Chapter 233: Slit
Not far from the violent clash between Myles and Red, Clara's battle had already escalated into something far more one-sided than before. The fragile balance they once maintained shattered under the growing pressure of her relentless assault.
The rhythm that had once defined their exchanges no longer existed, replaced by a continuous stream of attacks that gave her opponent no room to breathe, no time to think, and certainly no opportunity to regain control of the fight.
The spearwoman of the elite troops still fought back with refined technique. Her weapon cut through the air with practiced precision as she deflected Clara's thrusts and attempted to counter whenever a narrow opening appeared.
Despite the increasing pressure, that crooked sneer remained on her lips. Her confidence refused to fade as she twisted her spear to redirect another incoming strike.
Even in that moment, her voice slipped through the clash of metal with mocking ease, her tone dripping with disdain as she continued to provoke.
"So this is all you've got? Still looks like you just depend on luck to me, bitch. Haha."
Those words didn't shake Clara. Instead, they fed something else within her.
A cold anger settled firmly in her chest, sharp and controlled, flowing directly into the frost that coiled around her spear.
Her grip tightened as the weapon responded to her emotion. The thin mist surrounding it thickened, became far denser and more oppressive.
She didn't waste time answering. There was no need for words anymore.
Clara stepped forward again with decisive movement.
Her next thrust came faster and carried far more weight, forcing the spearwoman to block with both hands as the impact drove through her stance and strained her arms.
Frost spread instantly along the point of contact, creeping across the surface of the woman's spear and biting into her grip.
Clara didn't slow down after that. She followed immediately with another attack, then another. She sent thrust sharper and more forceful than the last, pushing her opponent further back while steadily stripping away her control of the fight.
The sneer that once defined the spearwoman's expression began to crack under the pressure.
Clara's assault left no space for taunts anymore. Because every second demanded her complete focus just to survive as the frost continued to build with each exchange, spreading from Clara's spear to her skin and sinking deeper into her body.
The cold numbed her movements and slowed her reactions, turning even simple defenses into desperate efforts to hold on.
Then Clara broke through completely.
Her spear slipped past the guard in a clean and precise motion before piercing into the woman's stomach side.
The moment it connected, frost erupted from the wound, spreading rapidly across her body in visible patterns as the cold seeped deep into her flesh.
The spearwoman's breath caught sharply as her body faltered under the sudden surge of freezing energy.
Clara didn't give her a chance to recover. She pulled the spear free and followed with another decisive strike that shattered what remained of the woman's balance, sending her collapsing onto the ground.
Her weapon slipped from her hand as the frost continued to spread across her limbs, tightening around her muscles and dragging her movement down further with every passing second.
The sneer was gone now.
Her face twisted with anger, but beneath it, something far more telling emerged. Fear.
Her breathing turned uneven as she looked up at Clara while fully aware of the position she had fallen into.
Cuts and stab wounds marked her body, each one filled with creeping frost that continued to spread without slowing, numbing her strength and eating away at her ability to fight back.
She understood the danger clearly now. This was no longer a battle she could control. The outcome was slipping further out of her reach with every passing moment.
"Damnit! Am I gonna die here?!"
Clara stepped forward slowly, her presence calm and composed in stark contrast to the woman struggling on the ground.
The frost spear spun once in her hand before settling firmly as she held it with quiet confidence.
A crooked smile formed across her lips as she looked down at her fallen opponent. Her gaze was steady and unyielding.
"You still think I'm just lucky?" Clara asked, her voice calm but also edged with unmistakable amusement.
The spearwoman didn't answer. She simply stared back in silence. The fear now fully visible in her eyes as the weight of her situation settled completely over her.
Clara laughed and raised her frost spear to stab. The tip was already angling toward the woman's throat with clear intent to finish the fight in a single, decisive motion.
The cold mist around the weapon thickened, swirling faintly as her grip steadied, her confidence absolute in that moment.
Then something happened. She felt a sharp instinctive warning surged through her body, sending a chill down her spine.
Danger. It came from behind.
But the realization arrived too late.
A presence slipped into her blind spot without sound, without warning, moving through the chaos with speed that left no room for reaction.
Before Clara could even turn, before her body could respond to the signal screaming through her mind, cold steel had already reached her.
A dagger pressed lightly against her neck. For a fraction of a second everything froze.
Then the blade slid cleanly across her throat in a swift motion.
Warm blood burst outward instantly, spilling across her skin and down her chest in a sudden rush that stole the air from her lungs.
The frost mist around her spear shattered as her grip loosened. The weapon slipping from her hand and falling to the ground with a dull, distant sound that barely registered in her fading senses.
Her body trembled.
A broken, wet sound escaped her throat as she tried to breathe. But only a gurgle came out, choked and uneven as blood filled her airway.
Her hand moved instinctively toward her neck, but the strength behind it had already begun to fade.
She forced herself to turn.
Her vision blurred, but she still saw Rafe standing there.
His figure remained calm with a crooked smile that now looked far colder than before. The dagger in his hand dripped with fresh blood as his eyes looked at her without remorse.
Clara's legs gave out beneath her.
Her body collapsed onto the ground. The world tilted as the strength drained rapidly from her limbs.
The battlefield noise dulled into a distant echo, fading further with every passing second as darkness crept into the edges of her vision.
Her breath grew weaker. Her thoughts scattered.
And as the last of her strength slipped away, her consciousness began to sink into nothingness.
—