The city dropped away beneath them.

Quinlan cut through the smoke in a shallow arc with wind packed tight around his frame. Ruined towers slid past below, and heat rose in waves from burning streets, tugging at the air currents as he adjusted his angle without slowing.

He'd only destroyed a small part of the city due to his attack being condensed and highly concentrated into a big bang in a small area. The outer walls, the most reinforced part of the city, still stood tall, albeit a bit shaken, despite being hit.

It showed that he still had ways to go. Though expecting himself to punch away millennia-old constructs that were filled to the brim with structural artifacts meant to withstand the firepower of dwarven artillery might be unfair.

But, in the future, nothing was impossible.

Scar lay balanced against his back. Her weight was light and her grip secure. She rode the wind as if she had done it a thousand times before, showing Quinlan that she was a true natural when it came to instincts and body balance.

After a few seconds, Quinlan spoke as her words rang in his mind.

"You're starting to remind me of my Ayame more and more."

Scar shifted slightly. "Is that so?"

"The cheekiness, the way you talk back. The outright mythical strength packed into that small body of yours. I still remember how she beat me in Broderick's training facility while mockingly being wrapped in nothing but bandages, no less."

Scar snorted. "I wonder why. Nothing comes to mind," she decreed with utmost sarcasm, which was ignored by Quinlan as he added,

"And even your petite-"

Scar's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Master."

The word cut clean and sharp.

Quinlan blinked once. "Yes?"

There was a pause behind him.

"Were you about to call me flat-chested?"

He almost lost altitude.

"Flat? Goddess, no," Quinlan said quickly. "I'm not blind."

Scar waited. Just as expected, it came.

"I was only going to call you delicately decorated."

The wind hummed loudly between them.

Scar closed her eyes for a brief moment. Her grip tightened around him, then loosened again as she managed to count to three.

"You have the peak female physique for your fighting style," Quinlan added, as if that would make it better. "Optimized for speed and agility. Compact mass distribution. Very efficient."

Silence.

Then, "Master," Scar said slowly, "you have no concept of boundaries."

Quinlan tilted his head a fraction. "How could that be? I just punched through one."

She frowned. "What?"

"The barrier," he clarified. "The magical boundary protecting the settlement."

Scar stared at the side of his helmet for a full second.

Then she sighed. Long. Deep. Thoroughly defeated.

Her master was an impossible man.

They flew on.

Behind her mask, Scar smiled despite herself.

Something in her chest felt… crowded. Not unpleasant at all. Instead, it felt merely… full. Thus far, her interactions with Quinlan had always been clean and efficient. Orders. Reports. Execution. Loyalty without friction. The perfect master-servant relationship.

This was different.

Loose words. Poor timing. Irritation. The kind that came from proximity rather than obligation.

It reminded her of long nights spent sharpening blades with the Scarlet Lilies. Of arguments over formation spacing. Of laughter after humorous failures. Of existing around others without every moment carrying weight.

Quinlan flew on for a few moments in silence, letting his recuperated mana do the work while the city blurred beneath them.

Then he spoke.

"Were you serious when you said you're stronger now than you were in life?"

Scar's grip shifted once again.

"Your slap hurt," Quinlan continued. "But from a level seventy-something assassin, I expected a bit more force. Just a tiny bit more."

There was a brief pause.

"Master," Scar said evenly, "Have you thought about the possibility of me holding back? I cannot snap the neck of my own master."

"Hm." His tone stayed light. "I don't believe you."

She stiffened a fraction.

"You struck me with full intent," Quinlan went on. "There were no spells, and you didn't even form a fist, yes. But that slap carried everything you had behind it."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the wind.

Behind her mask, Scar's lips twisted.

Why did this man have to be so sharp at the worst possible times, while being completely oblivious at others?

"…I did not lie," she said at last, quieter now. "I am stronger than I was."

Quinlan did not interrupt.

"As a human, I had no margin for error," Scar continued. "No second attempt. No resurrection. Every fight was measured against the knowledge that one mistake ended everything. Now, my awareness of my limits is clearer. I see openings faster. I commit without hesitation. That alone makes me more dangerous."

She exhaled softly.

"But?" Quinlan prompted.

"But my raw power feels similar," Scar admitted. "Around what I had before. Level sixty-eight stat-wise, perhaps."

As an Elite Soul, she had no status window detailing her stats as she had in life. Thus, telling how she compared to herself in life was a nuanced problem.

Quinlan's shoulders shifted with a contained laugh. Beneath the helmet, his mouth curved.

"What a deceitful woman you are, Scar."

"I said it because there was an audience," Scar shot back immediately. "Two foreign rulers and the undead leader were watching you upgrade me with bated breath." She scoffed, voice tinged with embarrassed irritation while murmuring 'those who could breathe, that is…' before adding, "I thought I would help my master look impressive. You were already putting on a show of power. I merely… embellished."

She hesitated, then added defensively with a pout beneath her mask, "Sue me."

Quinlan laughed this time, releasing a short, genuine sound that vanished into the rushing air.

"Fair enough. Thanks for the masterful assistance. They ate it up."

Scar relaxed against his back again, tension easing from her posture as the matter was quietly dropped. Scar was not a liar; she never wanted to lie. But she skirted on the edge for her master's sake.

Quinlan's expression hardened as below them, between two collapsed avenues, a knot of undead had been driven into a tight circle. Human soldiers pressed in from all sides, shields locked, spears angled inward. Their formation was disciplined and their intent clear.

Scar saw it at the same time.

"Master."

That was all she said.

Quinlan understood immediately.

He dipped once, sharply. Wind folded around them as he cut speed, then stalled them in midair for the briefest instant. Scar moved before the pause finished.

She pushed off his back, high into the air.

Quinlan's arm came up in the same motion with an open palm. Scar twisted in the air, aligning her body perfectly so that her boots landed squarely against his hand as if they had practiced it a hundred times.

For a heartbeat, they were connected.

Then Quinlan drove power through his arm.

Veins stood out along his forearm as muscle tightened under skin and armor. The air around his hand compressed with a dull pressure of sheer force.

Then, he launched her toward the ground.

Scar became a streak. The wind screamed past her ears as she drew both daggers mid-flight, wrists snapping into position.

She tore through the gap between two shield bearers before either soldier realized what was happening.

The commander of this group didn't even have the time to turn.

As soon as he sensed motion, it was already late, far too late.

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