The Inner Keep of Galahad Fortress.
Rudger, walking down the passage that led deeper inside, spoke to Suruna.
“Is Violetta going to be all right?”
Outside, the Holy Crusaders were arriving one after another.
They had built a first defensive line with the thorn-wall barrier enhanced by Sedina’s power, and were preparing behind it, but against the Crusaders’ sheer strength, it was only a matter of time before they were overrun.
It had never been a battle they could win. Their goal was to hold out—delay, not triumph.
And at the forefront of that delaying battle stood none other than Violetta.
She was talented with wind magic, yes, but not to the degree of a battlefield powerhouse.
Even with steady growth, she might have reached the Fifth Circle someday—but the Sixth Circle? Impossible.
And becoming a single-element mage—mastering only one element completely—was harder still.
That was a realm that effort alone could never reach.
Yet now, Violetta was a single-element mage.
She had seized the title of the Air-Color Mage—a color that had never before existed in the world.
And the one who had made it possible was Suruna.
“She’s not all right,” Suruna said frankly.
“I dragged her to a height she was never meant to reach. When you forcibly raise someone’s magical tier, their body collapses and their mana runs rampant. A single-element user? The strain is even worse. Even if she survives, she’ll bear aftereffects for life.”
Rudger fell silent, his expression darkening. Suruna noticed and asked,
“Strange. I expected «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» you to blame me for it.”
“It was what she wanted.”
Suruna had warned Violetta of the risk, again and again.
Even so, it was she herself who had chosen this path.
“You don’t have to worry so much.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I did is closer to tricking the world. I helped her deceive herself, too.”
Self-hypnosis—making herself believe she could use only wind magic.
Suppressing every other talent she had, until she truly couldn’t use any other spell.
By pushing and repressing herself to the very limit, she hadn’t reached the ideal she desired, but she had formed something close to it.
Still, it was only temporary.
Sooner or later, that fragile form would collapse and revert to its original state.
When that happened, the backlash would come.
Perhaps even now, she was burning through her own body in real time.
Rudger worried about exactly that—and Suruna knew it, too.
“But sometimes,” Suruna went on, “you rig the board with a fake—only for the fake to become real.”
“Become real?”
“There are conditions, of course. Several steps. Step one, she’s passed: an exceptional sensitivity and talent toward the wind element. That’s why she could even approximate the Air-Color state.”
“And the next?”
“You have to saturate her surroundings with the breath of clean wind. Create the right environment. That part’s been covered, thanks to the elves.”
Vierno, the elf who commanded wind spirits, was invaluable in that regard.
“Not only that—right now, the Lord of Wind Spirits himself is above the Bretus Theocracy. In terms of environment, it’s ideal. His mere presence purifies the air.”
“And the final condition?”
“This one’s crucial. It’s not willpower, exactly... no, will isn’t enough. Let’s call it madness.”
Suruna shook his head.
“You know it too, don’t you? Talent matters more than effort—but what surpasses talent is madness. That obsession that burns until it consumes everything.”
Rudger nodded slowly.
The world doesn’t bend to effort alone. Too many are born with gifts that mock effort entirely.
Some take ten tries to learn what others grasp at one glance.
From the very start, the difference in speed is tenfold.
And for the gifted, their ceiling is unknowable—while for others, effort meets a wall that cannot be broken.
But sometimes—rarely—someone without talent smashes that ceiling apart.
Not through effort alone, but through sheer, all-consuming fixation.
“Madness,” Suruna said quietly. “Coughing blood, grinding bone, scraping away the soul—throwing in everything you are, just to make it happen. That kind of obstinacy.”
Madness was a double-edged sword—it ruined both body and mind.
Yet in the rarest of cases, it became the catalyst for transcendence.
“I’m good at judging people,” Suruna added with a crooked smile. “Trust me. That girl will grasp something beyond her limits.”
Maybe—just maybe—
The false might become true. A real Air-Color Mage might be born.
“I see.”
Rudger chose to trust her.
Besides, Violetta wasn’t out there alone. Others were with her.
“For now, we do what we must. Did you find the passage?”
“Yes. Just as I suspected, it’s sealed. We’ll need a key of some kind to open it.”
Descending into the depths, Rudger and Suruna stopped.
At the end of the underground corridor beneath the fortress, a massive circular stone door stood waiting.
* * *
Contrary to Rudger’s fears, Violetta’s winds only grew stronger and sharper.
She gathered all the pollen the war mages had blown away and carried it with her winds, stirring up localized whirlwinds that blanketed the field in hazy, choking smoke.
“Gas masks—on!”
The war mages donned their brass-colored respirators, each fitted with a dual filter canister.
That should’ve protected them from the pollen’s effects.
But then—the first few at the front began to collapse.
“What—poison?”
“But the masks—!”
“Everyone stay alert! Antidotes and neutralizers, now!”
They pulled out the pre-issued antidote injectors, stabbing the ampoule syringes into their thighs. The serum boosted resistance and flushed toxins—an expensive military-grade counteragent.
They injected their fallen comrades as well—then realized something was off.
“Wait. They’re not poisoned. They’re asleep.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean literally asleep. This pollen—it’s acting like a sedative!”
“Even through the masks? Impossible!”
As they muttered, a few more mages’ eyes went glassy—and they toppled face-first into the flowers.
“Damn it all...”
The pollen wasn’t poisonous.
It induced sleep.
Those who had used the antidote fell asleep just the same.
There was no toxin—only a suppression of the central nervous system.
But how could it breach sealed masks?
One veteran mage pinched his forearm hard. He felt pain—but faint, duller than usual.
“—Everyone! Cover all exposed skin! The pollen’s absorbed through contact!”
“What?!”
“Reinforce your bodies with mana! This isn’t some normal sleep incense—it’s imbued with the Demon King’s power!”
They cloaked themselves in mana, fortifying their bodies.
The mana circulating within repelled the pollen’s influence—but not before over three hundred soldiers had already fallen.
“Mana reinforcement works, but ordinary infantry are doomed.”
Even the armored divisions were useless.
The fine pollen would seep through their vehicles’ vents, sending drivers into instant slumber.
‘If they attacked us now, we’d be wiped out—but they aren’t moving. Why?’
The veteran commander analyzed quickly.
‘Maybe because they’d be caught in it too. Or... they’re deliberately trying to disable us.’
Given the difference in forces, the latter seemed likely.
‘They must have some kind of plan. We keep getting reinforcements—they don’t. They’re buying time.’
Most likely, the Demon King himself was doing something that required it.
‘Still, this isn’t easy. If this is just the road to the Second Checkpoint City, what lies beyond it?’
The greatest problem was that their infantry were useless here.
They had somehow broken through the thorn-forest, but this field of soporific pollen was another matter entirely.
‘What if we just bombed it flat?’
He shook his head.
‘Whatever this is, its growth rate surpasses even elven druidic flora.’
The thorn forest was fire-resistant, almost a living fortress that intercepted attacks on its own.
This field would be no different.
‘Unless we alter the terrain itself, we can’t clear it.’
And the powder needed for that—astronomical.
Even if they succeeded, the supply lines and time lost to detouring would be crippling.
He understood now.
The enemy’s aim was to stall them.
Meaning they had to strike fast.
The veteran sent his report to the command post.
“A flower field filled with sleep pollen?”
“And we can’t use fire magic freely—it reacts like Diffusion Incense.”
“Given the thorn forest’s resistance, we should assume this one’s the same.”
“The sleep pollen’s the main issue. Even Fourth-Circle war mages are collapsing.”
“They shouldn’t, if they’re reinforcing their resistance with mana. But the regular troops...”
“The gas masks don’t work. It seeps through the skin unless you’re fully sealed.”
“Then advancing’s impossible. And if they’re deliberately stalling us...”
“Exactly. Burning through the field while moving would take too long.”
“Then there’s only one option left.”
The command reached its conclusion swiftly.
“We’ll send in the elite. End this quickly.”
A strike force composed of mages, knights, paladins, and priests.
Originally, they’d planned to crush the enemy with infantry and armored firepower—but the Demon King’s defenses were too formidable.
“If only our air fleet were operational, we could have bombed the whole place to ash.”
They looked up at the sky—thick with storm clouds. Without question, Heathcliff’s doing.
No matter.
Even with only the knights, paladins, and mages they had—
They could still erase a nation from the map.
* * *
Knights enhanced by aura, paladins clad in divine power, led the vanguard.
Behind them marched mages and priests.
An unprecedented assembly of orders and schools from across the world.
Never before in history had so many factions gathered in one place.
Normally, such a coalition would’ve bred tension, rivalry—but not here.
With the Demon King as their common foe, infighting would’ve been madness.
They weren’t exactly cooperating either, but with this many bodies, cooperation was unnecessary.
The elite of the Holy Crusade advanced—
And at last, they passed the flower field. Beyond it, the Second Checkpoint City came into view.
“Stay alert. We don’t know what waits ahead.”
The air itself seemed to tremble with tension.
Even now, battle could erupt at any moment.
They crossed the broken wall and entered the ruined city.
“...A massacre.”
The city was annihilated.
Only fragments of holy stone structures littered the ground.
“Any survivors?”
“Unlikely. The civilians all fled.”
“And those who didn’t?”
“They’re dead.”
No sign of life. Just an eerie, hollow silence.
Under the storm-dark sky, standing in the ruins’ center, they felt it—the oppressive stillness.
Then—
A dense fog began to rise, swallowing the Second Checkpoint City whole.
“Fog? Out of nowhere?”
“Everyone on guard! Something’s coming!”
The gray mist thickened in seconds, blurring the world into shapelessness.
Nothing had an edge anymore; the fog devoured all distance and outline.
Then, from within that silence—
A sound echoed.
A long, low howl.
A wolf’s cry.
