Blake slowed his steps as he neared the school gate. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto the masked figure leaning against the wall. The way he stood, his stance, the way he gripped the knight's sword—it all screamed trouble.
Blake's brows furrowed. So, he finally showed up.
The masked figure pushed off the wall, stepping into the dim glow of the streetlights. His voice was cold, controlled.
"You're finally here. I've been waiting for you."
Blake remained still, studying him. Despite the icy tone, something was... off.
There was no killing intent. No malice. Just... forced hostility.
Blake's lips curled into a smirk. This guy's not trying to kill me. He's testing me.
As Blake casually unfastened his sword bag, he whispered the command.
Sia's voice chimed in his head, cheerful as always.
A moment later, the information materialized in his mind.
Race: Reincarnated Devil, Knight of Rias Gremory
Strength: Mid-class Devil
Sacred Gear: Sword Birth
Evaluation: Supporting character. Future close friend of the protagonist.
Blake arched an eyebrow.
"Kiba Yuuto, huh? What's with the dramatic entrance?"
Instead of waiting for an answer, Blake drew his sword. The moment Frost Whisper left its sheath, a cold gust whipped through the air, scattering dust around him.
Kiba took that as his cue to attack.
Like a phantom, he moved—fast, fluid, and precise. His speed was incredible, his footwork nearly impossible to track for an ordinary fighter.
Blake wasn't ordinary.
Kiba was fast, no doubt. His Sword Birth Sacred Gear gave him an advantage in combat. But in terms of raw power, he was nowhere near the brute-force devil Blake had crushed the previous day.
That meant one thing—this fight would be about skill.
And when it came to swordplay, Blake had been training for over a decade.
Kiba's blade shot forward, aiming straight for Blake's left shoulder.
Blake's body moved before his mind even registered it. With Perception Distortion active, Kiba's movements slowed in his eyes, as if time itself had bent to his will.
He barely had to try.
A flick of the wrist. A subtle shift in his stance.
Kiba's thrust missed, grazing past him harmlessly.
Sparks flashed in the night as Blake redirected the attack and slid Frost Whisper along Kiba's blade, twisting the momentum into a counterattack.
The blade arced downward, aimed straight for Kiba's hand.
If this lands, he's losing a few fingers.
Blake didn't hesitate.
The Desperation Block
In a split second, a black dagger materialized in his left hand, forged by his Sacred Gear.
The two blades collided, metal shrieking as Kiba managed to parry— but not without cost. The impact sent him skidding backward, his footing unstable.
Blake didn't give him time to recover.
With a calm, almost lazy motion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pitch-black sphere about the size of his palm.
Without a word, he hurled it straight at Kiba.
Kiba's instincts screamed danger.
His speed was his greatest asset, but Blake's relentless assault had thrown him off rhythm. He had no time to dodge.
His mind raced. What the hell is that? A bomb?
He gritted his teeth. Screw it. I'm not taking any chances.
With a flick of his wrist, he launched his dagger at the sphere.
The dagger struck true, piercing the black orb in midair.
A harmless, almost comical pop.
Kiba blinked. Wait... what?
His brain barely had time to register the trick before it hit him.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Kiba's screams shattered the silence of the night.
A foul, ungodly stench exploded from the broken sphere, flooding the air around him like a biohazard.
His body froze, his lungs refused to breathe, and his vision blurred from sheer disgust.
He collapsed onto the ground, eyes rolling back, foaming at the mouth.
A Tactical Mastermind
Blake, who had already retreated to a safe distance, watched the spectacle with a satisfied smirk.
"Hmph. You thought you could test me without consequences?"
He crossed his arms, looking down at the fallen knight.
"Killing you is too much. But this? This is a punishment you'll never forget."
The black sphere was something Blake had won in a lottery for 30 Luck Points.
At the time, he had scoffed at it.
"A 10x Concentrated Stench Bomb? What kind of joke draw is this?"
Watching Kiba twitch on the ground like a dying fish, completely incapacitated by the sheer horror of the smell?
Blake believed in the system more than ever.