Amidst the revived whispers of wind brushing through the world, Professor Pulan's aged eyes suddenly turned cruel and icy, exuding an aura of terror that seemed far from belonging to an elderly man. From his frail, emaciated body, an ominous force surged skyward.
Above his head, an antique crown began to congeal within the faint luminescence, swiftly ascending like the primordial purity of the world’s birth.
Then, at the center of the semi-circular barrier, an illusory throne seemed to have been forged long ago. The moment the crown melded with the throne, a phantom shadow quietly took its seat, raining cold, indifferent gazes upon all the creatures of the world.
In an instant, the view of the world through Professor Pulan’s eyes transformed entirely.
Under the fully unlocked authority of the Second Tier Grand Arcana, everything within the bounds of Santa Maria College was vividly apparent to him. Trees, weeds, fish, insects, shadows lingering silently around the teaching buildings—every subtle change of every object lay exposed to his perception. All of it surfaced in his mind, and in that moment, everything seemed as if it lay within the palm of his hand, ready to be manipulated at will.
“Ah…”
This miraculous sensation of seemingly grasping every thread of existence rekindled newfound vitality in the aged, decrepit body of Professor Pulan.
It was as if he had returned to his youthful self.
Alas, the girl he had encountered in his youth was no longer here.
Professor Pulan raised his hand, and the twelve black towers roared to life. Endless streams of magic surged through the Grand Arcana, flowing into his temporarily revitalized body.
In those aged eyes, faint glimmers of light began to spark.
Thus, a perfectly divided hexagonal structure descended from the heavens and rose from the earth, stacking layer by layer. Like a gigantic grindstone capable of crushing all things material, it bore down upon the saintly maiden, whose gleaming white wings were turned away.
“Ahhh—!”
The anguished cry of the Pure Maiden was abruptly pierced by a sharp, piercing screech, as though some presence had hijacked her body to display its furious rage and madness toward the lowly vermin before it.
The Pure Maiden raised her hand, clenched her fist, and struck downward.
There was no finesse, no technique—indeed, for one deemed a saint, the move was obscenely crude, reminiscent of a shrew in a city fight..
Yet as her delicate fist crashed down, the layered framework violently trembled.
Those flawlessly interlocking hexagons bent and warped under the ineffable strength of her strike. Even the surrounding space trembled and twisted, emitting the gut-wrenching sound of metal being ripped apart.
"Though you've risen to be revered as the Pure Maiden, your fighting methods remain as simplistic and brutish as ever," Professor Pulan remarked with a bitter smile.
It was as if he were revisiting those unbearable moments when he had been coerced into cleaning up her messes after fights.
“In that case…”
Professor Pulan spread his arms wide.
Behind him, golden lines stretched and converged, forming intricate and esoteric patterns.
A sequence of instant-cast magical arrays.
What should have necessitated the engraving of mercury and beast blood atop gold and gemstones, Professor Pulan manifested within the void itself through his unfathomable mastery of magic. On that ethereal construct, colossal magical might accumulated, brewing storms and fire that heralded destruction.
Professor Pulan’s visage turned frigid as he issued his decree.
"Go."
And so, countless colossal, terrifying spells discharged in ceaseless succession, forging a saturated bombardment that lit up the night sky.
The earlier magic attacks unleashed collectively by dozens of students appeared as nothing more than a light drizzle compared to the storm of devastation wrought by Professor Pulan’s magic array—a mere whisper of rain against the onslaught of a tidal hurricane.
This was the unparalleled terror of a Grand Mage at the pinnacle of truth. With sufficient magic reserves, one individual alone could rival an entire magical legion.
Naturally, the Pure Maiden dared not attempt to withstand such an assault bare-handed. That "candy" would undoubtedly lead to a stomach-turning calamity.
Her wings spread wide behind her, then folded inward, sheltering her figure perfectly within their protective embrace. Pure white light expanded outward, like a sacred sanctuary rejecting any unclean intrusion.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
It was as though ten suns ascended simultaneously, their radiant glow transforming the night into day.
Though this was the holy domain established by divine authority, the gods themselves could not truly descend. And before such sheer magnitude of power, the sanctuary struggled to endure, cracks visibly forming and eventually… shattering entirely!
Boundless heat and blinding light flooded into the sanctuary, surging toward the delicate figure nestled beneath the gleaming white wings. It sought to burn her utterly to ash.
Professor Pulan raised his hand to press down on his hat, shielding it from the scorching gales and violent winds.
He narrowed his eyes, intently observing the scene distorted by the intense light and spatial explosions that rendered any clear view impossible.
The attack moments ago had consumed nearly three-tenths of the College’s leyline-extracted magical reserves—a lifetime’s expertise poured into a singular strike. Even against The Crowned, or the undead cemetery guardian of the Church, such direct exposure would surely reduce them to ash.
Yet, inexplicably, a growing unease tightened its grip on Professor Pulan’s heart.
Instead of dissipating, it intensified further.
As a mage of his magnitude, every omen carried significance. Thus, he dared not relax.
The magical array behind him flared back to life, ready for another volley.
Suddenly, his vision blurred.
Professor Pulan’s heart clenched.
The magical array prepared to discharge… but he hesitated.
It was as though the very thought of activating it had been erased from his mind.
A momentary lapse in thought, and the space before Professor Pulan was abruptly torn apart.
Out stepped the Pure Saintess, emerging from the fractured void.
It was evident that she had suffered considerably from the previous attack—her pristine wings shattered, leaving behind little more than trembling remnants. Her hands were charred black, their alabaster hue lost, and across her flawless face spread cracks resembling broken porcelain.
Yet, as she reappeared, the entire world dimmed.
Even the luminous explosions now seemed trivial in comparison.
For in her grasp, she held the most dazzling light within this realm.
It was a sword.
A sword devoid of intricate engravings or dazzling gemstone embellishments—a stark, ordinary, half-finished blade.
However, as the sword materialized, all existence seemed eclipsed by its presence.
“Holy sword?” muttered the pink bear in the College’s underground chambers in astonishment.
But there were no ears to hear, nor minds to care.
For at the locus of countless gazes, the Pure Saintess raised the holy sword and thrust it toward Professor Pulan’s heart.
In that fleeting moment, it was as though every breath in the world had stilled.
Countless hexagonal layers instantly unfolded before Professor Pulan, seeking to repel the Pure Saintess.
Yet under the radiance of the holy sword, everything was wholly purified. The intricate structures manipulated by the Grand Arcana dissolved instantly into raw magical essence.
"Thud."
The sound of flesh being torn echoed, blood splattering outward.
Professor Pulan looked down, stupefied, at his chest.
The holy sword had pierced his body, flooding him with endless light and inflicting a burning pain akin to fire.
He coughed blood, light spilling from his mouth and nose.
He should have died.
Struck by the holy sword at such a vital spot, even with the Grand Arcana's protection, his death seemed inevitable.
But he did not perish.
The sword had pierced… his right chest.
With a sudden start, his gaze snapped upwards.
In the vacant left eye of the Pure Saintess, a glimmer of vitality seemed to return.
And amidst the spectral lamentation echoing like a chill wind, a sorrowful whisper was interwoven.
"Teacher…"
