Chapter 36 :  In the Company of Water 

“Wouldn’t that be too slow to matter?” he added, perplexed.

“Of course it is,” Curtis replied lightly. “It’s water, not flame. What threat does a rolling puddle pose?”

“Then what’s the goal?”

“A direct shot might miss and hit our own greatest ,” Curtis said. “And friendly fire, in close quarters, is an unpardonable sin.”

Terity nodded. “A fair point.”

It was true—while Curtis could hurl water projectiles with force, there was no guarantee of precision. In a duel, a miss was tolerable. In a melee of elite warriors, a stray shot could wound an ally.

“Besides, in this battle, a gentle nudge is all that’s needed. No need to crush when a push will topple the tower.”

“Don’t tell me… you’re going to drown them like the troll?” Terity asked, half-joking.

“That would be a bit much. I’ll keep it humane,” Curtis answered with a small smile.

While they spoke, the spirit continued its leisurely roll—now only feet away from its target. Both the Gaud and Narok warriors glanced at it, but neither paid it mind. Or rather, they simply had no time to.

Curtis snapped his fingers.

Pfwssssh!

The spirit spat forth a concentrated stream of water. At that moment, Curtis bolstered its velocity with Flowweaving.

If distance made accuracy a problem, then one need only reduce the distance.

The Gaud warrior, eyes fixed solely on his foe, never saw it coming.

Splat!

The stream struck him full in the face. His head jerked back, and for a heartbeat, he was stunned.

It was not a devastating blow. The water, fired steadily rather than explosively, lacked overwhelming force. But it struck with enough pressure to sting, to blind, to choke. Water flooded his nose and mouth. His vision blurred, his breath seized.

And in that brief but fatal lapse, the Narok warrior before him struck.

Shhk.

Blood spurted from the warrior’s throat as he fell, stunned, eyes wide with disbelief.

“That… that’s clever,” Terity muttered, impressed. “In the thick of it, I doubt I could dodge something like that either.”

Curtis merely shrugged. “A single spoonful, well-placed, can tip the scales. Who’s next?”

“Right flank. Curly black hair.”

The spirit rolled again.

And again, when it reached its mark, it spat water into the opponent’s face—accelerated, once more, by Curtis ’s magic.

“W-what in the—ghk!”

Another fell. A mighty warrior, brought low not by steel, but by a stinging stream of water.

This is absurdly effective, Curtis thought.

Where before he had to gather, shape, and hurl the water himself—every detail under his control—now he simply told the spirit to fire, adjusted the velocity, and let it do the rest.

Moreover, the magic cost was split. Flowweaving and Spiritcraft used separate reserves of energy. This cooperative casting not only simplified his work but conserved power.

I’ll have to avoid over-reliance, he mused. But this division of labor is incredible.

He loosed the reins of Flowweaving, and with more freedom than ever, toyed with his enemies.

Some Gaud warriors, now alert to the tactic, began dodging wide to avoid the water’s reach.

So Curtis curved the stream.

Whip!
The water bent midair like a serpent, striking the back of a retreating skull. The warrior flinched—an opening. The Narok fighter lunged, low and swift.

Another fell.

Again and again, the tactic repeated. And always, it was a Gaud warrior who fell.

Five elite warriors—Silver-rank and above—defeated in mere minutes.

“Because of that?” Marcus howled, the last of Gaud’s champions standing.

He could accept defeat at the hands of the mage who slew Redna—the raging tide. But this? To be bested by trickling streams of water? His pride reeled.

“That? That?! Then what does that make the ones who fell to it, Marcus?” Bruno jeered. “Puddles took your men. What does that say about them?”

“Shut up! Shut your damn mouth! It’s not over!”

“It is,” Bruno said coldly. “It ends with your death.”

Their duel flared—Marcus and Bruno, matched in strength.

But panic had dulled Marcus’ edge, and Bruno pressed the advantage.

He did not relent.

And at last—

Shlk.

Taking a cut to the arm as the cost, Bruno’s blade swept clean through Marcus’ neck.

With a roar, he seized the severed head by its blood-slick hair and raised it high.

“Let all bear witness—Bruno has slain Marcus of House Gaud!”

“The Gaud patriarch is dead!”

“Surrender!”

That was the end.

With their leader fallen and their numbers dwindled, the remaining Gaud warriors dropped their weapons, one by one.

“We’ve won!”

“Victory! Victory for Narok!”

A deafening cheer rose, echoing through the estate.

“Well,” Terity muttered, abashed. “I didn’t even draw my sword.”

“Easy pay’s still good pay,” Curtis chuckled.

Amid the chaos, his spirit quietly rolled to his side, and Curtis discreetly gathered it.

He glanced at his status.

Flowweaving progress has increased. Even without the kill. So there is some kind of contribution system.

His own spells had not dealt killing blows—only disruption. His experience gain had been modest.

But for Spiritcraft, which played an even smaller role?

That little bit had gone a long way.

[Spirit Creation: Lv. 7]
[Progress to next level: 11%]

His growth was steady.

The tide, it seemed, flowed ever in his favor.

Upon their triumphant return to the ancestral halls, Lord Bruno commanded the opening of every granary and storehouse, decreeing a grand feast to honor their hard-won victory. Save for a handful of sentinels bound by duty, the great hall swelled with hundreds of souls, reveling in merriment, their cups overflowing with mead and their voices raised in jubilant song.

This was no ordinary conquest. It marked the culmination of decades of enmity, a vendetta woven into the very fabric of their lineage, now severed by the sword’s decisive stroke. From their earliest days, they had been nursed on tales of this bitter feud, and now, at long last, the specter of discord had been vanquished.​