Reincarnated Into A World Of Elves As The Only Man-Chapter 108: War goes on

Lyra struck first—her water blades arcing through the frigid air with lethal precision. Selene pivoted, snow churning beneath her boots as she twisted away from the attack, her own liquid weapons flowing like living extensions of her arms.

"Predictable opening," Selene taunted, countering with a sweeping slash that sent ice crystals spiraling toward Lyra’s face. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Lyra ducked, the ice shards slicing through several strands of her hair. She rolled leftward, simultaneously drawing moisture from the snow to form razor-sharp daggers that shot toward Selene’s exposed flank.

Selene’s hand snapped out, her fingers splayed wide. The ice daggers slowed mid-flight, their molecular structure being rewritten as she exerted her will. They liquified, then reversed direction.

"Shit," Lyra hissed, hastily erecting a crystalline shield of compressed water. The redirected projectiles crashed against it, spider-webbing the surface with fractures.

’Her control is unlike anything I’ve encountered,’ Lyra thought, readjusting her strategy. ’She’s manipulating state changes at a molecular level.’

Selene didn’t wait for Lyra to recover. She glided forward across the blood-stained snow, her twin blades extending into whips that cracked the air itself. One caught Lyra’s shoulder, slicing through her armor with ease.

Pain bloomed hot against the freezing air, but Lyra channeled it into focus. She dropped to one knee, plunging both hands into the snow. The ground beneath Selene suddenly liquified as all frozen water converted to slush.

Selene sank to her knees, momentarily trapped, her eyes widening in surprised respect. "Clever," she acknowledged, "but insufficient."

The slush around her solidified into jagged spears pointing upward. Selene slammed her palms downward, creating a counter-reaction that launched her skyward just as the spikes would have impaled her.

Lyra tracked the aerial movement, summoning a horizontal vortex of water that cut through the space Selene occupied. The guard twisted mid-air, contorting her body impossibly as the lethal torrent passed beneath her by mere inches.

Landing with feline grace, Selene swept both arms outward. The blood-tinged snow around them rose in a crimson wave, hardening into hundreds of needle-sharp projectiles that converged on Lyra from all directions.

Lyra spun, creating a spherical barrier of rapidly rotating water around herself. The frozen needles struck the barrier, some penetrating partially before their momentum was absorbed. The shield now bristled with bloody ice shards like some macabre sea urchin.

"Impressive defense," Selene commented, circling to Lyra’s right. "Most opponents are shredded by that technique."

Lyra didn’t waste breath responding. She collapsed her shield inward, then explosively reversed its direction, sending the embedded ice needles outward like shrapnel.

Selene clapped her hands together, creating a vertical wall of ice that caught most of the projectiles. Those that made it through left shallow cuts across her cheeks and armor. She wiped away the blood with a casual gesture, freezing it between her fingers into a small red dagger that she flicked toward Lyra’s throat.

Lyra deflected it with her blade, simultaneously launching herself forward. Their weapons met in a shower of ice crystals and water droplets that froze midair, creating a momentary sculpture of their conflict.

"You’re holding back," Selene observed, their faces inches apart as they tested each other’s strength. "As am I."

They disengaged simultaneously, each taking two precisely measured steps backward. Lyra rolled her shoulders, reassessing. "Then perhaps we should stop playing around."

Selene’s lips curved in a predatory smile. "Indeed."

Both warriors raised their hands, the very moisture in the air responding to their call. The snow around them began to rise, swirling into a localized blizzard that obscured them from the larger battle. Within this private arena, they circled each other, elemental power gathering like storm clouds around their forms.

"Let me show you," Selene said softly, "what water truly is."

The air around her hands darkened, moisture condensing into something denser than liquid, almost like mercury but with an organic quality that pulsed with inner light.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed as she summoned her own power, water spiraling up her arms like living armor. "And I’ll show you," she replied, "what it means to be its master."

They converged again in a clash of elements that sent shockwaves across the bloodied snow, neither gaining clear advantage as their battle reached new intensity.

***

Across the courtyard, the snow had disappeared beneath a churning slurry of mud and blood. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield—black-robed warriors and kingdom defenders alike fallen in grotesque tableaux of violent death.

A Thornvale warrior screamed as three attackers surrounded her. She swung her earth-blade in a desperate arc, catching one across the throat. Blood fountained outward, steaming in the cold air as the attacker clutched the mortal wound. But even as she fell, her companions struck. A blade slipped between ribs, another slashed across hamstrings.

"For the Eternal!" one of the assassins shouted, driving her dagger up through the fallen defender’s jaw into her brain.

Ten paces away, an earth-wielder from Moonlight slammed his fist into the ground. The frozen soil heaved upward, impaling two black-robed warriors on jagged spikes of stone and ice. Their bodies writhed for several seconds, legs kicking uselessly as blood ran down the earthen spears in rivulets. He turned, satisfaction flashing across his face—only to meet a thrown blade that embedded itself between his eyes. He toppled backward, dead before he hit the ground.

"Three more!" a water-wielder from Thornvale shouted, gesturing toward fresh enemies emerging from between ruined columns.

Captain Eira of Moonlight nodded grimly, air currents already gathering around her outstretched hands. "I’ll take left," she called, launching herself toward the attackers.

The first never saw her coming. Eira’s air-blade severed his head with clinical precision, sending it tumbling across the bloodied snow. The second managed to raise her weapon, a curved blade that hummed with strange energy. Their weapons clashed, air against steel, creating a discordant screech.

"Die, kingdom filth," the assassin spat, pressing forward.

Eira didn’t bother responding. She disengaged, then twisted her wrist in a tight spiral. The air around the assassin’s head suddenly compressed, then expanded. The pressure change ruptured both eardrums instantly, sending the warrior staggering in disoriented agony. Eira’s follow-up strike took her through the heart.

The third attacked from behind, blade aimed at Eira’s exposed back. A water spike suddenly burst through the assassin’s chest from behind, hoisting her into the air like a grotesque banner. The Thornvale water-wielder nodded at Eira before turning to face new threats.

Near the center of the battlefield, Queen Elena fought alongside her royal guard. The ground around her was littered with enemy corpses, some crushed beneath stone, others impaled on crystallized earth-spikes. Fresh blood spattered her face, none of it her own.

"Formation three!" she commanded, and her guard responded instantly, creating a rotating defensive circle with their earth-blades extended outward.

Five assassins charged their position, moving with unnatural synchronization. The first wave broke against the defensive formation, losing two of their number to precisely timed strikes. But the remaining three vaulted over their falling companions, their trajectories carrying them directly into the circle’s center.

Queen Elena didn’t flinch. The ground beneath the airborne attackers suddenly erupted upward—not in spikes, but as a massive fist of compacted stone. It caught all three mid-flight, crushing them against the stone ceiling thirty feet above. When the earthen appendage withdrew, what fell back to the ground was unrecognizable as human.

Across the courtyard, a Moonlight defender found herself isolated from her unit. Three black-robed warriors converged on her, their movements suggesting extensive training in coordinated killing. The defender—barely more than a girl—raised her water-blade with trembling hands.

The first assassin fell to a precisely aimed water-javelin through the eye socket. The second took three steps before realizing her intestines were spilling from a gash across her midsection, created by a water-whip that had moved faster than visibility. The third halted, reassessing the trembling girl with new wariness.

"Not all fear is weakness," the young defender said quietly, water gathering around her like a protective cocoon.