In a heartbeat, Irina dashed forward, her movements quick and direct. The moment her sword came down, Kiba met it with a clean parry, their blades clashing with a metallic ring that echoed across the open field.
From the sidelines, everyone watched intently—Rias with arms folded, Akeno with a slight smile, Xenovia observing closely. Even Sona had taken an interest, eyes narrowing at every shift in stance.
The spar began in earnest. Irina pressed with light, rapid strikes, testing Kiba's defense. Kiba, ever composed, countered smoothly, not wasting a single movement. There were no flashy techniques—just sharp, clean swordsmanship between two trained fighters.
Irina's movements were precise but spirited—each swing fueled by a bubbling energy that made her footwork unpredictable. She wasn't just fast—she was inventive.
With a quick chant, the holy sword in her hands shifted—morphing mid-strike into a jagged, whip-like blade that snapped at Kiba's flank. He barely sidestepped in time, eyes narrowing.
"Excalibur Mimic," Akeno murmured. "She's changing the shape of her sword to keep him off-balance."
"She's good," Xenovia admitted, arms still crossed. "Reckless, but good."
Irina spun into another flurry, her sword now resembling a wide cleaver, then a narrow rapier in the blink of an eye. Each time Kiba adjusted his stance, she shifted again, giving him no rhythm to settle into.
Kousuke leaned forward slightly in his seat, eyes sharp behind his laid-back grin. "She's pushing the tempo. Good girl."
Kiba parried another blow—but his feet slid back a few inches in the dirt.
Irina's relentless pressure kept mounting. With a leap, she brought down her blade in a two-handed arc—this time shaped into a greatsword, glowing faintly with holy light.
Kiba crossed his sword to block, bracing himself. The impact rang out like a bell, the force sending a shockwave through the air. A thin crack spidered across the ground beneath his feet.
"He's being cornered," Sona observed aloud.
"He's analyzing," Rias corrected quietly. "He's just waiting for the right moment."
And then, it came.
Irina lunged again—but this time, her blade split into three, branching mid-strike like jagged lightning. It was a clever trick—one only someone truly familiar with Mimic could pull off.
Kiba's sword caught one—but the other two grazed his sides.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"…Alright," he muttered under his breath.
He stepped back. His sword vanished in a flash of dark light—and in its place, several glowing sigils formed in the air around him.
The ground at Kiba's feet cracked as a new weapon rose from the summoning glyphs—a jagged, unstable-looking blade. Holy in shape, but wrapped in ominous, flickering energy.
Xenovia's eyes widened slightly. "That shape—!"
It was unmistakably modeled after her own sword—but imperfect. The edge pulsed erratically, like it hadn't finished forming, yet still radiated destructive potential.
"I call this one… Destruction Sword," Kiba said calmly. "It's still incomplete—but it should be enough."
Irina grinned. "Ooh, you were holding back something cool this whole time? You really are a knight-type."
They charged at each other again—Kiba now on the offensive. The Destruction Sword clashed with Irina's Mimic blade, their powers repelling each other with bursts of divine and demonic force.
Each strike now left scorch marks in the air. Sparks flew with every meeting of blades. The balance had shifted—Kiba's precision now backed by raw force, while Irina's versatility danced against his growing momentum.
Kiba advanced, the Destruction Sword humming with unstable energy as he launched a flurry of calculated strikes. Gone was his defensive stance—now he moved with purpose, each step fluid, each swing decisive.
Irina blocked and twisted her Mimic blade to counter, but the weight behind Kiba's blows forced her back. Her heels dug into the dirt as sparks flew again, her grin fading into a focused scowl.
"He's taking control," Akeno observed with a slight smirk.
"His attacks… they're different now," Xenovia muttered, narrowing her eyes. "More aggressive."
Irina tried to reshape her blade into a shield, but Kiba broke through it with a two-handed swing, sending her stumbling.
Kiba didn't relent. His Destruction Sword pulsed violently as he dashed in for a final strike. Irina crossed her sword in front of her, bracing for impact.
Then—
"Stop!"
The authoritative voice cut through the air like a whip.
Both combatants halted mid-motion—Kiba's sword just inches from Irina's guard, the holy light from her Mimic blade flaring in response.
Everyone turned to Rias, who stood with a sharp expression, her hand raised slightly to call off the match.
"My familiar just returned," she said, her tone even but urgent. "There's been a sighting."
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Kiba stepped back and dispelled his sword, the sigils fading behind him. Irina blinked in surprise, breathing a little heavier.
"Sighting?" Xenovia echoed, stepping forward.
Rias nodded, her crimson eyes serious. "A suspicious figure—long robe, heavy hood—seen in the east quarter of town. They didn't approach anyone, but they're not giving off normal energy. My familiar couldn't get closer."
Irina straightened, immediately alert. "That could be the target we've been looking for."
"The rogue exorcist?" Akeno asked.
"Possibly," Xenovia said. "Or someone tied to them."
"Should we go check it out?" Saji asked, glancing at Sona.
"No," Sona said, shaking her head. "This is church business. If it's the one they've been sent to deal with, we shouldn't get in the way unless asked."
Without another word, Xenovia and Irina took off toward the eastern gate, their pace brisk and focused.
Kousuke watched their departing figures in silence. Koneko looked up at him and, as if reading his thoughts, asked, "…Want to follow them?"
He shook his head with a smile, gently rubbing her head. "No."
Not now—but later. Xenovia didn't seem like the type to underestimate her opponent. But Irina… he was slightly worried about her. She was strong, sure—but impulsive. And whoever their target was, it had to be someone dangerous.
After all, they had stolen something from the Vatican—the heart of the Church itself.
It had to be something important.
Yet not important enough to deploy overwhelming force.
That only meant one thing.
It wasn't just about danger.
It was about secrecy.