CHAPTER 439: HANDS NOT CATCHING UP

Cassian’s gaze turned sharp. "And what makes you think that your old, sagging body can make up for the fun I was having with Kirja’s well-kept one, huh?" he said coldly, his grip tightening around her breast until she let out a quiet, pained moan instead of a reply.

The holy robes that once radiated purity looked out of place now — clinging to a woman biting her lip to stifle shame and pleasure at the same time. Even through the sting of his words and the roughness of his touch, she didn’t pull away.

What could she do? It had only been two nights since he’d first made her climax — something she’d never cared for before. But now, the craving gnawed at her. No sermon, no prayer, no divine restraint could silence it. If offering herself to Cassian meant feeling that release again... then so be it.

Threats hadn’t worked yesterday, so Analisa changed tack — flirtation instead of fury. She wasn’t willing to sink any lower than that. "Don’t be cruel," she said, voice softening. "I even let you learn the Chaos Sword. The least you could do is be... pleasant to me."

Cassian’s smirk widened. He still felt the hard press against him, the weight of her chest in his hands and the warmth of her breath close enough to tempt him. He kept himself in check; fruit tastes better when it’s ripe. "I can be nice to you," he said slowly, closing the distance, the scent of her hair sharp in his nose, "but if it’s my dick that you want..." He leaned in, voice low, "...you’d better start begging."."

Anger flashed across her face, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she spat, venomous and controlled: "You bastard. I could make you disappear in an instant — seal you underground so you never see the light again. Turn you into a fucking wendigo."

Cassian chuckled, clearly unimpressed by her threat. He could see her legs shifting, thighs pressing together — not from rage, but heat. "You’re welcome to try," he said, voice flat but cutting. "Now get out. Come back only when you’re ready to crawl on all fours like the perverted bitch you really are."

He let go of her chest and turned away, not wanting her to see the flicker of regret in his own eyes — regret at letting go of something so soft, full, and perfectly shaped.

Analisa’s expression twisted — a mix of anger and shame. She held it together, forcing calm, and turned to leave without another word.

Cassian sighed, the sound low and heavy. He really wanted to throw her down, rip that holy fabric apart, and take what was right in front of him. But he restrained himself. There was satisfaction in patience — in watching a woman like her, someone untouchable, crumble on her own.

A Cardinal. A woman wrapped in purity and divine authority. Feared, worshiped, obeyed like a living goddess.

And someday soon, she’d be on her knees — begging for him.

That thought alone was enough to make him grin.

But as she left, the bulge in his pants reminded Cassian of what he’d lost, and a low groan escaped him. "Should’ve gotten her to give me a blowjob," he muttered under his breath.

Shaking it off, he headed to the Training Field, focusing on both Chaos Sword and the Gale Whisper Sword Style.

Even in just a week, he had become remarkably proficient. Every victory in today’s battles had owed itself to his mastery, despite not having fully learned Chaos Sword’s footwork yet.

As for Gale Whisper Sword, Cassian had been trying to perfect the Thousand Leaf Dance before moving on to more advanced techniques. Mastery still felt far off — even endless practice might not be enough. That’s why he’d been training the second form, experimenting with new tricks to strengthen his style.

The Guiding Breeze Form — unlike the offensive Thousand Leaf Dance — was purely defensive. It followed the essence of the Gale Whispering Sword Style perfectly, using the wind as a guiding force, which was the core principle of the style itself.

Cassian had considered training to counter Ragna’s unusual Circle abilities, but the Training Field offered little help there. Without detailed knowledge of Ragna’s techniques, mimicking them was nearly impossible. Still, he chose Ragna as his opponent; with three blades in hand, he was ideal for practicing defensive maneuvers against unpredictable attacks like those this form demanded.

"Start..." Cassian muttered, taking a deep breath. Instantly, a magical projection of Ragna appeared, attacking him with all three blades — one floating in midair as if controlled by invisible hands, the other two wielded in his real hands.

Cassian loosened his grip on his sword, letting it rest lightly in his hands as he began to feel the wind guiding him. As the first blade struck, he didn’t block it rigidly; instead, he let it flow past, guiding the attack away with ease. He did the same with the next two, and even the fourth, redirecting each strike so they glanced off him rather than landing. There was none of the flashy rhythm of the Thousand Leaf Dance — no spiraling, overwhelming flurry — just Cassian’s simple, fluid motions, letting the slashes pass as if they were part of the air itself. Yet even this understated technique was impressive: he forced Ragna’s projection to miss dozens of attacks before finally taking a shallow slash across his shoulder.

After that, things started to go wrong. His arms, now red from the repeated grazing attacks, began to falter. Not from pain, but from a nagging sense of missing something. His eyes saw the strikes clearly, his body moved at full speed, yet his hands weren’t responding as sharply as they should.

A thought crossed his mind. ’Is it my sword? Is this the wrong type for the Whispering Sword Style?’ There was no mention of a specific sword type required for the style — it was supposed to work with anything. Still, even in the Thousand Leaf Dance, he felt slightly slower, sensing he could achieve more if his weapon were lighter, perhaps wielded in one hand instead of two.