Ivan narrowed his eyes as he shot through the sky at an incredible speed, the wind roaring past him.
A Relic of Seraphiel? Here?
Why? How?
Below, he quickly spotted the intense battle raging near the royal castle. Mikhail and Kenneth were locked in combat, but something was off.
Mikhail—who should have been dominating this fight—was struggling. Kenneth looked far worse, his body battered and bruised, but that much was expected. So why was Mikhail bleeding?
"What happened?" Ivan asked the moment he arrived.
Mikhail cast him a brief glance before stepping back, pressing a hand to his chest wound with a pained groan. "He used a Relic of Seraphiel against me."
Ivan’s gaze snapped toward Kenneth, who clutched a small knife in his hand. The moment Ivan’s eyes landed on it, he felt it—the unmistakable essence of Seraphiel.
His expression darkened. So it really is a Relic of Seraphiel.
The greatest weakness of the Stigma was the very essence of the being who had bestowed it upon them. In other words, Relics of Seraphiel were not just powerful weapons—they were kryptonite for Stigma Holders.
And that was precisely why Ivan was determined to collect as many of them as possible before they fell into the wrong hands. The one locked away in the Vault of Ocryphia Academy was among the most dangerous, and he knew he had to secure it before someone smart and dangerous figured out how to use it against Gevurah.
Speaking of someone smart and dangerous…
Ivan’s gaze flicked to the side as Merlin descended gracefully beside Kenneth, her expression quite twisted and discontent.
"Why did you use it already?" She asked furrowing her brows.
The Relic was supposed to be a last resort, only to be used when a guaranteed killing blow could be struck. But Kenneth had acted too soon—before he was sure he could finish Mikhail off.
Kenneth only groaned in response.
Admitting that he would have been killed without using the Relic? That was out of the question—it would be too humiliating. But the truth was undeniable. Mikhail was far stronger than he had anticipated. The sheer force of his attacks was overwhelming, leaving Kenneth with no choice but to rely on the Relic.
"You didn’t use its ability, did you?" Merlin asked with a whisper.
Kenneth shook his head, but a smirk tugged at his lips. If he had managed to wound Mikhail without even activating the Relic’s true power, then with it… he might actually be able to inflict serious damage. Of course, landing a decisive hit was another matter entirely.
Mikhail’s expression darkened instantly. His usual smirk vanished, replaced by something far more menacing.
The injury Kenneth inflicted was minor, already beginning to heal, but that wasn’t the point. The fact that he had been hurt at all was enough to ignite a deep, simmering rage. The pain didn’t matter—what mattered was the insult. And this time, he wouldn’t let his guard down. He would fight knowing he had a Relic in his possession.
But just as he was about to move, Ivan spoke up.
"Mikhail. Stay back."
Mikhail froze mid-step, turning toward Ivan. His frown deepened.
"What? I can handle both of them without a problem."
"They’re using Relics. It’s dangerous," Ivan repeated, his gaze fixed on the two opponents.
Mikhail scoffed. "I’m not stupid, Ivan. I won’t fall for the same cowardly trick twice."
"Mikhail."
This time, Ivan’s voice was sharper. His gaze—usually indifferent—held a weight that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t making a suggestion. He was giving an order.
Mikhail could sense it immediately. Ivan wasn’t worried about whether he could win—no, this was something deeper. There was a sliver of risk, a chance—however small—that they could use the Relic of Seraphiel and, by some cruel twist of fate, land a fatal strike. And that was something Ivan would never allow.
He had seen too much. He knew too much. He wasn’t going to let anyone of the four of them die—not after everything he had already witnessed in the novel. Otherwise, all of this would have been meaningless.
Mikhail clenched his fists. He wanted to argue, to insist that he could handle it, but he had known Ivan long enough to understand what that gaze meant. Beneath the surface, buried under layers of cold logic, there was something rare—concern.
And Mikhail, no matter how much he wanted to fight, could never refuse Ivan when he looked at him like that.
"Take the castle. Kill all the knights. Kill everyone who refuses to kneel," Ivan said. Then, after a brief pause, he added coldly, "And kill the King and his family."
His gaze lingered on Merlin as he spoke.
At first, he hadn’t planned to slaughter the royal family, but the mere fact that they had dared to use a Relic of Seraphiel against him had changed his mind. That was a mistake—one they would regret. He would make it clear that having Merlin, a Paladin, or even the power of Seraphiel’s Relic wasn’t enough to defy him. In fact, it only made their fate worse.
"Yeah," Mikhail smirked before launching himself toward the castle, his figure disappearing into the night like a specter of death.
Merlin, who had overheard the chilling conversation, felt her blood run cold. Her eyes widened in horror.
"W–Wait—!"
-BAM!
Before she could finish, Kenneth, who had been standing beside her just moments ago, was gone.
A split second later—
"A–Argh!"
Kenneth coughed up a mouthful of blood, his body crashing through a nearby house like a ragdoll. His vision blurred, and a sharp, searing pain shot through his body. Something was wrong—something was missing.
Then, he saw it.
His right arm, severed, flying through the air.
He barely had time to process the shock before his body slammed against the wreckage, forcing another spray of blood from his mouth.
Through hazy vision, Kenneth struggled to focus on Ivan, who now stood in the same spot, completely still—except for the severed arm he held in his grasp.
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He pried open the limp fingers and retrieved the Relic that had been tightly clutched in Kenneth’s hand. Without hesitation, he burned the dismembered limb away in an instant, turning it to ash before it even hit the ground.
Merlin turned toward him, stunned.
It had all happened so fast. Too fast.
She had barely even registered his movement before Kenneth was on the ground, bleeding out. He was much, much faster than before.
Ivan, however, barely acknowledged them. His attention was entirely on the knife now resting in his palm.
It was Seraphiel’s Relic.
And he could feel her.
Just sensing her essence sent a thrill through him, something dangerously close to euphoria. But he didn’t let it show—not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
Then, without looking up, he spoke.
"Do you have any other Relics?"
His voice was calm, almost indifferent, as he twirled the knife between his fingers.
Merlin swallowed hard.
"N–No…" She stuttered trying to steady her grip on her staff.
Ivan was close—too close. His presence pressed down on her like an overwhelming force, suffocating and inescapable. The sheer weight of his Stigma crushed the air around them, making it difficult to breathe.
She had fought countless enemies. She had battled monsters, demons, horrors beyond imagining. But in that moment, standing before a boy barely in his late teens—
For the first time in her life, she was truly afraid.
"That’s a lie," Ivan said, his gaze shifting toward Merlin.
The moment their eyes met, she knew—hesitation was no longer an option.
With a sharp motion, she slammed her staff against the ground. Instantly, a violent torrent of mana erupted around her, crackling with raw power. The air twisted, rippling under the immense pressure. She wasn’t holding back anymore.
There was no time to stall, no strategy to buy precious seconds. Her instincts screamed at her—act now, or die within the next.
She had no choice but to go all out.
The force of her unleashed mana surged forward like a tidal wave, sending fierce winds ripping through the battlefield. Ivan’s black hair whipped backward from the intensity, yet he didn’t even flinch. His expression remained unreadable, cold and composed.
Without a word, he tucked away Seraphiel’s Relic.
-BOOOOM!
At that moment, another explosion of golden energy erupted.
The ground trembled as light burst forth from the other side of the battlefield.
Kenneth.
Despite his grievous injury, despite the blood soaking his tattered clothes, he had managed to stand. His breathing was ragged, but his grip on his holy sword was strong. The blade, held tightly in his remaining hand, radiated a golden glow.
His entire body burned with divine energy.
This was the blessing bestowed upon him by the Pope himself—the power granted to all Holy Knights upon their ascension. And his weapon… a blessed sword, forged for the elite warriors of the Lumiera Empire.
He was a Paladin.
A knight of the highest order.
And there was no way he would allow himself to be defeated just because he had lost an arm.
Merlin’s overwhelming mana and Kenneth’s holy radiance surged toward Ivan like twin storms of destruction, their combined power colliding against him with crushing force.
Yet, through it all—Ivan remained silent.