Just before Akashmir's crimson lightning struck, I quietly reflected.
I was painfully aware that I wasn’t yet strong enough to fight against someone like her.
It couldn’t be helped.
It had been less than three months since I awakened as Yuria.
Even if I kept growing, and maybe one day I could catch up, for now, there simply hadn’t been enough time.
At this rate, I’d be pierced through and killed by that massive, ferocious lightning bolt.
No matter what miracle might occur, it was an immutable fate already sealed.
“Well, I believe in the original story, but I’m not particularly religious.”
In that fleeting moment, the inspiration that flashed through my mind was none other than the Tesseract.
I began to consider: could the Tesseract help me escape this critical situation?
Could I use it to restore Greg to his full condition, just as it had brought Anser and me back intact?
No, even if Greg were in perfect shape, he couldn’t beat Akashmir.
Setting aside their elemental disadvantage, there was still a significant gap in raw power.
What if I weakened the opponent instead?
Unfortunately, my ability only worked when I was close enough to physically touch the target.
While the logic was plausible, it wasn’t a practical solution in a life-or-death situation.
So, I needed to think differently.
How did Drakel use the Tesseract?
He had turned himself into his prime, centuries younger, before the effects of aging.
However, no matter what Drakel did, he could never become the eternally youthful version of himself that existed now.
Such a timeline didn’t exist; it wasn’t even a viable possibility.
“The Tesseract draws out potential possibilities. Drakel was able to bring forth his past self. But... what about a future that hasn’t arrived yet?”
I envisioned a distant future, where I had grown so strong that even Raven couldn’t overpower me.
If a timeline like that existed—if even one such possibility were real—then I would never lose.
“...!”
With a deafening roar, a crimson flash tore through the inky clouds that veiled the pale yellow moonlight.
And as a sensation like something overflowing engulfed me, the world before me began to creak and distort.
*
The crimson flash lingered before my eyes like a scar.
The lightning that had struck faster than sound felt like the devil’s saw, shredding through the world.
Its absurd power was enough to turn any human into ash in an instant.
So, this was truly the power of the Seventh Abyss.
Greg, kneeling on one knee, clenched his teeth and pressed down to avoid collapsing.
R𝑒ad latest chapt𝒆rs at freewebnovёl.ƈom Only.
But with Yuria standing before him, he couldn’t allow himself to fall—not as an adult, not as her protector.
That stubborn determination breathed life into his failing body.
“Wait, then... how am I even able to think clearly right now?”
He suddenly felt a sense of unease.
A lightning spell of that magnitude should have killed him instantly—or at the very least, left him fatally wounded.
And yet, here he was, fully conscious and coherent.
Slowly opening his eyes, Greg looked toward the spot where Yuria had been standing moments ago.
At the same time, he heard a clattering sound as something fell to the floor.
“...Who is that?”
Before him stood a stranger—a woman.
She was only slightly taller than Greg, who was still kneeling.
Her height alone made it clear she couldn’t be Yuria, whose head barely reached his chest.
Yet, the flowing white hair that spilled over her modest clothing stirred a profound sense of familiarity within him.
“No way...”
The woman extended a hand upward, then slowly turned her head to look back at Greg.
In that moment, he gasped sharply, his eyes widening.
The white-haired woman was breathtakingly beautiful.
Her expression was fleetingly blank, and her sharp gaze exuded a melancholic charm.
Her flawless, otherworldly features and her pronounced chest gave her the appearance of a goddess sculpted by divine hands.
But it wasn’t her beauty that shocked Greg.
It was her violet eyes—like blooming flowers—radiating a warmth that felt like she was looking at someone precious.
Her lips curved into a faint, familiar smile that stirred his memories.
“Y-Yuria... is that you?”
“...?”
The woman tilted her head slightly, her expression filled with curiosity, as though asking, How did you know?
Realizing she wasn’t wearing her mask, Yuria jumped in place, belatedly aware of her situation.
Caught off guard while twisting the lightning bolt above her head, she hadn’t noticed.
Embarrassed, she rubbed her neck awkwardly, then gave Greg a polite bow, smiling sheepishly.
First time seeing my real face? Nice to meet you.
Her actions were so unmistakably consistent with Yuria’s that Greg couldn’t help but chuckle dryly.
Even with her transformed appearance, her behavior was the same.
“What is this... Is this Yuria’s true form? Or is her usual childlike form the real one, and this is a fake?”
Greg’s mind swirled with confusion, his thoughts bombarded by unresolved questions.
Shaking his head, he dismissed them as unimportant for now.
What mattered was one thing:
Yuria’s newfound power might be enough to fight Akashmir.
Suppressing the pain coursing through his body, Greg grimaced slightly and asked her,
“Yuria, do you think we have a chance?”
“...!”
"Hah, do you even need to ask?"
Yuria let out a soft chuckle, spinning around with an air of absolute confidence.
Her condition was flawless—better than ever. At this moment, she felt like she could overturn the entire world.
Now standing face-to-face once again, Yuria and Akashmir radiated a completely different atmosphere than before.
This time, the relaxed one was Yuria.
Meanwhile, Akashmir, her expression filled with irritation, was the first to speak.
"What... are you? Judging by how your appearance suddenly changed, you’re clearly not human. But there’s no magical energy, so you’re not a different species either... What are you supposed to be?"
"..."
"Hah, too good to answer me, huh? Oh, how irritating, irritating, irritating! Maybe I should burn that smug little face of yours black—think you’ll answer me then, huh?!"
Akashmir’s agitation was palpable.
First, her full-force lightning magic had been effortlessly blocked.
Second, Yuria’s transformed appearance and infuriatingly aloof demeanor were driving her over the edge.
Of course, Yuria wasn’t deliberately ignoring her—she simply couldn’t speak in this form.
But to Akashmir, her calm and indifferent attitude was maddening.
"Disappear! Corridor Pulminis!"
Crackle!
Akashmir shouted an incantation to summon the Corridor of Lightning, a spell born from another world.
The consuming law of magic hungrily devoured her energy, forming a massive space of pure lightning before her.
What followed was a deluge of bolts—a rain of destruction.
Each particle within the corridor was shredded to nothingness by razor-sharp currents finer than needles.
"This is...! High-tier magic!"
Greg gasped, choking under the suffocating pressure of overwhelming magical force.
Meanwhile, Yuria stood with arms crossed, nonchalantly raising her index finger, as if to say, That’s all you’ve got?
I’ve seen this magic in the original.
Unlucky for Akashmir, Yuria knew the exact method to counter this spell. It posed no threat to her.
“Let’s see... something like this, right?”
Fwooosh!
From Yuria’s fingertip, a pure white wave shot upward like an arrow.
It was a raw, unrefined burst of power—a mass of energy unshaped by telekinesis.
A few minutes ago, even Yuria herself might have screamed in disbelief at such a reckless waste of power.
But now, that white wave pushed through the descending red lightning, rising until it struck the ceiling.
The Corridor of Lightning’s weakness: its roof. The wave shattered the dome-like prison into fragments, dismantling the trap entirely.
It was a staggering show of growth, a far cry from the struggling Yuria from moments before.
"What... How could you dismantle the Corridor so easily? You— you damned wench!"
"..."
Boom! Boom!
Akashmir unleashed a relentless barrage of lightning magic.
Each strike scorched the earth black and obliterated nearby structures with terrifying power.
Yet, to everyone’s astonishment, Yuria countered her attacks with remarkable ease.
She hurled debris from nearby buildings to intercept the spells or twisted the trajectories of the bolts to send them crashing elsewhere.
Her telekinetic power, precision, and range had multiplied—by several orders of magnitude.
"This can’t be... There’s no way someone as insignificant as you could overpower me!"
Crack-BOOM!
A colossal surge of electric currents spread out like a tidal wave, devouring the ground beneath it.
The sheer devastation turned the earth to ash wherever it touched, an ultimate magic meant to end everything.
Even the strong and resilient Greg swallowed hard, instinctively tensing under the weight of imminent death.
But Yuria stood calm, exhaling a long breath as she focused her telekinetic energy into her palm.
Then, with all her might, she thrust her hand forward.
From her palm, white petals bloomed, leaving a trail of brilliance in their wake.
An immense wave of energy erupted, crushing everything in its path.
The clash between crimson lightning and white energy began—and it was the white wave that steadily consumed its opposition, overpowering the red completely.
When the dust finally settled, the battle was decided.
Akashmir lay crumpled on the ground, clutching her abdomen.
Standing tall and unwavering was Yuria.
"Guh... Khh..."
"..."
Yuria swept her snowy white hair back over her shoulders, flashing a bright, innocent smile.
It was a face that didn’t match the mature, statuesque figure she now possessed, yet it brimmed with childlike charm.