Duke Rosenwald’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he saw his eldest daughter standing there.
"Minerva?! What are you doing here?!"
He had never expected her to come. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Minerva, however, remained stoic. Her expression was calm, serious—determined.
"I’m sorry, Father," she said, already nocking an arrow onto her bowstring. "But as expected... I can’t just leave you behind."
Without hesitation, she pulled back, pouring even more mana into the arrow before releasing it with deadly precision.
The projectile tore through the air, its speed incredible, a gust of wind howling in its wake. But Mikhail didn’t flinch. He didn’t even take a step back. Instead, he caught the arrow easily with his bare hand, snuffing out the force behind it as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
His lips curled into an amused smirk.
"A father and daughter fighting together, huh?" Mikhail chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "Tell me, which is the better sight—killing the daughter in front of the father? Or the father in front of the daughter?"
As he stepped forward, his Stigma flared to life, the sheer force of it rippling through the air like a crushing wave.
Minerva’s entire body shuddered involuntarily. It wasn’t just fear—it was an overwhelming, suffocating pressure.
Her instincts screamed at her to run, to retreat, to get as far away from this monster as possible.
But she refused.
Gritting her teeth, she bit her lower lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The sharp pain anchored her, forcing her focus back into place, steadying her trembling stance.
She knew.
She had known from the beginning how foolish this was.
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She had told herself over and over again that her father was right—that this was his battle, his duty. That her role was to survive, to live, to rebuild their fallen house.
And yet…
She just couldn’t.
She had already lost her mother. She couldn’t stand by and watch as her father met the same fate, not when she still had the power to act.
Even if that power wasn’t enough.
Now, standing before Mikhail, she realized just how utterly naïve she had been.
She had thought she could do something—make a difference.
But the reality was cruel.
The difference in strength between them was beyond comprehension. She couldn’t even begin to grasp the extent of his power.
She was going to die here.
And yet—she refused to die without a fight.
With a focused glint in her eyes, she unleashed every last ounce of mana within her.
The air around her roared as a powerful vortex of mana erupted, the sheer force of it sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Her green hair whipped violently in the wind, her mana shining with an intensity that was almost blinding.
Even Mikhail, for the first time, looked somewhat impressed.
He chuckled.
"Well, well… You really are quite the talent. You would have been quite a pawn in Camelot."
Minerva had had enough.
Without hesitation, she fired another arrow.
Mikhail caught it again, just as she expected. But hidden deftly behind the first was a second arrow, concealed in its shadow.
A trick shot.
Mikhail merely smirked, swinging the arrow in his grasp to shatter the second one mid-flight.
But by the time the splintered remains hit the ground—Minerva was gone.
She had already repositioned.
Now behind him, her bowstring pulled back to its very limit, mana crackling around her fingertips.
-BOOM!
A violent burst of wind exploded from her position as she unleashed a rapid flurry of arrows, each one whistling through the air with deadly precision.
Mikhail tilted his head, dodging the first arrow with ease. The others came rushing toward him, but he didn’t flinch.
He punched them.
With every strike of his fist, arrows shattered mid-air, their mana dispersing into the wind like dust.
But in the midst of that chaos—
A shadow slipped behind him.
Duke Rosenwald.
His sword gleamed in the dim light as he raised it high, aiming for Mikhail’s exposed back.
-BAM!
Mikhail, without even turning around, threw a devastating punch backward. His fist connected with Rosenwald’s face, shattering his nose in an instant.
"ARGH!!"
The Duke staggered, blood spraying from his nostrils—only for Mikhail to grab his wrist before he could recoil.
A smirk tugged at Mikhail’s lips.
He twisted the Duke’s arm, prying the sword from his grasp. The cold sword now rested in Mikhail’s hand, gleaming ominously under the moon rays slipping through the castle.
Minerva froze understanding what he was going to do.
"No—NO!!" She screamed, already pulling her bowstring once more.
She let loose a flurry of arrows in desperation, her mana surging wildly.
But it was useless.
Mikhail’s Stigma reacted instinctively, a dark barrier erupting around him, swallowing the arrows whole before they could even scratch him.
He looked at her then, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
"Look."
And with that, he swung.
-Spurt!
A fleshy sound echoed through the air.
Rosenwald’s agonized scream followed.
"ARGHHH!!"
His left arm—severed clean from his shoulder.
Blood sprayed violently as the limb hit the dirt.
-BAM!
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Mikhail finished it with a ruthless kick to the Duke’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the bloodstained ground.
Then, slowly, he turned to Minerva.
Her breath was ragged. Her eyes wide. Her whole body trembled.
Mikhail chuckled darkly.
"Your dear father is losing a lot of blood," he said, twirling the sword in his hand. "You might be able to save him... if you can get past me, of course."
His voice was tinged with mockery, dripping with sadistic pleasure.
Minerva’s expression twisted in anguish.
Her fingers clenched around her bow so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her mind screamed at her to move, to act.
There was no time.
She had to do something.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for her quiver, pulling three more arrows in one swift motion.
"Bless me with your strength... Ruler of Wind."
The moment those words left her lips—her entire body erupted in a vibrant green light.
A radiant aura surrounded her, swirling like a raging storm. The wind responded to her call, wrapping around her limbs like an unseen force, amplifying her speed.
She moved.
In a blink, her figure blurred, the ground beneath her feet cracking from the sheer force of her acceleration.
She shot forward, aiming to slip past Mikhail—
But he was already there.
A shadow loomed in front of her.
Minerva’s heart stopped.
She barely had time to process it before his cold, piercing gaze met hers.
He was smiling.
"You’ll have to do better than that… if you want to save your dear father."
His voice was like ice, sending a chill down her spine.
And in that moment—she realized.
Mikhail hadn’t missed a single step of her.
"If you want to save your father—fight!" Mikhail’s laughter rang through the air as he brought his sword down.
Minerva’s instincts took over—she raised her bow to block the strike, but the moment she did, she knew she’d made a terrible mistake. The blade shimmered with Mikhail’s Stigma.
-BOOM!
Her bow shattered like fragile glass. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through her arms, and before the lethal blade could carve into her, she unleashed a desperate burst of wind. It barely saved her.
Still, she was flung backward like a ragdoll, slamming against a stone pillar with a crash.
-BOOM!
The impact rattled her bones. She gasped, struggling to breathe, her vision spinning.
Mikhail calmly tilted his head as he sensed movement behind him. He turned, his cold eyes locking onto Rigden, who was barely standing in front of Rosenwald’s dying body.
The hunter’s face was ghostly pale. One hand clutched his side, trying to hold himself together. The kick he had taken from Mikhail earlier had left its mark—his ribs were shattered. His armor was crushed inward, dented so deeply it looked as if it had been molded from clay. Every breath sent ripples of unbearable pain through his body.
"Uncle…!" Minerva called out with relief.
But Rigden’s expression remained grim, his breath ragged. He barely managed to lift his head, his gaze locking onto Mikhail.
"I heard…" He rasped, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "…that Gevurah doesn’t kill high-ranking nobles. Did I hear wrong?"
Mikhail let out a lazy chuckle. "You heard right."
Rigden gritted his teeth and swallowed down the pain. "The man behind me is Duke Rosenwald," he continued painfully. "One of the most respected nobles in Unadora. The people, the nobles—they all revere him. And this girl… she’s his eldest daughter."
He took a slow, shuddering breath. Every instinct in his body screamed in agony, but he stood his ground.
"You’ll gain nothing by killing them. They’re worth more alive," he said.
Rigden had always known death could come for him at any moment. As a Hunter, he had made peace with that. And if dying meant saving his old friend and Minerva—the girl he had watched grow up—then he would do it a hundred times over without hesitation.
Mikhail blinked, genuinely surprised. "Oh? A Duke and his daughter?"
His lips curled slightly. He had assumed all nobles were cowards, hiding behind castle walls. But these two… they were different it seemed.
"Please," Rigden pleaded again. "Take my life instead. Spare them. They—"
-SPURT!
His words never finished.
A sharp gasp of air left his lips as he looked down.
Mikhail’s sword was gone from his hand—because it was buried deep in Ridgen’s chest.
The blade had pierced straight through his heart.
For a brief moment, Rigden’s body locked in place, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. No scream left his lips. No final words. Only silence.
Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed lifelessly onto the cold stone floor beside Rosenwald’s dying body.
Minerva’s mouth fell open. No words came. No sound. Only the silent, endless stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.
Mikhail groaned, shaking his head in mild annoyance. "I really despise people who try to manipulate me."