Within the domain that symbolized the youth Ophelius, the Holy Sword took shape. Moon-silver fell into the white sea of consciousness. Arcane Power and raw elements surged like a storm-tide, circling him.
“So that’s it. I’m here to stop you at this gate. I get it now.”
Brilliant halos orbited Ophelius like rings of a planet. His aura spiked to a Titleholder’s tier, without warning, as if it had always been his.
Here in the sea of consciousness, Aphelia was unbound. Her strength snapped back to its prime. Elements and Arcane Power condensed in the void like frost knitting over still water. The Holy Sword from memory already had a nascent form.
“What did you figure out?”
A chill pricked Aphelia’s heart before her lips moved. This act of hers had tripped the core of the illusion. One look at Ophelius’s stance told the story.
“Heh… you want that answer? Then beat me first, future me!”
Ophelius roared. He gripped the blade and drew it from the confluence of element and Arcane Power. The storm wreathing him tore open, then crashed toward Aphelia like a breaking sea.
Aphelia would never wait for death. The moment she felt the wrongness, an identical blade bloomed from the void, like cast from the same mold. It met the onrushing gale head-on.
But the storm was only a veil for a killing strike.
“Ancient Martial Flow—Thunderclap!”
Inside the tempest, the youth Ophelius lunged with the Holy Sword. He raised the blade, his opening like a lightning thrust.
At his low shout, Aphelia’s nerves tightened first, then her hands. She skipped the chant. Silver flared in her palm, sharp as winter dawn.
“Dimensional Spell—”
The silver-white sword streaked for her face in a lightning blur. As the edge flashed forward, the space before Aphelia twisted and blurred. The blade, quick as a thunderbolt, lost its mark.
“Spatial Cross!”
The strike that should have taken her face veered to her left instead, snipping only a few strands of hair.
Aphelia wouldn’t waste an opening. The youth had slipped; his guard yawned wide. She mirrored the same move at Ophelius, faster and cleaner, her grasp of the technique a tier deeper.
“Ancient Martial Flow—Thunderclap!”
Her blade was a silver lance. Yet when it was about to pierce him, the halos flared again. A vast, irresistible force shoved her back. Ophelius used that burst to break away, retreating with air like torn silk.
“Impressive. No wonder you’re my future. Your Ancient Martial Flow is polished to a Titleholder’s edge.”
Magical blades shimmered into being at Ophelius’s sides, like crescent fish slicing dark water. Aphelia had never seen that spellwork. Someone behind this illusion had left hidden hands.
“As expected. You siphoned my memories, but not my feel for the blade. Without time’s temper, you’re just a replica.”
She said it cool, but her gut stayed tight. Even a copy molded from her past self was apex combat power.
And where were they? Inside her own sea of consciousness. Die here, and it was ashes to ashes—final, no returns.
“Enough talk. Let’s prove it with steel.”
Before the last word settled, Ophelius vanished from sight. The magical blades moved like they had minds, streaking at her from every direction faster than eyes could track.
Aphelia didn’t answer. Arcane Power folded into layered shields, like stacked shells, guarding her on all sides. When Ophelius blinked out, she did too. Their sword-edges rose and fell, here then gone; only the clash of Holy Sword against Holy Sword left silver sparks to mark their positions.
“Your swordplay is something else. But I don’t remember that being mine!”
Steel met steel. Around them, magical blades slammed her shields, throwing off a storm of sparks. In a handful of exchanges, Aphelia saw it clear—the youth’s style wasn’t hers.
“Of course. Use your own form and it gets read in an instant.”
Ophelius didn’t deny it. He smiled, bright and hungry, the fight with Aphelia lighting him up. His aura shifted, wearing a different soul under her skin—familiar face, wrong spirit.
Blades and shields collided, forcing them each a step back. Then they cut forward again, almost in the same heartbeat, a sync born of shared bones.
“You left the Hero’s path. How are you this strong? Did you swap in a demon’s heart and become one in truth—by any means?”
Ophelius taunted as the Holy Sword blazed, a burst that forced Aphelia to break her chase. He snatched a floating magical blade, then rushed with a strange footwork, steps like drifting leaves that still cut straight in.
“Dimensional Magic—”
Aphelia started her chant without hesitation. She wasn’t just a swordswoman. At range, magic bombardment came just as easy.
She drew breath for a Spatial Detonation, but the youth hurled his Holy Sword mid-air. The throw broke her rhythm. She whipped her blade up to knock the spinning sword aside.
The instant steel met steel, circles unfurled along the hurled Holy Sword. Several magic arrays bloomed at once. Chained explosions hammered her shields, driving her back step by step. A numbing drag seeped into her limbs, a negative effect riding the blasts like black pollen.
In that split-second of error, Ophelius was already at her throat. Somehow he had a second blade in hand. Twin swords crossed in a scissoring arc, almost cutting her across the neck.
It didn’t stop. The youth moved like he’d changed bodies, twin blades roaming with fox-fire grace. Aphelia had to lift her sword again and again, guard ringing under the pressure. The relentless offense pressed her breath thin.
“Side with demons, betray humanity—you’ve broken your first vow. What difference is there between you and a villain now!”
Steel crossed once more. This time, his blades slid past her defense, carving two deep lines along her ribs. Two tiny arrays stamped into being as the blades traced air, then detonated, a close-range blast that flung Aphelia like a leaf.
The explosion’s fury forced Ophelius back as well, warding off the shockwave. It gave Aphelia a precious gasp of space.
“Kh… cough. I don’t remember being this chatty.”
Mid-air, Aphelia steadied herself. Her shields knotted tighter, thicker with intent. She fixed her eyes on the distant youth.
She didn’t know why he didn’t rush the finish, but she didn’t care to guess. A heartbeat ago, she was a hair from dying to “herself.”
That shifting twin-sword form, and that instant multi-casting—those weren’t in her old toolkit. The halos circling Ophelius were the keystone.
“Heh. You won’t face your true heart? Future me, you’re cowardly.”
Ophelius drifted toward her like a slow river, daring her to cast, wearing disdain like frost.
“My true heart? In front of my friends, that never mattered! Dimensional Magic!!”
“If so, let me see if a heart that won’t face itself can even scratch me! Dimensional Magic!!”
They shouted almost as one. A silver ring rose from the void, settling into each palm. As they chanted, Rune after Rune stacked like petals. The half-height arrays swelled, expanding into a magic circle near the size of a city.
They hovered in the air, building power, eyes locked. Whoever finished first would end the fight.
It came down to speed of chant. Aphelia did what stunned the youth. She cut her wrist without a blink. Blood streamed, becoming a medium for the array. Guided by her Arcane Power, her array clicked into completion a breath before his.
“Time-Space Strangle!!”
The vast array spun like meshing gears, whirring faster and faster. Even the space of the sea of consciousness trembled under its pull, edges blurring like heat over stone. Dragged by Aphelia’s magic, Ophelius was forced to dump his unfinished array. A giant pillar of light howled out, lancing toward her.
At the same time, Aphelia, with her array fully forged, didn’t dodge. Her eyes stayed flint-hard. She pushed her circle straight into the oncoming beam. Needle-fine pillars sprayed from the void, striking the giant column. Light collided, unspooled, and broke. A visible spatial tempest churned an arm’s length away. Neither of them dared let go. The first to flinch and break control would have their array unravel and be shredded to dust by the other’s magic.
