Chapter 66: Shirley with Seven Personalities

“We meet again, Mr. Merak.” Venigo nodded politely, and in the same motion, delivered a side kick that sent the high-ranking cultist standing between him and Merak flying.

“Thank you for the rescue,” Merak replied with a nod.

“Just in time, little fox.” Yarrow giggled, her tone unchanged even as a surge of fierce flames detonated a group of enemies several meters away, scattering them in every direction.

“Now that we’ve regrouped, what’s our next objective?” Venigo asked.

“The Ram’s Cry cult has built an underground temple nearby. We were actually commissioned by Sir Tamp to scout the area so we could guide his troops when the time comes for them to suppress the cult,” Merak explained.

“In that case… let us handle these small fry as a warm-up. Mr. Merak, you and your group should proceed with your task. I’ll secure our rear.” Venigo spoke with assurance.

Merak nodded, turning to leave at once. Yarrow seemed as though she wanted to say something more but was promptly dragged off by Jemore. Only Verany, for once, nodded in acknowledgment to Venigo.

A few of the cultists charged forward, apparently hoping to surround Verany, who was an archer.

Venigo snorted, pivoted, and brought down an enhanced cultist attempting to ambush him with a heavy kick. Pinning the cultist beneath his boot, he nodded thoughtfully.

“Sophie, try the new techniques,” Venigo suddenly called out.

Sophie gave a small nod, holding her greatsword level as a strange aura burst forth from her, guiding her sword in a rapid thrust forward.

“Form One: Assassinate,” Sophie murmured.

With the swordsmanship taught by Sir Tamp as her foundation, and with Venigo’s suggestions, Sophie had restructured her skills, deriving new techniques from her understanding.

The Blade of Contest was not particularly sharp, but in Sophie’s powerful hands, it could pierce straight through both armor and flesh without much difficulty. Because her sword was blunt, the wounds she inflicted were larger and more dangerous than those made by a sharp edge.

“Form Thirteen: Verdant Spear.” The sword’s tip trembled. With a push of the hilt, the greatsword, which should have lost its momentum, shot forward again, burying itself in another foe’s chest.

“Form Three: Cleave.”

Sophie’s initial forms were all basic movements of swordplay. Yet, basic did not mean weak; these moves were honed to perfection, simple and direct, making them all the more lethal.

For killing, nothing could be more effective.

“Form Thirty-Six: Wolf Spider.”

Her swordplay shifted; in a flash, she unleashed eight rapid slashes, clearing the space around her in an instant.

“The enemies are too weak,” Sophie said, shaking her head as she addressed Venigo. “They’re no measure of my technique.”

“It’s fine—keep going. I can see everything clearly,” Venigo replied.

His eyes glinted with an eerie light—a light that made Sophie feel as though needles pricked her back. Yet, trusting her companion, she did not resist, but continued to wield her weapon against the onrushing cultists.

Form Twenty-One: Lantern Blossom… Form Twenty-Seven: Pouring Wine… Form Sixty-Six: Swift Rain…

Soon, Sophie ceased to mind Venigo’s scrutiny. Her sword grew ever more fluid; thrusts, cleaves, flicks, slashes—even the more complex transitions seemed to come alive in her hands.

Supple as a serpent, fierce as a tiger. The heavy greatsword, in the hands of this slender girl, moved with the speed of a rapier—yet with the force expected of a blade its size, lending her attacks an irresistible momentum.

Venigo’s movements slowed. He released his role construction and used Azure Sky as his weapon, but it was clear his main focus was still on Sophie.

Using the Eye of Perception, Venigo analyzed every detail of Sophie’s swordplay, preparing to describe these “phenomena” to her afterward. Sophie would then use this feedback to evaluate her own strengths and weaknesses, refining the essence of her technique.

This method was far more efficient than ordinary practice. And Sophie, far from being a brute who relied solely on strength, was in fact highly intelligent.

She simply disdained clever tricks, and her taciturn nature often led others to underestimate her mind.

“Sophie, that’s enough for now.” Venigo leapt back and feinted a kick, sending a burst of air slicing through an approaching cultist’s chest.

He deftly produced a bone talisman, pressed the palm of Azure Sky to its surface, and intoned, “Bone Talisman—Serpent Shadow Hand.”

The whimsical name fit the talisman’s purpose. As elemental energy from Azure Sky ignited the magic array, the bone talisman shattered, runes flashing before Venigo. The space tore open, and from the elemental plane emerged several Wind King Pythons.

Though not large, these magical beasts were born of the wind element, gifted with speed and a constrictor’s deadly embrace. Their slender yet resilient bodies were nearly immune to regular weapons, and their speed allowed them to strike or ambush with ease.

Venigo’s spell was modeled on the Ram’s Cry cult’s summoning ritual for the Grand Serpent. However, because of the vast difference in the scale of the magic arrays, even with costly materials, Venigo could only summon these “weaker” Wind King Pythons.

Still, they were more than enough to deal with the cultists, even those enhanced by bodily modifications.

In the midst of battle, a shrill cry pierced the air. Venigo looked up to see a vortex of snow and wind speeding toward them.

Within the storm was a petite, slender figure—a young girl.

“She looks a bit like Honey…” Venigo blinked, unconsciously glancing in Honey’s direction.

The resemblance was striking—features, face, build—but this girl’s long hair was icy blue, her eyes cold and pale as frost.

Beautiful, yes—but so cold. Entirely unlike Honey’s warm, gentle allure.

“Who… ruined my plans?” The snow-clad girl’s voice was sharp and inhuman. It wasn’t unpleasant, but so shrill it made one’s eardrums ache.

Venigo’s eyes shone. He murmured, “High-frequency modulation?”

“Huh? You!” The snow girl’s gaze snapped to him.

“This endless fighting is tiresome. Why don’t we settle things with a game of rock-paper-scissors?” Venigo grinned.

“Die!” The girl’s expression twisted with frenzy. She pointed, and a dazzling blue ray shot straight at him.

“That’s not magic… A freezing ray?” Venigo’s jaw dropped in surprise.

Body modification! He jetted aside, evading at high speed. The ground where he’d stood was now sheathed in rime.

“Not too cold, thankfully. But quick—” Venigo kept his eyes trained on the girl, unconcerned that his scrutiny might provoke her further.

After all, they were enemies—her hostility mattered little.

Sure enough, the girl ignored Sophie and charged straight at Venigo.

“Leave her to me.” Venigo smiled at Sophie, tossing his hand upward without looking.

Azure Sky flashed—Finger Gun, Model M4.

He was met by the girl’s own gesture—an ice spike.

“Fascinating. You weren’t originally a mage, were you?” Venigo laughed.

“None of your business.” The girl’s face shifted, suddenly animated—a moment ago, an emotionless killer; now, a petulant child, whining as if throwing a tantrum.

Despite this, her strength could not be dismissed.

She lunged, apparently forgetting her ranged attacks, each hand gripping an ice dagger as she dashed in.

Venigo narrowed his eyes. He could tell that her skill with daggers was impressive—perhaps not quite masterful, but certainly expert.

It was odd. For one so young, could she truly excel in two disciplines at once? Judging by the storm of wind and snow she’d conjured earlier, Venigo had almost believed her a prodigy mage. Yet now, her deadly daggers hinted at formidable close-combat prowess.

Wait—this pattern… Cait Sith, Razor Claw, soul mimicry?

Dissociative identity disorder! That would explain the girl’s mercurial moods and expressions.

Her movements were strange, but in terms of sheer speed, Venigo was swifter.

A burst from Azure Sky sent him rocketing skyward. Before the girl could shift persona, Venigo spread his left hand, aiming the dark center of his palm at her.

“My return gift…” Venigo chuckled.

Dragon Fist—Crush!

The girl had no choice but to dodge. Kicking off the ground with speed rivaling Venigo’s, she leapt aside, flinging two ice daggers at his vitals.

But thrown upward, their power and accuracy diminished; Venigo only needed to shift a few meters to evade them.

The girl’s eyes changed once more. She raised both hands, summoning a surge of frigid energy between them.

“This time, real magic!” Venigo’s right eye narrowed, and he called out.

“Don’t bully me!” the girl cried, her voice almost plaintive as the mass of icy blue magic began to churn violently.

Fortunately, Venigo was airborne. Had he been on the ground, even dodging the main blast might not have saved him from becoming an ice sculpture in the aftermath.

Seeing the ferocity of her magic, Venigo sighed. He decided, after all, to engage her in close combat.

Venigo the Poacher—his greatest weapon was not strength, but cunning.