Amidst the swirling mists of uncertainty, there stood a figure clad in the garb of antiquity, his countenance contorted in anguish as he cursed the fates. This individual, known as Reynard Blackwood, found himself beset by bewilderment as to the circumstances of his transmigration. Forsooth, transmigrations oft lead one to realms of cultivation, where a single sword may vanquish myriad foes, or to epochs of history, where the course of events may be altered, wielding power over realms both grand and petty. Yet, why, oh why, was he cursed to transmigrate into the realm of lewd comics? And to compound his misfortune, why were the denizens of this realm anthropomorphic bovine creatures?
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In his musings, Reynard Blackwood lamented the fate of the previous inhabitant of his transmigrated vessel, who was entangled in sordid tales involving various male protagonists. As a true purveyor of pure love, Reynard Blackwood could not countenance such abominations. No! He would not stand idly by as the protagonists were led astray by lascivious temptresses!
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In a fit of righteous indignation, Reynard Blackwood proclaimed, "Divine Sword, Arise!"
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A mystical blade, shrouded in enigma, materialized from the ether, standing in solidarity with the Sword of Extermination.
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Witnessing this spectacle, the spectators quaked in their boots, for who could have fathomed that Ferdinand Devereux, despite possessing only replicas, could wield two of the ancient Four Divine Swords? Indeed, the eyes of the Emperor flickered with keen interest, while the carefree scion of nobility harbored a twinge of envy, having harbored similar aspirations to collect the Four Divine Swords, albeit to no avail.
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Fueled by his determination to rectify the injustices of this realm, Reynard Blackwood resolved to ensure the happiness and marital bliss of the four hapless maidens, determined to thwart the nefarious schemes of the bovine creatures and their ilk.
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With a heart full of resolve, Reynard Blackwood cast aside the remnants of his inferior tobacco and extinguished the smoldering embers beneath his heel. Yet, in that fateful moment, as his foot descended upon the cigarette butt, he was assailed by an eerie sensation of déjà vu.
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It was as though he had tread this path before, executing the same action with uncanny precision. The attire, the footwear, the angle of vision—all mirrored the recollections engraved within his mind.
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Reynard Blackwood found himself confounded by this surreal sensation. How could it be possible that he, who had arrived at this school merely a day prior, could possess memories of smoking in this very location? Surely, it was inconceivable that these memories belonged to the vessel's previous occupant, for the shoes upon his feet had been acquired only yesterday, following an encounter with a snow-white sword qi that shattered his door and reduced half his abode to rubble.
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Suddenly, a deafening crash resounded from outside, as if the very pillars of heaven were rent asunder. Rushing to the threshold, Reynard Blackwood beheld Nathaniel Winterbourne brandishing a sword, hurtling toward him like a tempest.
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"Nathaniel Winterbourne, have you lost your wits?" he exclaimed.
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"The one bereft of reason is you, you imbecile! Your mind is ensnared by women, heed my words, and behold the true nature of these two!" Nathaniel Winterbourne retorted.
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With a swift motion, Nathaniel Winterbourne dispatched the two bathing beauties with her sword, leaving their lifeless bodies in her wake. Reynard Blackwood could only watch in horror as she callously slaughtered the innocent maidens.
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"Such wanton destruction!" he lamented inwardly, aghast at the senseless carnage.
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However, his shock was compounded when he witnessed two writhing creatures emerge from the severed heads of the maidens.
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The verdant-hued creatures, barely freed from their confines, were promptly impaled by Nathaniel Winterbourne's silver needles and pinned to the ground.
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As Reynard Blackwood opened his eyes, he beheld a peculiar sight within the valley. The nine fox sculptures, previously inert, now radiated an eerie crimson glow, as if poised to manifest a world of their own.
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Even more perplexing was the sensation that these sculptures were on the cusp of animation.
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At that moment, his attention was drawn to Corvus Nightshade, wielding the severed head of Henry Irons in his left hand and the sword of Henry Irons in his right, charging recklessly toward him!
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Reynard Blackwood was momentarily perplexed. How had Corvus Nightshade managed to slay Henry Irons?
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He had no time to dwell on this matter, as Corvus Nightshade bore down upon him with murderous intent.
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And thus, the stage was set for a battle of life and death between the two adversaries.
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Swords clashed, energies intertwined, and dragons of fire danced in the skies as the combatants vied for supremacy.
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Yet, unbeknownst to them, in a secluded corner of the valley, Corvus Nightshade smirked malevolently, reveling in his machinations.
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For he had ensnared them within the confines of an illusionary realm, and now awaited their desperate attempts at escape.
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