Kwaaang!
Magic clashed against magic in midair.
Normally, a duel between mages would be filled with massive explosions and dazzling light, but the scale of Caroline and Elisa’s battle was far beyond that.
Caroline’s destructive crimson mana.
Elisa’s beautiful yet deadly pink mana.
Each time the two collided in the sky without giving an inch, the air trembled and the earth rumbled violently.
Their battle was fierce—almost as if they were determined to end the grudge that had stretched on since ages past.
Both were overwhelming in their own right, and the aftershocks alone had already covered their bodies with countless small wounds.
Caroline brought her hands together and drew an incantation.
Mana gathered in the air, forming into a massive sword that came crashing down toward the crown of Elisa’s head.
Elisa lifted a finger toward it.
A pink beam shot from her fingertip, splitting the sword cleanly in two and continuing upward through the clouds.
The pitch-black storm clouds above soon turned pink, and from them poured countless meteors of rosy light.
They were small, but each possessed enough destructive power to far surpass a high-explosive shell.
“Ha!”
Caroline merely scoffed. She forged a blade of pure mana in both hands and slashed through the raining meteors, charging straight ahead.
Pushing through the gaps between the endless flashes of pink light, she closed the distance in an instant until she stood face-to-face with Elisa.
Elisa channeled mana into the fan she held and met Caroline’s blade head-on.
KWAANG!
When sword and fan collided, the air around them was blasted away, creating an instant vacuum.
As air rushed back into the empty space, it roared into a violent gale, whipping their hair about—but neither woman stopped glaring at the other.
“What’s wrong? Tired already? Sitting in that comfy Headmaster’s chair must’ve made your body go soft.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re the one panting. Maybe you should focus on training your stamina instead of your spellwork, mercenary.”
They were complete opposites, yet their eyes mirrored one another perfectly—like reflections in a mirror.
Their exchange didn’t last long.
Once again, the battle resumed, their figures blurring as they clashed and twisted around each other at lightning speed.
The two streams of mana intertwined, crashed into the ground, and swept across the battlefield.
A nearby horde of cryptids was caught in the surge of magic—reduced to ash without leaving even a trace behind.
It was like watching a living furnace made entirely of mana.
A fight that could only end with one of them dead.
But the battle ended far more abruptly than expected.
A withered, twisted white tree rose high into the sky—followed by the cacophony of countless sounds erupting all around them.
Caroline and Elisa both sensed it instantly: something had gone terribly wrong with the Holy War while they were fighting.
Without breaking eye contact, they simultaneously spread their mana and perception outward to gauge the situation.
No matter how they looked at it, if things continued this way, both sides would perish together.
Neither woman wanted to admit it, but that infuriating opponent truly did possess power equal to her own.
Still, neither could be the first to suggest a truce—their pride was far too high for that.
The first to speak would lose.
So both simply glared at each other in silence, lips tightly sealed.
“My, my. It’s fine to keep your youthful spirit alive, but perhaps you should also learn to read the time and place before you act.”
The voice that cut between them belonged to an old man radiating kindness and wisdom.
Caroline and Elisa turned to him in shock.
“L-Lord Rothschild?!”
“The Archmage himself...?”
Clinton Rothschild.
The man who had reached the 7th Circle as a human—and was acknowledged by all as the strongest mage alive.
He had appeared to mediate between the two women.
“A Holy War has broken out. How could I possibly stay still?”
At his words, Caroline bit her lip.
Clinton was a mage of the Empire. Even if he had the right to act independently of the Imperial Court and the Emperor’s will, he was fundamentally her enemy—because Caroline had allied herself with the Demon King Heathcliff, a traitor to the Empire.
But Elisa’s expression wasn’t exactly pleasant either.
This might have been her last battle with Caroline, and she hadn’t wanted it to end like this.
Whether he knew their thoughts or not, Clinton chuckled softly.
“I can see the discontent in your eyes. I’m sorry to interrupt what was clearly an exhilarating duel between rivals. But given the circumstances, I had little choice but to step in.”
He had even gone so far as to apologize—something unnecessary for a man respected and revered by every mage alive.
“Did you come to capture me?”
Caroline’s voice was sharp. Clinton tilted his head.
“What makes you say that? I told you, didn’t I? I came to stop you two from fighting.”
“And why, exactly?”
“You know why. Look over there.”
Clinton raised his staff, pointing toward Galaharad Fortress.
“With things like this, isn’t it a bit improper to keep fighting for personal grudges?”
“......Lord Rothschild, what are you really after?”
Caroline realized then that Clinton hadn’t come to defeat her.
He hadn’t even taken an active part in this war until now.
“Because of the Church, isn’t it?”
Elisa, who already suspected the abnormality behind the war, spoke up.
“You’ve realized this Holy War isn’t normal, haven’t you, Archmage?”
“Indeed. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
Clinton’s gaze shifted to Caroline.
“You know it too. That’s why you chose to fight on the Demon King’s side, isn’t it?”
“I simply accepted a mercenary request.”
“You didn’t become the top mercenary in the continent by taking any job regardless of right or wrong. You got there because you only accepted requests you deemed just.”
“......”
Caroline was momentarily speechless—she hadn’t expected Clinton to know so much about the Monarch Mercenary Corps.
“Standing on the Demon King’s side like this... doesn’t that mean you, too, believe this is the right course?”
“......Maybe I’m just a bad woman who thinks bad men can sometimes be right.”
“I’ve watched you for a long time, Caroline. You can’t fool me. But enough chatter—I didn’t come here for that. What do you two intend to do now?”
They both knew exactly what he meant, and their eyes met.
Thanks to Clinton, the tension of battle had dissipated completely. Restarting their duel now felt pointless—especially since neither was in the mood anymore.
“Ha. Fine then. Guess you got lucky, you wench. I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Oh my. Look who’s talking. You should be thanking the Archmage—he’s the one who saved you.”
Even at the very end, they exchanged barbs without giving an inch, and Clinton couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ah, youth is a wonderful thing.”
“Lord Rothschild, we’re both old enough now. Talking about ‘youth’ feels a bit much, doesn’t it?”
“How so? Compared to me, you’re still young.”
“Well... when you put it like that...”
Compared to an old man like him, they really were young.
“So, what will you do?”
Neither Caroline nor Elisa answered his question aloud.
But the hostility between them faded—that alone was enough of an answer.
* * *
“Hold the line! Don’t let them through!”
“We need more ammunition here!”
“Fall back! Get the wounded out!”
The battlefield had turned into utter chaos.
An overwhelming horde of cryptids had surged forward, pinning the army in place.
At first, they’d managed to hold their formation with rifles, cannons, and bombs—
—but the cryptids showed no sign of thinning out.
As the relentless assault continued, casualties began to mount.
The few remaining steam golems at the front were swarmed by packs of wolves that tore into their armored hulls.
They weren’t normal wolves—they were berserk cryptid variants—and even the steam golems couldn’t withstand them.
One by one, the golems collapsed, and the front line broke apart.
Had the knights not stepped forward to intercept the beasts, the number of dead would have been unimaginable.
“Damn it! We’re out of ammo!”
“When’s the resupply?!”
“The tide’s aftermath is still blocking our transport routes! Hold on a bit longer!”
“We can’t hold with no bullets!”
The supply lines had tangled and jammed because of the tidal wave—docking was impossible.
With the endless swarm of cryptids pressing down on them, it was {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} enough to drive anyone insane.
Then, a massive man stepped forward.
“Kahahaha! Now this is a sight I’ve seen before!”
Leaping into the horde of wolves, the man swept through them with sheer physical might and explosive mana.
Every time his fist struck forward, a colossal groove tore through the ranks, annihilating the cryptids in his path.
“It’s Phyron!”
“A Lexuror-class mage has entered the field!”
Phyron wasn’t the only one who had come to help.
Loina Pavlini had also arrived, raising shimmering barriers of mana to shield the soldiers from the oncoming beasts.
“Everyone, focus on defense!”
At her shout, the soldiers slowly pulled their formation back.
No fool dared to charge recklessly forward in a moment like this.
The mages from the various schools stepped up, weaving temporary barriers across the area to block the wolves’ advance.
Seeing that, Loina thought to herself,
‘Archmage Clinton told us—our task is to delay the army’s advance for as long as possible, to buy time.’
He had also warned them not to arouse suspicion.
Fortunately, the sudden flood of monsters gave them a perfect excuse to stall.
‘I don’t know exactly why he said that, but since this war itself isn’t normal, there’s no helping it.’
Of course, Phyron—blissfully ignorant of any hidden schemes—was charging around like an excited dog on a snowy day, laughing loudly as he fought.
Ironically, that very behavior helped conceal their true intention completely.
‘Let this end well... please.’
Loina murmured inwardly and glanced toward the rear.
In the distance, new reinforcements were arriving.
At the head of the column fluttered a flag bearing the emblem of the Yuta Kingdom.
* * *
Galaharad Fortress, now connected to the great white tree, looked like a vast blossom blooming atop that gigantic trunk.
Ludger had described it as something akin to a transmission tower.
A colossal structure rising high into the heavens—
considering its purpose was to affect the entire continent, he wasn’t wrong.
“The situation is shifting,” Suruna said.
Through the countless “eyes” he had placed around the battlefield, he could see everything.
Hans’s rampage. The enemies being blocked. Phantos hunting Hans. And the others moving in the midst of it all.
But what caught Suruna’s attention the most were not the powerful fighters, nor the brilliant tacticians.
They were ordinary people—soldiers, war correspondents, mages, knights.
Many were puppets dancing on Salesin’s strings, yet among them were some who refused to bend.
Those who struggled to uphold their own will.
To Suruna, their figures seemed to shine—
not with physical light, but with the radiance of the spirit, the glow of determination rising from the depths of the heart.
The most beautiful thing humans could show:
the will to move forward despite everything.
A weapon that he, as an Apostle, did not possess.
His thoughts were broken by Ludger’s calm voice.
“Let’s go. Is everything ready?”
“Yes.”
Ludger and Suruna descended into the underground.
There, they would finish charging the Relic and bring it up to the fortress’s highest spire.
When the two arrived at the subterranean altar, Ludger looked down at the Relic engraved with holy white script.
That was when Suruna spoke.
“This is as far as I go.”
Ludger turned toward him.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I have to. That’s why I came this far.”
“I see.”
Ludger reached out and grasped the Relic.
It had been humming and trembling with unstable power, but the moment it sensed his touch, it calmed, becoming still.
“I’ll go on ahead, then.”
There was no need for such words between them now—yet Suruna felt the intent behind them, an unspoken wish for success.
“Thank you. I hope you succeed as well.”
When Ludger left, the altar was silent.
Suruna stood alone at its center, then slowly drew his sword.
Though he had believed this to be the lowest level of the fortress, there was still another space hidden below.
“At last, the path is open.”
Without hesitation, Suruna drove his blade into the floor.
Even with his strength—capable of cutting through almost anything—the sword failed to pierce completely.
A powerful divine resistance radiated from the altar, pushing the blade back.
Suruna didn’t stop. He pressed harder.
“Now that the fortress’s true form has been revealed, this door can no longer remain sealed.”
Fwoosh!
The sword’s tip finally sank into the heart of the altar’s floor.
The trembling ceased—then the ground collapsed in a swirling vortex.
Dust and fragments cascaded downward as the floor gave way.
Suruna stepped lightly into the void below.
Beneath the altar lay a vast, cavernous chamber.
Soft light poured down through an opening in the ceiling, bathing the hollow space in a dreamlike glow.
This was a place the Church had kept secret even from its own high clergy—
—the Catacomb.
The wide stone walls were lined like a honeycomb with statues of praying women, and at the base spread a field of white flowers, blooming without any known source of life.
Silent.
Beautiful.
But Suruna’s gaze did not linger there.
At the far end stood a withered white tree.
“At last.”
At the tree’s center, partially buried within its trunk, was a woman with ash-gray hair, her upper body exposed.
“You’re finally here again.”
Suruna closed his eyes for a moment as he looked upon her sleeping form.
Every deed he had committed flashed through his mind.
Every person he had met passed before his eyes—
Those driven by desire.
Those who fought for vengeance.
Those who fought for ideals.
Those who sacrificed themselves to save someone they loved.
“God delivers only punishment,” he murmured.
And yet he had come this far.
“While humans... move forward without ever looking back.”
Long before founding the Black Dawn Society, back when he had manipulated events from the shadows across the continent—
everything he had done had been for this single moment.
“If neither God nor man will bring salvation...”
Before him stood the Saint who had vanished from history.
“...then only a demon can.”
To meet Arkenis once more.
