handle, forming a sudden mist around them.
Durak, who relied on sight and air pressure to detect enemies, lost his sense of direction.
Nara pulled her sword free and struck from the right, a diagonal slash aimed at Durak's chest.
Slash!
This time, the cut was deep. Durak's robe split open, and his body was thrown back, crashing into the mast. He staggered, trying to stay upright, but blood poured heavily from the wound.
He slumped against the mast, his body bruised, face pale.
Arthur stumbled closer, leaning on his sword. "Hah... finally..."
Durak still stood, but his eyes were starting to lose focus. In a low, broken voice, he said:
"You... are not the first. Not the last…"
Nara approached, sword raised, ready to strike again if needed. But Durak simply gave a faint smile—like a man who had accepted his fate.
"You're just... part of the filter…"
His eyes began to close, and his final words drifted like the whisper of wind:
"Fate will decide who is worthy…"
His body collapsed. Unconscious, but still breathing—weak and no longer a threat.
Nara exhaled deeply, then sheathed her sword.
Arthur dropped to the deck with a thud, staring at Durak's body. "The filter? What the hell does that mean?"
"I don't know," Nara replied softly. "But I think we just passed the first stage... of something much bigger."
They fell silent.
And for the first time since the battle began, the wind calmed. But beyond that, on the far horizon, the third storm was already preparing to blow.