Online In Another World

The man had shaggy, jet-black hair with an unshaven stubble, dressed in a black cloak that sat over light leather armor and metal greaves.

…Father? He thought.

“Oh? I don’t remember inviting you here,” Rubert said, jumping back as he held his sword up with an unorthodox stance.

Rubert’s stance was low to the ground, keeping his legs spread out as his upper body was leaned over with his elbows nearly touching the ground below, keeping his black-and-white eyes on the man.

“I found you, Emilio…”

Julius looked back with a relieved smile, breathing heavily as he laid his eyes on his son. By the puffy, pink state of the man’s eyes, it was clear he had been shedding tears. There were also dark bags beneath them as if he had been losing sleep.

“Dad…” He said out of relief, “…Look out!”

Just as he called out, Julius deflected the incoming blow from the swift, ginger-haired man, who flipped back with a laugh.

“–A Mountain God Style user at a “King” rank! What an opportunity this is!” Rubert laughed in ecstasy, landing his feet against the side of the building, “Let’s see what’s better: Mountain God Style or Chaos God Style! How about it?!”

“Shut up and come at me. I’m going to kill you for laying a hand on my son,” Julius said with a quiet, stern anger.

It was his first time seeing his eccentric, playful father exhibit such rage. He could only watch as the two high-leveled swordsmen began clashing, moving at speeds he couldn’t even perceive.

This is a fight between two sword experts…? “Chaos God Style”…that’s what he said? I’ve never heard of that, he thought.

It was something he was taught some time ago by his father–the “ranks” of the Ten Divine Styles of swordplay. From weakest to strongest, it went: Squire, Knight, Noble, Champion, King, Tyrant, and Hero. A similar ranking existed for magic users, as well, only subtly different–from weakest to strongest: Novice, Intermediate, Keeper, Ethereal, Grand, Emperor, and Hero. However, mage rankings applied to each elemental mastery individually.

He looked back at the sound of horses galloping, seeing men dressed in silver armor riding in, with another familiar figure joining them.

“…Veldalla?!”

The crimson-haired woman joined him, looking around before checking his body for wounds. He still had some small wounds, especially his torn skin on his wrists.

“Are you alright? I’ll take you to a medic right away–” Veldalla said.

He interrupted, “I’m fine, don’t worry about me! There’s still another person out there!”

“What?” Veldalla looked at him.

“A girl! One of the men here took a girl away!” He told her.

As he told this, Veldalla looked back at the Milligarde soldiers that sat on horseback, who seemed to understand the notion given.

“Alright, men, let’s go! There’s still more out there!” The bushy-moustached man who seemed in charge of the guards said.

The guards left, looking for Irene as Veldalla stayed with him, watching beside him as his father clashed with Rubert.

“What’s going on…? How did you find me?” He asked, looking at the red-haired woman.

Veldalla looked forward, watching the fight, “After you failed to return by nightfall yesterday, your father gathered a search party to look for you. It turns out, some people witnessed you being carried off, leading us here–the abandoned “Pale Prison”. Sorry we took so long, kid.”

“–“

He stayed silent, rubbing his wrists before quietly muttering “Healing”, beginning to finally take care of his wounds.

Though he was still worried for his father, who continuously clashed blades with Rubert, but Veldalla seemed to have absolute confidence in him.

…I’ve never seen him fight for real. I…want to see it, he thought.

Part of it was anger; he wanted to see the man who deceived, berated, and kept him captive be punished, and it seemed to be approaching.

Rubert utilized his feline-like nimbleness, bouncing from wall-to-wall, springing off of the air, but unable to reach Julius who read him like a book; countering each slash and retaliating with powerful blows.

“Amazing! Amazing! You’re amazing!” Rubert yelled out with an ecstatic grin.

Just as Rubert dashed by with his blade reared back, Julius ducked down seamlessly as the silver missed his flesh, holding a look of focused rage in his eyes before countering with a kick to the man’s side.

“Ghh–!” Rubert winced.

The powerful kick unleashed a shock wave, knocking the ginger-haired criminal across the courtyard and crashing into the stone wall.

“Get up,” Julius said sternly.

He watched with big eyes, looking upon the broad, strong back of his father as the man’s black, silver-feather decorated cloak was brushed by the nightly winds.

With a burst of speed that rattled the sound barrier, piercing through it, Julius burst forward with speed that left his ears ringing as he stood motionless in awe.

Amazing, he thought.

“Impressed, kid?” Veldalla said, noticing his awe-struck gaze.

He nodded, “…I never knew my father was this strong.”

“He used to be even better,” Veldalla told him.

The red-haired woman stood with her arms folded across her chest, watching beside him with a calm smile.

“Really?”

Veldalla smirked, “Your old man had the nickname “Silver Wind” in our heyday. It was a name earned out of respect for his strength. He’s rusty now, though.”

“–“

He watched as Rubert jumped back onto his feet with a grin that was now covered in blood, though Julius was already in front of him with monstrous speed.

Rubert used an unorthodox technique; throwing his sword between both hands repeatedly, striking with each before flipping hands as he danced around, unleashing a fury of strikes towards Julius.

Each slash that came towards Julius was deflected precisely by the much more refined technique of the Mountain God Style user.

The Chaos God Style was the total opposite; it seemed to toss away fundamentals in favor of flashy, abnormal techniques–such as Rubert flipping around, catching the handle of his sword between his calf and his thigh, using the back of his knee to swing his sword while on his hands.

“Ha-ha-ha! Now this is more like it! A true master, you are!” Rubert laughed out in joy.

It was almost uncanny to see such swordplay; the laughing, ginger-haired man flipped on his hands, spinning around as he swiped his sword with leg, flipping which leg he wielded his silver blade with with surprising accuracy.

After deflecting the blows with his stern expression, Julius began thrusting his sword as if using a rapier, stabbing Rubert multiple times, though none of the wounds seemed to go very deep.