"I'm actually more curious... who did you take for?"
So Jenkins asked.
"It doesn't matter who you are. Whether you're the Twin Demons or the man in the black robe, Miss Fabry or the reclusive Undying Man, it's all irrelevant. Our organization investigated long ago and found that there are no demigods among the Believers of Lies. Your entire group is a sham, hiding behind falsehoods. Any perceived power you have is just another one of your grand deceptions."
The demigod from the Tree House answered.
"Is that what you believe? How very interesting."
Jenkins nodded. "Very well, let's begin. But rember this: you challenged . I did not challenge you."
"And why should I rember that?"
"So that if you have the fortune of eting Death, and it asks you how you died, you won't say I killed you. You'll say you ran to and begged to be slain."
Jenkins replied.
The demigod from the Tree House froze for a second before bursting into roaring laughter. Still chuckling, he seized the Misfortune Poem, which pulsed with power. The clay tablet morphed in his hand like soft clay, swiftly reshaping itself into a slender, gray rapier.
Jenkins, in turn, summoned his White Bone Holy Sword. He took a deep breath and took a step back with his left foot, settling into a stance.
The ocean waves were frozen solid, and the two n standing atop them were forced to squint against the blinding glare of sunlight reflecting off the ice. The crests of the frozen waves were anything but a level battlefield. Facing each other from a distance, each had managed to find a precarious foothold. Now, with weapons drawn, the challenge was how to even begin their fight.
"I wonder if you're familiar with the legend of the Mad Poet?"
The demigod from the Tree House suddenly posed the question, but before Jenkins could reply, he continued speaking, lost in his own narrative:
"The Mad Poet was a Savior Candidate in a bygone epoch, and he too wielded the power of the Child of Disaster. In that distant age, he encountered another champion chosen by destiny on the snow-capped mountains of the north. They battled on the summit for three days and three nights before a winner erged. I may not have three days and nights to waste on you, but we stand now upon a glacier, surrounded by bitter cold. It is, I must say, quite a coincidence."
"If you truly knew that story, you'd know that the Mad Poet, the wielder of the Child of Disaster, was the one who lost. If our eting and this duel are indeed orchestrated by fate, then it seems destiny is not on your side."
"No. It is precisely because the Child of Disaster lost last ti that it cannot lose this ti. Destiny is impartial. It favors no one, and it manufactures no coincidences."
"You make a compelling point, but I'm not sure if I ought to point sothing out..."
Jenkins raised his sword with a sigh:
"The truth is, the Child of Disaster isn't a qualification for a savior in this epoch... and more importantly, you haven't even mastered it."
"To think you can still sway with your lies... you are truly naive. Believer of Lies, I know how potent your honeyed words can be. That's why, from the very start, I resolved to ignore everything you say. Waste no more ti! Let defeat you now and officially begin my journey as the savior at the end of this eighteenth epoch! After nearly a millennium of planning, our ambitions, our goals, will finally—"
He broke off, laughing maniacally as he raised the earthen short sword ford from the Misfortune Poem. Then, launching himself into the air with his power of flight, he soared from the glacier's peak.
The power of a demigod, combined with the energy drawn from calamities, made him seem invincible. The sword descended toward Jenkins's head, an unstoppable blow that looked certain to cleave him in two.
Jenkins stood his ground, perfectly calm. As the blade descended, he t it with a simple sideways sweep of his White Bone Holy Sword, effortlessly parrying the attack.
"It's rather fascinating, isn't it? Here we are in the modern era, and yet we're dueling with swords. I think you ought to keep up with the trends. If you'd turned that clay tablet into a gun, your odds might be a little better."
"How is this possible?"
The middle-aged man from the Tree House—now appearing as a youth—strained to push Jenkins's blade down. Yet no matter how he channeled the imnse power coursing through him, he could not gain an inch.
"Now I'm starting to believe in this power of fate you spoke of. You were right, this is destiny. The Misfortune Poem has two faces, and as it happens, I chose the other one. There is no hierarchy between disaster and salvation. The problem is that I completed five great works in their entirety, while your gems are all incomplete. That is why, despite being weaker than you, I can still overpower you."
As he spoke, Jenkins flicked his sword, batting the demigod away without caring if he understood. The man from the Tree House stumbled back two steps, a dazed look on his face, like soone who had just woken up and couldn't get his bearings:
"This isn't right. Is this one of your plots? Did you trick with a lie?"
"You probably won't believe this, but I rarely tell lies. Everything I just told you was the absolute truth."
A spiritual radiance flowed along the edge of the holy sword. Jenkins, standing with his weapon at the ready, executed a graceful flourish and pointed the blade at his foe:
"I have graciously told you the entire truth. Whether you choose to believe it is your own affair. And now, you must accept your destiny."
Their blades clashed. With a sweep of his sword, Jenkins leveled a patch of the glacier before him, creating a stable path to press his attack. The demigod's clay sword was sent flying, spiraling down into the sea below. He stumbled back again, but this ti, his foot found no purchase. He slipped, nearly tumbling off the edge of the frozen wave.
"Impossible! The records clearly state that anyone who possesses the Docunt of Disaster and brings about five calamities will beco the Child of Disaster! I see it now. It was you! You reached the goal before I did, and so the unique power beca yours! Oh, Believer of Lies, you can't deceive !"
"People are always so reluctant to trust strangers. And they're always so reluctant to trust . How very strange."
As he spoke, Jenkins stepped forward again and lunged with his sword. The demigod, still in a trance-like state, foolishly tried to catch the blade with his bare hands. Unsurprisingly, the edge sliced deep into both of his palms.
Crimson blood stread from his hands, staining the glacier at their feet, but he seed not to notice. Snowflakes drifted down, settling on their shoulders. This was their duel.
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