Valor did bite into Abigail’s flesh, yet dissatisfaction pooled in me like cold rain. Not because I lost. Because the duel failed to play its final drumbeat.

Abigail’s rapier came down, not as steel, but as a sweeping tide of swordlight. It wasn’t aimed at me; even the wake flung me back like a leaf in wind.

His target was the tangled brawl between Catherine and Elina.

That blade-light drove the two apart, neat as a scalpel through silk. Clean hands, sharp craft, no blood drawn.

Not can’t—won’t.

Abigail walked toward them. His ruined body mended like ice sealing on a winter pond; wounds knit, breath steadied.

He said to me, voice even as a temple bell:

“Andor, I surrendered the Academy War-Festival’s pairs match only because I picked a bad teammate. But…”

Bones slid back into place like beads on a string; organs settled; spilled blood reversed course like a scarlet stream running uphill.

“But our duel isn’t over. Call it postponed. We’ll finish it when fate spins the hourglass again.”

Dust vanished as if wiped by an unseen hand. Radiance poured from him like dawn over peaks; his long hair streamed back, yet no vast aureole or abyssal shadow loomed behind.

Abigail stood at his peak again.

I knew it at a glance. That was my dad’s favorite legendary spell, Holy King’s Conquest—its effect, to rule the nearby and render it perfect, like a craftsman polishing jade.

Naturally, “perfect” includes oneself.

He spoke now with ceremonial calm, a statue given breath:

“Miss Elina, first, I owe you an apology. I really did want to defeat Andor, so I let that fellow slip into the match. I meant to unmask her right after I beat Andor. I didn’t expect she’d choose murder in broad daylight.”

“What… she isn’t—”

“No. She just tried to kill you, didn’t she? The Demonfolk over there.”

Abigail shook his head and swung again. Peerless light carved the air; Catherine’s iron gauntlets shattered like clay; her false mask crumbled, revealing the true face beneath.

An Aerian girl. An archer. A trainee of the Knights of Holy Light. Catherine Breeze.

“Catherine… no, you’re not—” Elina’s voice cracked like ice.

Under the iron, her hands were pitch black, a darkness that seemed to swallow other darkness, a void that unmade shadow.

She screamed, tore the swordlight barehanded like ripping wet silk, then hammered the ground. From the place where wings once rooted, black, murky radiance bloomed, twining into two demonic wings.

A thick, clotted concept of Slaughter welled out of her. She strode like a revenant crossing up from the land of the dead.

“Andor, can you still fight?” Abigail leveled his sword like a line of moonlight, but glanced back at me.

“I’m banged up, sure. If you need me to swing, I’ll swing.”

I called Shadow, let it flood my veins like cool ink, stand in for blood and flex in place of muscle, propping the body back up.

Most mages can “elementalize.” I was turning my wrecked body half-elemental; damage becomes lost essence, and as long as mana holds, you can restore it.

Not full elemental life. There’s a ceiling. Still, I could carry this for a while.

“But…”

I looked at Elina, hollow-eyed as if a spirit slipped from her chest; at Raven and Gloria stepping onto the arena, faces set like storm-cloud stone.

Some words had to be said first.

Words to snap comrades out of the fog that comes when a dead ally returns as an enemy, to put steel back in the hand and fire in the ribs.

I even missed Stini for a breath—that simpleminded Hero, blissfully scatterbrained but born to spark hearts. Why’s it on me, a Demon King, to hand out hope?

“What are you doing?”

The quiet Vega savored finally cracked. Lady Light Jade, seated on her chains, spoke, voice like a bell under snow.

Naturally, Vega never leaves anyone unattended. His public face is always polished like a lacquer screen.

“Nothing.”

He didn’t want to talk to Lady Light, so he trimmed the conversation to the bone, hoping she’d tire and fold back into silence.

“You’re lying. I can tell you’re laying a spell. Not to break the seal, though.”

Lady Light Jade’s voice came mechanical, like a puppet, yet it quivered like a candle in draft.

The master had warned her: don’t come out when strangers are around. If not, today wouldn’t be this easy.

Turns out she’s shy. Won’t even show herself properly when introduced. Good for Vega.

“You can tell?”

“I can. Otherwise I’d trigger the seal’s defenses and kill you.”

Vega couldn’t help a dry laugh at that childish blade.

When the Creator forged the Primordial Nine Races, He etched “life is precious” into their souls, and as a soul-cluster of the Lunarfolk, Lady Light inherited that engraving.

She faked a mechanical tone, but timidity rang through; at the word “kill,” her heart wobbled like a loose gem in a setting.

Only the master, that fool, would miss it.

Vega never liked fools like this. Those on the side of light often came carved from the same block. Fun as enemies, joyless as allies.

Maybe he just hated the light. Maybe it was pure misalignment, camps at odds.

But “alliance” was the master’s will. So, for the sake of decent relations, Vega explained:

“This array hides you. You don’t want exposure. We don’t want you exposed. That’s a win-win leaf on the same branch.”

“I don’t need your help. I’ll repel all intruders myself.”

Chin lifted, she pointed along the chain to its end, where a horned girl lay bound in a forest of chains—the Demon King of Abhorrence.

Justice, stubborn and proud; foolish yet strong; and after the Creator died, absolute justice left the world like a sun going out. The master had said it true. Vega strangled the urge to plant a fist in her face.

“The point is, neither of us wants you known. If either the righteous or the wicked learn of you, trouble spreads like wildfire.”

“Mm… then tell me, you and Andor want the seal undone, right? Why not team up with the intruders?”

Vega grimaced inside. How did we walk onto this road?

“We aim to negotiate with the Demon King of Abhorrence, using unsealing as our bargaining chip. If someone else breaks it first, they steal our stake. So, until my master persuades you to release it, we’ll help guard it.”

“…”

I really don’t like her, Vega thought, watching her retreat into self-chosen silence. “Just born” is a poor excuse. It doesn’t make me like you.

She talks by whim, carries herself poorly, heart of a child.

Vega had read the master’s favorite legendary novels. The heroine’s often like this—tsundere, they called it. Later, she shows delicate feeling and the “dere,” wins readers’ hearts.

Vega didn’t buy it. Ordinary isn’t legend. Not grand enough. After seeing heroes and epics by the dozen, such a person is a nameless mortal, hardly worth a line of memory.

Still, his social graces were flawless. Hate the person, don’t botch the job. If it were Berenz here, he’d already be throwing punches at Lady Light.

Silence settled again over the sealed chamber like dust.

“…I don’t think anyone will intrude this deep,” Lady Light said suddenly, words dropping like pebbles into a still pool. Vega needed a heartbeat to realize she’d spoken.

“If no one comes, perfect. If they do, the mess will be bad.”

“They won’t. I’ve never gone out, but my mana circuits reach everywhere. This place is wrapped tight. I don’t even understand how Andor got in.”

“You have to admit, a lot slips past circuits,” Vega said, like wind slipping a shutter.

He felt for that distant pulse of Slaughter. There was still time before Liebich’s strike. He ran one last test through the array; everything sang ready.

Lady Light could sink into the seal at will, but whether her personality had fully coalesced showed like a seam. With the array, he could barely paint over it, make it look like nothing had happened.

Vega was a perfectionist. He hated a patchwork fix. After this, he’d rebuild the array properly, stone by stone.

“The master used an invisibility cloak. Honestly, it’s just a handy toy, a taboo alchemy piece from the Sorcerer Emperor. Low rank, low price. But this…”

He drew a hat from Shadow, put it on. His outline wavered like heat-haze, then reshaped as Lady Light’s image. The dusky Shadow in his aura turned sun-bright.

“What… is that?”

“High-end stock. A devil-forged relic, Falseface Gentleman. Its gift is transformation. Even rich folks can only rent it. It shifts the body and the mana’s nature. When intruders come, let me handle it. I’ve reserved mana so later inspections think the seal’s auto-response engaged.”

“No. Repelling intruders is my duty.”

“Then wait till I fall, Lady Light Jade. You need to admit my mana control’s sharper than yours.”

Vega pressed her head down gently and slid her back into the seal, then spun the array to life. He walked to the massive door and listened to the rising rumble like distant thunder rolling closer.

It was noisy outside; the wardens were likely all dead already. Otherwise, to clear witnesses, he’d have to do the killing himself.

The master did order me to keep killing to a minimum, damn it. Vega clicked his tongue, annoyed as a cat in rain.

At the seal’s entrance, the great door shuddered under heavy blows, dents blooming inward like bruises.

Another strike. A third, a fourth.

At last, the door, warded by layered legendary spells, tore free and flew past Vega like a hurled shield. A gale whipped his freshly smoothed hair into disarray.

“So you’re the last guardian? I kill you, and I take Lady Light?”

Liebich licked crimson lips. Her qipao hung in rags like torn night, proof she’d sunk most of her mind into the Ocean of Darkness, riding her own hunger.

Proof she was strong now, a storm with teeth.

But the master had proved often that wisdom beats raw force like a river carves stone.

Vega didn’t answer. He drew a short blade, set his stance, and met the oncoming night.