Eerie black flame coiled around Aphelia like night serpents, turning the incoming chains to ash.

She mirrored Jericho’s move; chains wrought from pure black fire stormed out like a flock of ravens.

Jericho stayed calm. He summoned a Light Elemental Angel, raised elemental weapons, and set it before him like a bulwark.

“Witch—”

“Why talk so much in a fight?”

He moved to sneer, but her voice was already at his back. A gale rolled behind him like a river breaking its banks.

“Ancient Martial Flow—Thrusting Palm!!”

Cold intent surged first; pale, slender palms carried a tidal killing will. She drove for Jericho’s spine, no mercy like she had with Violet.

Her palm slammed a defense magic array. His face twisted; lucky he’d sewn instant-cast arrays into his robe like hidden scales.

She kicked to knock him from the sky, riding momentum like a hawk diving.

Jericho wasn’t easy prey. As the array bloomed, his counter was already set. Chains of light shot from the void, fangs bared at every vital point on Aphelia.

“Tch.”

She refused a death match. Who knew how many defense arrays he still hid? She had none. She cut her assault, toe-tapped the air, and streaked back like a windblown leaf.

He wouldn’t waste the chance. Chains of light hounded her like hunting dogs, tracking her scent. Tiny magic arrays flickered on them—no need to guess their nature.

Retreat alone wouldn’t save her. She spread her arms. Black flame poured out, forming a ring around her like a lunar halo, devouring the chasing chains.

As the flame ate them, the micro-arrays triggered. A storm of light exploded around her like midday thunder, blasting her down to the earth.

“Cough…”

She rolled from the choking dust. The black flame turned feral, a predator off the leash. It wove itself into pitch-black chains and lunged at Jericho, who was shaping an over-tier killing spell.

Breath steadied first; resolve tightened like a bowstring. A blade much like the Holy Sword, yet midnight-black, bloomed in her hand.

Her opening stance returned, the one she used against those surging assailants—only now her body drew taut like an arrow about to fly.

The black chains no longer vanished after shattering the angel. Midair, they became long spears of night, forcing Jericho from the sky and smashing his defense arrays one by one like falling dominos.

The instant Jericho hit the ground, Aphelia moved. Her lips trembled like a prayer. Her eyes closed, shutting out the world as if submerged.

A black sword-shadow flashed; she appeared behind him, blade set to a thrust, silver-white hair lifting on a breeze.

“Ancient Martial Flow—”

Her long black sword dissolved in her hand, returning to the flame circling her like a flock of crows.

“Thunderclap.”

Jericho’s expression froze. The array he’d thought would block anything bore a hair-thin sword scar, and his wide crimson robe bloomed a deeper red like a flower bruising.

It declared his defeat. Head of the Red Cardinals, he’d never imagined falling so sudden, so absolute. He knelt as blood poured like a leaking hourglass, and the black flame burned his light elements and arrays, halting his regeneration—a cruel countdown on his life.

Aphelia coughed blood too; dizziness washed over her like fog. She hid it in the sleeve of her nun’s habit. The habit was already torn by battle; a few stains wouldn’t draw eyes. Now was no time to show weakness.

The hunters who’d come with Jericho had kept their distance, watching like wary wolves. Her gaze swept them; a chill ran down their backs, and they stepped away like grass bowing to wind.

Two Ironclad Guards still stood before her. Their blades ran through Phoenix, and they didn’t budge an inch, as steadfast as stakes in frost.

She snorted, cold as iron. Black flame unfurled again, ready to strike them from a wicked angle like a viper’s sidebite. Phoenix’s fearsome regeneration had been crippled by two wounds; who knew what tricks hid behind their armor?

“You’ve got guts. Better than Jericho, at least.”

They didn’t answer. Their blades didn’t tremble. They looked past her as if she were mist.

Suspicion pricked like needles. By the time she felt the wrongness, it was too late.

A light like the sun speared her chest and nailed her to the ground, a blazing stake. The one who pinned her was Phoenix, controlled by the Ironclad Guards like a puppet on steel strings.

She tried to melt the pin with black flame, but despair hit—this sun-bright weapon drank the black fire like oil.

Weakness flooded her limbs, the weapon’s curse chewing through strength like rust. She still fought. Black flame withdrew into her body; searing holy light surged out instead like dawn breaking.

Phoenix had expected it. He reached into the air and drew the long blade that marked his station like a banner. He strode to her, eyes unreadable—predator to prey, peak to underbrush.

Hand rose, blade fell.

No words, no wasted motion. He cut off her sword hand as easily as trimming a branch.

No blood spilled. In its place, blinding holy light burned, a white-hot brand. She couldn’t wield black flame, but her affinity for light and razor control catalyzed holy radiance, cauterizing flesh like a smith’s iron.

“Knew it… you’re hiding something, Aphelia.”

He wiped the blade. Not a speck of blood stained it, clean as moonlight.

“Heh. Kill me, and you’ll get your answer faster.”

Blood threaded her lip. The holy light on the wound faltered as strength ebbed like a receding tide.

“Fair point. Then die.”

His long blade scythed for her neck, a stroke that would end it.

It didn’t land. As he swung, an arrow hissed for his arm like a striking hawk. He cut to block, motion broken.

The arrow wasn’t simple. Just before it hit the blade, the sigil carved on its shaft ignited. A massive icicle, riding its momentum, slammed at Phoenix like a winter spear.

Whoever planned it had layers. The icicle was only the first wave. As Phoenix’s flame gathered to answer, the icicle bloomed like a lotus, unfurling a vast barrier that stopped the fire bursting from his blade cold.

Then another arrow cleared the barrier and hung over Phoenix’s crown like a star.

“Can you still move, Aphelia?”

Yi came with a longbow like a beast bared, stepped to her side, and eyed the sun-pillar through her body. He sighed, drew a headless arrow from his quiver, and drove it hard into the radiant spike.

With that stab, the light column unraveled into air like steam. The arrow wailed, a living thing in pain.

Searing holy light flooded Aphelia’s wound, holding the damage at bay, at least enough to keep her moving like a runner with bandaged ribs.

“You really are hiding something…”

They didn’t linger. They ran for the rift, feet quick as shadows. At Yi’s question, Aphelia only smiled. Yi didn’t press. Both knew this wasn’t a place for words.