The wind was cool and steady, brushing gently through the towering trees. Their leaves swayed with the breeze, dancing softly in the rhythm of nature. Nearby, a waterfall cascaded down a rock face, its calming flow filling the air with a soothing sound.
But beneath Julius, the grass had turned crimson—its blades soaked in his blood.
And now, more wind gusts were on their way.
The tribal mages launched another wave of deadly wind strikes. Julius, still bleeding and weak, somehow managed to dodge every single one. He quickly rolled behind the thick trunk of the tree he had been leaning against, using it for cover.
The trees in Virelda were massive. Thanks to their sheer size, it would take the enemy at least two full seconds to locate him again.
Wasting no time, Julius opened his inventory.
"Open Inventory."
"Summon Soul Injection."
The moment he said the words, a glowing vial materialized in his right hand. It looked as though it had been crafted from blue crystal—shimmering, elegant, and almost magical in beauty. Its size was no different from an ordinary syringe, but its design was unlike anything he had ever seen.
A cyan-colored screen appeared before him, displaying a single instruction:
"Please inject the Soul Injection in the center of your chest."
Julius didn't hesitate. He followed the instruction, pressing the crystalline syringe to the center of his chest.
The moment it pierced him—he froze.
The enemy had spotted him again.
The tribal leader, the one with the long green hair and ancient wooden wand, raised his hand and launched the largest wind gust yet. A furious, violent blast aimed directly at Julius.
Another screen had flashed with information just before the attack, but Julius didn't have time to read it. His focus was locked on the incoming attack, and for a split second, fear overtook him.
He closed his eyes tightly.
He was terrified.
One second passed.
Then two.
Then three.
But... nothing hit him.
Instead, he heard a metallic clash, followed by the sharp hiss of something slicing through air—
SWISSHHH!
Julius opened his eyes.
What he saw was not what he expected.
Standing in front of him was a woman—mid-to-late twenties, poised like a shadowy guardian. Julius could only see her from behind.
Her long, black hair was tied into a flowing ponytail, catching the wind as it shimmered under the light. She wore a tight black kimono, torn in places but snug, outlining the elegant shape of her hips and figure.
The kimono was cut short at the bottom, revealing her exposed thighs—her stance sharp and powerful.
In her hand, she held a black katana, sleek and radiant.
Another katana was secured at her right hip in a white sheath, tied to her waist with a simple soft rope. Its entire hilt and casing were pure white, in contrast to the black one she wielded.
The woman herself—she was stunning.
But Julius still hadn't seen her face.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her right eye.
And then she said, calmly—
"Master, give me your order."
Julius was stunned.
Who was this woman?
Why had she saved him?
Then he remembered.
The Soul Injection.
Floating in the air beside him was still the cyan screen.
He quickly looked toward it and read the contents. At the top, in gray, was one line. Below that, two more lines glowed in white:
[You have successfully gained a power — Maiden Gacha V2]
[Your power has been put to action automatically]
[You have successfully rolled a Samurai Maiden: Saya. She has been summoned.]
Julius muttered under his breath, confused—
"Maiden Gacha V2? But... we never programmed that power into the game."
He was baffled. As far as he knew, no one in the company had added anything by that name. All player abilities were documented in internal files—files the development team had reviewed countless times. This power… wasn't among them.
Back on the battlefield, the tribal mages unleashed another barrage of wind gusts, while the archers fired volleys of arrows. The spear-wielders stood ready, their weapons aimed directly at Saya.
But—
SWISSHHH!
CLASSSHHH!
SWEEEESHHH!!
With just one katana, Saya effortlessly deflected every single arrow and gust of wind, her movements so swift they were barely visible to the eye.
Then, in a calm and composed voice, she asked again:
"Master, any orders?"
Julius narrowed his eyes.
His voice was cold, steady, and sharp—
"Slay them all."
Saya stood alone.
Before her stretched an army: 20 spearmen closing the gap, 10 wind mages preparing spells mid-rank, and 20 archers with arrows already drawn.
Behind her, Julius lay against a tree, bleeding and breathless—his left arm gone, his vision blurring.
But his eyes stayed fixed on the woman standing in front of him—her kimono fluttering with the wind, her black katana drawn, held in a relaxed grip.
She didn't flinch.
The archers loosed.
The air hissed with a storm of arrows.
Saya moved.
Not a blur—a whisper. Her katana flashed once, and ten arrows split mid-air, their broken shafts dropping harmlessly at her feet. She stepped sideways—three clean Iajutsu slashes—and the next wave disintegrated before they reached her.
Spearmen charged.
They let out a unified roar, boots shaking the ground.
Saya let her breath settle, her blade low.
The first spear thrust forward—she slipped past it, turned, and sliced the attacker's side clean open. Another came from the right—a backhand draw cut, and the enemy fell, gurgling.
Three more surrounded her. One drew close.
Too close.
A single Iajutsu twist—one cut, three bodies.
She moved like the wind itself—every cut clean, every breath precise. Her strikes came from stillness, faster than the eye, faster than the mind.
By the time the spearmen realized they were outmatched—fifteen lay dead.
The last five charged in desperation.
They didn't last three seconds.
Now, only mages and archers remained.
The mages unleashed their wrath—blades of wind, slicing gusts, a miniature tornado howling toward Julius.
He shut his eyes.
"No..."
But the cyclone never touched him.
Saya stood in its path, katana raised high.
She stepped forward into the storm—and cut it in half.
The air split like paper, the spell devoured by the sharpness of her will.
One mage screamed. Saya vanished.
She appeared in front of him, eyes emotionless—her blade already in his heart.
She pivoted, leapt, spun mid-air—a horizontal slash decapitated two more. Another tried to cast, but her foot met his jaw and her blade ended his chant mid-word.
The remaining four backed up—but too late.
Iajutsu strikes rained down.
Silent. Absolute. Perfect.
Then—the leader stepped forward.
Long green hair, ancient robes, a gnarled staff glowing with wind power.
He didn't speak. He summoned all his strength, a gale powerful enough to bend trees backward.
Saya didn't wait.
She walked calmly through the roaring winds, kimono whipping like a flag. Her blade stayed steady.
With one swift movement—
She cut the wind itself.
Then the mage.
His staff shattered. His chest opened like parchment. And he collapsed without sound.
Only the archers remained.
They tried to run.
They never got far.
One by one—down they fell. Saya moved like shadow across the battlefield, her katana a streak of black lightning.
By the end—
All fifty bodies lay still.
The grass, once green, was now red.
Saya stood in the silence. Her chest rose slowly, her katana dripping, but her hands never trembled.
Behind her, Julius watched in disbelief—bloodied, breathless... alive.
She turned toward him, her voice calm:
"The threat has been eliminated, Master."