"......."
"......."
A moment of silence.
One side possessed the ability to share senses; the other, the power to control animals.
However, in the sense that she could immediately recognize who the controller was, there was no doubt that Malia was Gregory’s natural enemy.
Gregory felt tension for the first time in a while. It had been a long time since his identity had been unintentionally exposed.
Malia must have been equally startled.
She had only been tracing the crow’s vision to identify its owner—and suddenly came face to face with the master of that controlled animal himself.
How would Malia interpret this situation?
"......Alright."
Malia removed her hand from the crow.
"So, you send information to the crow, and the crow delivers it to Frondier. That’s what you’re saying?"
"Yes. We’ve learned the general objective of the demons from the other continent. We must pass it on."
The demons were deliberately trying to incite war. Their purpose was to draw Satan—the one who had abandoned them on the surface, along with the Seven Deadly Sins—back to this world.
What Frondier would think of that information, and how he would use it, they didn’t know.
But somehow, he would manage.
"Hm, I see."
Malia nodded slightly, then spoke.
"But you know something?"
"What is it?"
"A crow can’t cross a sea that large on its own."
[......!]
Gregory didn’t make a sound at her words, but his eyes widened sharply.
"Is that true?"
"Of course. A crow can’t fly all day without rest. It needs to sleep, to eat. Maybe it could cross a narrow strait—but this is a distant continent. It could take days."
In fact, Gregory had never planned to send just one crow.
Malia’s point about the crow’s flight capacity was correct, but even beyond that, the distance was outside the range of his ability.
Once Aster and Dierre relayed the information and coordinates, Gregory himself intended to cross the ocean.
"You’ll need a ship. A vessel sturdy enough to cross the sea. Skilled sailors would help, too."
"......All that just for one crow?"
"It’s not just a crow. You’re sending information, aren’t you?"
At Malia’s words, both nodded in agreement.
In that moment, Malia glanced toward the crow.
"We’ll take care of that preparation. The ship—and the sailors."
Her voice carried quiet significance.
The moment she encountered Gregory, she had immediately realized something.
This crow wasn’t a normal case of taming or animal control. Frondier’s “crow” wasn’t tamed at all—the unique animal-control ability had simply assisted Frondier, making it look like taming.
Gregory’s ability was as rare as Malia’s own. Malia still didn’t know why someone with such a gift was helping Frondier.
'Frondier being assisted by someone with that ability—it’s certain. No, the very fact that Frondier has an ally like that is enough.'
He was already within Frondier’s circle.
There was no need for Malia to interfere.
Frondier would handle it, and handle it well.
'...Ha.'
Gregory felt a strange exhilaration.
A natural smile crept up his face, and a cold sweat followed right after.
'Impressive. Not a single person around him can be underestimated.'
Had she wanted, Malia could have blurted out his identity the moment she saw him.
Revealing that the crow was actually Gregory would have been simple. Aster and Dierre trusted Malia completely; she would have had no reason to hesitate.
Yet Malia chose to protect Gregory—and in doing so, she now held his greatest weakness in her hands.
From this point on, Gregory could not go against Malia. And since she was Frondier’s mother, he couldn’t ask Frondier for help either.
Once Frondier heard the situation, he would probably just give a dry reply like, “That’s unfortunate.” Gregory could see that scene perfectly clearly in his mind.
So Malia had assessed the situation instantly—and within seconds, pulled Gregory completely to her side.
All within the brief moment they’d faced each other.
Gregory had always been beside Frondier, always watching only him.
But now, looking around at Aster, Dierre, and Malia—
'That guy Frondier... he really did become the axis of this entire circle.'
***
Heracles silently gazed at the Heukcheon he had just torn apart.
Frondier, standing with Heracles’s fist right before his face, was thinking at the same time.
'Heukcheon isn’t liquefying. He already understands its principle.'
When force was applied, Heukcheon turned metallic. The same happened when mana was injected. Heracles was maintaining a steady flow of ki within it, keeping the Heukcheon in its solid form.
"A strange substance, indeed."
All of Frondier’s Heukcheon was composed of Helheim mana, integrated within himself.
The piece Heracles now held was no exception—it was inherently trying to return to Frondier.
Yet that power seemed to cause Heracles no inconvenience at all. He calmly examined the fragment of Heukcheon.
'I always suspected this day would come.'
Frondier was one of the strongest figures on the Falind continent—the man who had defeated Belphegor.
If we spoke of pure output, he could even surpass Elodie.
But even after felling Belphegor, Frondier’s thirst for power had not been quenched. It was as if something—someone—were pursuing him from behind.
The reason was simple. He already knew the limits of his own strength.
'Heukcheon, while powerful, has its limits unless it’s woven into a weapon structure.'
Until now, most of his defense had relied on Heukcheon.
It was nearly perfect in terms of control and adaptability—but its absolute durability had limits.
Heukcheon could become sharp like a blade, pointed like a spike, or firm like a shield. Yet unless he wove it, it was not truly a sword, spike, or shield.
It carried none of those weapons’ innate properties—and thus, could not receive any grade bonuses.
Its advantage lay in being otherworldly mana—it could pierce through opponents’ aura more easily.
But against someone with overwhelming aura and a body harder than steel—
'He’s a natural enemy.'
A demigod—Heracles.
Possessing divine strength without any divine restraints.
An opponent whom Heukcheon couldn’t block for even a single second. Against such a foe, there was no time for Weaving. Without Weaving or Heukcheon’s efficacy, Frondier had nothing left.
......Of course, he had recently developed a method to blind his opponent, but that was an entirely different matter.
"Good eyes."
"!?"
Heracles spoke then, lowering his fist toward Frondier.
"Even while facing overwhelming power, you’re endlessly searching for how to win. Most people would either despair or be consumed by recklessness."
Heracles released the Heukcheon. At that, the material returned and was reabsorbed into Frondier’s Heukcheon network.
"Even with just this much, you’d rank among the strongest humans alive. Remarkable. You truly intend to defeat me."
Heracles said it with a bright, daring look in his eyes—welcoming an enemy who aimed for his throat.
"Father! Are you saying that man dares to challenge you?"
Telephos, who had been listening, burst out, and Heracles answered him.
"You should try thinking that way yourself, instead of just bowing your head all the time."
"How could I possibly challenge you, Father!"
"See, there you go again—stop lowering your head."
Heracles shook his own. Apparently, his son’s excessive reverence displeased him.
Then his eyes turned back to Frondier.
"What I did earlier was just a bit of play. As you wish, I have no intention of interfering in any war—whether it involves humans, demons, or gods."
"......Thank you."
Frondier bowed his head.
To be honest, he wanted to leave this place immediately.
Heracles was far beyond any strength Frondier had accounted for. Under no circumstances could he become a variable.
Since the man had now declared he wouldn’t interfere, the best plan was to leave before he changed his mind.
"Then I’ll take my leave. My apologies for offending you with my needless concern."
"Think nothing of it. Life here is dull—I could use a bit of stimulation."
Heracles called Frondier’s intrusion mere “stimulation.”
Right beside him, Telephos, who had been the one pummeled by that stimulation, nodded proudly in agreement.
"Thank you. Then, I’ll be going."
Frondier bowed once more and turned to leave.
Just five steps, then run. That was his plan—
"Wait."
He had only taken three steps when Heracles stopped him.
"......What is it?"
"It just doesn’t sit right with me."
When Frondier turned back, Heracles was tilting his head, studying him carefully.
"The ki flowing inside you, the disciplined control of it, a body honed through immense effort, an expression and gaze that reveal nothing—and above all, the dignity of your soul. It’s clear you’re no ordinary man."
"......That’s too kind of you."
"In short,"
Heracles pointed a finger at Frondier.
"When you fought my son, you didn’t use your full strength."
"......."
At those words, Frondier stayed silent—while Telephos reacted with shocked indignation.
"T-That can’t be! Are you saying that mere human held back against me?"
"It’s more than that. From what I saw, he looked like he was worried you might get hurt."
Cold sweat trickled down Frondier’s back.
So he’d been watching from the start. Yet Frondier hadn’t sensed him at all—how was that possible?
'...It’s easy to claim I gave it my all.'
But Heracles clearly knew otherwise—and who could guess what kind of whim a god-born warrior might act on?
"May I ask you one favor?"
"......What is it?"
"I want to see your strongest power."
Heracles stepped forward, lightly striking his chest.
"Show me everything you’ve got."
"......."
Frondier paused, at a loss for words.
Telephos protested.
"Father, that’s dan—"
"Watch your tongue, Telephos."
At that calm warning, Telephos shut his mouth and stepped back.
"What about you, Frondier?"
Heracles asked.
"Do you, too, think I’m ‘dangerous,’ like my son does?"
Heracles had absolute faith in his own body.
That confidence was # Nоvеlight # backed by overwhelming proof and reason.
No ordinary strike could leave even the slightest scratch.
'...Even if it weren’t Heracles, I never thought Renzo would die if I unleashed my full power on him.'
Simply put, Frondier’s “full power” exceeded human limits. Renzo, a man with a mortal body, shouldn’t have been able to withstand it.
And yet, Frondier had believed he would.
Not because of any calculation—but rather the opposite of calculation.
He had felt it.
Even without a logical basis—Renzo would endure.
'So, of course, Heracles will endure. Just as he said, maybe without even a scratch.'
Heracles was daring him—offering himself as a living damage gauge.
"......Understood."
Frondier’s gaze sharpened as he looked back at him.
Unlike Telephos, Heracles had maintained composure and generosity from the very first meeting.
He wouldn’t lose his temper over a mere cut.
'There’s no room to refuse anyway.'
Frondier closed his eyes.
'Come to think of it, this is the first time since Belphegor.'
It had been a long time since he’d used this much power at once.
He simply hadn’t met a worthy opponent.
'But I still won’t give everything.'
Whether Heracles wanted it or not, Frondier preferred to keep his cards in hand.
'So it’ll look like full power—but it won’t be.'
Crack.
Frondier broke the black lotus necklace.
Normally, he only needed to regulate its flow—but this time, he needed all of it.
Crack-crack-crack-crack!
Heukcheon surged out like an overflowing lake, gathering behind him and stretching outward as wings.
"Ho."
A grin spread on Heracles’s face at the sheer volume of it.
Frondier extended both hands.
"......Menosorpo."
At the word, a magic circle expanded.
Weapons of Weaving appeared in each hand.
In his left—the hammer of the gods. In his right—the hero’s sword.
Both enveloped in the darkness of Heukcheon, pulsing explosively.
"Please forgive the delay."
Frondier reversed his grip on the sword, the blade’s tip aimed at Heracles.
"My full power takes a little time."
"......!"
Whoosh!
Kwa──a──ang──!
Slightly weaker than his true full strength—
Frondier’s unique technique, Jeong, tore through the air and flew straight toward Heracles.
